two slow dancers

by themjbzzzz

Summary:

Hinata left for Brazil without warning, without goodbyes, and without telling Kageyama how he really felt. Now, two years later, he's back in Japan—older, a little braver, and still carrying every unsent message in his chest.

He missed his chance once. This time, he's not letting go so easily.

Notes:

hi! i wrote this like five years ago and abandoned the project because of college. i found it recently because I'm rewatching haikyuu and thought about finishing the story, so, here it is!

hope you guys enjoy it.

and, by the way, sorry! english is not my first language.

Chapter 1: Prologue

It all began in April.

There was something about that month—something that made his chest tighten painfully. He closed his eyes, remembering soft pink sakura petals falling on his face, shoulders, and feet. A dim light warming his skin. The wind, familiar and gentle, weaving through trees and flowers like it knew every one of them.

He reached out for a single petal as it drifted down, dancing on the breeze, slow and aimless.

He had been here before. Many times.

It was the same road he took every day after school, from the gym to his house. He knew every corner, every lamppost, every worn-down gate and crooked fence. His hands still remembered the texture of the bike’s handlebar grip, the dull ache left in his palms after a long, satisfying practice.

This was home.

But as he reached for that petal, something shifted.

A sound—distant at first, like a memory trying to claw its way back. It grew louder, clearer, crawling into his ears like it belonged there. It made his skin prickle, his back straighten.

A voice.

A familiar voice.

Chapter 2: Chapter I

(2018 - Brazil )

His heart skipped a beat as he woke up, drenched in sweat. He sat up in bed, covering his face with both hands. Goosebumps lined his arms, and his breathing refused to slow down.

“Hey, Shrimp.”

He turned toward the voice beside him. Of course, it was Oikawa. He wasn’t even a little surprised. After so many sleepovers at Tooru’s place, Hinata was more than used to his friend’s late-night chaos.

There he was: big blue headphones on, screen brightness cranked to max, back pressed against a tower of pillows, eyes glued to his laptop.

“This is why you’re going to go blind, Oikawa.”

“Not all of us can sleep like a log, my boy,” he yawned.

“What time even is it?” Oikawa reached for his phone, which was charging beside the futon. He tapped the screen.

4:47 AM.

The wallpaper was a photo of Oikawa smiling widely over the shoulder of a younger man, whose expression wasn’t as flashy but looked just as genuine. Hajime Iwaizumi.

Oikawa groaned. He stretched lazily and side-eyed Hinata, who was still staring at the photo, eyes darker than usual.

“Homesick?”

“Huh?”

“Thinking about home?”

“Oh. Yeah.” Hinata ran a hand through his hair. “Just had a dream I was biking home from practice. It felt so real.”

Oikawa smirked. “I’ve had a few of those,” he admitted, eyes drifting back to his phone. “Wanna go back?”

“No!” Hinata blurted. “Well… yeah?”

Oikawa tilted his head. “Be honest. Did you come over tonight because you were running away from Pedro again?”

“No!” Hinata said quickly. Too quickly. “…Yeah.”

Oikawa burst out laughing, louder than necessary. He was probably more tired than he wanted to admit.

“You may be twenty, but you’re still a child.”

“I am not a child. That guy is just… depressing.”

“He’s not depressing. He’s just shy. And you’ve never had trouble dealing with weirdos before. Remember that cute girl from Karasuno? Jackie?”

“Yachi.”

“Yachi, that’s right. See? It’s not your first rodeo. You have this freaky ability to make people like you. That’s the only reason you even have a roof over your head right now.”

“But that was in Japan. We spoke the same language.”

“So what?” Oikawa snapped his laptop shut and yanked off his headphones. As the screen dimmed, the room was swallowed by darkness. He started rearranging the pillows behind him. “Is that all it takes to defeat the great ‘Ninja Shoyo’?”

“Shut up.” Hinata laughed.

“Ninja Shoyo”. The nickname he’d earned from fans and later turned into an inside joke with friends. His mom had loved it the first time she heard it.

“You came here to train, right?” Oikawa said more softly. “Don’t run away from your dream, Hinata. You’ll be fine.”

Hinata smiled in the dark. Oikawa might be an arrogant jerk half the time, but he was also one of the most supportive people Hinata had ever met.

“Besides, you’ve got the best setter in the world right here next to you. Why even think about running away? Ungrateful shrimp.”

“You just had to say that, didn’t you?”

“Hush now. I need my beauty sleep.”

Too late for that, Hinata thought with a grin.

He lay back down. His futon was right next to the window, which was cracked open to let the breeze in. The fan in Oikawa’s room had broken a while ago, and Hinata hadn’t thought to bring his own. But the night air was refreshing, brushing against his face like a quiet reassurance.

Eyes closed, he let it lull him into something that, hopefully, would be sleep.

Chapter 3: Chapter II

A couple of days after staying over at Oikawa’s, Hinata received a strange call.

He knew something was off the moment he saw the unknown number on his screen. He rarely received phone calls, unless it was from family, Coach Ukai, or Professor Takeda. Most of his friends just texted or FaceTimed.

The only reason he picked up was because the number was from Japan. That, and the strange feeling in his gut telling him it was important. He wiped sweat from his forehead with a towel (which, honestly, really needed to be washed) and held the phone to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Hinata. This is Iwaizumi—Hajime Iwaizumi—from Aoba Joh—”

“Iwa-chan?” Hinata interrupted, a grin spreading across his face. Thank God he’d answered.

“... What?”

“Oh—sorry. That’s what Oikawa always calls you. It slipped out.”

There was silence on the other end. Hinata checked his screen to make sure he hadn’t been hung up on, but the call was still going.

He frowned.

“I’m really sorry for calling you Iwa-chan. I won’t do it again, I swear.”

“No, it’s fine. It’s just… It’s been a while since I heard anyone say that name.” He paused, then his voice grew more serious. “Listen, Hinata, I know it’s weird of me to ask, but I need to. I really do.”

Hinata’s frown deepened. He didn’t know Iwaizumi very well. Everything he knew came mostly through Oikawa. But you didn’t need to know someone personally to hear when their voice was unsteady.

“I know you’ve spent a lot of time with Oikawa lately. I hope you two are close… which is why I need to ask—” Iwaizumi took a shaky breath. “Please. Keep an eye on him. Take care of him, Hinata. Please.”

Hinata froze. His eyes widened.

“What? Is he sick or something? I just saw him yesterday—he seemed fine.”

“That’s not what I mean. He’s physically fine, I guess. But from now on, I need you to look after him. Please don’t ask questions. I know it’s selfish. But just—please. For him.”

“Yes. Of course. Don’t worry, Iwaizumi, I will. But—”

“Thank you, Hinata. Take care.”

The call cut off.

Hinata stared at his phone, speechless. Of all people, Iwaizumi Hajime had just reached out to him. And he hadn’t sounded anything like the person Oikawa used to talk about.

He considered, for a second, whether it might’ve been a prank. But it was five in the morning in Japan. It would be too ridiculous. Even for Oikawa.

He called his friend. No answer.

His heart began to pound.

Something was wrong.

Hinata shoved his towel and shoes into a bag, slung it over his shoulder, and jumped onto his bike. His legs were already sore from training all day on the beach, but he pedaled harder. Oikawa’s place wasn’t far. The streets blurred past him.

When he arrived, all the lights were off.

That alone was suspicious. Oikawa was the type to keep every light in the house on until he physically passed out.

Still, Hinata broke in through the window. Just to be sure.

“Oikawa?” he called, moving quickly through the rooms. Nothing. The bedroom was spotless. The kitchen, empty. The bathroom, unused. He tried calling again.

Still nothing.

Think, he told himself. Where would Oikawa go?

Not a friend’s house. They had the same friends, and no one had invited them anywhere lately. Not on a walk; he always texted before disappearing for the day.

As Hinata reached for the door to leave, a familiar voice called softly behind him.

“Shoyo, is that you?”

He turned. It was Oikawa’s sweet neighbor, Grannie Adriana. Her husband had moved from Japan years ago, and she still spoke enough of the language to chat with them. She was one of the few locals who truly cared for them, and both Hinata and Oikawa adored her.

“Hello, Grannie! It’s me.”

“It’s always good to see you, Sho. But why do you look so pale? Are you all right?”

Hinata exhaled shakily. “I don’t know, Grannie. I’m worried about Oikawa. He’s not answering his phone, and I came to check on him, but he’s not home either.”

“Oh, child. Don’t worry too much. He’s a grown man. He can take care of himself.”

She was right. Normally, Hinata didn’t even know where Oikawa was half the time. He often wandered the city, met new people, and explored cafés or bookstores. But Iwaizumi’s voice still rang in his ears.

Grannie noticed his expression and added with a knowing smile, “He mentioned going out for a drink earlier.”

Hinata’s eyes widened.

Of course.

“Thank you, Grannie! You’re the best!” he said, hugging her tightly.

“My pleasure, Sho. You’re such a good boy,” she said, patting his head fondly.

Back on his bike, Hinata pedaled toward the only bar Oikawa ever went to. A quiet, pastel-blue house that doubled as the owner Pablo’s home. The bar was low-key, cozy, and mostly filled with regulars.

When he arrived, Pablo was behind the bar, organizing bottles as music played loudly through the speakers.

“Oi! Hinata!” Pablo grinned.

Hinata wasn’t that fluent in Portuguese, but he could understand it if spoken slowly, and thankfully, Pablo knew enough English for them to get by.

He returned the hug automatically. Brazilians were way more affectionate than he was used to, but he didn’t mind anymore.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Pablo said. “I’m starting to worry about him.”

“He’s here, then?”

“Upstairs. Since yesterday. You should check on him. He might need a friend.”

Hinata nodded and made his way to the second floor.

Pablo’s house was like the traditional Brazilian houses he had seen until now. It was filled with bright pastel colors and many windows. Although small, quite comfortable and cozy. Upstairs was made up of a simple living room, a small kitchen with a table, and two white chairs. A bed was set near the biggest window in the room, with nothing but a single pillow. The only new furniture was a very drunk twenty-three-year-old decorating the sofa with his tears. 

Hinata approached his friend slowly to make sure he wouldn’t startle him and sat down on the floor next to the mess he was in. Of course, he had seen Oikawa get drunk before. They had both gotten drunk a few times, actually, but never had he witnessed his friend turn into such a mess. His face was completely red, as well as his puffy eyes, and his hair was like a bird’s nest. 

“Shrimp!” Oikawa exclaimed as he noticed his friend picking up the bottles on the floor. He put his arm around him and offered him a bottle. Over the past few months, Hinata had found himself liking the taste of alcohol. Never in his life had he ever thought about being able to hold his drink, but it turns out, after being in a country where a cold drink felt like heaven, he found a liking to it. 

He accepted the drink with a smile and lay back on the couch. 

“Drinking on a weekday?” he teased. “Shame on you.”

“What can I say? I have a friend who likes to do reckless things during business days.” 

Oikawa let out a muffled laugh and laid his head back onto the couch’s seat. “What time is it?”

“6:32”

“He called you, didn’t he?”

Hinata blinked. “…Yeah.”

“Took him long enough.” He sipped from the bottle, then winced. “Ugh. This shit is disgusting.”

“Then why do you drink it?”

“Because it helps, I guess?”

“Helps with what?”

“With whatever it is that I’m feeling.”

Hinata didn’t know how to respond to that. He was rarely involved in conversations that concerned matters of feelings. He knew how to cheer up teammates after losing a match and encourage them to keep practicing, but messing with romance ? Not precisely his area.

“Block him”, blurted Oikawa after a while.

“What?”

“I said block him. Block Hajime.”

“Why?”

“Why the fuck do you even care?”

“Because you’re my friend.”

“And that is exactly why you should block him.”

“Did you two get into a fight? I’m sure you can fix things.”

“We can’t. I can’t”

“Why?”

“Because it’s useless, Hinata!”

Hinata flinched. Oikawa rarely raised his voice off the court.

“But, I’m sure-”

“You’re sure of what? What do you even know about these kinds of things, Hinata? Have you ever really dated someone?” Oikawa stopped mid-sentence, like something had just clicked. “Maybe you have . But now that I think about it, I haven’t heard you say his name once in the past year and a half. After talking about him nonstop, after going everywhere with him, after giving yourself to him so completely you couldn’t function without him… It’s like he never existed.”

There it was. The one subject Hinata avoided at all costs. The one person he never let himself think about. 

“Don’t”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t bring him up just because you’re angry about someone else. Whatever happened between you and Iwaizumi—that’s not on me.” Hinata was now sweating cold, his hands were shaking, and he felt like crying.

“So it’s true, then.”

Hinata looked at Oikawa, puzzled. 

“You did get into a fight with Tobi-”

“I don’t want to hear it! Shut up!”

Hinata stood abruptly, ready to walk out, but Oikawa spoke up, urgently.

“I’m sorry, Shoyo. You’re right. I’m sorry. I was an asshole. I am an asshole. I won’t bring it up again. Please don’t go.”

Hinata took a deep, shaky breath. After all that alcohol, Oikawa wasn’t in his right mind. And he was hurting. Badly.

He sat back down, grabbed his drink, and took a long swig. After finishing the bottle, he rested his head on the couch. 

“Aren’t you gonna ask?”

“I want to, but I’m scared.”

“I won’t bring it up unless you do.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“God only knows why.”

Hinata chuckled softly. The music blasting downstairs seemed somehow distant and comforting. 

After a long pause, he spoke again. “I mean, I am expecting you to tell me what happened. Just… when you’re ready.”

Oikawa laughed. Really laughed this time. “You really are spending too much time with me. You’re turning into a cocky little shit. You don’t even respect your elders.”

“You speak as if you were ten years older or something.”

“I wish I were. Maybe then I wouldn’t be worried about these kinds of things.”

Another moment of silence. Hinata opened another bottle and took a long sip.

“He broke up with me”, Oikawa said in a whisper. “He broke up with me after all these years.”

Chapter 4: Chapter III

Of course, Hinata had always suspected Oikawa’s feelings for Iwaizumi weren’t just friendly.

Back in high school, he and Suga had even made a bet about it. Still, hearing Oikawa say it out loud, to admit it, to feel it, hit different. There was something strangely gratifying about watching someone finally drop the act.

“Can I ask why?” Hinata said gently.

Oikawa let out a deep breath before answering.

“We barely talked lately. The time difference sucked, yeah, but it wasn’t just that. Every time we did talk, it felt like we were walking on eggshells. Like every sentence reminded us how different our lives had become.”

Hinata stayed quiet as Oikawa’s voice cracked.

“And honestly? I don’t even blame him. Long-distance relationships are bullshit. Before I left, things were perfect. We were happy . But then Brazil came calling, and I couldn’t ignore it. Neither would he let me. He encouraged me to go. But then he got caught up in college, job hunting, stress… and I was out here living like a different person.”

His voice lowered, almost to a whisper. “Eventually, we stopped calling. We stopped texting. Days would go by without a word. Then I got scared. Too proud to fix it. Too tired to try.”

He laughed bitterly and covered his face with both hands. “I knew he was struggling, and I wasn’t there. Didn’t even call. I’m such a piece of shit.”

Hinata took a long sip from his beer before speaking.

“I… I don’t know what I could say to make you feel better.”

“You don’t have to, Shrimp. Really.”

“But I do have to say this—you’re not a piece of shit, Oikawa.” Hinata looked over at him, serious now. “Have you ever actually looked at yourself? Like, really looked ?”

Oikawa blinked, silent.

“You’ve never been okay. You love volleyball so much it eats you alive. I think Iwaizumi saw that. I think… maybe he broke up with you because he knew you needed to focus. When I stayed at your place the other night, you were up all morning, staring at your screen. I know you were waiting for him to text. Watching games was just an excuse.”

He took another long drink.

“You haven’t been yourself. Not even on the court. And I think Iwaizumi noticed. I think he’s scared he’s holding you back.”

Oikawa didn’t answer for a long time.

“I’m not myself without him,” he said finally.

Hinata didn’t expect that. Oikawa was always so self-assured, so loud , so completely in charge . But maybe that had always been an act. Maybe Iwaizumi had been the foundation the whole time.

“That’s exactly what he doesn’t want you to think.”

Oikawa looked over, skeptical. “And what makes you think you know that?”

“I heard it in his voice when he called. He was hurting too. And the fact that he called me — me —to make sure you were okay? That says something.”

Oikawa didn’t reply. He silently handed Hinata another beer.

“What did you say to him?” Hinata asked.

“I asked him to wait for me. We’re coming home in six months, after all. I told him I’d win him back.”

Hinata looked at him. “And what did he say?”

“He hung up.”

“…Oh.” Hinata took a long swig to hide the small smile tugging at his lips.

“I may have overreacted, you know.”

“You may have?”

“…Okay, I did.” Oikawa leaned back with a sigh. “I think I was just scared of losing him completely.”

Hinata nodded.

“Hey, Shrimp.”

“Yeah?”

“If you ever tell anyone about this, I’m posting that video of you singing ‘First Love’ naked.”

“You jackass!” Hinata choked on his drink. “You promised to delete it!”

“I lied. I knew this day would come.”

Hinata burst out laughing. Oikawa cracked a smile, too. The tension broke just enough for them to breathe again.

After a few minutes of companionable silence, except for the pulsing Brazilian music still blasting from downstairs, Hinata felt Oikawa’s gaze on him.

“You’re dying to ask, aren’t you?”

“I am,” Oikawa admitted. “But I said I wouldn’t.”

“I feel kind of guilty. You shared your secret with me. I feel like I owe you mine.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“No, I think I want to.”

“…Are you sure?”

“Why do you sound like you’re talking me out of it now?”

“Because I feel like I forced you to talk about it by bringing it up earlier!”

“It’s fine. Really. I would like to get it off my chest, I guess.”

Oikawa nodded solemnly. “Okay. Take a breath. Have another drink. And spill the tea.”

Hinata downed the rest of his bottle and opened another one. His cheeks were flushed, his head a little hazy, but the words came easier than he expected.

“All right. Here it goes.”

Oikawa went silent. His gaze was intense.

“I fucked everything up.”

Oikawa raised an eyebrow but didn’t interrupt.

“So, about a year and a half ago, two days before I left for Brazil, the Karasuno guys threw me a farewell party. Everyone knew I was leaving. Coach Ukai, Takeda, the team... Everyone but Kageyama.”

Oikawa looked at him like he’d been slapped. “Don’t tell me he found out at the party .”

Hinata groaned and nodded. “He found out at the party.”

“ Hinata! ”

“I just couldn’t find a way to tell him!”

“How’d you even convince him to come?”

“I told him Daichi was going on a work trip overseas…”

“Oh my god.” Oikawa buried his face in his hands. “Were you two dating?”

“No! Of course not!”

“Well damn. I owe Matsuwaka a curry.” He pointed at Hinata. “If you weren’t dating, then what’s the big deal? You were friends. You didn’t owe him anything.”

“We weren’t dating, but… we kissed. That night.”

Oikawa’s eyes widened. “Too many plot twists, too fast. I’m shutting up now.”

“We were both a little drunk—it was a dare. But we didn’t hate it. Actually, I already knew I liked him. I figured it out a few months earlier, after talking to Bokuto about it.”

Oikawa visibly grimaced. “Bokuto gave you love advice? That’s… interesting.”

“Anyway. After we kissed, I think Kageyama was about to say something. Like… something serious. But then Tanaka came over, bawling about how much he’d miss me and how I had to send him pictures of Brazilian girls.” Now Hinata felt like curling into a ball, right there, right then, and never leave his shelter. “You know Kageyama. He was a bit, uh,”

“Pissed like a devil?”

“Pissed like a devil, yes. And we were drunk. And stupid. He snapped. I snapped back. He said I betrayed him. I said ‘We’re just friends—I don’t owe you anything.’”

“That is the last straw, Hinata. Fuck ”

Hinata didn’t argue. “We said a lot of shit. Worse than ever before. We had never fought like that before, only that one time in our first year where we threw some punches at each other and stopped talking for a few weeks. This time, none of us attempted to hit each other, but the things we said were not less painful”

The tears that had been caught up, buried deep inside of him, were finally showing up in his eyes. He was no longer shaking out anxiousness, he just felt unenergetic and defeated. “Kageyama was right, though. I was a coward. I hadn’t found the courage to tell him I was leaving, especially not since I had finally gotten to kiss him. We never talked things out or reached out to each other to apologize. He didn’t even go to the airport they day I left.”

He opened another beer. He’d lost count. Five? Six? Didn’t matter.

“I don’t blame him for hating me. I hate me too.”

The room went quiet except for Hinata’s soft, erratic breaths. After a long pause, Oikawa gave him a gentle punch on the arm.

“Okay. You did fuck up. But stop punishing yourself. You were young. You didn’t know how to handle something that intense. Now you’ve grown up. Hell, you even helped me through a breakup.”

Hinata chuckled. “I almost challenged you to a match instead.”

“Now that would’ve been classic Shrimp.”

Oikawa smiled and ruffled his hair.

“You’ll see him again. You’re going home soon. Maybe you can fix it then.”

Hinata hadn’t thought that far ahead. He’d been too busy blaming himself to even imagine seeing Kageyama again. But Oikawa was right. They would meet again. And soon.

“You think he still hates me?” he asked, quieter now.

“I think he never hated you. If he did, you’d know. Kageyama’s not exactly subtle.”

“True…”

Oikawa gave him a light nudge with his foot. “Want my advice?”

Hinata raised an eyebrow. “You have advice?”

“I always have advice, I’m just selective about when I give it.”

“Fine. Let’s hear it.”

“Next time you see him… don’t apologize.”

Hinata stared. “What?”

“Not first thing , I mean. Don’t lead with an apology. Don’t make it a confession, or a guilt trip, or, well, I don’t know. Just… be there. Let him see who you are now. Let him decide if he still wants to know you.”

Hinata blinked. “That’s… actually good advice.”

“I know. It’s annoying, isn’t it?”

“A little.”

They both laughed, a little too loudly for how many drinks they’d had. And as the tension dissolved into warmth, Hinata reached for his beer, and missed.

Oikawa caught his wrist.

“Careful, drunk Shrimp,” he teased. “You’re reaching the ‘emotional mess’ stage.”

“ You’re one to talk,” Hinata muttered, eyes glassy. “You cried into my shirt like an hour ago.”

“You said you’d never bring that up again.”

“Liar.”

“Fair.”

A beat passed.

Then, in one movement, Oikawa leaned forward and kissed him.

Oikawa had flirted with him before. Always joking, never serious. So when he kissed him, Hinata froze. Never in his life had he imagined that would actually happen.

Why was he even kissing him?

Oikawa was still in love with Iwaizumi. Hinata had just blurted out that he was still in love with Kageyama.

It didn’t make sense. It wasn’t meant to make sense.

And as if realizing that too late, Oikawa pulled away, just as quickly as he’d leaned in. His eyes darted down, wide with surprise. Regret, maybe.

“…What was that?”

“I don’t know,” Oikawa whispered.

“You said I was a drunk Shrimp.”

“You are.”

“You kissed a drunk Shrimp.”

Oikawa laughed. “I know.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re sad. And I’m sad. I wanted to make us think about something else.”

Hinata didn’t reply. He was still processing.

“…Do you regret it?” he asked.

Oikawa looked at him for a long time. “Not if you don’t.”

They were quiet for a moment. The kind of silence that wasn’t awkward, just heavy with something neither of them could name.

Eventually, Hinata exhaled. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“It didn’t mean anything.”

“Nope.”

“Just drunk and sad.”

“Exactly.”

“…Still, can we keep it a secret?”

“From everyone.”

“Especially Kageyama.”

“Oh, especially Kageyama.”

They both laughed again, and Oikawa stood, offering Hinata a hand.

“Come on. Let’s get out of here before Pablo catches us making out on his couch.”

Hinata groaned. “Don’t ever say ‘making out’ again. It’s disgusting.”

“No promises.”

Chapter 5: Chapter IV

Oikawa was dead. Not literally. But spiritually, emotionally, and physically? Absolutely.

He lay sprawled across his bed, groaning into his pillow like a dying man. Hinata stood by the door, holding a glass of water and two pills in his hand.

“This is your fault,” Oikawa mumbled, voice muffled.

“I wasn’t the one drinking with an empty stomach last night,” Hinata shot back.

“I’m grieving.”

Hinata snorted and walked over, placing the pills on the nightstand. “Come on, eat something. Pablo came over. He made us breakfast.”

“I hate Pablo,” Oikawa muttered into the pillow.

“You love Pablo.”

“I hate him today.”

“He made pão de queijo.”

A beat. Then, muffled: “Maybe I don’t hate him that much.”

Oikawa slowly dragged himself out of bed like a half-animated corpse and followed Hinata into the kitchen. The smell hit him first. Cheese, bread, coffee.

Pablo gave them both a knowing smile. “Good morning, sunshine.”

“I want to die,” Oikawa replied.

Pablo simply patted his back and handed him a plate.

They ate in silence for a while, Oikawa sulking dramatically, Hinata pretending not to be worried.

Then, casually, Oikawa asked, “So… the kiss. Regret it?”

Hinata nearly choked on his bread. He looked at Pablo, embarrassed, before realizing Oikawa had switched to Japanese. 

“ What ?”

“Just checking. No big deal.”

“Why would you ask like that?!”

“I mean, we were both drunk. Sad. Pathetic. Just making sure we’re good.”

Hinata stared at him.

“It didn’t mean anything,” Oikawa said. “Right?”

Hinata looked down at his plate. “Right.”

Another pause.

“You sure?” Oikawa asked, this time more gently.

“Yeah,” Hinata said quietly. “I mean… I know you love Iwaizumi.”

“And you love Kageyama.”

Hinata sighed. “Unfortunately.”

“Well, that’s something we both have in common,” Oikawa replied, biting into his pão de queijo like he hadn’t just said something that should’ve been illegal before 10 a.m.

Hinata laughed under his breath.

“No one has to know,” Oikawa added. 

Hinata shook his head, smiling despite himself. “We’re not weird now, right?”

“Nah. It was just a Monday.”

“It was Wednesday.”

“Whatever. Still Monday vibes.”

Oikawa reached for the coffee pot and poured them both a cup. Hinata took his gratefully, the warm mug grounding him a little.

They sat in silence, sipping their drinks.

And for a moment, everything felt normal.

No heartbreak. No guilt. No future run-ins with the boy Hinata had broken two years ago.

The last six months they spent in Brazil had been surprisingly exhausting. They trained twice as hard, feeling the days pass like lightning, but they also partied three times as much. Parties in Brazil were nothing like the ones back home. They both knew they probably wouldn’t get the chance to shamelessly dance to the rhythms they’d learned unless they stayed forever.

It was tempting.

But they were homesick.

They’d created a temporary life there. One filled with sun, sweat, booze, and broken Portuguese, but it was still temporary. As the days slipped by, they started counting down. Not with sadness, but with anticipation. They were ready to go back. To see their families. To find out what had changed… and what hadn’t.

That’s why Hinata and Oikawa silently agreed to spend as much time together as possible. They visited dozens of bars. Got invited to all kinds of parties. Hinata improved his alcohol tolerance. Oikawa loosened his hips more and more.

He was happy. 

Hinata thought about his first-year self at Karasuno. What would that version of him think now?

He’d probably be amazed. He’d grown a couple of inches. People looked up to him on the court. He had friends, even a few admirers. He worked part-time, managed his own schedule, and partied as much as he wanted. Without even noticing, he had grown up. Younger Hinata would’ve seen twenty-year-old Shoyo as everything he had dreamed of becoming.

But what would younger Hinata think of his love life?

He thought about it constantly.

Shoyo had barely noticed his feelings toward Kageyama in the middle of their second year, and it wasn’t until the start of third year that those feelings actually began to mean something. If his past self had known how his heart still jumped at the sound of Tobio’s name on the news, or when something reminded him of him, he would’ve laughed in his face.

But now, every time he thought about Kageyama, there was also a flicker of guilt.

Because as much as he wanted to say the kissing incident with Oikawa had never happened again... that would be a lie.

It always happened when they were both drunk and miserable. And each time, the next morning, they’d laugh it off like it was nothing. Somehow, without ever saying it out loud, they’d agreed to use each other as a temporary distraction from their heartbreak.

And it worked.

Neither of them cared, because they both knew it was impossible for them to fall for each other.

Still, sometimes Hinata wondered, how would Kageyama react if he ever found out about their little fling?

Yes, he felt a little ashamed. But he also couldn’t help the tiny thrill that came with the thought. Would Kageyama get jealous? Would that mean he still had feelings for him?

Hinata was lying on his bed, surrounded by messy suitcases, when these thoughts crept back into his head for the hundredth time.

“I’m truly pitiful,” he muttered to himself once he caught the thrill starting to creep up again.

Both he and Oikawa were returning home the next morning. It was already 10:00 p.m., and he couldn't even think about sleeping. The melancholy had hit him the moment he started packing, knowing this would be the last time he'd sleep in that room.

He took a deep breath. He felt… a lot of things, all at once.

He checked his phone. There were messages from his mom and sister. He unlocked it quickly.

Natsu: See you soon, Sho! <3

Mom: Safe travels, Shoyo! Please don’t leave anything behind!

He chuckled. Leaving his things behind would be a disaster.

Standing up from his bed, he double-checked every corner of the room. And suddenly it hit him.

He didn’t own much, but the clothes he was packing weren’t the ones he’d brought from Japan. Only a few oversized shirts remained, along with a couple of old shorts and worn-out tennis shoes. In just two years, he’d outgrown almost everything.

He couldn’t help but wonder... had Kageyama changed, too?

He honestly had no idea what Tobio even looked like anymore. It had taken all the willpower he had not to check the news or watch his matches. Luckily, Kageyama wasn’t active on social media either. It wasn’t hard to avoid him, at least, not digitally.

He’d always been one of the tallest on the team. It made sense he’d grown even more. Hinata tried to picture him, older, sharper, different, as he stared at the wall in his room.

Goosebumps prickled across his arms.

He wanted to punch himself. He was going back to see his mom and sister , and all he could think about was his old friend.

Pressing both hands to his face, he took a deep breath.

About two hours later, after finishing packing, Hinata collapsed onto his bed. He had left out only the clothes he would wear tomorrow and his toothbrush. He’d already showered to squeeze in at least a little more sleep before heading to the airport.

He picked up his phone, thinking maybe he could scroll a little to get tired. Instead, just as his screen lit up, his phone began to ring.

Suga-senpai.

He answered it quickly, sitting up a little.

“‘Sup,” Hinata greeted, voice still a bit groggy.

“Well, look who decided to exist,” came Suga’s voice, bright and teasing. “I ran into your mom earlier. Guess who found out you’re coming home in a few hours?”

Hinata winced. “Crap. I was gonna text you guys. I just—”

“—Forgot, got busy, blah blah,” Suga cut in. “Idiot.”

Hinata laughed. “I’m sorry, Suga-senpai. I got caught up with packing and everything.”

“I swear, if your mom hadn’t told me, we’d only find out once you were already back and causing chaos at the nearest convenience store.”

“I was kind of keeping it low-key on purpose…”

“Oh?” Suga asked, amused. “You mean like avoiding someone low-key?”

Hinata was quiet for a beat too long.

Suga hummed knowingly. “Yeah. Thought so.”

“I just… I wanted to give myself a second before seeing him , you know?” Hinata said, voice quieter.

“You don’t have to explain. I’m not that dense. I didn’t say anything to Kageyama.”

Hinata exhaled, full-body relief. “Thanks.”

“Still,” Suga continued, “you’re not off the hook. You owe all of us drinks.”

“I figured.”

“Non-negotiable.”

“Even Tsukki?”

“Yep. Even Tsukki. He tolerated the idea of seeing you. That’s practically affection.”

Hinata snorted. “Please tell me you didn’t tell him I know that.”

“I told you in confidence. If you bring it up, I’ll deny everything and say you were hallucinating from jet lag.”

“Deal.”

There was a pause.

“...Can’t wait to see you, Hinata,” Suga said, his tone softer now.

Hinata smiled. “Can’t wait to see you too.”

“You better have grown, by the way.”

“Oh, you’ll see.”

“I saw you on the news a couple months ago. You still look tiny.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“Beauty and height... you can’t really have everything , ya’ know.”

Hinata laughed. “I’m hanging up before your ego gets bigger.”

“Impossible. Get some sleep, okay?” Suga added. “You’re gonna need it to fix that face of yours.”

“Rude.”

“Truth hurts.”

“Night, Suga-senpai.”

“Night, kid. See you soon.”

Hinata ended the call, the smile lingering on his face. As he set the phone down and turned off the light, a small knot of anxiety still twisted in his chest—but it was softened now, just a little, by the thought of being home.

He had thought a lot about everything since that conversation with Oikawa weeks ago. He knew the right thing to do was to reach out and apologize. But just thinking about facing Kageyama made his knees shake.

He needed time. He needed to settle in, see how much had changed back home, and let his nerves adjust to being surrounded by the familiar again.

He sighed and lay back, covering his face with one arm.

It was already 1:00 a.m.

Two hours of sleep before the airport.

“I probably won’t be able to sleep,” he thought, rolling over to switch off the lamp on his nightstand.

Chapter 6: Chapter V

(Three years ago (2015) - Miyagi Prefecture , Japan)

“Hinata Shoyo, how could you?”

The orange-haired boy froze as soon as he recognized the sharp voice behind him. He turned slowly, both hands clutching his bag. “Miwa, I can explain.”

He nearly flinched at the sight of the woman standing in front of him, arms crossed, frowning in theatrical disappointment.
“Where is that boy? Tobio! Get down here right now!”

The lazy sound of dragging feet echoed through the house. Kageyama, dressed in a black hoodie, comfortable shorts, and no shoes, peeked down from the stairs, blinking sleepily.

It was Saturday morning, and Yamaguchi had given them spare keys to practice at the gym whenever they wanted (as long as they didn’t overdo it, of course). They had agreed to meet at Kageyama’s house to grab some food before heading out to practice.

“You’re here,” he said, nodding toward Hinata. “What’s going on?”

“What’s going on? Really?” Miwa gestured dramatically. “ Look at Shoyo’s hair! ”

Tobio tilted his head and stared. Hinata tensed under the weight of two Kageyama stares.

“…It’s annoyingly orange?” Tobio guessed after a beat.

Hinata shot him a deadly glare.

“It’s too long!” sighed Miwa. She took Hinata by the shoulders, gripping tightly. “Don’t worry anymore, Shoyo. Even if Tobio neglects his friend’s well-being, I’ll take care of you.”

“Well-being? What do you mean? He’s not going to die just because his hair is too long.”

“He’s been so good to you, and yet you treat him like this?”

Kageyama raised his arms in surrender. Hinata smiled at the scene: brother and sister arguing over his hair.

Miwa had been his stylist for free since his second year at Karasuno, almost a year ago now, and she always reacted like this whenever she caught him with his hair just a little too long.

“Come with me, Shoyo,” Miwa signaled, pointing toward the room she’d set up as her home salon. She did have a proper studio, much bigger than their house, but sometimes she used the home space just to spend more time near her brother. At least, that’s what Hinata guessed. She’d never admit it out loud.

“And you ,” she said, turning to Kageyama, “go get some snacks or something. Make yourself useful.”

“I am useful,” Kageyama whined.

As they walked past him, Miwa smacked his butt lightly, an amused grin on her face. “Then show us, lazy boy.”

Clearly annoyed, Kageyama rolled his eyes but dragged his feet to the kitchen.

Miwa, Suga, Daichi, and Coach Ukai were probably the only four people in the entire world who could boss Kageyama around without risking death. The idea of the King of the Court being submissive to anyone always cracked Hinata up.

As he sat in the chair Miwa had set up, he glanced at himself in the mirror. He woke up early every day to race Kageyama to school and got home late after practice. The rest of his free time was split between cramming schoolwork and squeezing in extra training sessions.

Appearance? Not on his radar.

He hadn’t even realized how long his hair had gotten until Miwa pointed it out. Now, seeing it in the mirror, he realized it fell almost to the middle of his neck, and his bangs were covering most of his forehead.

“Miwa, could you just cut the ends?” he asked suddenly.

“Huh?” Miwa straightened up from rummaging through her supplies.

“I, uh—I think I like how it looks this long. I feel older.”

Miwa walked up behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder and meeting his eyes through the mirror. “You do look handsome, Shoyo. I just thought you wanted it short so it wouldn’t get in the way during games.”

“Kenma keeps his long. So does Asahi. They never complain. I might just give it a shot. If it gets annoying, I’ll use a headband or something.”

Miwa clapped her hands happily and patted his head. “This is the first time you’ve ever asked for something specific. I might die of joy.”

A few minutes later, Kageyama entered the room with two bowls of popcorn and sat in the chair next to them, eyes on his phone.

“Popcorn? That took you so long?” asked Hinata, side-eyeing the bowl as Miwa worked through his hair.

“I burned the first bag. Then had to look up how long you actually leave it in the microwave.”

“Everybody knows how long to microwave popcorn, Crappyama.”

“Well, I didn’t. So what? I still make better popcorn than you.”

“You’ve never even tried mine.”

“Don’t have to. If you made it, it’s already worse than mine.”

Hinata was about to whip his head around and yell when Miwa’s firm hand caught him in place.

“There, there, Shoyo. If you move, I might cut your ear.”

“…Why does that sound more like a threat than a warning?”

“I could never,” Miwa said sweetly.

The thing about Kageyama's smiles... no matter how good the intention, they always came out intimidating. Family trait.

Hinata sighed and closed his eyes, settling into the feeling of her hands in his hair.

“Hey, I-can’t-make-popcorn-yama, give me some.”

“You’re getting a little too creative with the nicknames, moron.” Kageyama looked up from his phone. “Stretch out your hand.”

“Sorry, can’t do. I’ve been asked not to move, you see.”

“Well, then you’re not having popcorn.”

“You could feed me, you know.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them. Damn you, mouth, Hinata thought.

He felt Kageyama stiffen next to him. He had never been so grateful that his eyes were shut.

He was about to laugh it off when a quiet voice replied near his ear.

“Open your mouth, Scrub.”

Hinata opened his eyes and stared into the mirror, too scared to look at Kageyama directly.

There he was: standing right beside him, holding a piece of popcorn out. For a moment, Hinata could’ve sworn he saw a flash of crimson on Kageyama’s cheeks.

“Well?” Kageyama muttered. He sounded strained. Embarrassed. Miwa was clearly trying not to laugh behind them.

“I don’t have all day, Moron.”

If Hinata backed down now, it’d be obvious. So, mustering all the courage he had, he slowly parted his lips and looked away as Kageyama’s hand neared his face.

He knew—he knew —how stupid he must look.

The soft texture of the popcorn brushed his lips, and for just a second, Kageyama’s fingers grazed his upper lip. Hinata almost jumped out of his seat. A chill shot down his spine.

Kageyama cleared his throat and sat back down, silent.

Miwa searched for something to say to ease the tension, but the smile twitching at her lips nearly gave her away.

“I hope your hands were clean,” Hinata blurted, voice tight.

Kageyama rolled his eyes. “Who do you take me for? Tanaka?”

Before turning back to the mirror, Hinata caught his reflection just barely smiling, then quickly covering it with his hand.

A few minutes later, Miwa stretched and admired her work.

She’d only trimmed the ends, just as he asked, but she’d given it some volume too. Keeping it long made it fall straighter into his face, and somehow, he looked... older.

“Perfect,” she said under her breath. She spun his chair toward Tobio with a proud grin. “What do you think?”

Kageyama looked up from his phone, stared for a moment, then shrugged. “Still annoyingly orange, but a bit less ugly than before, I guess.”

“That means you look handsome, Shoyo.”

“I never said that,” Kageyama cut in, louder than necessary.

“I like it. Do you?”

Hinata smiled at the mirror. “It looks amazing. Thank you, Miwa.”

“See, Tobio? When are you going to let me do your hair?”

“I’d have to be at rock bottom before I let you touch my hair.”

“You’re such a rude boy,” Miwa pouted, pressing a hand to her cheek. “Too spoiled for my health.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kageyama muttered. “You ready, moron? Let’s head out.”

Hinata grabbed his sports bag from the floor and swung it over his shoulder, about to leave—

“Wait!” Miwa stopped them. “You haven’t eaten anything yet.”

“But we have to practice—”

“No. You don’t have to practice. You’ve practiced every day this week. And last week. And the week before that.”

Miwa Kageyama was relaxed and funny—unlike her little brother, she was easygoing, a people person. A natural charm she had perfected through years as a hairstylist.

But the few times Hinata had seen Miwa mad , he’d wanted to hide under a table.

He could handle Kageyama’s yelling. Honestly, he was probably the only person who could. But Miwa’s temper? Even Kageyama didn’t talk back.

Women were terrifying.

“No one’s going anywhere on an empty stomach. Not on my watch,” she said with that trademark Kageyama death-smile. “You can practice after breakfast.”

The boys exchanged wide-eyed glances. Kageyama gave a tiny nod, as if to say, Don’t argue. Just obey.

Hinata gulped and followed her into the kitchen.

As Miwa hummed and prepped ingredients, she glanced out the window. “Looks like it’s going to be cold today.”

While she cooked, singing under her breath, Kageyama and Hinata sat at the table, chatting.

Hinata thought about how much they’d both changed in just a few months. In their first year, they’d spent all their time together but only talked about volleyball. It wasn’t until the middle of their second year that they’d started opening up, little by little, about other things.

Now, in their third year, they could talk about anything. No filters. No awkwardness.

Miwa saw it too.

She had never seen Tobio so relaxed around someone. So unguarded. She was grateful.

There had been a time, before he entered Karasuno, when Tobio barely spoke to anyone. After losing their grandfather—their only real father figure—and being rejected by his dream school, he’d shut himself off from the world.

She did everything she could to be there for him. But she was working constantly, from early morning to late at night, just to keep them afloat. She’d felt so guilty for not being there more.

And then suddenly, things had started to change.

Chapter 7: Chapter VI

A little past the beginning of his first year in high school, Tobio began to come out of his room a little more. His face seemed more relaxed compared to the tense and frightening expression he used to wear, no matter the situation. One day, he even asked Miwa to let him work at the salon on weekends to save up some money. She later realized he had saved just enough to buy himself a good cell phone.

By the end of his first year, he was starting to smile a little more. From time to time, Miwa would catch a glimpse of orange hair waving goodbye to her little brother.

By the beginning of second year, she was accidentally introduced to the little orange-haired boy. She had decided to close the salon early due to a strong headache caused by overworking the past few weeks.

Of course, she hadn’t informed Tobio she was coming home early. She didn’t think he’d care, he probably wasn’t even home.

But as she took off her shoes at the entrance, she noticed a new pair sitting there, far too small to belong to Tobio. Just as the realization hit her, she heard a strong, sweet laugh echoing from upstairs, followed by her little brother’s irritated voice.

“I thought you said you were good at video games, Loseryama. You owe me a soda.”

“Shut up! Kenma’s been teaching you how to cheat—this doesn’t count.”

“Well, I just kicked your butt, so I think that pretty much counts.”

“I’m gonna kick you out of my house if you keep cheating, dumbass. I’m not buying you a fucking soda.”

“The King of the Court can’t even follow his own rules, huh? You said the loser has to buy the winner whatever they want!”

Not even a couple of minutes later, as she made her way into her room as quietly as possible, she froze in place.

She heard it.

It was a laugh she thought she’d never hear again. A genuine laugh from a lonely boy who had finally found someone he could be completely comfortable with. It felt real. It was carefree. Unbothered by the world around him.

A lump formed in her throat. She had to fight back the urge to cry.

She gave the boys a few minutes before knocking on the door twice. The voices inside went quiet, and a few steps padded toward the door.

It opened to reveal a messy-haired Tobio, still in his uniform, looking confused.

“Miwa?”

“Hey, kid. I closed up the salon early today. Want me to cook dinner?”

As she spoke, the same orange hair she’d seen waving goodbye appeared behind her brother. The boy had to pull his head to the side a little to be seen, standing a head and a half shorter than Tobio.

“Hello,” he said, bowing politely. “My name is Hinata Shoyo. I’m Kageyama’s spiker.”

Miwa had to hold back a laugh. She wasn’t sure what was funnier: the stark contrast between the two boys, both in personality and appearance, Tobio’s confused, embarrassed face, or Hinata’s awkwardly formal, yet strange, introduction.

“Hello, Hinata. I’m Kageyama Miwa, Tobio’s hot older sister.”

Both boys turned bright red, one from embarrassment, the other from surprise.

“Miwa!” Tobio exclaimed, hiding his face in his hands.

“What? I’m only stating the obvious, Tobio,” she said, patting him on the head. “Hinata, are you staying for dinner?”

“Uh… I was, uh—I was just about to leave, actually,” Shoyo stammered, side-eyeing Tobio.

“Oh, don’t be like that, kid. I’m inviting you to stay. Wouldn’t it be rude to reject a poor woman like me?”

Hinata looked to Tobio for guidance. She couldn’t help but smile. When her brother noticed this, he looked away to avoid meeting his friend’s gaze.

“Do whatever you want, dumbass.”

Shoyo smiled brightly, his eyes closed. He has a cute smile, Miwa thought. Makes you want to hug him.

“I’m staying, then! Thank you very much!”

Miwa shook her head, as if shaking off the memory, coming back to the present.

Today, Hinata wore that same smile she saw back then. And from time to time, she could still catch a glimpse of that happiness in her brother’s eyes.

“Do you think it’ll rain today?” she asked, setting the fried eggs over rice with furikake on the table.

“It’d be unfortunate if it did,” Tobio replied, reaching for his chopsticks.

“‘Unfortunate’? Since when do you speak with such fancy words, Tobio?”

“Shut up…” He went red, burying his face in his bowl.

“Thank you for the food,” said Hinata, picking up his own. “Kageyama’s been taking extra Japanese classes with Yachi.”

“Don’t snitch, moron!”

“Tobio? Taking extra lessons? Is the world ending or something?”

“Coach Ukai said if he doesn’t improve his English and Japanese, he’s earning a permanent seat on the bench.”

“Don’t snitch, Hinata!” Tobio barked again, poking him with his chopsticks. “It’s not like you’re not taking them with me.”

Hinata looked down at his plate, unable to meet anyone’s eyes, but he still managed to mutter back, annoyed, “I don’t like the extra classes, though. They take time away from volleyball.”

Tobio nodded solemnly. Miwa smiled.

They really had grown up, physically and emotionally, but one thing would never change between them: time on the court, with a ball and a net, was sacred. Nothing, and no one, could ever come between them and volleyball.

Miwa opened her mouth to reply, but just then the soft sound of raindrops started to tap against the windows.

Both boys’ eyes widened as they looked at each other.

“Well,” Miwa said, glancing toward the sound, “that’s unfortunate timing. Looks like you’ll have to skip extra practice today.”

“We can still go. It’s not even raining that hard,” Hinata said, quickly finishing his food and standing up.

But as soon as he spoke, the rain outside intensified, coming down faster and heavier. Miwa walked to the nearest window, pulling back the curtain.

She cringed at the view. The downpour was intense. The wind had picked up, too, tossing around her potted plants and even blowing over a neighbor’s lawn chairs.

“Sorry, kids. I can’t let you go out in this weather,” she sighed. “I’m just glad you didn’t leave earlier. You’d have gotten caught in it.”

Both boys looked like they were trying to come up with excuses, but gave up before speaking. Common sense won. They slumped back down in their chairs, defeated.

“Hey, cheer up, kiddos. You can watch movies until the rain lets up. If you’re lucky, it might clear up enough to practice later.”

That seemed to cheer them up a little. Miwa gave a small smile. There was no way the storm would clear up anytime soon. She knew it. But she didn’t want to see them moping.

Hinata placed a hand on Tobio’s shoulder and leaned in. “Should we start the romance thingy?” he whispered.

Of course, Miwa heard them. She subtly turned to look, expecting an annoyed glare from her brother. To her surprise, he looked... thoughtful.

What in the— she thought, quickly turning back to her food to hide her expression.

“The one Yachi mentioned the other day?” Kageyama asked.

“Yeah.”

“Okay. We can do that.”

“Alright.”

Tobio cleared his throat and sat up straight. “We’re going to watch some movies, then. Thank you for the food, Miwa.”

“What are you watching? Maybe I’ll join you,” she said casually, eyes still on her bowl as she played with the last of her rice.

“Uh—we’re going to, ah—”

“We’re gonna watch a gore anime Noya recommended,” Hinata cut in quickly. “It’s got blood and flying body parts, and, uh—I kinda wanted to talk with Kageyama about some personal stuff. So maybe another day?”

“You break my heart,” Miwa said with a smile. “But that’s alright. You’re lucky I’ve got some accounting work from the salon to finish.”

Both boys smiled at her, awkwardly.

They gathered their dishes. While Hinata washed them, Kageyama grabbed water bottles and snacks from the counter.

“All right, then. See you,” Hinata waved.

Once inside Kageyama’s room, Hinata flopped onto the bed and grabbed a pillow. Kageyama tossed a water bottle at him, picked up the remote, and turned on the TV.

“What was the name again?”

“My sister’s obsessed with it. She’s got posters all over her wall. I think it was something like... Given .”

Chapter 8: Chapter VII

They made it through two, maybe three, episodes before silently giving up.

Hinata yawned. Kageyama reached for the remote.

The anime wasn’t bad, exactly. Just… slow. The pacing felt weird. And the characters, one brooding, dark-haired, serious; the other loud, bright, and small, looked a little too familiar.

They didn’t talk about it. But halfway through the second episode, Hinata noticed Kageyama stealing a glance at him. When their eyes almost met, he turned away fast.

After that, they both shifted slightly farther apart on the bed.

It wasn’t tense, exactly. Just… charged. A little harder to ignore what the show was hinting at. A little harder to ignore what was already sitting between them.

Kageyama cleared his throat. “Wanna switch to something else?”

“Yeah,” Hinata replied, a little too fast.

“What?”

“Star Wars?”

“Which one?”

“Start from the beginning.”

“…The real beginning or timeline beginning?”

Hinata groaned. “Don’t make it weird. Just pick something.”

They settled on A New Hope .

It was easier to breathe with something familiar playing in front of them. The screen lit up with blasters and droids and Leia’s sarcasm. The room steadied.

But about fifteen minutes in, their arms brushed. Just lightly.

Hinata didn’t move.

Neither did Kageyama.

Kageyama’s hand stayed there, palm down, resting on the blanket between them. Relaxed. Still.

Hinata’s fingers twitched.

Then, without fully thinking, he let his pinky drift close enough to brush Kageyama’s knuckle.

Still, no reaction.

And then, slowly, subtly, Kageyama turned his hand palm-up.

Open.

He didn’t look away from the screen. He didn’t say anything. He just left it there. Waiting.

Hinata stared at it. His chest felt too tight. He could feel his pulse in his throat.

No one moved for a few seconds.

Then, carefully, Hinata let his fingers drift until they just barely touched.

Not held. Not laced. Just... touched.

It was enough.

Maybe skipping practice was not so bad after all.

Hinata had known for a while now.

Maybe longer than he’d ever admitted.

He thought about Kageyama more than he meant to. Not just on the court. Not just as a rival or teammate or best friend. He found himself wondering what it would be like to do simple things together, go shopping, cook dinner, fall asleep side by side. Normal, quiet things.

That idea had scared him at first. Then it got louder. Brighter. Softer.

He was used to feeling competitive around Kageyama. Used to pushing him, chasing him. But this, this gentler kind of wanting, felt new. Unfamiliar.

He blamed his sister, and Yachi, and their dumb conversations about love and “perfect first kisses.”

Still, Hinata had figured it out.

On the other hand, Kageyama had a harder time accepting the entire thing. 

No surprise there.

Chapter 9: Chapter VIII

Kageyama had a hard time reading not only other people’s feelings but also, and most of all, his own.

It was only after a conversation with Yamaguchi at the beginning of their third year that Kageyama realized his feelings toward his best friend might not be purely friendship anymore.

Yamaguchi had asked him to come along to buy snacks for the team as a reward for their training efforts that month. Kageyama found that a little odd. Usually, it was Tsukishima who went with Yamaguchi for these errands. Still, he said yes. He wanted to buy some cookies.

It wasn’t until they were walking to the convenience store, safely out of earshot from the others, that Yamaguchi admitted he’d specifically asked Kageyama instead of Tsukki because he needed to get something off his chest, and couldn’t deal with nonstop advice or questions. Kageyama was the perfect subject for that.

“No offense,” Yamaguchi added. “I mean that in a good way.”

Kageyama didn’t mind. In fact, he hated the pressure of being expected to give advice, unless it was about volleyball. He didn’t know what to say most of the time. But he did like listening, strange as that might seem. He often felt like people just needed to say things out loud more than they needed an answer. Besides, he was used to Hinata talking nonstop. He actually found it comforting.

Turns out, Yamaguchi had kissed Tsukki the day before, in the heat of the moment, and had been panicking ever since. He’d run away before even seeing Tsukki’s face, avoided him the entire next day in class and at practice (which wasn’t hard, since Tsukki had mostly been with the first-years or Coach Ukai).

Kageyama had been surprised, not because of the kiss, but because Yamaguchi had made the first move.

He’d known something was going on between them. Hinata had asked him about it back in first year, and now it made sense. Yamaguchi was the only one who could talk back to Tsukki without risking decapitation.

“Can I ask you one thing?” Kageyama said.

“Yeah, whatever,” Yamaguchi muttered, avoiding eye contact.

“What was the real reason you kissed him?”

Yamaguchi’s face went completely red. “That’s your question?”

Kageyama tilted his head, confused. “Yeah? Why?”

“I don’t know. I thought you’d say something about me kissing a guy.”

“Dude, almost everyone we know is dating another guy.” 

“Alright, alright, I get it, okay,” Yamaguchi said, shoulders visibly relaxing. “I guess it’s pretty normal by now, huh?” He paused. “Well. I don’t know why I did it.”

Instead of answering, Kageyama turned and walked toward the sweets aisle. Yamaguchi grabbed a few snack bags without much thought. When Kageyama returned with two packs of cookies and a bottle of milk, Yamaguchi spoke again, without hesitation this time.

“I did it because I think I like him.”

Kageyama nodded silently, encouraging him to keep going.

“I don’t know. I mean, I do know—because I can’t keep ignoring the way my heart does whatever the fuck it wants when I’m with him. But I don’t know if it’s okay for me to like him.”

They reached the counter and pulled out their wallets. Yamaguchi kept rambling while Kageyama listened quietly.

“He’s my best friend. He’s the only person I can completely be myself with. And I know he feels comfortable around me, too. Tsukki, he’s... he’s helped me become a better person, somehow. A lot of my confidence now? I think it’s partly because of him.”

Yeah, that’s what best friends do, Kageyama thought. That’s how I feel about Hinata, too.

“We’re together all the time. I actually look forward to the weekends just to meet up with him—either at his place or mine.”

That’s normal. That’s what Hinata and I do too.

“I feel really lonely when he’s not around. I get jealous when he gets close to other people. I like the way he does his hair. The height difference. The way he dresses... or, whatever.”

I mean... that’s still kind of normal, right? Kageyama asked himself.

“My heart races whenever we touch, and I keep looking for ways to make it happen again. I touch his hair or his hands, sometimes even his face without thinking. It just... feels comforting.”

Kageyama’s face was burning.

Yamaguchi didn’t notice, too wrapped up in his own anxiety.

“And, well, whenever I looked at his lips, I always wondered how he kissed. Until yesterday, that I, uh… found out.”

He nearly choked getting those last words out. His hands were shaking.

Kageyama, on the other hand, almost tripped and ate shit as his legs suddenly turned to jelly.

“Sorry—a rock,” he mumbled quickly, turning away so Yamaguchi couldn’t see his face.

They were nearly at the gym when Yamaguchi turned to him.

“I like him. I’m sure now. Friends aren’t supposed to feel like this. I don’t think I would’ve admitted it if I hadn’t said it out loud. Thanks, Kageyama. You’re a genius. I’m gonna do something about it today.”

He patted Kageyama’s shoulder and walked in, calling everyone over for snacks.

Kageyama didn’t follow.

He stayed outside.

Eyes wide. Breathing shallow.

Wait . Wait.

It was weird to think about kissing your best friend, right?

He always told himself he only thought about it from a competitive point of view: who kissed better, him or Hinata? Purely hypothetical. Just curiosity.

But it wasn’t really that he wanted to know if Hinata kissed better than him. He wanted to know what it would feel like if Hinata kissed him.

Every word Yamaguchi had said… mirrored exactly how Kageyama felt about his best friend.

Looking forward to being with him. Feeling empty when he wasn’t around. Jealous of other people getting his attention.

Liking his height. His hair. His dumb clothes. His stupid smile.

Wanting to touch him.

Shit.

Shitshitshit.

It couldn’t be. It shouldn’t be.

When had it even started? Why? Why Hinata , of all people?

Before he could finish processing anything, he heard a voice from inside the gym. “Hey, didn’t Kageyama come back with you?”

It was Hinata.

Kageyama’s stomach did a full Olympic-level backflip.

Maybe he should switch sports. It wasn’t too late. Maybe move to the mountains. Change his name. Shave his head. Grow a mustache. Call Miwa once in a while. Raise goats. Train monkeys to drive cars. Something.

Yes. That sounded reasonable.

“Uh? Yeah, he stayed outside. Maybe he got a call or something.”

“Oh, thanks. I’ll go check.”

No.

No.

There was no way he could face Hinata right now—not after realizing that . He dropped the cookies and the bottle of milk on the entrance steps and ran.

Almost tripped again at the exact same spot.

He ran all the way home.

The air slapped his face. The sky was streaked in pink and orange as the sun began to dip. His heart pounded hard, his legs moved on autopilot—and all he could see in his mind was Hinata’s smile.

He recognized this feeling.

He’d felt it so many times on the court before the start of a match. That electric rush. That surge of adrenaline. That deep, exhilarating anticipation.

By the time he reached the front door, he was breathless. 

His face flushed crimson.

 

The thought of Hinata made him feel the same way he felt on the court.

Chapter 10: Chapter IX

(2018 - Miyagi Prefecture, Japan)

If Hinata learned something during his flight back home, it was that over twenty-six hours of traveling really does something to your back. He also learned that dead chickens are thrown into plane jets during safety tests, courtesy of a string of random YouTube videos. Poor chickens.

Oh, and he also discovered that he was frightened to his core and no longer wanted to fix things with Kageyama right away. Because seriously, what the hell are you even supposed to say in that kind of situation?

Maybe he’d just give it a couple of weeks. Or a month. Maybe two. Long enough to feel like home again. Yeah. That sounded about right.

He could feel Oikawa sitting next to him, equally tense. Or maybe not tense... anxious, and eager at the same time. What a strange man. But Hinata admired him. After being broken up with, Oikawa had written out entire lists of what he wanted to say to Iwaizumi when they eventually met again. He’d drafted fake conversations and forced Shoyo to roleplay as Iwaizumi just to rehearse them. And now, on the flight, he’d taken a sleeping pill to try not to overthink.

Hinata had done none of that.

Well, he had daydreamed. A lot. About how Kageyama might look now. About what he’d say to him once they’d reconciled.

He was frustrated with himself. How could he be brave enough to move to another continent by himself, face down any player on the court regardless of height or strength, and yet not brave enough to apologize to someone he loved?

Fuck, he thought. Carrying a heart around is no easy business.

As they finally arrived at Tokyo’s airport, collected their luggage, and got through customs, all of Hinata’s worries vanished the moment he saw his mother and sister.

Natsu sprinted at full speed and jumped into his arms, making him drop everything he was holding. Their mother joined them a second later, wrapping both children into a tight embrace.

Tears stung his eyes as he heard their soft, happy sobs against his shoulder. God, how much he had missed this.

“My little Shoyo!” his mom exclaimed, cupping his face. “I can’t believe how much you’ve grown.”

It was a heartwarming scene: a mother holding her son’s face, a little sister clinging to his arm. A few minutes later, once they’d exchanged tears and affectionate words, Hinata heard someone clear their throat behind his mom.

He looked up.

The sight of his chosen family standing nearby, all smiling at him, broke what little control he had left. The former Karasuno members stood there, holding a large black poster that read "Shorty Number One" , embarrassment written across their faces.

“It was Baldy’s idea,” mumbled Tsukki, looking off to the side and nodding toward Tanaka.

“Cute, ain’t it?” Tanaka smirked proudly.

Hinata’s eyes scanned the faces of his friends. They’d changed. More mature, more serious. Some of them were even taller than he remembered. They were eyeing him just as shamelessly.

“You look so much bigger than in your Instagram pictures, Hinata!” said Daichi, stepping forward to hug him.

“You don’t mind that I spilled the tea about your return, do you?” laughed Suga, already folding up the sign so the others could join in the hug. “I don’t care if you do, honestly. We missed you, kid.”

“Speak for yourselves. I was dragged into this,” Tsukki grumbled, earning a poke in the ribs from Yamaguchi.

Among them, Tadashi had changed the most. His hair, now long enough to be tied into a bun, revealed multiple ear piercings. His clothes were relaxed but stylish, his posture confident. Hinata felt a flash of pride.

“Hey, Hinata, you idiot—why don’t you ever respond to my messages?”

Despite his tougher appearance, his smile was as warm as ever.

Nishinoya, now taller and with a shorter hairstyle, launched himself into a hug. “Shoyo! My man!” Tanaka and Asahi weren’t far behind, tackling him with joy. Hinata’s tears kept coming, heart swelling with gratitude. He was home.

“Kiyoko really wanted to come,” said Tanaka, “but the store was busy and she couldn’t leave early like she planned. I think Yachi was caught up with something too—at least that’s what she told my wife. ”

The smug grin on his face said it all. Tanaka had clearly been waiting all day for the opportunity to use the phrase my wife in front of everyone.

“I can’t believe you actually married Kiyoko,” Suga said, shaking his head.

“What? Jealous I got the prettiest girl in Japan?”

“I’m not that into girls, idiot. You know that.”

Hinata laughed heartily. Just for a moment, everything felt light. He wasn’t worried about when or how to talk to Kageyama. He was just here, surrounded by people who loved him, smiling without holding back.

Even Tsukishima, who usually grumbled through everything, seemed genuinely happy. He even asked questions about Hinata’s trip.

After a little more teasing and catching up, someone finally noticed Hinata’s tired eyes, and they all agreed it was time to head out.

Suga and Daichi insisted on helping with Hinata’s luggage so he could walk with his mom and sister. They wouldn’t stop asking about where he’d stayed, who his coaches were, and how training in Brazil had been, even though they already knew most of it. It didn’t matter. They were just happy to hear it from him in person.

After chatting with the guys a while longer outside the airport, Daichi hugged him again.

“We’ll let you rest. We just wanted to give you a proper welcome home.”

Each of them either hugged, patted, or ruffled his hair before heading off.

“Thank you for coming, guys!” Hinata waved as they left.

“Don’t look so happy about them leaving,” Suga said, stepping up beside him. “They’ll be back tomorrow for drinks at my place.”

As his mom and sister got into Suga’s car, Hinata helped load the luggage into the trunk. He waited until Natsu shut her door before leaning toward his friend.

“Uh, Suga… about earlier, on the phone…”

“You want to know about Kageyama, don’t you?”

Hinata nodded slowly.

Suga’s face turned serious. “Well, maybe you already knew, but he’s just been recruited to the Schweiden Adlers. He’s living in Higashiōsaka now. You don’t have to worry about bumping into him.”

Hinata hadn’t known.

His stomach twisted.

The last thing he’d heard was that Kageyama had made Japan’s official team and that he was going to the Olympics. That had been just a month after Hinata left for Brazil. He only found out through Instagram.

He’d blocked Kageyama after that.

There was a lot he didn’t know about him now.

He shook his head. He was home. With his family. His friends. He would let himself be happy, just for now.

He’d worry about Kageyama later.

Chapter 11: Chapter X

Suga had offered to drive Hinata’s mom and sister from the airport and take them back home. Turns out, he had gained quite the popularity among the mothers in Miyagi Prefecture after becoming one of the most beloved elementary school teachers around, even with women who didn’t have kids in school. Including his own mother.

Hinata laughed to himself at the thought of Suga teaching small children. Back in the day, Suga had acted like a protective older brother within the team, earning everyone’s trust and affection was just something that came naturally to him. It was as easy as breathing.

That said, he had also been a troublemaker. He used to joke around during class, pull pranks during practice, and somehow convince others to join him in mischief. He’d even been the one to give Hinata his first drink.

But he really was good with kids. You could tell by the way he talked to Natsu, how he made an effort to include her and their mother in the conversation, even while mostly talking to Hinata.

“Honestly, Hinata,” Suga said, “when you wouldn’t talk to your mom for days, I felt obligated to pretend to be her son so she wouldn’t feel lonely. I think she might love me more than you now. Isn’t that right, Auntie?”

“That wouldn’t be hard,” Hinata replied. “She’s always favored Natsu over me.”

“That is not true!” Natsu exclaimed, clearly embarrassed.

“Well,” their mother added, “Natsu has given me far less trouble than you have, Shoyo. When you wouldn’t reply, I imagined all sorts of awful things happening to you!”

“I’m sorry, Mom. It was hard to keep track of the different time zones.”

“I know, kid. You looked like you had a good time, though. How’s Oikawa doing, by the way?”

“Oikawa?” Suga raised an eyebrow. “I knew he was in Brazil, too, but I didn’t know you guys were close.”

Hinata tried to suppress a smile. If only he knew how close they had gotten. He wouldn’t believe it.

“Well, yeah,” Hinata shrugged. “When I felt homesick, it was nice having him around. Turns out he’s not as arrogant as I thought. He’s actually a really good friend.”

“Oikawa, not arrogant? You must be really close, then.”

“I think so, yeah.”

“He’s such a charming young man!” his mother chimed in from the backseat. “Very handsome, too.”

Hinata caught her face in the rearview mirror. She was smiling, one brow arched.

“Just what are you suggesting, Mom?”

“Oh, nothing at all, Shoyo. I just can’t believe you stayed single the entire time.”

“Mom. Natsu is listening.”

Both his mother and sister knew he wasn’t into girls. They’d known since his second year of high school, when he had a breakdown after realizing he had a crush on Kageyama. He cried constantly, terrified of how his mom might react. Would she reject him? Be ashamed? Kick him out?

He cried every time he saw her, guilt crawling inside of him like poison. Everything she did for him felt like charity he didn’t deserve. He felt like a fraud in his own home.

She noticed. One day, she sat him down and asked what was wrong.

Out of sheer panic, Shoyo confessed everything.

She’d looked surprised at first. Then she hugged him tightly. She didn’t really say a word, but she didn’t have to. His mother’s embrace was more than enough.

Their house was small. The walls were thin. Of course, Natsu heard. She’d been too young to understand what the fuss was about, though.

To her, there was nothing strange about it. Her brother liking a boy? So what?

She knew love meant you cared about someone, wanted to hold hands with them forever. She loved her mom. She loved her brother. She loved her best friend so much she wanted to marry her. That was love.

Since then, their mom had gone above and beyond to show she supported Shoyo. She listened to queer podcasts. Introduced him to openly queer people. She even invited Kageyama over to stay for days at a time, just to show she was okay with everything.

Sometimes it felt like a lot , but Hinata was mostly just grateful.

“I want to know who you’re dating, Shoyo!” Natsu suddenly said.

“I’m not dating anyone, Natsu. I’m focusing on my career.”

“Those are just dumb excuses.”

“What do you mean? Work is work. Besides, nobody’s interested in me anyway.”

“Kageyama is.”

Suga nearly swerved the car. Hinata froze in his seat, his hands tightening on his lap.

He turned to stare at Natsu. His mom looked just as stunned.

“What did you just say?” he asked.

“I said Kageyama is still interested in you.”

“And how would you know that?”

“Because he’s been picking me up from school for a while. He always asks about you.”

“What? Why would he pick you up from school?”

“A girl got kidnapped recently on her way home. Our teacher said we had to go home with someone. We bumped into Kageyama at the store, and he overheard us talking about it. Since Mom couldn’t come, and none of my friends live near me, he offered. He said he jogs past the school every day anyway.”

Hinata sat in stunned silence.

Even after everything. Even after being blocked, ignored, left behind—Kageyama had still looked after his family.

Natsu kept going. “Even after the guy was caught, he kept walking me home and asking about my day. He only stopped when he had to leave for Higashiōsaka.”

Hinata turned forward again, eyes fixed on the road. A blur of emotions tore through him. Was he upset they hadn’t told him? Relieved that Kageyama still cared? Jealous that Natsu now knew more about Tobio than he did?

Yes. All of the above.

After a long silence, he managed to form the question.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You never asked.”

His heart sank.

It was true.

He’d shut Kageyama out completely. Blocked his social media. Avoided his name in the news. Forbid himself from even thinking about him. He hadn’t even texted Miwa.

For a moment, Hinata hated him. Hated how good he had been. How he hadn’t disappeared. How he’d stayed connected to Hinata’s family, asked about his life, cared.

He hated that Tobio had done everything right.

He hated him for being kind.

Because now, more than ever, he wanted to throw himself into his arms and cry for forgiveness. To apologize. To finally confess. Even a wordless hug would be enough.

The rest of the ride was filled with light gossip from his mom. Suga chimed in with updates about friends, work, and who ended up dating whom. They kept him distracted, but not entirely calm.

When they arrived at his house and his mom and sister got out, Hinata stayed behind and turned to Suga.

“Why do you think he did it?” he asked.

Suga didn’t need clarification. He smiled, soft and understanding, and placed a hand on Hinata’s shoulder.

“It was the only way he could stay close to you.”

Hinata nodded.

His heart was a battlefield. Emotions clashed and spiraled, but one thing finally felt clear: he had to make things right.

If Kageyama were still in Miyagi, he might’ve run straight to his house. Might’ve cried into his shirt and never let go, no matter how long forgiveness took. Days, weeks, years.

Suga glanced at him. “I was going to tell you not to drown in your regrets, but... I think you’ve already decided what to do.”

“I have,” Hinata said quietly. “Thank you, Suga. For everything. I don’t know how to repay you.”

“No need, kid. Honestly, I’m just enjoying the drama. That’s more than enough.”

Hinata laughed. Even though he still felt overwhelmed, something inside him had shifted.

For the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to be happy.

He was home.

 

Chapter 12: Chapter XI

The moment he entered his house, Hinata nearly melted into the floor. He was not only incredibly jet-lagged from the long trip, but also overwhelmed with excitement at finally stepping back into the home where he’d been raised. The fresh air and familiar scent, one he could never quite describe, made his chest shrink with happiness.

He spent the rest of the day lounging on their small couch with his mom and sister. They didn’t let him cook, even though Hinata had been eager to show off the culinary skills he’d picked up in Brazil. If he hadn’t learned, he would’ve survived on nothing but pizza and sandwiches, which, while not awful, weren’t exactly nutritious.

After lunch, Hinata invaded Natsu’s room to catch up on her life: school, friends, volleyball practice. He’d heard bits and pieces over the phone, but it was different talking in person, without having to worry about time zones or spotty internet.

He just enjoyed hearing his mother's and sister's voices up close again. Natsu talked for hours, and Hinata let her. He only chimed in now and then when she asked his opinion.

He realized how much she’d grown.

She was nearly fifteen now. The last time he saw her in person, she was just shy of thirteen. She was taller, slimmer, her hair longer and a little darker. Her face had matured, her delicate features were now sharper.

He blinked.

“Natsu, do you happen to like someone?”

Her expression changed immediately. She’d looked carefree as she chatted about school and volleyball, but now she flushed deep red, eyes wide.

“What? Did you hear anything?”

“‘Hear anything?’” Hinata, lying on his back, rolled over onto his stomach and propped himself up on his elbows. “What would I have heard? Don’t tell me you’re dating someone.”

“I—” She looked like she was scrambling for a way out. “No, it’s not like that.”

“Then why are you blushing?”

“It’s just that... I... Mom doesn’t know about this. And I don’t want her to know either.”

“And who does know?”

“A couple of friends... and, uh, Kageyama.”

“Kageyama knows ?”

“Yes…”

His chest tightened.

“First of all, who is the person in question?”

“...Oikawa Takeru.”

“Oika—?!” Hinata’s voice shot up before Natsu hurled herself at him, covering his mouth with both hands.

“Don’t shout his name, Shoyo! I said I didn’t want Mom to know!”

“But he’s, like... older than you, isn’t he?”

“For like a year and a half! Barely!”

“Is that why you don’t want Mom to know?”

“Yes…” Her face was bright red now, breathing fast.

“And how do you even know him? You go to different schools.”

“We’ve met a few times at volleyball tournaments.”

He had mixed feelings. He was excited for her, of course, it was her first crush, but the protective big brother jealousy was kicking in hard.

“I’m glad you’re starting to have crushes, Natsu, but be careful, okay? You’re still a kid.”

“He is too!”

“Yeah, but guys his age are probably thinking about... other stuff. Just promise me you’ll be careful. And if anything happens, tell me , please.”

Natsu finally met his eyes. He hadn’t exactly given his blessing, but he hadn’t told her to cut contact either. She relaxed, visibly.

“Okay. I promise.”

Hinata opened his arms, and she crawled into his hug without hesitation.

“I just want you to be safe, kid. I’ll always be here for you.”

Hinata noticed, with some relief, that even though she’d grown taller, she still fit snugly in his arms. He held her tighter. He was older now, stronger. He could take care of his little sister.

“I’m glad you’re back, Shoyo. I missed you.”

“I missed you too, kid.”

They stayed like that, wrapped around each other in quiet comfort, until Natsu suddenly gasped.

Hinata pulled back, hands still on her shoulders. “What? What’s wrong?”

“I totally forgot to tell you! Coach Michimiya asked if you could visit us tomorrow before practice—to talk to the girls and share your story.”

“Me? Why me ?”

“You’re kind of a celebrity now, Shoyo. They all admire you. I admire you.”

Her words hit him like a volleyball straight to the chest. He remembered watching the Small Giant on TV before he’d joined Karasuno. He remembered the awe, the admiration, the way he’d seen himself in that soaring figure, the dream of flight, of height, of victory.

And now, somehow, he’d become that figure for someone else. For many others. It made his heart swell.

“Of course,” he said. “I wouldn’t miss it for anything in the world.”

They kept chatting for about an hour before Hinata’s eyes began to droop. Natsu noticed and proposed they watch a movie instead so he could fall asleep guilt-free.

Hinata agreed, grateful. He didn’t even make it to the opening credits before dozing off with his head on Natsu’s lap.

 

---

Again, a familiar image began to surface.

Soft pink sakura petals fell onto his face, his shoulders, his feet.

He closed his eyes, recognizing the scene. The sensation was familiar now. He knew what would happen. In a second, his hand would reach toward a falling petal.

He’d been here many times before, not just in this place, but in this dream . He looked for something different, anything that had changed.

Same road.

Same sakura tree.

Same clothes as earlier that day.

He reached for the petal, fingers almost closing around it. His ears sharpened, listening.

He knew what was coming.

The voice. That familiar voice.

He heard it. Japanese, but the words were garbled, hard to decipher. As if they were underwater.

Still, he remained there, expectant.

Usually, the moment he heard the voice, the dream ended.

Not this time.

He was still there. Still on the road. Still reaching out. The petal hung suspended. The voice continued, closer now, but he couldn’t make out the meaning. His heart sped up. What was happening?

He turned his head toward the sound.

To his right, a tall figure emerged. Slim, indistinct, step by step approaching. Closer, and yet never quite reaching him. It was as if, with every step the figure took forward, Hinata himself was being pulled back.

He looked at the petal. Still falling.

Panic swelled.

He wanted to run toward the voice. He couldn’t move. He wanted to reach further for the petal. His arm wouldn’t extend. He shut his eyes hard, willing himself to wake up.

The comfort he’d felt earlier had shifted. Something cold and unsteady had taken its place.

How do you even count time inside a dream?

He didn’t know how long he’d stood there—minutes? hours?—eyes closed, desperate to break free.

---

 

Finally, he jolted awake.

His head rested on a pillow. His heart pounded against his ribs. The light outside Natsu’s window had faded. The TV was off. Natsu was gone.

How long had he been asleep?

He tried not to think about the dream. It didn’t make sense. The familiar had changed into something strange, and he wasn’t sure what it meant. Maybe it was just the exhaustion.

A dream is just a dream, he told himself.

He stretched, muscles sore. He felt a little less tired than before. Maybe just a couple more hours and he’d be back to full energy.

Still, as tired as he was, his stomach had officially won the battle.

Judging by the darkness outside, it was probably around 8:00 PM.

Perfect time for dinner with his family.

Chapter 13: Chapter XII

He didn’t have the same dream again after dinner. At first, he had been reluctant to sleep, still unsettled by the strange shift in the dream, but in the end, fatigue won over fear. He passed out the moment he lay back in his bed.

He didn’t dream of anything. Or if he did, he didn’t remember a bit of it.

He opened his eyes to the warm sunlight washing over his face. Somehow, the warmth felt different than what he had felt in Brazil. Was that even possible? Who knows, but he felt so cozy and relaxed on his mattress, he really didn’t want to move.

I should help Mom with breakfast, he thought.

Stretching wide, he rolled onto his stomach and grabbed the phone charging beside his bed. One message from Oikawa lit up the screen.

“How’s the jet lag treating you, chibi-chan?”

He smiled and typed a quick reply.

“Still a little tired, but I can’t sleep anymore. Wby?”

He dropped the phone back on the mattress and summoned what strength he had to crawl out of bed. Yawning and stretching the whole way, he followed the sound of his mom and sister chatting in the kitchen, along with the clatter of chopsticks against plates.

“Agh, woke up too late, didn’t I?” he muttered as he walked in.

“Too late indeed. You can still set the table, though,” his mom replied without turning around, smiling wide, though.

I missed you too, Mom.

He hugged Natsu good morning before grabbing plates and chopsticks.

“At what time do I have to be at school, Natsu?”

“You’re going?” she asked, excited.

“I told you I was yesterday.”

“Yeah, but you fell asleep immediately. I thought you forgot.”

“How little do you think of me? I’m offended.”

“Just being cautious,” she shrugged. “Is 3:00 p.m. good for you?”

“Let me check with my agent if I’m free at that hour,” Hinata said, lifting his phone and pretending to dial. “Hello, Pablo? I was wondering if I have time today at…” He turned to Natsu and cupped the phone. “What time again, sweetie?”

“What are you doing, Shoyo?”

“Hush now. I’m speaking with my agent. Was it 3:00? Yeah?” He nodded gravely, still miming. Honestly, he sold it so well Natsu wondered if he’d actually had that call with an agent before.

“At 3:00 p.m. today, I’ve been asked to give a TED talk to some children at the local kindergarten—”

“Hey! Stop playing!”

Their mom laughed from the back, shaking her head while flipping eggs, and Natsu stood there with her arms crossed and a pout.

“Yes? I’m free? That’s amazing, thank you very much, Pablo. Have a great day!” He fake-hung up. “Sorry, celebrity life.”

The rest of the morning was spent doing absolutely nothing. His mom had to work, and Natsu had to go to school. Hinata didn’t mind. He liked having the house to himself.

He thought about inviting someone over, but remembered Suga had said they’d meet up for drinks that night.

I don’t even know where Suga lives now, he thought.

Checking the time, he figured Suga might be free. He dialed.

After a few rings, he was about to hang up when Suga picked up.

“Hey there, Hinata. Sorry, just getting things ready for my kids. What’s up?”

“Oh, sorry—I can call later if you’re busy.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Spill the tea. I’ve got a couple minutes before class.”

“Okay, okay. I just wanted to check if tonight’s still happening.”

“Yes! Don’t tell me you’re trying to ditch.”

“No! I just don’t know your new address.”

“Oh, right. I’ll send it to you. It’s kinda close to Karasuno, actually. The rest are sleeping over too—wanna join?”

“Sure. Sounds fun. What time should I show up?”

There was a brief pause on the line.

“Around 6:00 p.m.?”

“Perfect. See you later.”

“Take care, kid.”

As soon as they hung up, Suga’s address came through. Hinata smiled. He was way too excited to see his friends again. Sure, he’d kept in touch with some of them through texts while abroad, but nothing beat this.

Since he’d woken up late, the morning flew by. Between unpacking and random snack breaks, it was suddenly already 1:15 p.m.

Shit, he thought. Better get ready if I want to be on time.

He took a quick shower, then stood in front of his bed for thirty minutes, trying to figure out what to wear. Something respectable for a talk at Natsu’s school, but also relaxed enough for a hangout with his friends.

Damn you, Oikawa, he thought. That idiot had turned him into someone who actually cared about his outfits.

In the end, he ended up wearing something basic. Nothing fancy, but it worked for both events.

He thought about taking his bike but decided to walk instead. He wanted to see more of his hometown. The weather was nice, and he felt eager to walk the same path he used to take years ago on his way to Karasuno High School. It was around 2:12 p.m., plenty of time.

He stepped outside, and as he walked through the neighborhood, several neighbors waved and called out to him. He waved back, smiling and bowing out of habit, something he hadn’t done in a while, since Brazilians didn’t bow.

About ten minutes away from the school, he glanced at his phone.

Four missed calls from Natsu.

Shit.

He called back immediately.

She picked up on the first ring.

“Oh my god, Shoyo! I called you like four times—what were you doing?”

He couldn’t exactly say he’d been milking the attention from every person who recognized him on the street.

“I know, I’m sorry! I had my phone on silent and forgot to turn it up.”

“Don’t tell me you’re close to school.”

“Uh... I’m about seven minutes away. Why?”

“I’m so sorry. Coach Michimiya had to cancel practice. She and a couple of teammates caught the flu.”

“That sucks. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I haven’t seen them for a few days—we were getting the house ready for your arrival.”

“I’m glad you’re safe. No big deal, we’ll do it another day. Want me to pick you up?”

“Nah. I’m heading to a friend’s place. It’s Friday—you’ve got your welcome party, after all.”

“Alright then. Be careful, kid. See you tomorrow.”

He hung up, a little disappointed. He’d practiced his speech in the mirror earlier. He was pretty proud of it, actually.

Oh well, he thought. More time to perfect it and blow their minds next time.

Now what?

He checked the location Suga had sent earlier. It was close to Karasuno, and, thankfully, close to a grocery store.

It was nearly 3:00 p.m., and Suga had mentioned he got off work at 3:15. Enough time to grab snacks and sake and surprise him a little early.

He bought four bags of chips and a couple of sake bottles. It was the first time he’d bought alcohol on his own in Japan.

Talk to me about growing up, he grinned.

With bags in both hands, Hinata walked toward Suga’s house, a smug little smirk creeping up his face. He was ready to impress everyone with the alcohol tolerance he’d built in Brazil.

He felt like a kid about to drink in front of his parents for the first time.

Soon, Suga and Daichi’s house came into view. Hinata knew Suga’s family was loaded, but still, he froze as the house stood in front of him. Lot only was it very fancy-looking. It looked incredibly spacious from outside. He wondered if Daichi felt comfortable living in such a big house.

He smiled at the idea of those two picking a house style. Weird.

Crossing the little garden path, he knocked on the door. No answer.

Maybe Suga had stopped at the store after work, too.

He put the bags down and started dialing Suga’s number to let him know he didn’t need to buy snacks when the door flung open.

Hinata froze.

Literally froze.

Good thing he’d already set the bags down. He definitely would’ve dropped them otherwise. His face went hot, his entire body locked up.

Standing in the doorway was his first setter, his first best friend...

His first love.

Kageyama Tobio.

Chapter 14: Chapter XIII

(Three years ago (2015) - Miyagi Prefecture , Japan)

"Truth or dare?" 

"Uhhhhhh, dare."

"That's not fair, Yamaguchi! You always pick dare."

"Because I know what you all are dying to know."

“Then why won’t you just let us?! It’s not like it’s a surprise.”

“If you already know the answer, why do you ask, then?”

“Because we want to hear you say it.”

“Please, Yamaguchi.”

“Yeah, don’t be mean.”

The former Karasuno students, as well as the now third-years, whined and complained in an attempt to make their friend give in and choose truth . 

Tsukki, who had remained silent the entire time, watching his friends with slight amusement, turned to the new captain of the crow team. “Just tell them already, they won’t shut up unless you do it.”

Tadashi’s face lit up at Tsukki’s comment, or maybe it was just the alcohol kicking in. He was far too drunk to care which one it was. “... Alright, then, I pick truth.”

His words were met with cheering from the boys, some of them patting Yamaguchi’s leg or raising their hands with the cups filled with sake. Tanaka took the lead in this question. He lay back on his arms and pointed to him and Tsukki with his finger. “Our question is, are you two dating?”

Another wave of cheering filled the air of the room. All the boys were smiling widely, swinging back and forth. Yamaguchi laughed out loud before screaming. “Yes, we are! So what about it, motherfuckers?”

The Karasuno boys cheered once more. They had been raising their voices the entire night, it wouldn’t be surprising if they woke up the next day with sore throats and no voice. “Prove it!” Shouted Noya.

Surprisingly, as Yamaguchi began to wave off the request, embarrassed, Tsukki grabbed him by the collar and kissed him, clean and deliberate.

Stunned silence.

Then chaos.

Tanaka stood up and ran out the sliding door like he’d just witnessed divine intervention. The others whooped and shouted.

“Alright, PG-13, people!” Daichi called when neither Tsukki nor Yamaguchi pulled away.

“Message received, lovebirds,” Suga added.

To their surprise, when they pulled away, Tuskki was laughing hard and wholeheartedly. Yamaguchi, on the other hand, had his eyes wide open in a mixture of surprise and confusion. 

When he came back into his senses, he turned to Tsukki with an annoyed face and punched him hard on the shoulders before bursting out laughing as well. “Let’s keep it a secret my ass !”

“Alright, alright. Tanaka, your turn.”

“I’m an open book.”

“Okay,” Noya said, half-drunk. “We all know you’re the token straight of this group, but if you had to kiss a guy—anyone from Karasuno, Nekoma, or Aoba Johsai—who would it be?”

“Ohhh.” The guys echoed.

Tanaka looked at his friend with a glance filled with betrayal. “You traitorous bastard. I won’t tell you anything ever again.”

Noya fell onto his back, laughing his heart out. Asahi kicked him softly, but was not able to hide his amused smile. 

“I am as straight as one can be, and you all know that.” He took a deep breath and covered his eyes in shame. “ However, if I had to choose—”

“Just say it, man.”

Tanaka closed his eyes, clearly embarrassed. 

“Fine. Kenma. It’d make out with Kenma.”

The whole room was soon infected with the boys’ laughter. “You fuckers. If I find out that any of you takes this information out of this room, I will kill you.”

Tanaka was kind of annoyed, but couldn’t help himself. He was drunk as well, and very much to speak the truth. Soon enough, he joined his friends in laughter. “Alright, okay, you guys are hilarious . Now, Kageyama, my man, you’re awfully quiet. Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

Tanaka smiled, arrogantly, as if silently planning his revenge. “I dare the King of the Court to kiss his most desired suitor.”

The whole room went quiet. The boys turned to each other with uneasy glances. Hinata, especially, had lowered his gaze to his hands, unable to look up. Suga, noticing the awkwardness in his friend, spoke up, raising his hand. “I don’t think that-”

Before he even continued, Kageyama, who had been expressionless looking at Tanaka, turned to the boy next to him. 

As delicate as he could be, he took Hinata’s chin with his hand to make him look up from his fingers. They were both breathing hard, their eyes focused only on each other. Kageyama was noticeably trembling.

“May I?”, he whispered. 

Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the light in Kageyama’s eyes. Maybe it was how soft his lips looked close to him. Hinata nodded once, slowly, his eyes fixed on Tobio’s lips, his own slightly opened, awaiting. 

Kageyama did not hesitate. It was as if Hinata’s consent was the only thing in the world that could stop him from pulling him close.

It was their first kiss, so Kageyama didn’t even try to make it a deep, passionate kiss. He barely even placed his lips on top of Shoyo’s. They were both stiff. Their eyes closed shot. Their hearts about to explode.

The entire room was quiet, all eyes fixed on them, shocked. 

Suga stood first, clearing his throat. “Alright, snack run. Daichi, help me.”

“Wait, what?” Daichi blinked.

“You heard me. Come on.”

As everyone started to move or murmur, Suga pulled Kageyama aside with a deceptively gentle smile.

“Outside. Now. Say what you need to say before you lose your nerve.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. He just shoved him gently toward the door.

“Uh, hey.” Began Kageyama, approaching Hinata, who had remained in his place. Tobio unconsciously glared towards Suga, who was looking at him with his eyes narrowed. “Can we go outside?”

Hinata nodded, slowly, and walked towards the door without waiting or even looking at him. He was about to walk outside when somebody punched him on the shoulder. It was Tsukki. 

“Hey, idiot. He obviously likes you. Not even an idiot like you could possibly screw this up, so, don’t.”

Behind him, Yamaguchi was smiling at him, both thumbs up in encouragement. Tobio forced a swallow. Suga was right. It was now or never. Taking a deep breath once more, he walked outside to join Hinata.

It was time.

Outside, under the tree, Hinata stood staring at the moon.

“Hey.” He said as he finally approached Hinata. “Could you please look at me?”

When Hinata finally turned his head to him, Kageyama’s hopes, which had been building up, suddenly crumbled to the ground. Shoyo looked like he was holding back tears, not even a faint smile painted on his lips. Not only was Kageyama the worst at understanding other people’s feelings, but he was also incredibly confused by Hinata’s. All he could do was ask.

“Do you regret it?”

Hinata shook his head. Kageyama couldn’t help but let out a relieved glance. Maybe Hinata was afraid that the friendship they had built over the past years would be at risk if they took the step missing. Kageyama was, too, but he also knew that not making the move at all would eventually drive them away from each other. 

“That’s good. I don’t, either.” Kageyama took a deep breath. “I... like you. I don’t know when it started, but I do. I’ve been thinking about that kiss for weeks. And now that it happened, I… I just want more time. With you. Whatever that means. I want to be around you.”

Hinata’s eyes didn’t change. They were sad.

“Please. Let me stay by your side.”

Hinata opened his mouth to speak, but Tanaka’s voice cut through the silence.

“Lovebirds! Damn, that scene back there… Kageyama, you got guts, man.” He hugged Hinata with one arm, he stank of alcohol. “Shortie, I think I’ll miss you. Reeeally miss you. Bring back some Brazilian babes, huh? Or not. Pretty sure you’ve got your eyes elsewhere.”

And with a laugh, he muffled Hinata’s hair and patted Kageyama’s shoulder with his hand. Asahi peeked through the door, apparently looking for Tanaka. It wasn’t hard to tell what was happening. Tanaka was drunk and speaking more than he should, Hinata was looking at Kageyama with despair, and Kageyama’s gaze was, well, blank. 

Asahi rushed to where Tanaka was standing and pushed him back into the house. “I’m sorry”, he mouthed before smacking Tanaka in the head and disappearing. 

“I am going to ask only once.” Kageyama’s tone, which had been warm seconds before, now seemed cautious and cold. “What was that, Hinata?” 

“Kageyama, I-” Hinata was at a loss for words. He felt like shit. He wanted to dig a hole right there and bury himself alive. “I’m sorry, I wanted to tell you before, but I just couldn’t find the right moment…”

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?”

“... I am.”

“Where to?”

Silence. 

“ Where to, Hinata?”

“Brazil.” Kageyama flinched. He turned his back on Hinata as he covered his face with both hands. “I’m leaving for Brazil.”

“ Brazil .” He repeated to himself in disbelief. “To a whole other fucking continent, great.”

Hinata didn’t know what to say, he was afraid of saying something wrong and screwing things any further. 

After a minute, Kageyama turned back to him. “I don’t know why you couldn’t tell me, Hinata. I would have been happy for you. Do you not trust me?” 

“It's not that—”

“When?”

“What?”

“ When are you leaving?”

Hinata was drowning in regret. Why had he kept it from him? Why had he lied? 

“In two days.”

Kageyama’s face dropped. He felt as if a huge rock had been thrown into his stomach several times. He felt nauseous. 

“ Two days?”

Hinata could not even look him in the face

“So what? You were planning to tell me you were moving out of the fucking continent until I noticed you were missing or something?”

“No, that’s not it-”

“‘ That’s not it’? Then when the fuck were you going to tell me, Hinata?”

Hinata hated being shouted at. He knew he had it coming, he knew Kageyama’s rage was understandable, but his pride was starting to kick in as well.  

“I was looking for the right time so you wouldn’t react like this!”

“Well, I think you missed the right time. And by a lot. It would've been completely different if you had told me when you first found out or something instead of being a damn coward.”

“A coward? I don’t have to ask your permission for any single thing I do.”

“I’m not asking you to, either. But this is not something random, Hinata. You’re not going to another prefecture, you’re fucking leaving the goddamn country .”

“And what’s that to you, anyway? I’m not your boyfriend or anything.”

Kageyama flinched. “Yes, I guess you’re not. Apparently, I’m not even your friend.” He said, his tone now ice cold.

“Friend? You’ve hated my guts since the beginning. You only hang out with me because you don’t have anyone else.”

“.... What are you talking about?”

“You know pretty well what I’m talking about.”

“No, I don’t. Say it. Stop being a fucking coward and say it.”

“Alright, should I remind you about your reputation, King of the Court? About the asshole you can be? You know pretty well others can’t stand your shitty personality. That’s why everyone leaves you in the end.”

Hinata was taken aback by his own words. Why was he saying that? This wasn't how it was supposed to go.

Kageyama’s eyes widened, his hands closed into a fist so hard, his nails were starting to dig into his skin.

“Then why would you hang out with me then? If I’m such a shitty person, why would you pretend to be my friend for these past years?”

“Because I pity you. That’s it.”

No, take it back. Apologize.

“Oh, you’re such a benevolent person. Saint Hinata. Do you want me to cheer for you? Thank you, on my knees, for being so kind to me?”

Both boys were breathing hard as they stared fiercely at the other. They knew that what was coming out of their mouths was making things worse, each word damaging the strong bond they had between them. But both boys were proud, they had been caught off guard in a moment of vulnerability. They were fighting to protect their own hearts, they couldn’t be reasonable. 

“You pitied me, you say? I think you only made it out of convenience.”

“... What?”

“When we first started in Karasuno, you didn’t even know basic volleyball shit. The only reason you were never stuck on the bench was because of me .”

“That’s not true.”

“Fuck yes it is, Hinata. You say I have a shitty personality? I’ll show you just how fucking bad it can be.” He took a step closer to Hinata, but Hinata did not take a step back. “You may be talented at volleyball now, but what else? Who are you outside of the court? You’re not good at school, you don’t work, your only friends are from the volleyball team. People only take you seriously because you can jump a little high, but that’s about it.” Kageyama spat, his voice trembling with pure rage.

“What do you want from me, Kageyama?” exclaimed Hinata. He couldn’t handle Kageyama’s words any longer, he felt like he would break down crying soon. 

“I want to know why you let me kiss you back then if you knew you were gonna leave.”

Because I wanted you to. More than anything in this world, I wanted you to.

“I was drunk and caught off guard. Anyone would’ve done that, it was not that deep.”

“You do regret it then.”

Kageyama took a step closer. Their faces were now inches apart. Both of them breathing hard. However, their eyes were locked in each other's lips.

In a brief moment of silence, something seemed to make them get closer, like a magnet, as if going for another kiss.

It would only take a second. One inch forward. One breath lost.

But it didn’t happen.

“... I do.”

Kageyama’s jaw clenched, and he exhaled sharply through his nose, like he was shaking himself loose from whatever had gripped him.

“You shouldn’t have let me do it, then.” Kageyama whispered. “You should have told me a long time ago you were leaving.”

“Why? What difference would it’ve made? I’ll leave anyway.”

Kageyama took a step back. He could feel the lump in his throat, his nose itching. “Because maybe I wouldn’t have fallen in love with you, then.”

Hinata almost gasped at his words. It was as if they had hit him back into reality. As if they had made him realize the words that had come out of his mouth until then. 

He felt embarrassed, hurt, but most of all, he felt guilty . He felt guilty for not being able to tell him sooner. He was so caught up in protecting his fantasy, enjoying the little progress they had been making, that he forgot that in the end, they’d part ways from each other. 

Both boys had been so caught up in their exchange, they hadn’t noticed the other boys who had intended to see what was going on when they heard their shouting. They had stopped in their tracks as the heated conversation had turned into broken whispers and painful stares. 

The words they said had already been said and could no longer be taken back. They had crossed the line but messed up the ending. The worst outcome possible had turned into reality, and they both knew it. 

Without saying another word, Kageyama turned his back on Hinata and left without saying another word. No apologies, no goodbyes. Just his cold, inscrutable back.

Chapter 15: Chapter XIV

(2018 - Miyagi Prefecture, Japan)

Hinata will never, ever admit that the first thought that came into his head the moment he set eyes on Tobio Kageyama for the first time after two years of avoiding even the mention of his name, was “Holy shit, this man is hot.”

Kageyama had always been quite tall, but the feeling of seeing the man tower over him for about ten centimeters made his heart flutter like crazy. His hair now had a little more volume than it had before, and it was fixed in a naturally messy look, long enough to brush the top of his eyes. He was dressed all in black, with sports pants and a jacket over a loose shirt and a pair of shoes similar to the ones he had always worn to practice and games. 

Back in the day, Kageyama had been one of the most popular boys in High School amongst women, mainly because he was actually quite good looking, regardless of his resting annoyed face that had somehow softened throughout the years but the girls found attractive as hell, and he was one of the best volleyball setters of the prefecture. Hinata had also invented the theory that the girls liked him because he was always indifferent to their attention. He could not really understand why that specific trait made them go wild, but eventually, he grew to recognize Kageyama’s beauty. 

Today, the man was even hotter than he had been before, with his matured face and soft skin. His long, slender figure, and most of all, his deep blue ocean eyes. 

"What do they even feed him?", thought Hinata.

Of course, after thinking about how hot the boy in front of him was, Hinata realized the fact that he, in fact, was in front of him in flesh and bones.

Both remained silent for about five seconds, Kageyama looking at him with wide eyes and his lips ajar, and Hinata staring right back at him, as if they were shamelessly noting how much they had grown over the past years. 

Both his hearts were beating abnormally fast, chills were running all the way from his spine to their arms. 

Hinata was too shocked, he was barely even processing the fact that it was Kageyama who was standing in front of him at that moment. Why, of all places, was he there? Why had the timing worked so perfectly, they met right there, at that time? Kageyama wasn’t even supposed to be in Miyagi’s prefecture. 

“You’re here,” escaped the words from Tobio’s lips.

Hinata’s heart skipped a beat. The voice he hadn’t heard in so long embraced his ears warmly. He had a strange feeling, as if he had recently heard his voice somewhere, but he couldn’t pinpoint as to why he felt that way. It hadn’t changed a lot from what he sounded like back in the third year, but Shoyo’s heart still raced to its sound. 

“Uh, yeah? I mean, yes, I came back, uh, yesterday,”

“I see.”

“I-” I thought you were in Higashiōsaka? No, Hinata wasn’t supposed to know where Kageyama had been, he couldn't say that. “I didn’t know you’d be here?”

“You wouldn’t have come if you knew?”

Although his chest was visibly going up and down and his hands were hiding in his pants pockets to stop the anxious trembling, his features loosened. He was now looking blankly at him, without letting a single expression escape from his eyes. Then, it hit Hinata. As much as the excitement had dominated his body at being in the same place as his, as much as his heart was now throbbing with happiness, as much as the thought of being able to reach out to him and feel the warmth of his skin, the horrendous words they had once said were still between them, like an iron wall. 

“No, it’s not that-, I was just not expecting to meet you like this.”

“Then how?”

“I- I don’t know, I-” Kageyama’s left pocket began to ring. However, he did not make a single move to check who was calling; he kept his eyes glued to him. Hinata cleared his throat, his face warm to his stare. “I think you should see who that is.”

The boy took a deep breath before reaching into his pocket and checking the name on the screen. “I have to go now.”

Even after saying those words, he did not move from where he was standing. It was almost as if he was waiting for Hinata to say something, as if he wanted Hinata to ask him to stay. After seeing that the boy was not trying in any way to stop him, he nodded to himself silently, his eyes darker than before. He nodded to him as a goodbye but avoided looking into his eyes as he did so. Tobio seemed annoyed.

He passed him by without looking back, but Hinata, finally finding his own voice, in a rush, said. “See you later.” 

Kageyama stopped on his feet for a second, as if processing the words, and proceeded to leave Suga’s house a moment later, not once looking back at Hinata. 

Shoyo facepalmed himself as he watched Kageyama’s back as he left. “Dumb shit, that was the chance.”

“Was it, though?” said a voice behind him. 

He had turned his back on the house’s door to watch Kageyama, so he jumped at the unexpected words that came from inside the house. It was Suga.

“I thought I had told you to come later, kid.”

“I’m sorry, my plans got canceled and I was close, so I decided to pass by, I-” Hinata was shaking from head to toe, his voice rushed and his legs weak. “I didn’t know he’d be here, and I think I messed up again and I-”

“Hinata. Calm down.” Suga pulled him into the house and made him sit on the sofa as he left for the kitchen. “I thought it wouldn’t be a good idea for you two to meet up so soon after you both just returned home, but now I think it was actually great that you did.”

“What do you mean?”

“Now you won’t be as nervous and speechless as you were back then next time, will you?”

Hinata thought about it. It was true. The impact of meeting an older Kageyama was going to be a huge deal either way, and it was better for him to meet him next time with a clearer head, mentally prepared now that he knew what to expect. Additionally, Hinata’s greatest fear had been discarded: he had been scared of Kageyama being so mad at him, he wouldn’t even want to speak to him. However, when he had been clearly cold, he seemed open to conversation. Shoyo had been able to test where he was standing. Plus, he couldn’t expect things to get better out of nowhere. 

“You’re right.”

Suga came back from the kitchen holding two glasses of water. He sat next to him.

“How do you feel?”

“Well, that was a jumpscare back there.”

Suga laughed. “Kageyama’s face is indeed quite scary.”

Hinata laughed, feeling a little less tense. His heart, however, kept on rushing as he remembered Tobio’s eyes, looking down directly at him. 

“But he looks fine. I wasn’t ready to see a grown-up Kageyama, though. He grew up so much in two years.”

Suga narrowed his eyes and furrowed his eyebrows as he thought about it. “I hadn’t thought about it, but yeah, he did, actually. I guess I didn’t notice because I see him quite often.”

“Now that you mention it,” began Hinata as he turned to Suga. Maybe it was rude to ask, but he was very curious. “Why was Kageyama here, in your house? Wasn’t he supposed to be in Higashiōsaka?”

Suga didn’t immediately respond. He took a sip of water from his glass and then placed it on the table in front of them. “He actually came back this morning. And as to why he was here… he comes from time to time. To chat.”

Suga’s tone sounded forcefully casual, as if he was trying to make it seem like something absolutely indifferent. Hinata decided it was best not to ask him any further about that topic. “Is he- uh, is he coming tonight?”

Suga frowned at him. “I didn’t tell him because I thought you wanted to wait a little more to meet him.”

“Suga… I think I’m going mad. Yesterday, on the plane, I was sure I didn’t want to meet Kageyama for a long time. I was scared and wanted to postpone meeting him for as long as I could. But then, Natsu told me about how he has been taking care of her. I had the urge to make peace with him. Now that I’ve seen him, I sort of feel like running to wherever he is and apologize for the stuff I said, but I also know that it wouldn’t be the best of ideas.”

“Yeah, probably not. You should clear your ideas first.”

Hinata took a sip from his glass of water, pondering. He then realized that it was Suga whom he was talking to. The boy who had been a mess back in High School was now acting like a proper adult now. He smiled. “Teaching kids really did make you a responsible man, didn’t it?”

Suga laughed at his words and playfully pushed him with his shoulder. “You are not so immature yourself.”

After a moment of comfortable silence, an idea came to Hinata’s head. It made his chest twitch in both fear and excitement. 

“Hey, Suga…” he began, turning to his friend. “Could you invite Kageyama over for the party tonight?”

Suga turned to him with a confused expression at first, but then, an amused grin lit up his entire face. “I could ask him to come, but I don’t know if he has other plans already.”

Hinata didn’t really like the sound of the last phrase. Other plans? With whom?

Seeing Hinata’s slightly irritated glance, Suga reached out for his phone. “We could always try, kid. Don’t get so gloomy all over my living room, damn it.” 

As he began to look for Kageyama’s phone number, he seemed to have an idea. He turned his head to Hinata with a mischievous smile and showed him the screen of his phone.

“Why don’t you try inviting him yourself?”

Chapter 16: Chapter XV

After debating whether this was an excellent or terrible idea, Hinata finally hit “call.”

The phone rang endlessly. He was about to hang up when a voice came through the phone. “Yeah?”

Hinata froze. “...Kageyama?”

A pause. “How’d you get my number?”

He turned to glare at Suga, who was still watching him like a hawk. Caught in the act, Suga smiled, picked up their empty glasses, and mouthed be honest before disappearing into the kitchen.

“I, uh, asked Suga,” Hinata admitted. “Look, I just—I want ten minutes. That’s all. Just ten minutes to talk. If you want to hate me forever after that, I’ll be gone. I won’t insist again. But I need to try. Please.”

A long silence. Hinata couldn’t help but worry as each second passed.

Then: “You promise to leave me alone after that?”

Hinata winced. That hurt. But it was fair. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I promise.”

“…Fine. I’ll come by.” Replied Kageyama, his voice lacking any emotion.

Hinata stared at his screen. What the hell am I doing? he thought. I forgot how angry he must still be.

Suga returned and squeezed his shoulder. “That bad?”

“I think he’d rather eat glass than see me.”

“Then don’t waste his time. Make it count.”

---

Hinata spent the next few hours helping Suga prepare for the meeting. Picking up stuff, preparing the snacks. He was thankful for all the work. It helped him feel a little more at ease. 

Still, he couldn’t help but shake from head to toes, thinking how Kageyama could come in from the door any minute.

He was finishing cleaning up the dishes they had used for cooking when the doorbell interrupted his thoughts.

Both Suga and the ginger jumped at the sound, Hinata's heart skipped a beat. Suga gestured with his hand at Shoyo to calm down and approached the door. 

He gave Hinata a concerned glance as if asking him whether or not he was ready. Hinata swallowed and nodded his head twice.

As the door opened, a nervous laugh escaped Suga’s mouth. It was not Kageyama. It was Daichi. 

He kissed Suga hello and turned to look at Hinata’s astonished expression. “What’s wrong?” 

“We were expecting somebody else.” 

Daichi turned to look at Suga, and in between looks, he seemed to catch up on the situation. “Oh, I get it.”

“Is it 6:00 already?” Asked Suga, turning to the clock. “Time really flew by, right Hinata?” 

Six was the time Daichi usually came back home from work. 

He was working at the prefecture’s Police Force, which Hinata thought really did suit him. However, he thought it was funny how different Suga’s and Daichi’s professions were. They surely had lots to talk about after coming back home from work. 

Daichi was taking off his jacket when the doorbell rang once more. Hinata didn’t get as excited as the first time. 

It is 6 o'clock, he tried to remind himself, everyone is supposed to come by now

He sat on the couch with his head resting on the pillow as he looked to the ceiling, trying to calm down before the storm. Suga opened the door and blurted an excited greeting. “Noya, Asahi, you guys are looking great tonight.” And finally, “Kageyama? Come on in, kid.”

Hinata’s head jumped from where it was lying to look at the door. Indeed, both Noya and Asahi were standing at the doorway, smiling brightly at him. 

Right behind them, a poker-faced Kageyama stood, avoiding his eyes. Hinata stood up and approached Suga from behind. 

He took a deep breath. He shook Asahi’s hand and hugged Noya warmly, taking all the time he could to avoid looking rushed and impatient. “It’s always nice to see you, Hinata.” Said Asahi, resting his hand on top of Hinata’s shoulder. 

As the pair entered Suga’s house, Noya stopped right beside Shoyo and whispered with a smile. “You better not fuck it up again, idiot.” Hinata nodded in return, punching his senior in the shoulder, playfully, before approaching Kageyama, who had not moved an inch from where he had been standing earlier. 

Same posture. Same eyes. But different too. Sharper. Older. Unreadable.

Kageyama didn’t smile. He didn’t wave. He barely nodded.

“Hey,” Hinata offered.

Kageyama nodded but didn’t look him in the eye.

“Uh… want to talk out here?” he gestured to the porch steps.

Kageyama didn’t respond, he just followed him silently.

They sat with distance between them. Shoyo had no idea how to start the conversation. He had an idea about what he wanted to say, but finding the words to start with seemed more difficult than anything else.

He sighed deeply, clenched his fists, and, without much thought, began to speak

“I’ll keep it short. You don’t owe me anything.”

Kageyama didn’t respond, but his eyes were fixed on him now, sharp and waiting.

“I, uh, was in love with you for a long time,” Hinata said, voice quiet. “Probably since second year. I was scared back then—of everything. Of liking a guy, of ruining our friendship, of screwing things up. So I didn’t say anything.”

Hinata couldn’t bring himself to look at the boy next to him.

“Turns out, I still screwed everything up.”

Kageyama’s jaw tightened.

“When I found out I might go to Brazil, I told myself I’d wait to say anything. I really, really liked you, and I knew that if I told you, I could miss my chance.  I— I didn’t even know if my mom was going to be able to afford it.” Hinata laughed, bitterly. “And then, that day, in your house, the day we couldn’t go to practice because of the rain... I started to feel like I actually had a chance. I found out I was going to leave the week after that, but I didn’t want to miss my shot. I kept putting it off—telling you I was leaving. Every day, I told myself I’d find the right time. I just never did.”

Hinata paused. Kageyama’s stare hadn’t changed.

“I was selfish. I wanted what we had. I didn’t want to scare you off. I didn’t think you’d understand.”

“Why not?” Kageyama asked. His voice was low, tight. “You didn’t even give me the chance.”

“I know,” Hinata said. “I know. I messed up. I lied by omission. And I regret it—”

“Don’t say you regret it,” Kageyama snapped suddenly. “If you regretted it, you would’ve called . Once . You wouldn’t have ghosted me for two fucking years. ”

Hinata’s throat closed. “I was ashamed—”

“No,” Kageyama stood. “You were a coward. You wanted to have your fantasy and vanish before it cost you anything.”

Hinata stood too. “I didn’t want to hurt you—”

“But you did.”

Those three words cut sharper than anything else. Kageyama’s voice was trembling now, fists clenched.

“I waited. For months. I checked every message, every account. You blocked me. You didn’t even let me know if you were alive.”

Hinata’s voice cracked. “I thought if I stayed away, you’d forget me.”

“Well, I didn’t.” Kageyama turned, eyes wet but furious. “You don’t get to apologize now and expect me to act like those two years didn’t happen.”

“I’m not!” Hinata stepped closer. “I don’t expect anything. I just—wanted to try.”

“To try what? Patch this up and pretend you didn’t leave without a word?” Kageyama looked away. “It’s too late.”

Hinata’s chest sank. “Then why did you come?”

Kageyama paused. “To hear what you had to say.”

“And?”

A beat passed.

“I don’t forgive you,” Kageyama said, voice hoarse. “Not yet. Maybe not ever.”

Hinata looked down, nodding. It was more than he deserved.

Kageyama turned to him again. He looked… defeated. “If you’re serious— really serious—”

“I am.”

Kageyama narrowed his eyes. “Don’t say it unless you mean it.”

“I do.”

“Then prove it.” He finished. 

Kageyama didn’t smile. He didn’t soften. 

But he didn’t leave either.

“I’ll see you around, Hinata.”

And with that, he walked back inside.

Hinata stood frozen on the porch, heart cracked open, unsure if he’d just lost him for good, or finally taken the first real step to getting him back.

Chapter 17: Chapter XVI

After returning to Suga’s house, Hinata was buzzing with nerves, but grinning. Kageyama walked in beside him with a blank, unreadable expression. The room noticed.

Everyone watched them like they were waiting for a shoe to drop.

Hinata pretended not to notice, but he saw the subtle glances exchanged across the room, the slight stiffening of Tanaka’s jaw, the way Daichi tilted his head curiously. Still, no one said anything. Not outright.

They didn’t need to. They were teammates. They could read the court and each other.

Not long after, more guests began trickling in.

Kyoko and Yachi entered the room together, and Yachi nearly tackled Hinata. She hugged him tightly, laughing in his ear. They had remained in touch while Hinata was in Brazil, so he knew she was in her last year of college and was working a part-time job in a Design Company. She looked extremely happy and grown-up. 

“You’re tanned!” she said. “Brazil changed you!”

“You got taller,” he said, genuinely shocked. “And your hair’s longer now!”

Yachi beamed, cheeks pink. “College does that to people, I guess.”

Kyoko, on the other hand, was now working at a sports store, which had improved their sales once she took charge of the entire organization. She was still the same girl she had been back at school, with her unfazed and cool personality. The only thing that had changed, was how she was now married to Tanaka. After years and years of begging, she had actually accepted dating the poor man. 

Nobody could believe it at first, they all thought Tanaka was joking around, but later on, they began to show up at parties together, leaving everybody speechless. They looked really good, though. They really did match each other, in a strange way.

“So, Hinata, my man,” Tanaka grinned from behind his second glass of sake. “How’s the professional volleyball life treating you?”

Hinata leaned back with a sheepish laugh. “The first days were literal hell.” Not only was he heartbroken, homesick, and living alone for the first time, the experience was just too much. “Brazil is so hot, the sun in Japan is nothing compared to the heat back there, honestly. Not only that, but training in the sand was tough. I had sand in places I didn’t know existed.”

Yamaguchi groaned. “The sand thing is real. Remember that time we played on the beach and couldn’t walk straight for three days?”

“Well, your legs were probably trembling for other reasons too,” Suga said, a little too casually.

The room paused for a beat, and then burst into laughter. Yamaguchi’s face turned cherry red.

“Suga!” Daichi smacked his arm, trying not to snort into his drink. “He teaches kindergarten now. He’s not used to being allowed to be inappropriate anymore.”

“He’s not wrong,” Tsukki added, utterly unbothered. “And you didn’t deny it.”

Yamaguchi groaned and hid his face in his hands while the rest of the room howled.

Even Kageyama’s mouth twitched. A small smile. A low breath of amusement.

Hinata turned to look at him, heart lifting, but Kageyama turned away.

“Who would’ve thought,” began Hinata. “Tsukishima can have a sense of humour.”

“Who would’ve thought,” imitated Tsukki, readjusting his glasses. “Hinata’s little body is able to take in more than a glass of sake.”

“You’d be surprised .”

“That’s right,” Wondered Asahi. “Last time we checked, Suga and Kyoko were the best at holding their alcohol. Hinata might be dangerously close now.”

“What about me?” groaned Noya. “I can hold my alcohol, too.”

He could, in fact, not hold his alcohol, Noya was already drunk.

“Now that I think about it,” Yamaguchi pointed at both Hinata and Noya. “Which one of you is taller now?”

“I bet on Hinata” shrugged Tanaka.

“Bro?” Noya turned to look at his friend with a betrayed look. “How could you?”

“I’m sorry man, it seems like they fed him something different in Central America.”

“ South America, Ryūnosuke”

“Oh, shit. Kyoko is using the first name base, Tanaka. You’re done.” said Noya between laughs. 

“How tall are you now, Noya?”, Kageyama spoke up for the first time. Hinata couldn’t even turn to look at him. 

“5’45” Noya said with a bright smile. “And counting.”

“You do know you are past your growing phase, don’t you?” commented Tsukki, looking into his glass, indifferent.

“That’s not true. I grew an inch last month, didn’t I, Asahi?”

Asahi pouted his face and took his glass of sake. “I need another drink.”

The two finally complied, and Noya stood as tall as his spine allowed. Hinata stood normally.

The gap was obvious.

“No way,” Yamaguchi gasped dramatically. “Just who did you eat in Brazil?”

“Your mom.”

The room went absolutely feral. Even Tsukki nearly spat out his drink.

Yachi clapped her hands over her mouth. “Suga wasn’t lying. He really did activate Brat Mode.”

Suga grinned like a proud parent.

Hinata was laughing along, riding the joy, until—

“Now Tsuki, Asahi, and Kageyama stand up,” Suga called out.

Tanaka groaned. “Why not me, though?”

Kyoko patted his shoulder with a smile she was clearly holding back.

Tsukki stood up lazily. Asahi groaned, already knowing the result. Kageyama hesitated for half a second before rising to his feet with a quiet sigh.

Even from across the room, Hinata’s eyes locked on him.

He hadn’t changed out of the dark clothes he wore earlier, but somehow, under the warm lights, he looked even more put-together. Even taller.

“Just when did you get taller than Asahi?” someone asked.

“Must be all that milk,” Yachi joked.

Kageyama’s lips quirked slightly. “You’re such a pervert, Yachi. Stop hanging around Tsuki and Tadashi.”

The group cackled. Kageyama stayed standing for another second—then caught Hinata watching him and sat down immediately.

The avoidance wasn’t even subtle anymore.

The rest of the night was met with continuous bickering, all catching up and asking questions to each other to their heart’s content. Hinata was impressed to see how much they had all changed. How a group of friends that had been formed by their love for volleyball had now chosen their different paths. 

Daichi was working at the police division while Suga was a kindergarten teacher. Asahi was working as an apparel designer while Noya dedicated his time to travel to different places around the world (turns out, Asahi and Noya had learned to have a long-distance relationship since Noya was always traveling and Asahi’s workplace was in Tokyo) 

Yamaguchi was in his last year of college and was getting ready to work for an electronics company soon, while Tsukki was in his last year of college, too, but was at the same time a member of the V League Division 2 Player with the Sendai Frogs. 

Only Tsuki, Kageyama, and Hinata remained as volleyball players. In some way, Hinata thought, it felt nostalgic.

As the night went by, however, Hinata's every attempt to approach Kageyama was roundly rebuffed. 

When Hinata passed him a drink, Kageyama accepted it without touching his fingers.

When Suga called for group photos, Kageyama stood near Asahi, not Hinata.

Hinata tried to laugh along with the others, but his gaze kept drifting. Watching Kageyama joke with Tsukki, or rest his elbows on his knees and listen intently to Daichi’s story about a police raid gone wrong. The ease, the quiet maturity... he looked so good . So grounded. So distant.

They exchanged maybe five words the whole night. And each one felt like a stretch of rubber band pulled too tight.

Two years can be a lifetime when you think about it.

As the night wore on and the bottles emptied, the group mellowed into drowsy laughter and background music. Tanaka had somehow ended up with one arm around Noya and the other around Asahi, all snoring in harmony. Kyoko had managed to find a blanket for Yachi, and Daichi was halfway into dreamland on the floor, snoring softly.

Only Hinata, Suga, and Kageyama remained reasonably sober.

At one point, Suga excused himself to take care of Daichi.

“You’re staying over, Kageyama. I’m not asking,” he called from the hallway.

“I’ll sleep in the living room,” Kageyama said.

Hinata looked up from his cup.

“Do you see any space left, idiot?” Suga shot back. 

It was true. Yachi and Kyoko had barely found a way to squeeze in between the sofa and a futon, seeing how Tanaka, Asahi, and Nishinoya slept with arms and legs wide open.

“You’re in the guest room. With Hinata.” He finished.

“I could go home.”

Suga reappeared in the hallway, glaring. “Oh, for god’s sake. You can sleep in the same room as someone you’re pissed at. Adults do that all the time.”

Kageyama didn’t argue again. He just stood.

He didn’t look at Hinata as he walked past him.

Chapter 18: Chapter XVII

The entire way to the guest room had been silent between the two. Ostensibly, they were staying quiet for the sake of the others, already asleep behind closed doors, but really, neither knew what to say.

The door creaked open.

Hinata stepped inside first. He had claimed this room earlier in the day, thinking he was being clever. Out of the two small guest rooms in Suga and Daichi’s house, this one had a view of the back garden through a small window. It had seemed peaceful, ideal.

But now the window let in far too much light from the moon, casting the room in a cold glow. The futons, two of them, were laid out parallel, close enough that the space between them felt barely private. Definitely not ideal anymore.

Kageyama followed in behind and stopped by the door.

“Which one do you want?” he asked, his voice low and neutral.

“Which one do you want?” Hinata echoed automatically.

“I asked first.”

“I don’t care. I’m older. You choose.”

The words slipped out before Hinata could stop them.

It was the sake. Definitely the sake.

Kageyama looked at him with a glance that could’ve been amusement or just exhaustion. “Fair enough. I’ll take the right one.”

Hinata nodded, swallowing a smile, and sat on the left.

They lay down almost at the same time.

The silence returned, heavier now, not sharp or hostile, but dense with things unsaid. The moonlight painted a silver edge along Kageyama’s figure as he lay turned away, staring at the wall.

Hinata pulled the blanket up to his chest. The cold from the window crept over his feet.

He closed his eyes. Tried to breathe.

Then prove it.

Kageyama’s words from earlier echoed in his mind. The quiet wasn’t as still as it looked. It pulsed with memory, with that old push and pull between them.

Hinata wanted to speak. To say something casual. Or funny. Or anything that could let him back in. But the weight of those two years, the things they’d said and done and not said at all, was too thick in the air.

“...Goodnight,” Hinata whispered into the dark.

There was a pause.

“Yeah,” Kageyama muttered. “Night.”

And that was it.

No warmth. No malice. Just a faint, far-off echo of the way they used to speak, back when things were simple.

Hinata rolled onto his side, facing Kageyama’s back.

He watched the slight rise and fall of his shoulder under the blanket. He wondered if Kageyama was still awake. If he was thinking about the same things.

He’d known this wouldn’t be easy. But now, lying less than a meter away from the boy he’d once loved so recklessly, the boy he might still be in love with... he realized just how hard it was going to be.

Two years can be a lifetime.

But he was here now. And Kageyama was still within reach.

He would start slow. He would give him space.

He would earn it back.

Chapter 19: Chapter XVIII

When Hinata opened his eyes, he was very disoriented.

It took him a moment to remember what had happened last night, and how he’d ended up sleeping in Suga’s guest room.

He froze. That meant...

He turned to his side quickly, expecting to see Kageyama’s sleeping body.

However, the futon that had been next to his a couple of hours ago was now neatly folded in the corner of the room, and there was no sign of the blue-eyed boy anywhere. It was almost as if he had never even been there.

Hinata almost laughed. He felt weirdly like one of those movie protagonists who wakes up after a one-night stand only to find the bed empty, naked and rejected. Except, well, he wasn’t naked. Thankfully.

As he began to clean up the room and get ready to leave, he realized with a thrilling jolt that Kageyama had left while he was still asleep, meaning Kageyama had seen him sleeping.

His cheeks flushed.

He prayed to every single deity he could think of that he hadn’t looked like an absolute loser while passed out. He checked his face for any trace of drool and relaxed when he didn’t find any.

When Hinata finally came out of the room, it was as if everyone had been waiting for him. They had already cleaned up the living room, and Daichi was cooking breakfast with Asahi. As soon as he stepped closer, the room went silent and everyone turned to look at him with mischievous grins plastered across their faces.

“So,” broke the silence Yamaguchi, “did you guys do it?”

“They definitely did it,” added Tsukki.

“I vote yes too,” said Tanaka.

“Shut up, idiots!” intervened Noya. “Let the man speak up and tell us himself.” He turned to Hinata and handed him a cup of coffee. “So, did you?”

“No, we didn’t! What the fuck, guys?”

Everyone burst out laughing at Hinata’s flustered face, even Yachi, who had been looking away to avoid eye contact but couldn’t help herself.

He sighed. “Whatever. Where, uh, where is he anyway?”

“Oh?” Suga turned, a bit surprised. “He left a while ago. He’s a very busy man these days. I’m surprised he managed to come last night, especially on such short notice,” he added teasingly.

Hinata nodded, a little embarrassed.

He was actually kind of grateful that Kageyama had left early. He had barely managed to survive the boy’s coldness the night before. Getting hit with rejection first thing in the morning?

Nope. Not good.

“How did you find your room, by the way?” asked Suga, looking down at the newspaper and kicking Hinata out of his thoughts. “Sorry about the size—I know it must have been pretty tight for you guys.”

Yamaguchi, who had just taken a sip of his coffee, nearly spat it all over the table.

“That’s disgusting, Tadashi. Clean yourself,” said Tsukki, handing his boyfriend a napkin, trying to maintain a poker face.

“Uh, nah. It was fine,” shrugged Hinata, trying not to imagine if, by any chance, he’d ended up invading Kageyama’s space during the night. He was a pretty lousy sleeper, after all.

“Of course it was fine for Hinata—look how embarrassed he is.” Noya punched him lightly in the shoulder.

“That’s my ninja Shoyo,” Tanaka added proudly, crossing his legs and leaning back in his chair. Kyoko rolled her eyes, but smiled anyway.

As much as they were teasing him, no one asked what had actually happened the night before. Maybe it was too delicate a topic. Maybe they could feel how tense Hinata was.

As the group started shifting topics and helping to set the table and finish breakfast, Tanaka glanced at his wife. She gave him a small smile and nodded in encouragement.

He casually walked over to Hinata, hands stuffed in his pockets. “Hey, Hinata. Could we talk for a sec?”

Hinata frowned. Tanaka looked extremely ashamed—he could barely meet Shoyo’s eyes. “Uh, sure.”

Tanaka led him just far enough that no one else could hear. Then, taking a deep breath, he grabbed Hinata’s shoulders with so much force that Hinata flinched.

“I’m sorry, Hinata,” he blurted.

“W-What? Sorry for what?”

“It’s my fault you two fought that night, isn’t it? You were probably gonna tell Kageyama about the trip later or something, but I ruined your timing, and then you guys didn’t talk for two whole years. And at first, Kageyama was in such a bad mood—he started acting like when we first met him. He didn’t let anyone in. He completely shut off, and I felt like shit. I can’t imagine how awful you must’ve felt being alone in Brazil, all because of my drunk-ass mouth, and I—”

Tanaka was speaking a mile a minute, and Hinata honestly couldn’t follow most of it, but the first part was enough.

“Tanaka!” he interrupted.

Tanaka stopped mid-sentence and looked at Hinata with a face like a kicked puppy. Hinata almost laughed but managed to hold it in.

“It’s not your fault. It’s on me for not talking to him earlier and for keeping the whole ‘moving out’ thing from him for so long.”

“But if I hadn’t mentioned it—”

“It really doesn’t matter. Even if I had talked to Kageyama calmly, it probably still would’ve ended the same way.”

“...I don’t know, man,” he muttered, scratching his head, still unconvinced. “I still feel really shitty about the whole thing.”

“What’s done is done, Tanaka. Don’t dwell on it. None of us blame you, anyway.”

Tanaka took a long breath and patted Hinata on the shoulder. “Alright. But if there’s anything you need—and I mean anything ,” he leaned in, eyes wide, as if trying to imprint the word into Hinata’s soul, “just tell me. I’ll do whatever I can to make it up to you.”

Hinata knew better than to argue with Tanaka’s sense of responsibility. He smiled, resting his hand on Tanaka’s. “Got it. Thanks, man.”

Chapter 20: Chapter XIX

A couple of days had passed since the party at Suga’s place.

Hinata had been feeling really… strange.

Everyone else seemed to be moving on with their lives. Yamaguchi was swamped with his final college projects, Tsukki had practice and matches, and even Noya and Asahi, long-distance as they were, had their routines. They were all busy with classes, with jobs, with structure.

Meanwhile, Hinata was stuck in limbo.

At home, his mom and Natsu left early every morning, disappearing into their own schedules, and by the time he made it out of bed, the house was already quiet. Too quiet. His own days were spent drifting from recruiter meetings, none of which had led to anything concrete, to vague training goals and trying not to feel entirely useless.

Sometimes, his mind drifted to Kageyama.

The Schweiden Adlers. Professional league. Signed practically right out of school.

That’s Tobio Kageyama for you, Hinata thought, not without a tight twist in his chest.

Of course he’d get scooped up instantly. Of course teams would scramble to land him. He was a genius, after all, a setter built from steel and precision and terrifying talent. That was just how it was.

Hinata should’ve felt proud. And he did, somewhere deep down. But mostly, if he was being honest, he felt jealous. Not bitter, not resentful, just… left behind.

He had Brazil, yeah. He’d grown, learned, struggled. But now that he was home again, with nothing solid tying him to anything, he couldn’t help but feel unmoored.

Whack.

Pain exploded across the back of his head, snapping him out of his spiral.

“Distracted, Shrimp?”

Hinata hit the grass with a grunt, blinking up at the late afternoon sky.

“You nearly decapitated me, you lunatic!” he snapped, rubbing the spot as he sat cross-legged on the ground.

Oikawa strolled over with a smirk, spinning the volleyball on his fingers before casually flopping down beside him. “Don’t be such a flower. That was a love tap.”

“Felt more like an assassination attempt,” Hinata muttered, groaning as he checked for blood.

Oikawa made himself comfortable, lying back and resting his head on the ball like a smug cat in the sun. “So?”

“So what?”

“You guys didn’t do it?”

Hinata turned his head sharply. “Why the hell does everyone keep asking that? No, we didn’t ‘do it.’ He was pissed at me. I’m not insane.”

“So?” Oikawa shrugged. “There’s nothing better than angry se—”

“Stop talking. Right now.” Hinata pinched the bridge of his nose.

Oikawa burst out laughing. “Kidding, kidding. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Hinata leaned back on his hands, staring up at the shifting clouds. His heart still clenched when he thought about that night... Kageyama’s cold shoulder, the tension, the barely-buried hurt between them.

Oikawa turned his head, more serious now. “What are you going to do about it?”

Hinata hesitated. “I don’t know. I know I should try to talk to him again, but… he’s scary when he’s angry.”

Oikawa hummed. “I’d pay good money to see that.”

Hinata shot him a glare sharp enough to kill. “I tried at the party, okay? Multiple times. But it was like talking to a wall. A tall, pissed-off, handsome wall.”

Oikawa actually looked sympathetic for once. “Yeah. I get it.”

A beat of silence passed. Then Hinata perked up. “What about you and Iwaizumi? Any progress?”

Oikawa groaned and slapped both hands over his face. “Don’t even ask.”

“Okay, okay. We’ll talk about something else—”

“Wait. No. Ask me again. I want to complain.”

Hinata snorted, unable to stop the small grin tugging at his lips. Somehow, being miserable together made everything feel slightly more bearable.

“Have you two talked at all?”

“We’ve exchanged words,” Oikawa said, dramatically dragging his hands down his face. “Mostly him telling me he’s busy. With work. With family. With... ‘life.’ Like that’s an excuse.”

“Well,” Hinata said, trying not to laugh, “he is an adult now.”

Oikawa sighed like he’d been personally betrayed. “Why do they make it so hard for us?”

“No clue.”

A peaceful silence stretched between them, the warm breeze rustling the trees overhead.

Then Oikawa shot upright.

“I have an idea.”

Hinata narrowed his eyes. “Why does that scare me?”

“Listen.” Oikawa leaned in, eyes gleaming. “You want to get closer to Kageyama, yeah?”

“...Maybe.”

“And I need Iwaizumi to stop ghosting me. So. We create a situation neither of them can escape.”

“Define ‘situation .’”

“A reunion party. Something low-stakes. Friendly. Neutral ground. Like that barbecue you told me about—back in first year, with Nekoma and Fukurodani?”

“Oh.” Hinata blinked. He remembered that day clearly. Lot’s of meat on a too-small grill, noisy laughter, Kenma silently judging everyone, and Bokuto being… Bokuto. It had happened just after one of the worst fights he’d had with Kageyama. Somehow, it had still been one of his favorite memories.

“That kind of thing,” Oikawa said, snapping his fingers. “Invite all the old crew. Kageyama wouldn’t refuse that, right? And Iwaizumi won’t be able to make excuses either.”

“I don’t know…”

“Just think about it,” Oikawa urged. “You don’t even have to do it for Kageyama. Do it for the memories. For fun. For Bokuto and Kenma and your smug blonde friend with glasses.”

“You mean Tsukki?”

“I mean exactly what I said.”

Hinata tilted his head. “Why don’t you organize it, then?”

“I suck at planning things. You know this. I bring the charm, not the logistics.”

Hinata rolled his eyes. “I’m no better.”

“Two disasters make a miracle. Besides, don’t you have that silver-haired friend who throws parties like he breathes oxygen?”

Hinata paused. “Suga…”

“Exactly. Recruit him. Together, we might just pull it off.”

It was a stupid idea. Reckless. Messy.

But also... kind of genius.

“Fine,” he said at last. “I’ll think about it.”

Oikawa grinned, triumphant. “Excellent. So, when are you supposed to be at Karasuno again?”

Hinata froze.

“Shit.”

“What time is it?”

He yanked out his phone. “2:40.”

The event was at three. He could just make it.

Hinata scrambled to his feet, collecting his things in a blur of panic. He’d completely forgotten Natsu had rescheduled the visit. Apparently, the flu had cleared out, and everyone was eager to meet the so-called “Karasuno legend.”

He was about to bolt when he turned back, grabbed the ball out from under Oikawa’s head, and said, “This is mine. Thanks.”

Then, without hesitation, he hurled it right at Oikawa’s face. Not too strong to break something, but strong enough to hurt. The ball bounced right back to his hands, and Hinata ran to his bike before his friend had the time to react. “Now we’re even!” 

“GAH—YOU FUCKING BASTARD!”

Hinata took off down the path, laughing as Oikawa’s furious shouting echoed behind him.

Chapter 21: Chapter XX

The moment he stepped off his bike and stood in front of Karasuno’s gates, Hinata’s breath caught in his throat.

There it was. Exactly the same.

The worn iron gate. The cracked sidewalk where he used to sprint after being late. The weather-worn school sign, still slightly crooked after all these years. The familiar breeze that always smelled faintly of chalk, freshly cut grass, and the distant chime of the school bell.

He wasn’t ready.

His feet didn’t move at first. The building in front of him wasn’t just a school. It was a monument. A time capsule. A ghost of who he used to be.

He remembered how, years ago, he had practically begged his mom to let him attend this school, even if it meant biking every day up a damn mountain. He’d seen the Small Giant on TV. He wanted to be on the same team that had once made it to nationals. He wanted to wear the same black and orange uniform. He wanted to fly.

He closed his eyes and, for a second, he could hear Coach Ukai’s sharp voice echoing through the gym. The dull thud of a ball against the floor. Laughter, hoarse and breathless after hours of practice. The sting of Kageyama’s yelling, followed by the heat of a win.

Then the memory faded. The present returned.

The school still stood. Old and tired and alive. Waiting.

He took one step forward. Then another. Every footfall echoed with memory.

And then—

“SHOUUUUUUUU!”

The doors flung open like something from a sitcom, and Natsu barreled out, waving both arms over her head as if she were trying to signal a rescue plane.

“You’re late!” she shouted, eyes sparkling like she’d been waiting to yell that all day.

Hinata blinked, startled, but then, he grinned.

“Sorry! Blame Oikawa, he gave me brain damage.”

She laughed, grabbing his arm. “Come on. They’re all waiting. I already bragged about you to, like, twenty people.”

“Oh god.”

“They think you can jump over the net.”

“…Well…”

“You don’t have to actually jump over the net.”

“Right,” he said, locking up his bike with a laugh, but his pulse had already picked up.

The second the chain clicked into place, Natsu took off, dragging him by the arm like a determined rocket booster.

The halls of Karasuno flashed past in a blur. The same waxed floor, the same pale lockers, the same vending machine close to the gym. A couple of students turned their heads as they passed, startled at the whirlwind of limbs barreling down the hallway. Hinata wasn’t sure if they recognized him or were just wondering if someone was being chased.

They came to a skidding halt in front of the gym door.

Natsu glanced over her shoulder, breathless and beaming. “You ready?”

Hinata gave a nervous chuckle. “As I’ll ever be.”

She gripped the handle. “Oh—and by the way—Kageyama’s here.”

“What—” But she didn’t let him finish.

The door swung open with a thud, and before Hinata could gather a single thought, Natsu gave him one final shove. He stumbled two steps forward, and the door slammed shut behind him.

The noise inside the gym died instantly.

Two dozen students turned toward him in unison.

Hinata froze.

Apparently, the event had been bigger than he imagined. The boys’ and girls’ teams had been merged for the day, and now the gym felt like it was bursting at the seams with energy and sweat and bouncing volleyballs.

And all of it, every set of eyes, was now on him.

Hinata gulped.

His eyes scanned the crowd instinctively, looking for a flash of black hair and piercing blue eyes, but he didn’t see him.

Was Natsu messing with him?

“Everyone!” came her voice again, somewhere behind the door. “This is my brother, Hinata Shoyo!”

In perfect harmony, the entire group bowed and shouted: “Thank you for coming!”

Hinata’s brain short-circuited. He stood there, blinking, cheeks flushing crimson. So much for his cool, humble entrance. He was going to strangle Natsu.

Finally finding his voice, Hinata returned the greeting. “Thank you for inviting me! It’s a pleasure!”

“Shoyo!” called a familiar voice. Strong, cheerful.

Hinata turned to see Yui Michimiya, former captain of Karasuno’s girls’ team. Apparently, she now worked at a nearby hotel but had returned to coach the girls’ volleyball club. When Natsu had told him, Hinata couldn’t help but smile. It reminded him of Coach Ukai, working at the store, but still finding time for them.

“Michimiya! It’s been a while.”

“Yes, yes,” she waved off his formality. “You’ve grown so much! You look like an adult now.”

“Barely,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

She laughed and waved him off. “Glad you could make it. Natsu was relentless. Well—” she turned back to the group. “Now that we’re complete, let’s get back to work!”

With one sharp command, the kids dispersed like iron filings to a magnet.

Michimiya led Hinata to the side, away from the chaos. “I was thinking you could help run drills, give them some tips. Then maybe after, we’ll let them ask questions. Sound good?”

“Sounds perfect.”

“Great! Natsu called dibs, so you’re with the girls’ team. Kageyama’s got the boys.”

Hinata blinked. “…Wait. What?”

“Oh?” She tilted her head innocently. “You didn’t know? Natsu invited him too. Said it’d be fun to show the kids your weird attack. You know, for the memories.”

Before Hinata could respond, as if on cue, the gym door opened behind them with a low creak.

And there he was.

Kageyama Tobio.

For a moment, the world narrowed.

He stood framed in the doorway, tall and shadowed in the light, the familiar black and orange Karasuno jersey clinging to his frame. The number 9 was still bold across his chest.

Hinata’s breath hitched.

He looked almost exactly the same. Older, yes. Sharper around the jaw. Shoulders broader. But it was still him. Kageyama. For a second, Hinata felt fifteen again—seeing Kageyama wear that jersey for the first time.

For a split second, something flickered in those blue eyes. Recognition, maybe even surprise. Then it was gone.

His expression locked down like a gate, all emotion swept neatly behind the walls of his face. Blank. Impenetrable.

He walked toward them.

“There he is!” Michimiya beamed. “The weird duo, back in action!”

Kageyama gave a short, formal bow.

Hinata’s stomach turned.

A few years ago, they’d been teammates. Rivals. Friends. They’d bled and cried and screamed together on that same gym. And now?

A bow.

“Anyway,” Michimiya continued, oblivious to the tension. “As a thank-you, we had your jerseys remade. I really hope it fits.”

She called over a girl who quickly approached, clutching a neatly folded shirt. She handed it to Hinata with a shy smile.

He took it carefully. His fingers trembled just slightly. “Thanks. Really.”

Michimiya gave a proud nod. “Now then! Boys with Kageyama, girls with Hinata. Later, we’ll do a three-on-three and show off your legendary quick attack.”

And with that, she vanished into the chaos.

Hinata and Kageyama stood in the eye of the storm.

“Well,” Kageyama said, voice flat. “I’m guessing you knew.”

He motioned between them.

“What? No—Natsu didn’t tell me anything. I swear.”

Kageyama’s eyes narrowed, just slightly.

Then, without another word, he turned. Took two steps. Paused. Looked back.

“You should change into that,” he said, chin jerking toward the shirt in Hinata’s hands.

And then he walked off, toward the boys’ team, who were already gawking like they’d just met a superhero.

Hinata followed his retreating back with a hollow stare. His heartbeat wouldn’t settle.

Then he spotted Natsu across the court, arms folded, eyes locked on him like a sniper.

So that was your plan, huh?

He met her stare with a silent promise.

We’ll talk at home.

Chapter 22: Chapter XXI

The changing room smelled exactly like he remembered. Faint sweat and floor disinfectant. Hinata sat alone, the folded Karasuno jersey cradled in his lap. The number on the back, 10, seemed to stare up at him like an old friend daring him to try it on again. It felt… strange. Like slipping into a version of himself that no longer existed.

Coming back to Karasuno… it was way harder than he had expected. He wondered for a second if that was how Ukai had felt when he agreed to be their Coach. Hinata felt like choking with all the memories that were coming back to him, all at once. 

Once back inside the gym, Hinata realized the air inside Karasuno’s gym was thicker than he remembered.

It wasn’t just the late afternoon heat trapped under the roof. It was the movement, the rhythm of sneakers squeaking against polished floors, the thud of volleyballs being passed, the shrill calls of “Mine!” echoing against the walls. The sound of practice, alive and familiar, wrapped around his chest like a weighted blanket.

He stood off to the side of the court, watching Natsu lead a group of first-years through receive drills. She was loud and confident, so much more put together than he remembered himself being at that age. Her eyes sparked when she called out instructions, and the girls answered without hesitation. She looked like she belonged here.

So did Kageyama.

Across the gym, Kageyama was crouched beside a group of boys, holding a ball in one hand and gesturing with the other. The sleeves of his black jacket were pushed up, hair damp from sweat. He wasn’t yelling. Not anymore. He didn’t need to. The boys were laser-focused, nodding intently with every word that left his mouth.

Hinata watched him from a distance, unseen.

Michimiya clapped her hands once, loud and decisive. “Alright, everyone—gather round!”

The kids jogged over in scattered pairs. Michimiya placed her hands on her hips and scanned the group with a grin.

“How would you all feel about a little three-on-six scrimmage?”

There were cheers, scattered gasps, and a few exchanged glances of pure panic. Michimiya waved a hand to silence them.

“You’ll be going up against the legendary duo themselves. Hinata, Kageyama,” she called, waving them both forward. “And your washed-up coach who’s still got a decent block and a mean serve.”

Hinata’s eyes widened. “Wait, you’re playing too?”

“Of course. I refuse to let you two steal all the glory.” She winked at the group. “You six! Form up. Front row, back row. Don’t go easy on us.”

Kageyama walked past Hinata to stand beside Michimiya. His shoulder brushed lightly against Hinata’s, just enough to jolt him. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t even glance his way. Just stared across the net at the kids forming their team.

Hinata forced a swallow. His fingers twitched at his sides.

Michimiya cracked her knuckles. “God, I’m too old for this. Alright, everyone, positions!”

The whistle blew.

Hinata stepped onto the court.

The court settled into a comfortable buzz of motion and anticipation. The group of six students, three from the boys’ team, three from the girls’, lined up across the net with a giddy kind of nervousness, as if they couldn’t quite believe who they were about to play against.

On the opposite side, Hinata shifted into position on the left, Michimiya taking up the back row, and Kageyama at the net. They didn’t speak. Not at first.

Hinata could feel the eyes on him. Half the gym's worth of them. His sister’s friends. The boys who probably grew up hearing about Karasuno’s golden years. They were all watching.

But oddly, he wasn’t nervous. He was… itchy. Restless.

It had been too long since his feet had gripped this kind of floor. Since he’d felt the smooth leather of a game ball in his palms. Since the faint scent of pine polish and effort hung in the air.

He had gotten used to the sand, the sun, the heat.

Kageyama stepped forward, tossing the ball up for the serve.

The motion was precise. Mechanical. Beautiful, in a way that hurt to look at.

Whistle.

The ball sailed clean over the net, forcing a quick receive from the back row. The students scrambled, passing it just barely. The ball floated toward the net, and their setter, a girl with cropped hair and nervous hands, pushed it high into the air.

One of the boys leapt for it. Hinata braced to block, but the kid managed to arc it to the far left corner. Michimiya dropped into a perfect receive, low and clean.

“Nice one, Coach!” called one of the girls from across the net.

“You’re damn right!” she shouted back.

Hinata grinned despite himself.

The next few rallies were chaotic but earnest. The students had decent reflexes and clearly trained regularly, though their timing was still raw. Hinata watched one boy try to mimic Tsukki’s block, all arms and no eyes. Another girl from Natsu’s team had the power of a canon in her spike but couldn’t quite control where it landed. He could almost see the shadow of Asahi behind her.

Still, they were scrappy. They hustled.

And he liked that.

He started falling into rhythm.

The plays came quicker. They rotated. Michimiya’s smirks got sharper. Kageyama's sets were as perfect as they’d always been—just not directed at him.

Not yet.

Between plays, Hinata knelt and tied his shoelaces tighter. When he stood, he found Kageyama watching him from the side.

They locked eyes.

No words.

Just that same unreadable face. Not angry. Not smug. Just…

Distant.

Then Kageyama turned and jogged back to the line.

It was like the early days all over again. Before the trust. Before the sync. Before anything made sense.

Still, Hinata told himself, he could play this game.

Even if it hurt.

The sound of sneakers squeaking on hardwood, the echo of fast breaths and calling voices, the sting of the ball slapping skin. It was all starting to feel like muscle memory.

Hinata adjusted to his teammates quickly. Michimiya was surprisingly nimble for someone who hadn’t played competitively in years, her movement fluid and calculated. She didn’t waste energy on unnecessary jumps or flashy saves. Instead, she directed their side with quiet precision, catching errant tosses and offering clipped encouragement.

The students across the net were good, but more than that, they were bold. After the initial nervousness wore off, they began playing with something close to glee. One girl, with short bangs and long limbs, went in for a cross-court attack that caught even Kageyama off guard. The opposing setter had a mean back set, and more than once, Hinata found himself out of position.

The game wasn’t just a demo anymore.

It was a challenge.

Kageyama barked a quick order after a close rally. “Move to cover! We’re too far spread.”

Hinata narrowed his eyes. “Got it.”

A student served. Hinata dove low and sent it flying to Michimiya, who tipped it gently up to Kageyama.

Kageyama caught it.

Paused.

For the first time, he didn’t immediately set it to Michimiya, who was already waiting.

He looked left.

Hinata was already moving.

There was no signal. No shout. No eye contact.

Kageyama froze in his place. Hinata’s speed… 

He stopped in his tracks. He turned and delivered a perfect toss to Michimiya again, who spiked it clean across the net, slamming into the back corner of the student team’s side.

Hinata, breathless from his approach, stared at him.

“What the hell, Hinata?”

Surprised by Michimiya’s tone, Hinata broke his gaze from Kageyama’s. “What?”

“You— you flew across the court. You were fast before, but now…”

Hinata couldn’t help but blush. “Oh. I got used to the sand, I guess.”

Michimiya patted him, strongly, in the back. “That was so sick .”

Hinata let out a week laugh, still panting. “Thanks, Coach.”

His allowed his gaze to go back to Kageyama, who was watching the two of them, attentive.

You could’ve.

Why didn’t you?

But Kageyama remained expressionless. 

He just turned away and prepared for the next serve.

And still... Hinata didn’t speak.

Because somewhere, in the middle of his frustration, he understood.

He had to prove he could do it, just like old times.

Chapter 23: Chapter XXII

Notes:

hello! i wanted to thank you guys for the comments i've been receiving lately. i'm having a lot of fun writing this, and i'm so glad that you guys are enjoying the story.

hope you enjoy this chapter was well! <3

It had been thirty minutes since the scrimmage started, and Hinata hadn’t stopped moving.

Not once.

He dove for tight saves. He leapt for wild blocks he had no business contesting. When a student missed a pass that veered dangerously toward the wall, Hinata sprinted after it, slammed both hands under the ball and launched it back into play with a desperation that didn’t look like practice. It looked like war.

Someone whistled from the sideline. Another muttered, “Holy shit.”

Hinata barely heard them. His eyes never left the ball. Not for a second.

Kageyama hadn’t set to him yet.

Not once.

And Hinata felt it like a weight at the center of his chest. Not heavy. Not painful. Just... waiting.

They hadn’t played together in over two years, not really. Not since high school. Not since everything cracked apart and got buried under silence. And now Kageyama was back in front of him, on the other side of the court. Same hands. Same mind. Same precision.

But no tosses.

So Hinata pushed harder. He ran for balls that weren’t his. Jumped higher than he needed to. Shouted instructions mid-air and kept his eye sharp, sharper than usual. He wasn’t trying to show off. Not exactly.

He was trying to remind Kageyama.

You know me. I’m still here. I’m still the one who can hit what no one else can.

Michimiya called a switch. Someone subbed out. The rally picked up again, frantic and fast—high school players lunging, laughing, shouting, scrambling to keep the play alive.

And that’s when it happened.

That flicker in Kageyama’s stance. That slight adjustment in his fingers.

Hinata’s pulse kicked.

Finally.

The rally was long. The players’ excitement did not diminish with fatigue.

One of the student boys lunged for a spike, missed. Another barely tapped it up from the floor. Someone else volleyed it over clumsily.

Michimiya shouted behind Hinata: “First movement!”, but he was already running.

And then—

He felt it.

That subtle shift in air pressure.

That split-second hesitation from the other side of the net.

That unmistakable glint in Kageyama’s eye.

Time slowed. Or maybe it didn’t. Maybe everything had just gone quiet for a second, the way it always used to right before it happened.

Kageyama’s hands were already moving.

Hinata jumped.

It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t smart, either. They hadn’t even talked that day beyond a handful of grunted phrases. But Hinata’s body moved anyway, years of habit surging through his muscles like heat.

Kageyama’s toss left his hands.

It was perfect.

High, fast, sharp.

A bullet.

Hinata felt his chest tighten, his legs extend... he was flying. No time to see. Only to trust.

He swung.

The ball cracked against his palm with a sound so clean, so familiar, it knocked the air out of his lungs.

It shot down in a blur, smacking the floor before the students even realized what had happened.

Silence.

Even the sound of shoes scuffing the gym floor faded. A few students had their mouths open, mid-breath. Someone dropped a water bottle. Kageyama stood frozen, staring at his hands like they weren’t his own.

Hinata landed.

Hard.

He straightened slowly and turned.

Kageyama was still staring. “What—”

Hinata smirked, breathless. “Still works.”

Kageyama’s mouth twitched. He looked furious. “Did you just— Were your eyes closed ?.”

“Uh. Yeah?”

“ Why ?”

“Old habits die hard.”

“ No . You used to do that a long time ago. You should know better than that.”

“Well, it still worked, didn’t it?” Hinata gave him a tiny grin—half triumphant, half stunned.

Then, from the other side of the court...

“Holy shit,” one of the boys muttered. “That was real ?”

Michimiya, from the corner, let out a loud whistle. “That,” she called, hands on her hips, “was pretty fucking cool .”

The gym erupted.

Cheers, laughter, applause. Students rushed forward, voices overlapping, questions pouring out: How did you do that? Was that real? Can we try it?!

But Hinata barely heard them.

Because for a moment, just one, Kageyama looked at him again.

Not with coldness. Not with polite distance.

But like the past was still there, alive in both of them.

Just waiting to be called back.

“Okay, okay, back in line! Save your questions for after practice!” Michimiya barked, clapping her hands twice, like she was herding a group of wild puppies instead of high school athletes.

The students groaned but obeyed. Some reluctantly, others still buzzing with excitement.

“You saw that, right? The toss—like, he didn’t even look.”
“They didn’t say a word.”
“Is that… legal ?”

Hinata tugged at the collar of his Karasuno shirt, trying to stop the flush rising to his face. His heart still hadn’t slowed down. His palm was tingling where it had struck the ball. His legs were trembling. Not from the landing, but from what had just happened.

He glanced sideways.

Kageyama was dusting off his shorts like nothing had happened.

“Hey,” Hinata muttered under his breath as they stepped to the sideline to hydrate.

Kageyama didn’t look at him. “What.”

“You can’t just pretend that didn’t happen.”

Kageyama took a long sip from his water bottle. “We were just playing. It’s not a big deal.”

Hinata blinked. “Seriously?”

A pause.

“… It wasn’t perfect.”

“Oh, come on,” he said, louder now. “You felt that, didn’t you? We haven’t played together in two years and we still nailed it.”

Kageyama finally turned his head, eyes cool. “We nailed one toss.”

Hinata stared. “You're really gonna play the ‘cold and indifferent’ card right now?”

Kageyama’s expression didn’t change, but his grip tightened on the water bottle. “I’m just saying it doesn’t mean anything.”

“You don’t believe that.”

“I think,” he said, slowly, “you want it to mean something.”

The words hit low. Blunt and clean.

Hinata didn’t respond right away. He looked down at the court. The floorboards were just like before. Old, slightly scuffed, polished in patches. The lines painted in white still held a strange sacredness to him.

He remembered standing here, year after year, drenched in sweat and adrenaline. He remembered Kageyama’s voice cutting through the noise, the thud of their shoes against the floor, their backs arching mid-air like twin crescents.

Back then, they didn’t need to talk.

Back then, everything was simpler.

Now... now they were older. They’d grown distant. Prouder.

But that connection?

That sync ?

It hadn’t changed.

“I don’t care what you say,” Hinata said quietly. “That meant something.”

He didn’t wait for a reply.

Instead, he picked up the ball, tossed it lightly in the air, and turned back to help the girls’ team with their next drill. Michimiya was already waiting, arms crossed, a knowing smile playing on her lips.

As he walked away, he thought he heard Kageyama exhale behind him.

But when he turned to look, Kageyama was already gone.

Chapter 24: Chapter XXIII

The Karasuno shirt still clung to his shoulders like a second skin.

Hinata lay on his back atop his bed, arms spread, the fabric crinkling beneath him as he stared up at the ceiling, unmoving. His room was quiet, lit only by the blue cast of the moon through his window and the dull glow of his charging phone. Every now and then, a car rumbled by outside, but inside, the silence was thick. Restless.

The shirt wasn’t the exact one from his time in Karasuno. This one was newer, the fabric less worn, but the feeling of it was the same. He could still feel the outline of the number against his spine like it was trying to remind him of something.

And maybe it was. 

He turned onto his side and reached for the ball resting at the foot of his bed. He’d brought it out of habit, like muscle memory. The same one from earlier that day. The same ball they’d used for the quick.

Hinata tossed it gently into the air. Caught it. Tossed it again. 

These past few days, he’d made half-hearted attempts to reach out, to get even a fraction closer to Kageyama, but each one had been met with cold, impenetrable silence. Or worse: polite indifference.

And yet... today. Today, something had shifted.

Just for a moment.

Kageyama had tossed him a ball, and Hinata had jumped. Like his body remembered before his mind did.

“Did you just— Were your eyes closed?”

Hinata winced. He could still hear the sharp edge in Kageyama’s voice, like he’d been caught off guard and didn’t want to show it. The irritation had been real, but underneath it… there had been something else. Something raw. Surprise. Recognition. Wonder.

The ball slipped from his hand and hit him square on the forehead.

“Shit.” He bolted upright, rubbing the sting away with a groan.

He exhaled, long and deep, staring at the wall as if it might give him answers.

“You want it to mean something.”

He still didn’t know what Kageyama meant by that. Was it a mockery? A warning? A defense?

But of course he wanted it to mean something. How could it not?

Back in first year, Kageyama had told him that he only tossed to players he deemed worthy. No exceptions. Hinata had believed him... believed in that. He’d trained through lunch, stayed after practice, studied video footage on his phone every night just to earn that toss. That trust.

And he had. Together, they’d rewritten what it meant to play volleyball. Not just as a team, but as something more than teammates.

They weren’t good with words. Neither of them. But volleyball was different. It was their language. And maybe, just maybe, today…

A quiet knock pulled him from his thoughts.

“Shoyo?” Natsu’s voice came from the other side of the door, soft and hesitant. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah, come in.”

The door opened slowly, revealing Natsu in her pajamas, her hair still damp from a recent shower. She stepped in carefully, like she was afraid of disturbing something sacred.

“Hey,” Hinata said gently, patting the space beside him.

She sat down without a word.

“What’s wrong?”

She hesitated. “Are you… mad?”

Hinata blinked. “About today?”

Her shoulders sank. “Yeah.”

He thought about it. Really thought. He had been mad at first. Embarrassed. Exposed. But that feeling had long since melted into something quieter.

“You can say what’s on your mind, Natsu.”

She looked at him then, her brows knitting, eyes glossy. “I don’t really know what happened between you and Kageyama. You never told me. But for a long time now... neither of you’s been the same.”

Hinata’s chest tightened.

“When Kageyama started picking me up from school,” she went on, “I could tell he wanted to ask about you. He never said it outright, but he’d go around the question, like he was circling a bruise. And whenever I did mention you, he’d get this... look. Sad. Distant. Like he was searching for you in me.”

Hinata was frozen. He hadn’t even let himself think about those walks. Not really. Hearing this now felt like someone had peeled open something tender inside him.

“And you, since you came back home…” Natsu’s voice broke slightly. “You’re not the same either. You smile, but it’s not the same. You don’t light up the way you used to. Not even when you’re practicing. Mom noticed too.”

She looked away, to the ball on the floor.

“When Coach Michimiya mentioned the idea of bringing back the former Karasuno members, I thought maybe—maybe if you saw each other again, it’d help. But… seeing you today, how cold it was, I’m scared I made it worse. I’m so sorry.”

Hinata didn’t speak. He dropped the ball to the floor and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into his chest.

“You don’t need to be sorry,” he murmured into her hair. “I mean, yeah, it was awkward. And you definitely caught me off guard.”

Natsu tried to pull back, but he held her a moment longer.

“But we synced, Natsu. Even just once. We connected. You saw it.”

She nodded against him.

“And I think... I think he saw it too.”

He smiled faintly, remembering the brief spark in Kageyama’s eyes.

“I hurt him when I left. What I did—it’s not something that’ll be fixed in a week. But you helped. You brought us one step closer. So,” he said, pulling back to look at her, “thank you. For today.”

Natsu looked up at him, wide-eyed and trembling. Then, without warning, she flung her arms around him and squeezed so tightly he wheezed. Her strength had definitely improved. Volleyball training had made her deadly.

“You should sleep now, kid,” he teased, nudging her toward the door. “It’s late.”

She sniffled and nodded, rubbing at her eyes as she slipped out of the room.

When the door closed behind her, Hinata sat in the stillness again. But now the silence felt different. Like it had let something in.

He picked up the ball, then his phone.

You want it to mean something.

He did.

Which meant he had to fight for it.

He scrolled through his recent calls until he found the right number. 

The groggy voice on the other end grumbled almost instantly. “What the hell, Hinata? It’s nearly one in the morning.”

Hinata grinned.

“Let’s do it. Let’s throw that party.”

Chapter 25: Chapter XXIV

The café was almost empty, save for a student in the corner glued to her laptop and a couple on the other side, whispering too quietly to be heard. Outside, the sun had started to dip below the buildings, painting the windows with pale gold. The air was warm but still. Everything about the place felt calm.

Which was a direct contrast to the mess inside Hinata’s head.

“So,” said Oikawa, snapping his straw aggressively out of the lid. “We need snacks, chairs, speakers, and a miracle.”

“Don’t forget Suga,” Hinata replied, half-laughing, half-hoping the older boy would actually handle it all.

As if summoned, the café door chimed. Sugawara Koushi walked in with his sleeves rolled up and an iced coffee in each hand. In their eyes, he looked like a superhero.

“You’re both idiots,” he greeted, dropping the drinks on the table. “I’ve already made a spreadsheet.”

“Of course you have,” Oikawa said. “You love being our volleyball dad.”

“I’m not your dad,” said Suga. “I’m your therapist.”

Hinata couldn’t stop smiling, even though the nerves were tugging at his stomach.

“Okay,” Suga said, pulling out his phone. “So. We’ve got Karasuno confirmed. A couple from Fukurodani are coming. I texted Kuroo already and he’s bribing Bokuto with fried chicken. What about—?”

He paused, eyes flicking up to meet Hinata’s.

“Did you invite Kageyama yet?”

Hinata looked down at the condensation dripping from his cup. “Not yet.”

Oikawa leaned back dramatically. “Oh my god.”

“I just—” Hinata ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea.”

“You don’t have to give a speech,” Suga said gently. “You’re just inviting him. Whether he comes or not—that’s his choice.”

Hinata nodded, lips tight.

“You want me to do it?” Oikawa offered, far too eagerly.

“What? No!”

“I’ll just say, ‘Hey, Tobio-chan, there’s a party. You should totally come. Hinata might cry if you don’t.’”

“Absolutely not. I’ll kill you.”

Oikawa already had his phone out. “Then say it now or I will.”

Hinata groaned. He didn’t want it to be a big deal. It wasn’t. It shouldn’t be.

But it was.

He picked up his phone.

Typed out the message.

You don’t have to come if you don’t want to. But we’re getting everyone together. I think it’d be nice if you join.

Saturday. Suga’s house. 6PM.

He hovered over the send button.

Suga didn’t say anything. He just took a sip from his cup to hide a smile.

Hinata hit send.

Oikawa clapped once, like a man at a wedding.

Less than a minute later, the phone buzzed.

They all leaned in.

Kageyama’s reply was short. Brutal. Two words.

Got it.

“Romantic.” Offered Oikawa, taking a sip from his iced coffee. 

“Well, then.” Said Suga as he opened his laptop. “Now that that’s out of the way, we can finally talk business.”

They spent the rest of the afternoon settling little details Suga had not covered yet, which were not many to begin with. 

Hinata had the feeling that Suga had left these little details for last on purpose so that he and Oikawa would feel part of the organization. He felt like a kindergartner being carefully guided by his teacher, who already had absolutely everything under control.

Regarding the budget, Oikawa and Hinata had had to convince Sugawara not to pay for everything. It had been their idea, after all. 

However, the more people they invited, the more people offered to cover certain expenses. In the end, there was going to be very little the guys were going to have to put out of their own pockets. 

It was funny how the initiative had been born out of a selfish and childish purpose, but it was really starting to become something much bigger and nostalgic. 

Even if things didn't go well with Kageyama during the party, Shoyo still felt that the meeting would not have been in vain. 

After two years out of the country, he found himself somehow missing all the players he had ever faced. 

He thought, slightly nostalgically, that more than half of them now had normal jobs and settled lives.

“A lot has happened since high school.” He thought.

“Why so gloomy, chibi-chan?” Asked Oikawa. Poking his head that was resting over the table with his straw.

“I’m just thinking.”

“About your boyfriend?”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“—yet.”

“Stop! It’s not like that.”

“Is that a blush? Are you blushing? That 's so cute! How old are you, chibi-chan?”

Oikawa messed with Hinata’s hair, who punched him at the side of his chest. “Ow?”

Suga noticed how Oikawa put up an annoyed face, but really, behind it, he could see him checking in Hinata. He had noticed, too, how his mood had gone down as the afternoon went by. He was also about to say something to cheer him up, but Oikawa seemed to be able to handle it just fine. 

Interesting, he thought. 

Chapter 26: Chapter XXV

Notes:

hey guys! i started a new job today, and my schedule is kinda messy sooo i'll be posting a little earlier!

hope you enjoy the chapter<3

The house smelled faintly like floor polish and dust. A stack of folding chairs was balanced precariously in the hallway, a few bags of streamers and plastic tablecloths spilled across the floor like a defeated battlefield. Sugawara stood in the middle of the chaos with a clipboard in one hand and a pencil in his mouth.

“We’re doomed,” he mumbled around the eraser.

“You’re dramatic,” said Yachi, kneeling beside a half-open box of mismatched paper lanterns. “We just need more hands.”

“I’ve already called Daichi,” Suga replied, pulling the pencil from his mouth. “And Tsukki. And Tanaka. I’m not proud.”

“You’re very proud,” Yachi corrected, smiling.

Shoyo Hinata was halfway through washing lunch’s dishes when Oikawa burst through the back door of the house like he was storming a stage.

“You will not believe what Bokuto just texted me,” he announced, phone held aloft. “He wants to know if there’s going to be a hot tub.”

Yachi stifled a laugh. “Please tell me you said no.”

“I said only if he brings it himself. Which, let’s be honest, doesn’t sound that impossible anymore.”

The week leading up to the party blurred into a series of calls, texts, receipts, and impromptu strategy sessions in Suga’s living room. It was warm enough that they left the windows open, letting in the late May breeze as they cleaned and folded and fought over playlist decisions.

Tanaka offered to DJ until Kyoko refused. Tsukki offered to be in charge of food until Yamaguchi refused. Everyone had an opinion. No one wanted to be in charge. Suga, inevitably, was in charge.

But even in the mess of it, Hinata found himself smiling more than he had in days.

There was something weirdly comforting about watching Oikawa yell across the yard with a bundle of streamers in his arms while Noya tried to duct-tape a volleyball to the ceiling fan for “ambiance.” Something grounding about the way Suga moved through the space like he was herding puppies, barking orders with that cheerful, menacing smile.

It felt, briefly, like they were all kids again.

Still, every time the door opened, Hinata looked up. Expecting. Hoping.

It was never Kageyama.

Not that he was supposed to be there. Hinata wasn’t even sure if he’d actually join them the next day.

But every time another friend arrived, arms full of snacks or beer or a new challenge for Suga, Hinata felt that hollow in his chest pull a little deeper.

“You’re not subtle,” said Oikawa, appearing beside him with two plastic bowls shaped like volleyballs.

“What?”

Oikawa stared him down. “Every time the door creaks, you look up like a sad golden retriever.”

Hinata opened his mouth. Closed it. “Shut up.”

“I’m just saying,” Oikawa said. “Maybe you should stop looking at the door and start focusing on what you’ll say when he does show up.”

Hinata sighed and leaned his elbows on the table. “Do you think he’ll actually show up?”

The former Aoba Johsai captain sat down next to him. “Oh, he will.”

“How can you be so sure?” Hinata asked, sincerely.

“He may try to seem indifferent, but I bet he’s dying to see just how far you’d go to get him to forgive you.”

Just as Hinata opened his mouth to respond, they were interrupted by the creak of the front gate swinging open.

This time, Hinata didn’t look up.

“Delivery!” Tanaka’s voice boomed down the hallway before he even stepped inside. “Special request from the Missus. Extra folding chairs, ice, and three packs of gummy bears.”

Behind him, Daichi followed with a case of soda, and Kyoko with a clipboard of her own, although hers looked much more organized than Suga’s.

“Did I hear gummy bears?” Noya’s head popped up from behind a stack of paper lanterns. He made a beeline for the bags like a bloodhound on a scent. “Do they have alcohol?”

Suga emerged from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dish towel like he ran a restaurant. “Tanaka, put the chairs in the back. Kyoko, you’re a lifesaver. Daichi, you—wait, where’s Asahi?”

“Holding up traffic,” Daichi muttered. “He got flustered trying to parallel park and now he’s panicking.”

“Of course he is.”

Hinata couldn’t help but laugh. It all felt… alive. Loud and messy and familiar.

In the backyard, Tsukki was putting together a trail of string lights with Yamaguchi and Yachi. Or rather, Yachi was reading instructions, Yamaguchi was checking for broken or burnt light bulbs, and Tsukishima was rolling his eyes so hard it looked painful.

“I swear to god, this entire design is a scam,” Tsukki muttered, holding two balls of lights tangled up as tightly as possible and staring at them like they’d personally wronged him.

“Want to switch?” Yachi offered cheerfully.

“I’d rather eat sand.”

It was nearing dusk now, and golden light spilled through the trees in long ribbons, catching on the fluttering paper decorations Noya and Tanaka had haphazardly tied to the fence. A long folding table had been set up on the back patio, waiting to be covered with food tomorrow, and the smell of fried snacks drifted faintly from the kitchen where Suga and Daichi were prepping ingredients they could store ahead.

Someone had turned on a playlist, Hinata didn’t know who, but upbeat music played through the open windows, muffled but steady, making the whole house feel like it was already leaning into celebration.

And yet, beneath the laughter and planning and chaos, there was a quiet tension thrumming in Hinata’s chest.

What if Oikawa was wrong?

What if Kageyama didn’t come?

What if he did?

“Okay, final checklist!” Suga called, appearing on the back porch like a general before a war. “Tables? Done. Seating? Done. Lights?”

“Half-working,” Tsukki said.

“We’ll fix them tomorrow. Food?”

“Shopping’s tomorrow morning,” Kyoko confirmed. “I made the list.”

“And the drinks are coming with Kuroo,” Daichi added. “Which terrifies me.”

“And the volleyball net?” Hinata asked.

“Already packed in the garage,” said Yamaguchi. “You’ll set it up with Noya and Bokuto.”

“Assuming Bokuto doesn’t get distracted by literally anything,” Oikawa muttered.

Suga clapped his hands. “Then we’re ready.”

The group let out a collective groan of relief.

“I’m going to soak my hands in hot water and never fold another chair again,” Tanaka mumbled.

“I need to shower, and sleep for five years,” Yachi agreed, stretching.

As the group began to wind down, throwing themselves at the couch like a pile of logs for a well deserved rest, the doorbell rang.

Everyone paused.

“Are we expecting anyone else?” Kyoko asked, brow raised.

Suga frowned and wiped his hands on a dish towel. “Oh—actually, yeah. I asked Kageyama to drop off the cooler I forgot at his place. Said he was passing nearby.”

Hinata’s heart stopped.

And then it sped up.

Tsukki didn’t even try to hide his grin. “Well, well.”

“Shut up,” Hinata mumbled, suddenly very interested in organizing the chip bags on the counter.

Kageyama stood at the door, dressed in his dark track jacket and holding a huge insulated cooler in one hand like it weighed nothing. 

“Hey,” he said, and his voice was… relaxed.

“Thanks for coming,” Suga greeted. “Lifesaver.”

“You’re late,” Tsukki said flatly from his spot by the snack table.

“There was a delay at the station,” Kageyama replied, unfazed. “Someone dropped their phone onto the tracks.”

“Did you help?” asked Noya, eyes wide.

“No.”

Tsukki snorted. “You just watched, didn’t you?”

“I offered advice.”

“What kind of advice?”

“‘Don’t do that again.’”

Yamaguchi, from where he was, still battling the string lights with Yachi, turned his head. “Wow, look at you. You’ve become almost… functional in society.”

“I pay taxes now,” Kageyama replied without missing a beat.

That got a round of laughs.

Even Tsukki smirked. “Wow. Man of the people.”

Hinata didn’t say anything. He was now crouched on the living room floor, folding napkins next to a half-open box of paper cups. He hadn’t even realized he was holding his breath.

Kageyama walked further in, past the couch, close enough that Hinata could see the sharp line of his jaw, the relaxed curve of his mouth.

And then he stopped.

He set down the cooler with a soft thud… right next to where Hinata sat.

Hinata flinched.

For a moment, he dared to look up.

Their eyes met.

Kageyama didn’t frown. Didn’t smile. His expression was perfectly unreadable. Just a flicker of stillness, then a blink, and then his gaze slid away like it had never stopped.

He turned to hand Suga a small envelope from his hoodie pocket. “You asked for these.”

“Perfect. You’re my hero.” Suga gave him a warm pat on the shoulder. “You sure you can’t stay?”

Kageyama shook his head. “Team’s coordination call. I have to go over some travel dates.”

“You’re always busy,” Kyoko said. “We’ll save you something.”

He nodded, quiet. Then looked over his shoulder at the group. “See you tomorrow.”

Everyone said their goodbyes. A couple of jokes followed him out the door.

And just like that, he was gone.

Hinata hadn’t said a word.

He sat there, still holding the napkin in his hands, fingers clenched tighter than he realized.

Oikawa, coming out of the bathroom, sat down next to Hinata. “Was that Tobio-chan? I didn’t get the chance to say hello.”

“Yeah.” Hinata answered. “Me neither.” 

 

---

 

The door shut behind him with a quiet click.

Kageyama didn’t look back.

The porch light bathed the walkway in soft amber, but the further he walked, the cooler the air grew. The sound of muffled laughter, Tanaka’s voice, someone opening a bottle, the low thump of music, faded as he put one foot in front of the other.

At the end of the block, under a dim streetlamp near the storm drain, he stopped. A cicada buzzed lazily from a tree. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked.

He lowered himself onto the curb, elbows resting on his knees.

His breath came out shaky, more from adrenaline than exhaustion.

That had been… a lot. Hinata—

Kageyama closed his eyes, pressing the heels of his hands to them.

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t fair that Hinata could still look like that. Like no time had passed at all and also like someone Kageyama didn’t recognize. His hair was longer. His arms were stronger. His expression was softer, no longer just sharp determination and hunger to win, but something heavier. Something sadder.

He hated how his body still reacted. Like instinct.

He hated that Hinata looked surprised when he was friendly to everyone else. Like Kageyama was supposed to have stayed frozen in time, furious and bitter.

Maybe he had.

Maybe that was the problem.

He leaned back, palms against the cool concrete, staring up at the pale spray of stars above the neighborhood roofs.

His heart was still beating fast.

What the hell was wrong with him?

He hadn’t meant to be cold. But the moment he saw Hinata’s face… it had all come back.

The silence. The months. The unanswered messages. The kiss that meant everything. The words that came later.

Kageyama blew out a breath, slow and long.

He’d said it was fine. That he couldn’t stay. That he was busy.

But really, he just couldn’t be in that house. Not with Hinata there, looking like he was waiting for something.

He wasn’t ready. At least that’s what he thought. But really…

He sat there until the cold from the pavement started to creep into his jacket. Then, slowly, he stood. Hands in his pockets, head down, he turned away from the warm house behind him, and walked into the night.

Chapter 27: Chapter XXVI

“SHOYO!”

The voice boomed across the garden like a war horn, just moments before Hinata was completely swept off the ground and crushed into a powerful bear hug.

“Bokuto-san—can’t—breathe—!” Hinata wheezed, arms pinned to his sides as his feet dangled.

“You’re huge now!” Bokuto shouted, holding him like a prize. “When the hell did you grow so much?! Is this what Brazilian air does to you?!”

“Put me down!” Hinata protested, laughing despite himself. 

Bokuto finally relented, setting him down with a grin so wide it practically split his face. “You’re all grown up, man. I’m not crying, you’re crying!”

“Don’t cry,” came a dry voice from behind them. “We just got here.”

Akaashi stepped into view, hands in his pockets, posture loose but composed. His expression softened the moment Hinata turned to him.

“Akaashi!”

“You look good,” Akaashi said simply. “Taller, broader. Less… chaos gremlin.”

“Hey!”

“It’s a compliment. Kind of.”

Hinata laughed and scratched the back of his head. “It’s been forever. I missed you guys.”

“We missed you too,” Bokuto said, more sincerely this time. “We heard rumors. Spiking on pro players on the beach. Jumping higher than the net. People kept sending me clips, but they’re always grainy or like, filmed from a mile away. I need the real thing. A live Hinata experience.”

“I haven’t played with you guys in years,” Hinata admitted.

“You better fix that tonight,” Bokuto declared. “Even if it’s just a game of volleyball with bottles as a net. I need to see Brazil Mode Hinata in action.”

Hinata laughed, heart a little full. “Okay, okay. But only if you’re on my team.”

“You hear that, Akaashi? He still wants to team up with me.”

Akaashi sighed, but a smile tugged at his lips. “We should’ve charged him rent back then for all the piggybacking.”

 

---

 

Hinata leaned against the side of the porch, clutching a paper cup of melon soda as he listened to Kenma describe the latest hellish sponsor meeting he'd sat through.

“I told them no one wants a twelve-minute ad break in the middle of a match,” Kenma was saying, voice low and flat. “They said it was ‘immersive storytelling.’ I said it was a crime.”

Hinata laughed, shoulders relaxing. “How are you even still doing this? I thought you hated everything.”

“I do,” Kenma said. “But I hate letting people ruin the stuff I like even more.”

Hinata shook his head with a grin. “Still the most dedicated lazy person I’ve ever met.”

From somewhere behind the bushes came a loud laugh—Tanaka’s voice—and the deep rumble of Daichi's in response. Somewhere else, someone dropped a bottle cap that skittered across the deck. The air buzzed with nostalgia and warmth.

Kenma's eyes flicked past Hinata for a second.

“Someone’s here,” he said.

Hinata turned just as someone approached from the far end of the drive, past the parked bikes and soft light leaking from Suga’s windows.

Iwaizumi Hajime.

He looked older. More solid. A bit broader in the shoulders, but somehow more tired around the eyes. His hair was slightly longer, brushed back, and his jaw was sharper now with the faintest stubble shadowing his skin. His clothes were simple, but clean. Reliable, like everything else about him.

And yet something about him seemed hesitant.

Hinata couldn’t stop himself from smiling. “Iwaizumi-san!”

That seemed to jolt him back into motion. “Hinata,” he greeted, nodding, not quite meeting his eyes. “You look taller.”

“Everyone keeps saying that,” Hinata laughed. “It’s either that or they stare like I’ve grown two heads.”

Iwaizumi gave a small, almost guilty smile. “Guess I’m doing both.”

They met halfway and exchanged a quick, awkward hug. Iwaizumi’s grip was sturdy, but brief, like he didn’t trust himself to hold on too long.

“You doing okay?” Hinata asked as they stepped aside from the entry path.

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi said. “Work’s busy. But, y’know.”

There was a pause. The kind where one of them should probably bring up the call. The late night voice from Miyagi to Rio. Urgent, abrupt, full of things unsaid.

Neither of them did.

Kenma spoke instead, appearing like a ghost beside them. “What’s up with that face, Hinata?”

“What? Nothing. I’m okay.” Hinata muttered, though his ears burned. 

Kenma didn’t respond, just sipped his drink and stared into the middle distance.

Then, the screen door creaked open behind them.

Laughter, low voices, the sound of a bottle opening.

And then—

Oikawa.

He stepped out into the glow of the porch light. He was holding a bowl of popcorn and two drinks, looking determined.

His eyes found Iwaizumi instantly.

And everything about him changed. His posture straightened. His voice softened. “Iwa-chan.”

Hinata stiffened. Iwaizumi did too.

Oikawa walked toward them slowly, trying too hard to look casual. “Hey. You came.”

Iwaizumi shifted where he stood. “Yeah. Thought I should.”

There was a pause. Not cold, but careful.

“Uh…” Oikawa held out one of the drinks. “I brought this. You probably still like iced barley tea, right?”

Iwaizumi looked at it for a moment like it was a trap. Then, he took it.

“Thanks,” he muttered. Quiet. Earnest.

The silence stretched again. Hinata looked back and forth between them like a spectator at a silent match.

“So,” Oikawa said, gently nudging the toe of his shoe against the gravel, “you’ve been good?”

Iwaizumi hesitated. “Yeah.”

Oikawa’s grin wobbled just slightly. “That’s… that’s good.”

Then, in a flash of his old showmanship, he gestured vaguely over his shoulder. “You should come inside. I mean, if you want. Bokuto’s already yelling. It’s nostalgic. Loud. Exactly as advertised.”

Iwaizumi didn’t answer at first. But then, something softened in his expression. Just barely.

“I will. In a bit,” he said, voice low. “I just need some air.”

Oikawa opened his mouth, like he was going to protest, or say something flippant to fill the space, but stopped himself.

“Okay,” he said instead. “I’ll save you a seat.”

He lingered for a second longer than necessary.

Then turned, and walked back inside.

When the door shut behind him, Iwaizumi took a long breath. Lifted the drink in his hand but didn’t sip.

Hinata spoke carefully. “That was… not what I expected.”

Iwaizumi shrugged without looking at him. “I didn’t expect anything either.” But the way his thumb brushed the condensation off the bottle said otherwise. “You should, uh, go back inside. I’ll catch you later.”

Hinata blinked. “Of course. I’ll see you inside.”

Chapter 28: Chapter XXVII

Notes:

i am posting with my phone because i'm at work and ALMOST posted two chapters by accident

glad i didn't spoil anything

enjoy<3

The late afternoon sun spilled amber across the lawn, turning the hanging paper lanterns strung from Suga and Daichi’s balcony into soft glowing orbs. Hinata stood in the middle of the backyard, clutching a mismatched plate of snacks like it was a shield.

Laughter bubbled from the porch steps, where Noya and Lev were locked in a dramatic retelling of some long-forgotten match. Kenma sat cross-legged on a picnic blanket beside Yaku, already plugged into his Switch, only half-listening. The smell of grilled meat drifted through the air from the far corner where Daichi and Tanaka hovered around the barbecue, bickering over seasoning like they were coaching a national team.

It was loud. Familiar. Almost exactly like it had been in high school. 

Hinata scanned the crowd for Oikawa, but there was no sign of him.

He thought back to just moments before, when Oikawa had stepped out of the house with purpose in his stride. There had been something vulnerable in the way he approached Iwaizumi. Like he’d rehearsed it a thousand times and still didn’t know what he was doing.

Hinata shuddered slightly. Was this how Suga had felt when Hinata and Kageyama met face-to-face by accident a couple of days ago? God, he hoped not. That was too embarrassing.

Lost in thought, Hinata barely noticed the volleyball until it slammed directly into his stomach.

“Ouch—what the—?”

He doubled over slightly, grabbing the ball off the ground. He turned toward the house, already preparing to shout, when he spotted the culprit.

Suga stood by the kitchen door, wide-eyed, pointing not at Hinata but beyond him.

Hinata followed the line of his finger, and his heart dropped.

Kageyama had just stepped through the door with a bag full of soda bottles. He was quickly swarmed by Daichi and the closest members of Nekoma. Kuroo clapped a hand on his back and said something that made Kageyama laugh. Really laugh.

That laughter hit Hinata harder than the ball had.

Hinata ducked behind the drink table, fiddling with a paper cup. From the corner of his eye, he saw Kageyama, his shoulders relaxed and that rare laugh still lingering, and something in his chest twisted.

“You were staring,” came a voice at his side.

Hinata jumped. “Shit.”

Kuroo stood next to him now, drink in hand, leaning one elbow against the table like he’d been there the whole time. That usual lazy smirk played on his face, but his eyes were sharp.

“I mean, you were obviously not looking at me at least.” He laughed, innocently. “Didn’t peg you for the lurking type. But I guess a little espionage never hurt anyone.”

Hinata blinked. “I wasn’t—”

“Sure you weren’t.” Kuroo turned to survey the backyard. “Good turnout tonight, huh?”

Hinata said nothing, still clutching his cup like it might anchor him.

“Funny thing,” Kuroo added casually, “one of the Adler guys asked Kageyama about you the other day.”

Hinata’s eyes snapped to him. “What? How did you—?”

“I work with the Sports Promotion Division for a bunch of teams,” Kuroo said, shrugging. “And well... that kid’s in high demand. His sets aren’t the only thing he’s famous for.”

Of course. Hinata had heard Kageyama had been featured in several sports magazines and sponsored by a few athletic brands.

It wasn’t really a surprise. He’d been popular back in school too, even when the only girls he ever really talked to were Kyoko and Yachi.

“And... what, uh—what happened?” Hinata asked, trying to sound casual and failing miserably.

Kuroo smirked. “Nothing serious. Just a passing comment, like ‘Hey, has that orange guy come back from Brazil yet?’” He shrugged again. “Kageyama didn’t answer. Just kept taping his wrist like he didn’t hear it. But you could tell he did.”

Hinata looked away, his throat suddenly dry.

“Guess I just mean…” Kuroo leaned in a little. “You’re not as out of sight, out of mind as you think.”

Hinata didn’t reply. He couldn’t.

Kuroo straightened, drained the rest of his soda, and stretched his arms above his head like a cat. “Anyway. Better get back before Bokuto starts another chant.”

He gave Hinata a wink and turned to leave, calling out for Lev to stop trying to dunk the volleyball in the cooler.

Hinata stayed there a second longer, pulse fluttering like a startled bird in his chest.

He swallowed, straightening up.

If what Kuro said was true and Hinata still had a place in Kageyama’s mind, that meant he had a chance, somehow. But yesterday’s failed attempt at conversation had replayed in his mind all night. If he really wanted to close the distance between them, he couldn’t afford to freeze again. He needed to move forward, one step at a time. Deliberate. Honest.

He watched Kageyama make his way toward the cooler he’d brought the day before, setting the drinks down inside. Hinata waited for the right moment. Waited for a beat when no one else was around him. Then, he moved.

As he walked across the lawn, he remembered Oikawa’s voice earlier. Soft, simple, real. The way Iwaizumi had actually listened.

Maybe that was the key. Maybe he’d been pushing too hard. Chasing Kageyama instead of letting him see that he was still here, still steady. That he was sorry.

He stopped beside the cooler and cleared his throat gently.

“Kageyama,” he said, his voice quiet but warm.

Kageyama jumped slightly, eyes wide. His hand still half-buried in the ice.

He hadn’t expected the tone. Not from Hinata. Not now.

“H-Hey,” he managed.

“I’m glad you came,” Hinata said softly. “Really.”

Kageyama looked like he was about to answer. His mouth opened, hesitant—but before he could say a word, Bokuto’s voice shattered the moment like a volleyball through glass.

“Lovebirds! We’re all here now! Let’s get this party started!” he shouted from across the yard.

Hinata startled, turning with wide eyes. Bokuto was already bouncing in place like a kid on a sugar high, holding a ball over his head like a trophy.

Kageyama straightened and looked away, quickly busying himself with the bottles.

The moment was gone.

But Hinata had seen it. That flicker in Kageyama’s face. He’d heard it in the stammer of his voice.

And that was something.

Hinata said nothing more. He just watched as Kageyama walked away from the cooler with two bottles in his hand, heading straight for Tanaka and Asahi without looking back at him.

A sharp pain pierced his chest.

“At least he responded this time,” he thought. “That's progress.”

“THE TEAMS ARE READY! COME ON, KIDS, IT'S TIME TO PLAY!”

Hinata let out the breath he didn't know he was holding. He turned to see Kageyama already standing in his spot, adjusting his wristband as if the game was the only thing that mattered.

Hinata laughed, for the first time in several minutes.

“I guess some things never change.”

 

Chapter 29: Chapter XXVIII

The makeshift court was nothing like the polished gym floors they were used to. Just a wide patch of uneven grass in the middle of Suga and Daichi’s backyard, with two poles stuck in the ground and a generic, suspiciously kid sized, net. Nishinoya had insisted on it.

“THIS is the perfect battlefield!” he shouted, throwing his arms into the air. “Let’s see who still has what it takes!”

The first few rounds were a chaotic mix of shouts, laughter, and completely unregulated substitutions. It didn’t matter who was winning. What mattered was that every time the ball went up, someone launched themselves into the air like they were sixteen again.

The first match saw Bokuto, Lev, and Yamaguchi pitted against Kenma, Suga, and Daichi.

Lev screamed on every jump. Kenma barely moved unless necessary. Suga spike-blocked Bokuto twice in a row and was hoisted in the air in victory by Daichi. Lev tripped in the mud. Yamaguchi fell, laughing. Bokuto pouted for five solid minutes.

Then came a new round.

Team 1: Hinata, Oikawa, Asahi

Team 2: Tsukki, Tanaka, Michimiya

From the first serve, it was obvious Oikawa and Hinata were a problem.

They moved in sync, like two dancers on sand. The ball didn’t bounce much on the grass, just like beach volleyball. The low rebounds, the awkward lunges, the unpredictable grip of the ground. None of it fazed them.

Oikawa dove low to save a loose ball, Hinata already cutting around behind him.

“Back set!” Hinata called.

Oikawa didn’t hesitate. With one fluid twist of his wrist, he flicked the ball up and behind him. Perfect height, perfect spin.

Hinata didn’t even need to think. He soared through the air, angled his body, and smashed the ball between Tsukki and Tanaka, sending a shockwave of cheers through the yard.

Tsukki frowned. “Oh, you’re disgusting.”

“Thanks,” said Hinata, grinning.

“You two,” huffed Michimiya, brushing grass off her shorts, “should be arrested.”

Oikawa twirled the ball on one finger and winked. “Chemistry, baby.”

From the porch, Kageyama’s eyes didn’t leave the court. A soda can hung from his fingers, unopened, forgotten. He watched the way Hinata moved. Light, quick, happy. He hadn’t seen that version of him in years. And with Oikawa of all people.

He tried not to scowl.

As the sun started dipping lower, casting the whole backyard in a soft orange hue, the final game was called.

Team 1: Oikawa, Iwaizumi, Kyoko

Team 2: Tanaka, Asahi, Yachi

There was a hush. Not because the game mattered, but because everyone was watching Oikawa and Iwaizumi stand on the same side of the net again. After everything. After years.

They didn’t talk much. Just nodded once before the whistle blew.

And somehow, it worked.

Oikawa set like he had a metronome inside his chest. Iwaizumi leapt like gravity forgot him. When they landed a perfectly timed spike, Oikawa’s voice cracked through the yard:

“Iwaizumi!”

Iwaizumi looked at him like he couldn’t believe it. Then smiled. Just barely. But it was real.

The crowd roared.

Even Bokuto got misty-eyed.

Afterward, as the two exchanged a palm slap and a glance too quick to read, Hinata stood at the edge of the lawn, still catching his breath from the previous match. His eyes flicked from Oikawa’s hand to Iwaizumi’s, and for a moment, he felt… something.

Something sad and hollow in his chest.

And just a few feet behind him, Kageyama watched it all.

 

---

 

The backyard had quieted down.

The last game had left everyone flushed and out of breath. Tanaka was passed out on a blanket under the porch. Yachi and Michimiya sat near the cooler, sipping from juice boxes like kids after recess. Iwaizumi had disappeared back inside, trailed, unsurprisingly, by Oikawa, who had declared he was “just going to wash his face” and totally not following him.

The golden haze of the evening made the grass glow.

Hinata stood leaning against the pole of the net, arms crossed over his chest, gaze fixed on the empty sky. His shirt clung to his back, damp with sweat. The buzz of laughter and movement seemed far away now.

Behind him, he heard footsteps crunching across the grass. Not loud. Not rushed. But unmistakable.

He turned.

Kageyama was there, hands in his pockets, hair slightly disheveled, eyes unreadable.

Neither of them spoke at first.

The wind picked up a little, making the paper lanterns hanging above sway. Somewhere near the grill, Noya was humming to himself, completely oblivious to the shift in air.

“…You and Oikawa played well together.”

Kageyama’s voice wasn’t accusing. But it wasn’t warm, either.

Hinata blinked, caught off guard by the flatness in his tone. “Yeah. I guess… it was the closest to beach volleyball I’ve played since I came back.”

Kageyama nodded once, his jaw tightening.

“You two been training together a lot?” he asked, still not looking directly at him.

Hinata hesitated. “In Brazil, yeah. We played every day.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then, with forced casualness, Kageyama muttered, “Makes sense. You looked... like a unit.”

Hinata furrowed his brows. “‘Unit’? You sound like Tsukki.”

Kageyama exhaled through his nose. “Whatever.”

He turned to leave, but Hinata stepped forward.

“Tobio.”

Kageyama stopped.

Hinata’s voice was quieter now. “If you want to ask me something, just ask.”

Kageyama didn’t turn around. His shoulders rose, then fell. “The way you looked…” He trailed off, jaw tightening. “The way you looked at Oikawa today, when he was playing with Iwaizumi…”

“I was hoping that could be us.”

Kageyama froze. 

Before the courage slipped away, Hinata kept going. “Back then, when we first met… we didn’t need words to communicate. We spoke through the court. And now, I thought—” he faltered for a breath, “—that day at Karasuno with Natsu, when we synced, I thought we’d made it. I thought you could see me again.”

Hinata gave a soft, tired laugh. “But I was wrong. Today, Oikawa and Iwaizumi—they made it. They fixed things on the court. I guess I just… wished that could’ve been us.”

Another silence bloomed between them.

“I’m not mad about Oikawa,” he said finally, but his voice betrayed him. Tight, defensive. 

Hinata’s eyes narrowed. “I never said you were.”

Then Kageyama turned, sharply. “Is that why it feels like you’re trying to prove something to me every time you spike?”

Hinata stared at him.

The light was fading fast now, the edges of Kageyama’s figure turning gold and soft. But his expression wasn’t soft. It was confused. Angry. Hurt.

Hinata exhaled. “Yeah. I am trying to prove something.”

Kageyama’s brows twitched.

“I’m trying to prove,” Hinata continued, stepping a little closer, “that I’m not the kid who left without saying the right things. I’m trying to prove that if I had a do-over, I’d do everything differently.” He laughed bitterly. “Except maybe the spike.”

Kageyama didn’t smile. Not yet. But something in his eyes shifted.

The silence stretched again. 

Kageyama let out a deep breath. “And you think closing your eyes when you jump is enough for that?”

Hinata smirked. “A man can dream.”

“That’s not very smart.”

“We still got it, though.”

Kageyama didn’t deny it.

Instead, he shook his head. “Don’t trip on the rope.”

And with that, he turned and walked back toward the house.

But Hinata stood there, hand still clenched loosely at his side, heart doing something stupid in his chest.

It hadn’t been much.

But it was more than yesterday.

And tomorrow, maybe, he could make it more than today.

Chapter 30: Chapter XXIX

Notes:

long chapter incoming

hope you like it<3

The door clicked softly behind Kageyama as he stepped into the house.

Inside, the chatter was muffled. Daichi’s voice drifting in from the front room, someone laughing upstairs. Most of the crowd had settled into board games, drinks, and catching up. The kitchen, however, was empty except for the low hum of the fridge and the fading smell of grilled soy sauce.

Suga was at the sink, rinsing glasses with lazy precision. His sleeves were rolled up, and a half-finished beer sat by the dish rack. When he heard the door, he didn’t turn.

“You ran out of excuses for standing outside?” he said calmly, reaching for another cup.

Kageyama didn’t answer at first. He crossed to the cooler and grabbed a bottle of water, twisting it open in silence.

Suga finally looked over his shoulder. “You look like you’ve been holding in a sneeze for an hour.”

Kageyama sighed through his nose. “You always talk like you know everything.”

Suga grinned faintly. “That’s because I usually do. Isn’t that why you’re here?”

Kageyama took a sip and leaned against the counter, eyes fixed on the tiled floor.

“He keeps looking at me like he wants something,” he muttered. “Like… like he expects me to forgive him just because we nailed one quick.”

Suga set the cup down. “You think that’s all he wants?”

There was a pause. The sound of running water, a distant burst of laughter from the living room.

Then Suga said, more gently now, “Did you ever think that, maybe, more than being angry because he left... you're hurt because you didn’t get to say anything before he did? Remember that day, at the airport…”

Kageyama’s fingers tightened around the bottle. He didn’t answer.

“He didn’t give you a choice, Tobio. And you hate that. You’ve always hated when things are taken out of your hands.”

Kageyama looked at him then, quietly, guarded. “I don’t hate him.”

“I know,” Suga said. “But he doesn’t.”

Silence again. Kageyama’s eyes dropped to the counter.

Suga dried his hands and leaned on the opposite edge of the sink, facing him now.

“You’re allowed to be angry,” he said. “But you’re also allowed to miss him.”

Kageyama’s mouth opened slightly. But the words didn’t come.

“You’re not fifthteen anymore. You don’t have to wait for someone else to set the pace.” Suga folded the towel slowly, carefully. “So if there’s something you want to say, say it. Before you let this become another thing you carry around for years.”

Kageyama glanced toward the hallway, where the muffled voices of his friends echoed. Then he looked back at Suga.

“…I’m not good with words.”

Suga smiled, kind and crooked. “I don’t think he is, either.”

Kageyama huffed. “Yeah. He’s stupid.”

“You’re stupid,” Suga shot back, walking away with his towel over his shoulder.

But before he left the kitchen, he paused in the doorway and turned his head just enough to add, softer this time—

“He’s trying. Meet him halfway.”

And then he was gone.

Kageyama stayed there a moment longer, the bottle cold in his hand, the words still buzzing behind his ribs.

 

---

 

The backyard was starting to wind down. Yachi had her camera out now, snapping blurry photos of the empty court and the paper lanterns swinging lazily above. Someone passed around cans of soda and beer.

And then Tanaka climbed on top of a patio chair like he was about to make a life-altering announcement.

“Attention, attention!” he shouted, one hand holding his drink aloft like a scepter. “As the most emotionally evolved member of the old Karasuno team, I have something to say.”

“Oh no,” said Asahi, immediately trying to pull him down.

“Let the man speak!” Bokuto called from somewhere near the grill, towel draped over his head like a crown.

Tanaka cleared his throat dramatically. “First of all, I just wanna say… holy shit, we’re old.”

Laughter.

“I mean, really. Look at us. Half of you have actual jobs. Kenma owns a tech company. Asahi wears button-ups. Kuroo owns more than one pair of dress shoes.”

Kuroo, lounging in a deck chair, raised his drink. “You jealous?”

“Extremely,” Tanaka said. “Anyway. I’m not trying to get all mushy, but I’ve been thinking—back when we were sixteen, I used to think those were the best days of my life. That I’d never get that kind of team again. That kind of magic.”

He wobbled a little on the chair but gripped the back of it with surprising grace. “And maybe I was right. Because whatever this is—” he gestured around at the crowd, the lights, the laughter “it’s not the same. But it’s close.”

Someone let out a low whistle.

“Hey, Nekoma!” Tanaka shouted suddenly, pointing toward the blanket where Yaku and Lev were playing rock-paper-scissors over the last popsicle. “You bastards were the best rivals we ever had. And Fukurodani, Bokuto… thank you for yelling at us until we figured out how to receive.”

“I was inspirational!” Bokuto said, beaming.

“And the rest of you,” Tanaka continued, turning slowly in a circle like he was directing a play, “you were part of something. Whether you were on the court or in the stands. Whether you won everything or didn’t win a damn thing. You were there. We were all there. And I just—” his voice cracked slightly. “I just wanted to say thanks.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Noya stood and clapped. Once, twice. Yaku followed. Then Daichi. Then everyone.

Tanaka held up his drink like a torch. “To all of us. Then, now, and whatever the hell comes next.”

Dozens of cans, bottles, and juice boxes lifted into the air.

“To all of us!”

The sound of laughter rose again. Someone turned the music up. The moment passed, but not completely. It stayed in the warmth between conversations. In the glance Kuroo shared with Kenma. In the way Bokuto slung an arm around Akaashi’s shoulders like it had never left.

And somewhere near the edge of it all, Hinata stood still. Watching the sky, remembering.

 

---

 

Night had finally fallen across the sky. There weren’t as many people left as a couple of hours ago. As time went by, more and more people excused themselves. Not everyone had played volleyball, but after all the energy spent eating, catching up and joking around, everyone was exhausted. 

By the end of the night, only the former Karasuno members remained at Suga’s house. 

The evening had turned cold, so Daichi suggested lighting a small bonfire now that only a few people remained.

While Daichi and Asahi took care of starting it up, Suga and Kyoko stepped out onto the patio, arms full of blankets and mugs of hot tea to help warm everyone up.

As expected, couples quickly paired off under shared blankets, leaving Tanaka as the odd one out between Asahi and Nishinoya—Kyoko, after all, had chosen to share hers with Yachi.

There were two people and one blanket left.

Suga dropped the last blanket into Kageyama’s lap, a teasing gleam in his eyes.

Meet him halfway.

Kageyama took a deep breath.

“Hinata.”

The redhead turned, a little startled by the sharpness in his voice. Kageyama noticed the way everyone else subtly turned their eyes toward them, pretending not to eavesdrop.

“Um…” He glanced at the blanket in his lap. “You use it.”

And without another word, he tossed the blanket at Hinata.

Hinata caught it, confused. “But aren’t you…?”

“Nope. Not cold at all.”

Suga looked ready to throw Kageyama straight into the fire. “Why don’t you just—?”

He was cut off by Hinata, who stood from his spot, walked over, and sat down again—this time right next to Kageyama. Carefully, he unfolded the blanket and draped it over his shoulders. Once it was settled, he extended his right arm to the side where Kageyama sat.

“It’s okay,” Hinata said, softly. “It’s big enough for both of us.”

The rest of the group, who had been half-heartedly chatting in an effort to disguise their curiosity, fell completely silent.

Kageyama’s eyes were wide, shocked.

“Just get under the damn blanket, idiot,” Tsukishima muttered from across the fire.

Yamaguchi nudged him lightly with his knee, but he couldn’t suppress a grin.

Daichi cleared his throat. “Well, I’d say we’re still the best team in the prefecture.”

The group, now laughing and relaxed again, resumed their animated conversation, leaving Kageyama and Hinata frozen in their own little bubble.

Once he realized no one was watching anymore, Kageyama finally shuffled closer, just enough for the edge of the blanket to rest across his shoulders too. There was still enough space between them to fit half a volleyball, but the warmth of the shared blanket made it feel like a mile had closed.

From across the fire, Suga shot Kageyama a final look. Well done, it seemed to say.

By the time the last dishes had been washed and the house tidied up, guests started gathering their things and saying their goodbyes with warm, lingering hugs.

Suga had offered the place for a sleepover again, but no one wanted to intrude further. After days of organizing and hosting, Suga looked quietly exhausted. He needed his peace back.

“You killed it, Suga!” Tanaka said, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Thank you for everything,” Kyoko added.

“Please get some rest,” Tadashi said gently.

“I guess wrangling Hinata really was like organizing kindergarten kids, huh?” joked Tsukki. “You're a pro now.”

Hinata smiled through every comment, heart warm.

Even though the party had been his and Oikawa’s idea, Suga had truly carried the weight of it. Without him, none of it would have come together.

In the end, Hinata thought, Oikawa had gotten what he came for—he’d left the party with Iwaizumi, who had agreed to go home with him to talk. Before they left, Oikawa had rushed over to tell Hinata, grinning like a boy again, promising to share every detail later.

As for himself…

Hinata turned to look at Kageyama, who was tying up the final trash bag in the yard.

He didn’t know exactly what he’d accomplished—or not accomplished—tonight. But something had shifted. Kageyama still seemed hesitant, still a little distant… but no longer defensive. No longer angry.

Maybe something had changed.

“Hinata!” Suga called as Hinata moved toward the door. “I think we pulled it off tonight.”

“You did an incredible job, Suga.”

“Oh, it was nothing,” he said with a not-so-humble laugh. Then, softer: “I hope it helped.”

Hinata flushed and looked away, but couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at his lips.

“I hope so too.”

Outside, as the last round of goodbyes were exchanged, Hinata lingered. He waited for Kageyama.

Eventually, Kageyama stepped outside with the trash, tied the bag to the fence post, and clapped his hands clean.

When he looked up and saw Hinata waiting, he didn’t seem surprised.

“I’m glad you came today,” Hinata said, trying to hold his gaze. “I just… I wish we’d gotten to play on the same team.”

Silence.

Hinata looked down. Maybe all the progress he thought they’d made was just in his head. Maybe—

“Yeah. I know. Let’s play another time.”

Hinata looked up, eyes wide. Then slowly, he smiled.

“Yeah. Let’s play another time.”

And with that, they each set off toward home.

Chapter 31: Chapter XXX

Notes:

chapter thirty, let's goooo

tomorrow i'll post one of my favorite chapters of the whole ficcc, i'm dying for you to read it

The room was still dim, washed in the gray light of a half-clouded morning. A wrinkled hoodie half-covered Hinata’s face as he blinked against the glow of his phone screen. His fingers moved lazily at first, scrolling through the group chat from the party.

“Jesus,” he mumbled, pausing on a picture of Yamaguchi mid-dance, one eye half-closed. 

Another photo, a group shot. Everyone crowded around the table. Blurry. Someone’s thumb over the lens. But in the corner, nearly cropped out, Kageyama. Hinata realized, his heart skipping a beat, that he wasn’t looking at the camera. He was looking at him . Not smiling, but not frowning either. Just… watching.

Hinata tapped on the image. Zoomed in slightly. Then out again.

He rolled to his stomach in the bed, screaming into his pillow, his arms decorated with goosebumps.

Ping.

He picked his phone back up.

“Samson Foster: Shoyo. Sending location. See you later at 12.”

Hinata stared.

It was finally happening. 

The day after the reunion party, Hinata had been hanging around with Natsu at home. She’d been trying to convince him to watch a new idol reality show for days. Something wildly popular, apparently. With no real excuse to say no, and secretly wanting to spend time with his sister, he’d finally given in.

They were deep into the second season, watching a teary-eyed idol trainee get disqualified while the rest of his group clung to him dramatically, when Hinata’s phone buzzed.

Wiping away a single tear of his own, Hinata glanced down at the notification.

Subject: Recruitment Process | From: MSBY Black Jackals

We’ve been watching your play since Brazil. We’d like to meet.

He sat up so fast the blanket tangled around his legs, and he fell headfirst into the coffee table, sending chips flying across the room.

The MSBY Black Jackals.

A top-tier, Division One pro team. Interested in him.

Finally. After all this time. After all the effort. Every hour. Every injury. Every mile traveled.

Hinata smiled at his phone. The location Samson sent was already loading into his map app. Downtown. Today.

He grinned.

“Okay.”

 

---

 

The place Samson chose was one of the most expensive cafés in Miyagi Prefecture. Hinata had only been there a handful of times. Always as someone else’s guest. Usually Oikawa or Sugawara. Never on his own.

He wore a freshly ironed suit, courtesy of his mom, and had styled his hair with extra care. Still, he was shaking from head to toe.

When he stepped inside, the café was nearly empty. A well-dressed woman typed quietly on her laptop. The only other person was a white-haired man in a suit, sitting with his back straight, gaze sharp even as he stirred his espresso.

He didn’t look physically imposing, but something about him carried weight. Like someone who never needed to raise his voice to command a room.

Hinata didn’t need to ask who he was.

“Mr. Foster. Thank you for the invitation!” Hinata bowed deeply as he approached.

Samson looked up and chuckled. Not kindly, but not cruelly either. A dry, amused sound.

“Hinata Shoyo. I could never miss that hair color.”

He stood and extended a hand. His grip was firm, effortless. Hinata matched it the best he could, praying the man didn’t notice how badly his palm was sweating.

“Please, sit,” Samson said, gesturing to the chair across from him.

They ordered drinks. Hinata, too nervous to think straight, defaulted to iced coffee. He could barely hear the waiter over the thrum of his pulse.

“So,” Samson began, once they were alone again. “Brazil. You came back two weeks ago?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s good. We’ve had eyes on you for about six months now. We were waiting for you to come home.”

Hinata flushed. “You... had eyes on me?”

Samson nodded. “From the moment you hit the sand over there. People talk, Hinata. Especially about the boy who chases everything.”

Hinata swallowed hard.

Then Samson asked, casually, “Do you know what a jackal is?”

Hinata blinked. “Uh… I don’t—”

Samson grinned. “Relax. It’s not a quiz.”

He leaned back in his chair.

“Jackals are canids, native to Africa and Eurasia. They’re not wolves. Not lions. Not the creatures people write songs about. But they’re smart. Fast. Ridiculously adaptable. Their legs are built to run for hours without stopping. And most importantly, they eat everything . Mammals. Reptiles. Carrion. Even crows.”

He held Hinata’s gaze now, direct and cool.

“We’ve seen you play. Your stamina—undeniable. Your court awareness. Your speed. You’ve trained your body to obey you. And what we’re looking for at MSBY aren’t just athletes.”

He leaned forward slightly. “We’re looking for predators. For players who live, eat, and breathe volleyball. So I’ll ask: Can you be a jackal, Hinata?”

Hinata’s heart wasn’t just racing, it was roaring . Not with fear. With clarity. With the feeling of everything aligning .

He thought of how long he’d chased this.

“I’ll play until the end. In the court… I’ll be the last one standing, so,” he said. “Of course I can, sir.”

Samson smirked. Not with amusement, but approval. “That’s what I thought.”

He stood.

“Well. I’ve got what I wanted. People told me your eyes burn when you talk about volleyball. They weren’t wrong.” He picked up his briefcase, adjusting his coat. “I’ll send the contract today. Send it signed next week. Practice starts in mid July. Got it?”

Hinata stood, almost on instinct. “Got it.”

He didn’t leave the café right away. His heart wouldn’t settle.

He sat back down, hands curled around his now-warm coffee, and let himself feel it. Not just the excitement, but the whole weight of everything behind it.

He thought about his first year at Karasuno. About the way people had snickered behind his back, not even caring if he was listening. 

"He’s what, five foot four?"
"They let that kid try out?"

The way he’d stared up at the net like it was a wall, daring him to climb it.

He remembered the Shiratorizawa match. The cold certainty in Coach Washijo’s voice:

"Without Kageyama, you don’t have anything special."

The sting of it hadn’t faded. Not even now.

He remembered practicing until the soles of his feet split. Staying in the gym until they couldn’t jump anymore. The way the world shrank to a court and a ball and the sound of his breath tearing out of him.

And then… Brazil .

Landing in a country where the language tangled in his mouth, where every street sign was a puzzle. The first week, he couldn’t find the right bus. Got lost. Twice. Had to sign his order at food stalls, cheeks burning.

He missed his family. He missed being understood .

But he stayed.

And stayed.

And fought .

The courts in Rio were different. Louder, harsher, unforgiving. Sand that burned your feet. Strangers who didn’t care who he was in Japan. They didn’t give him anything. So he earned everything.

He stared down at his hands now. The same hands that had fumbled so much. That had thrown themselves at every single ball like it was survival.

All of it. Every humiliation, every scrape, every drop of sweat.

It had all led here. To that moment.

Buzz.

Bokuto:

“SHOYO.”

“Did you make it? Are you in?? DID YOU CRY??”

And one, final message.

“Welcome to the MSBY Black Jackals, kid.”

Chapter 32: Chapter XXXI

Notes:

here it is! i loved writing this chapter so so so much, i hope you guys enjoy it as much as i do<3

The days that followed had been messy in the best way.

His mom had invited the entire family over for dinner to celebrate. Friends dropped by one after another, some with gifts, others with nothing but noise and laughter, promising to get together soon and crack open a bottle in his honor.

Even old teammates he hadn’t heard from in years were texting him.
“Heard the news! You earned it.”
“Knew it was only a matter of time.”

“Word really gets around fast,” he thought, amused, staring at a flurry of unread messages.

Bokuto had invited him to practice at a private gym near his place. Told him Atsumu Miya would be joining, too.

“MSBY training’s gonna be hell,” Bokuto had said, grinning wide through a voice note. “Better get a head start, Jackal!”

Everything felt like a dream. A weird, floaty, delicious dream.

Hinata flopped back on the couch, phone against his chest, still smiling. Somewhere behind him, Natsu was groaning dramatically.

“Shoyo, I need it tonight. My teacher said I lose half a grade if I don’t bring a visual aid!”

“I said I’d go, didn’t I?”

“Well hurry up!” she shouted from her room. “Glue sticks don’t buy themselves!”

So, with his hood up and the rain already starting to tap gently against the windows, Hinata grabbed an umbrella and headed out to the store.

The rain had picked up while he walked. Not a downpour, just steady enough that the world felt quieter beneath his umbrella. Muted traffic, glowing reflections in puddles, his own footsteps soft against the pavement.

The fluorescent sign of the corner store buzzed faintly as he stepped inside. The warmth hit him first, then the low hum of the ceiling lights, the scent of fried food under a heat lamp and something slightly sour from the refrigerated section. A few people milled about, tired-looking, damp. A couple in the back argued quietly about yogurt brands.

Hinata made a beeline toward the school supply section, scanning for glue sticks or anything even remotely helpful for Natsu’s last-minute project. He was halfway through comparing two off-brand options when a familiar shape caught the edge of his vision.

Tall. Shoulders hunched. Hoodie slightly too damp.

Kageyama.

Standing at the back near the coolers. A small six-pack of beer in his hand.

Hinata blinked.

Oh.

The air felt suddenly heavier. 

His eyes flicked to Kageyama’s face. His cheeks slightly flushed, hair mussed, lips parted as if he’d been breathing through his mouth. There was something distant in the way he moved. Slowed. Faded.

He watched silently as Kageyama paid and stepped out into the rain. The door opened, letting in the cold and the sharp scent of asphalt.

Hinata moved without thinking. Rushed to the counter, both glue stick options in hand, eyes still on the door. He paid without waiting for his change and pushed out into the storm.

Kageyama was still there, just outside the overhang, standing beneath the edge of the roof where it barely kept the rain off.

Hinata’s footsteps slowed. The rain had gotten heavier.

He cleared his throat behind him. No response. The sound of rain on metal made it impossible to hear.

“Hey, Kageyama!”

Kageyama turned, startled. Eyes wide. And for a second, Hinata forgot how to breathe.

He looked wrecked.

Not crying. Not broken. Just… undone. The usual tight control was gone, his guard peeled back just enough to show the rawness underneath. He reeked of alcohol.

“Hinata?”

“Yeah. Hi.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I, uh… Natsu needed some last-minute stuff for a school project. Made me come out and get it.” Hinata lifted the small plastic bag. “And you? A little thirsty?”

Kageyama didn’t even glance at the six-pack. “Yeah. I guess so.”

They stood there, the rain filling every space between them.

“Are you… okay?” Hinata asked.

“Yes. I am. Why?”

His tone was sharper than expected. Defensive.

“I don’t know. You look, uh… not okay?”

Kageyama’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment Hinata thought he was going to snap at him, but instead, Kageyama just turned his back.

“I have to go. See you around.”

“Wait! It’s pouring out.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Kageyama said with a bitter laugh.

“Let’s share an umbrella.”

Kageyama didn’t look back. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not? You don’t have one. I do. I don’t see the problem.”

“We don’t even live close.”

“I don’t care. I like walking.”

“No, thank you.”

“Kageyama, you can’t leave like this.”

Hinata wasn’t even sure what he meant. Like this—drenched? Drunk? Mid-conversation?

“What are you gonna do? Force me to use the umbrella like you forced me to use the blanket?”

“‘Force you’?” Hinata frowned. “I didn’t force you—”

He caught himself. Don’t get defensive. Not now.

“Fine. Don’t take the umbrella.”

Kageyama turned and stepped into the rain. One step. Two. Three.

And then he stopped. The sound above him changed.

Hinata was beside him, umbrella tilted slightly overhead.

Kageyama turned sharply, already preparing to snap.

“What? I’m just walking close to you,” Hinata said, eyes calm. “I wouldn’t even call it sharing.”

It was technically true. The umbrella barely covered them both. Their backs and sleeves were already getting soaked.

“I—”

“I don’t care. Whatever you were about to say—I don’t care. I’m walking this way. You can’t stop me.”

Kageyama sighed, shoulders tight.

“Don’t expect me to say thank you.”

“I won’t.”

“This doesn’t mean anything.”

“I know.”

They kept walking.

Hinata wasn’t sure what possessed him to talk, but the silence felt unbearable.

“So… I got recruited by the MSBY Black Jackals.”

Kageyama didn’t look at him. “Yeah. I heard.” And a moment later, he added: “That’s good.”

“Thanks.”

A long silence.

“Bokuto’s joining. Heard Atsumu Miya is, too.”

Silence again, no response.

“Remember back in first year? When we played Inarizaki? That was terrifying.”

“Yeah.”

“You met Miya at that training camp, right? You said—”

“What are you doing, Hinata?” Kageyama stopped walking. His voice was quiet, but tight. His breath hitched.

“What? I’m just talking.”

“Exactly. Why ? What do you want?”

Hinata blinked. “I don’t want anything. I just—”

“Stop. Stop talking to me like we’re friends.”

Hinata’s chest ached. The words hit low.

Kageyama looked like he regretted saying them almost instantly. His eyes dropped.

“Look… I don’t… I can’t do this . Not today. Please leave.”

“But, the rain—”

“Why do you even care about the rain?”

“You could get sick!”

“And what’s that to you? It’s my problem. Leave me alone.”

“No. You don’t look okay. I can’t leave you like this.”

That stopped him.

Kageyama turned slowly. Something broke in his face.

“‘You can’t leave me like this,’ huh?” His voice cracked, thin and furious. “Where was that logic two years ago ?”

Hinata froze.

“You left,” Kageyama spat. “You left for another fucking country without a word. And now I can’t walk home in the rain without you trailing after me?”

“Kageyama, please—”

“What’s the difference, Hinata? What’s changed? Is it because I look like a fucking stray dog now?”

“No. It’s not like that.”

“Oh, yes it is. You already said it once—you pretended to be my friend because you pitied me.”

The words felt like glass shattering inside his chest.

“I was wrong,” Hinata said, voice low. “I didn’t mean it. I swear.”

“Why should I believe you?” Kageyama whispered. “You said all those things and then you left. Like everyone else. You left . So just… go. Leave me again.”

His voice finally cracked.

His head dropped, and that’s when Hinata saw it. The chalkboard menu outside a nearby restaurant, glowing faintly in the misty dark.

The date . June 2nd.

Hinata’s heart stuttered. It hit him like lightning.

How could he forget?

He had been wondering why Kageyama had come back from Higashiosaka, but it made sense now. 

Of course. He’d come back for his grandfather’s memorial. It was the only time he ever took a break from volleyball. Of course he’d been drinking. Of course he was like this.

Rain hit the sidewalk in rhythm with the tears now falling from Kageyama’s eyes, indistinguishable from the rest. Real. Raw. Painful.

Hinata felt like an idiot. 

He tried, desperately, to look for the right words, but they just wouldn’t come out of his mouth. His heart was breaking, seeing Kageyama’s shoulders shake so much from trying to maintain whatever restraint he had left. 

Not knowing what else to do, Hinata dropped the umbrella, letting the rain drench both of them. His arms, now free, went full strength against the body of the boy in front of him, pulling him into a hug. 

It was rough, rushed, tight. Arms wrapping fast around Kageyama’s middle like Hinata was afraid he’d disappear if he hesitated even a second longer. His face pressed into Kageyama’s chest, his own rising and falling too fast, too close.

Kageyama froze, his hands half-raised. Caught mid-breath. He stood there stiffly, the beer bag still dangling loosely from one hand.

“I’m sorry,” Hinata said, barely audible against the fabric of his sweater. “I’m so sorry. I get it now.”

Kageyama stood frozen a moment longer.

He tried. Kageyama tried as hard as he could to restrain himself. But eventually, his arms came around Hinata. Slow, reluctant, then suddenly desperate. He clutched the back of Hinata’s jacket, knuckles white, fingers twisting in the soaked fabric like it was the only thing keeping him anchored.

And then he cried.

Not quietly. Not politely. He broke open all at once, shoulders shaking, breath hitching, throat raw. His fists clenched tighter, pulling Hinata closer as if to hide his face in him, to disappear inside the warmth.

Hinata didn’t say anything. Just held on.

He held on through the shuddering breaths and the gasping silence between them, through the tightening and loosening of Kageyama’s grip, through the way the boy tried—really tried—not to fall apart but failed again and again.

The rain kept falling.

Hinata didn’t know how much time passed. It could’ve been minutes. Could’ve been longer. The cold crept in eventually, but he didn’t care.

He waited until Kageyama’s breathing slowed.

Until his fists loosened.

Until his weight shifted, not leaning anymore, just standing.

Kageyama pulled away.

Just a little.

They were still close. Too close. The kind of close that made the air feel charged. Their foreheads nearly brushing. Both of them soaked, panting softly. Rain dripping from their hair.

Hinata looked up, and saw it.

Kageyama’s eyes dropped. Just for a moment. To his mouth.

A breath passed between them. Barely more than a whisper of space.

If he leaned in—

But Kageyama stepped back. Abruptly. Like he’d just touched fire.

“I can’t do this,” he said, voice hoarse. “Not now.”

Hinata nodded. “I get it.”

They stood there, caught in a pause.

The umbrella still lay on the ground beside them, glistening wet in the streetlight, forgotten.

The rain fell soft now. Gentler, more patient. Their clothes clung to them in the cold, but neither moved to shake it off. Shoyo wondered if he should say something about Kageyama’s grandfather. I’m sorry, he’s in a better place, he’s watching over you…

But the words seemed superficial. Useless.

Hinata knew how hard it was for Kageyama. After three years of friendship back in high school, Hinata knew this was the topic Tobio only spoke of when he was ready. If he didn’t take the initiative, then the topic shouldn’t be brought up. He had to respect that.

Shoyo shifted first, reaching down for the umbrella. He opened it again, carefully, and stepped closer.

He held it out, not saying anything.

Kageyama stared at him. His face was unreadable. 

Still, he stepped under it.

They started walking. Quiet and steady. Neither looking at the other.

After a while, Hinata spoke, gently.

“…Do you think we’ll ever be okay?”

Kageyama didn’t answer.

Hinata rubbed the back of his neck, the umbrella tilting slightly with the motion. “I mean… I’d like to talk again. Not about volleyball. Just… in general.”

Still no answer. But he couldn’t give up. Not now, knowing how lonely Kageyama must have felt throughout the last two years.

“I’m not asking you to forgive me,” he said. “Or to go back. Just maybe… we could try something easier first.”

A beat.

“Like walking?” Kageyama asked, quietly.

Hinata couldn’t stop the smile from drawing across his face. “Yes. Like walking.”

Shoyo let out a slow breath and adjusted the umbrella so it covered them both again. Their shoulders bumped, but neither apologized.

They walked like that for a long while. Not quite side by side. Not quite apart.

Under a sky still crying for both of them.

Chapter 33: Chapter XXXII

The light was pale when he opened his eyes, diluted and cold, pressing softly through the sheer curtain above his bed. It cast no warmth on the sheets, just the kind of gray that followed rain.

His hoodie was still half on. Damp along the cuffs, tight in the elbows from where the fabric had dried crumpled against his skin. He shifted, slowly, carefully, and rubbed the sleep from his face.

The smell of yesterday's rain was still in the air, faint and earthy. Outside, the pavement was dark with moisture. Drops clung to the railing of the balcony like a constellation trying to hold together.

He sat up.

The umbrella was lying open and collapsed in the hallway, half-dripping onto the wooden floor. He’d dropped it there the night before and never picked it up again.

The bag from the convenience store was still on the kitchen table. The glue sticks, unopened. Natsu must’ve used something else.

He hadn’t been able to think about much when he came in. Just peeled off his soaked clothes and collapsed. And now, with the silence of the apartment around him, everything from the night before crept back in.

Kageyama’s voice. "Why should I believe you?"

The way his hands clung to Hinata’s jacket like it was all he had.

The space between their mouths. Too close. Just barely.

Hinata swallowed, and ran a hand through his hair, pushing it up off his forehead.

He reached for his phone from the bedside table. A habit. Not even sure what he was checking for.

Nothing from Kageyama.

He opened their chat. 

Got it. 

Kageyama’s last text, from when Hinata invited him to the reunion at Suga’s place. 

His thumbs hovered. Typed.

“Hey.” Backspaced.

“How are you feeling this morning?” Deleted again.

He sat there for a long time with the screen open. The blinking cursor like a metronome ticking through some unseen countdown.

Then he locked the phone. Let it fall softly onto the blanket beside him.

He stayed like that for a while, just breathing. Not thinking. Listening to the distant sound of tires on wet asphalt outside, the hum of the fridge, the silence between notifications.

Eventually, he stood up. Slowly. Like he was still underwater.

In the kitchen, he looked for something to eat. His mom had left breakfast ready. Rice, miso, grilled fish, and a little note tucked beside the tray.

Cheer up, Sho. I love you. 

Hinata’s eyes stung the second he read it.

He had grown up in a house full of love. His mom. His sister. Even without a father around, he’d never once felt like something was missing. There was always someone to talk to. A warm bed waiting. A hand on his back when he lost.

Even now, two years after leaving home, without telling her what had happened the night before, his mom knew. Somehow. She always knew.

He thought about Kageyama.

How he’d lost his parents too young to remember. How he was raised by his grandfather and sister. How he’d fallen in love with volleyball because of them. How his grandfather had passed and left behind two broken kids. How Miwa had stepped up, barely more than a child herself. How Tobio had learned to handle his emotions alone. How he’d never been taught how to ask for help. Or how to talk when it mattered.

Hinata warmed up his breakfast, silent. Crying to his heart’s content.

He tried not to blame himself. He was a kid, back then. Maybe two years wasn’t a lot, but Brazil had forced him to grow. He’d been alone, too.

He saw it now. A little clearer.

He’d made a mistake.

But he was going to fix it. He wasn’t going to give up. Not now. Not ever.

As he finished his food, his phone buzzed on the table. The screen lit up.

A message.

Kageyama: "Got home safe?"

Hinata almost laughed. Of course. Tobio sucked at texting.

Hinata: "Yeah. Still alive."

His text was read immediately. 

Kageyama: "Ok."

Then another bubble appeared.

"Thank you."

Short. Simple. Maybe even flat on the surface. But Hinata understood what he meant. Thank you for last night. Thank you for not asking. Thank you for staying this time.

Hinata smiled, just barely.

Hinata: "Anytime."

Chapter 34: Chapter XXXIII

Four days had passed since the rain.

Not enough time for anything to settle. Just enough for silence to expand between them like something alive.

There hadn’t been any real conversation since. No calls. No messages beyond that brief exchange of five texts, no more than three words each. Like they were both trying to stay polite without actually stepping closer.

Hinata couldn’t stop thinking about it. Not just the hug. The crying. The almost-kiss. It was everything around it. The heaviness in Kageyama’s voice, the way his fists had clenched in Hinata’s jacket like something inside him was falling apart.

He kept replaying it over and over again in his head, like a movie. 

He hadn’t expected to see him again so soon.

Suga had texted him that morning, something about finally bringing back the old game Hinata had borrowed and forgotten to return before leaving for Brazil. The one with the ugly pixel graphics and impossible bosses that only nostalgia could explain. “Please bring it by today, or I’m sending Daichi to repossess your Switch.”

So Hinata showed up with the game case under his arm and his hoodie half-zipped, expecting a quick drop-off and maybe a snack if Suga was in a good mood.

He opened the door without knocking—it was Suga’s house, after all—and called out casually, “Delivery! Your trash game is home again!”

And that’s when he saw him.

Kageyama.

Standing in the hallway, wearing slippers, hair a little damp, as if he had just gotten a shower before coming, sleeves pushed up to his elbows like he’d been about to do something before Hinata walked in.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. The air felt instantly tighter. The kind of quiet that pressed at your ears.

Hinata’s fingers curled slightly around the game case.

“Hey,” he said finally, voice soft. The memory of the hug came instantly into his head. The memory of the feeling, the texture from Kageyama’s sweater, his smell. Blood rushed to his cheeks.

Kageyama blinked. “Hey.” Just a word. Neutral, quiet. It wasn’t defensive. Or clipped. It wasn’t much of anything. “Uh, about the other day…”

He looked away. Hinata could tell he was uncomfortable, maybe even forcing himself to say it.

“It’s okay,” Hinata said gently. “We don’t have to talk about it now.”

As grateful as he was that Kageyama wanted to bring it up, he could tell he wasn’t ready. He wasn’t doing it because he wanted to. He was doing it because he felt like he should.

Kageyama let out a sigh of relief. “Yeah.”

Hinata took a few steps forward and held the game out, keeping his tone light. “Suga said if I didn’t bring this back, he’d curse my family’s next six generations. I don’t know how that’s possible, but I believe him.”

Kageyama glanced down at the game. Then up again.

“He’s been saying that since high school,” he said. “Still never done it.”

A pause.

And then, something flickered across his face. The smallest thing. A twitch in the corner of his mouth. Not quite a smile, but not unfamiliar.

It struck Hinata, suddenly and all at once. He’s not angry. 

He wasn’t smiling. Hinata wouldn’t even dare to say he had been forgiven. But Tobio wasn’t pushing him away, either.

Something in the space between them had changed. Warmer? No. Just... quieter. Like the noise had gone out of the storm.

They stood there like that, not speaking, not moving, for three whole seconds.

Then the kitchen door swung open and Suga leaned in, wiping his hands on a towel. “If neither of you is going to help with the curry, you can both get out.”

Kageyama turned toward the sound. Hinata exhaled. The moment ended.

 

---

 

Later that evening, Hinata met up with Bokuto.

They’d made plans earlier that week. Something casual, a snack run, some new onigiri place Bokuto swore was life-changing—which turned out to be aggressively mediocre—. They met outside a convenience store a block away from the gym, Bokuto already halfway through a bottle of sports drink.

“Shooyooo!” he called as soon as he spotted him, arms raised like they hadn’t seen each other in years.

Hinata grinned. “Where's Akaashi? Thought he’d come, too.”

“He got a last minute call about an article from the magazine,” Bokuto said, slapping him on the back hard enough to make him stumble. “They want to write about a new manga about wizards or something like that.”

They sat on the curb outside the store, Bokuto cross-legged, Hinata leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. Cars passed behind them. Somewhere across the street, a vending machine hummed in a low, patient rhythm.

Bokuto was halfway through describing a dream he had about fighting a bear when Hinata’s phone buzzed. He pulled it out without thinking, thumb flicking across the screen.

Then he froze.

The notification bar still hovered at the top.

Japan Volleyball Association – National Team Training Camp Invitation

His chest tightened. He tapped it open.

Each line felt unreal:

Dear Hinata Shoyo, 

We are pleased to extend an invitation to participate in the Japan Men’s National Team Training and Evaluation Camp, scheduled to run from June 12 to June 27 (15 days in total) at the Tokyo National Training Center.

Accommodation and meals will be provided by the association.

Please confirm your attendance by replying to this email within 24 hours.

Please note: this invitation does not guarantee selection to the national team.

He didn’t breathe.

Beside him, Bokuto kept talking. Something about protein ratios and how he’d started sleeping with a resistance band wrapped around his thighs... but it sounded miles away.

“Wait,” Hinata said suddenly. “Wait—holy shit.”

“What?” Bokuto blinked. “What happened?”

Hinata turned the screen toward him.

Bokuto squinted at it. Froze. Then his face exploded.

“SHOYOOO!” he howled, throwing both arms in the air and nearly knocking over a trash can. “I just got that too!”

“You—wait, what?!”

“I checked it earlier but I didn’t think it was real!” Bokuto was already halfway to standing, pacing in a circle, completely vibrating. “I thought it was, like, a survey. You’re going too?!”

Hinata could only nod, dazed.

“I knew it!” Bokuto shouted. “We’re gonna train with the actual coaches. I’m gonna wear my good shoes. I’m gonna bring all my kneepads!”

Hinata sat there, barely hearing him. The wind pushed gently at the edge of his hoodie. Somewhere nearby, a bicycle clattered over uneven pavement.

Two weeks.

He read the words again. Confirmed the dates.

Tokyo.

Two weeks.

“Do you think they’ll let us pick roommates?” Bokuto asked suddenly, breathless. “They didn’t say it directly, but it’s usually dorm style. I wonder who else is going.”

Hinata blinked. “Wait—what?”

“Roommates!” Bokuto said, dramatically, like it was the headline of a revelation. “I can’t forget my shower slippers. I always forget the shower slippers.”

Hinata looked down at his phone. His fingers curled slightly around the device.

Roommates.

His thoughts went immediately, stupidly, to one person. Of course they did.

But he didn’t ask. Didn’t text. Didn’t say anything. The quiet from four nights ago still hadn’t lifted, after all. It would be too weird if Hinata asked him if he was invited, right?

Bokuto was still listing things to pack. “Electrolyte tabs, towel with my name on it, backup towel with your name on it—"

Hinata wasn’t really listening anymore.

He stared at the message one last time.

June 12–27. Tokyo. Camp.

His heart was beating a little too fast.

Chapter 35: Chapter XXXIV

Notes:

hey guys!

little vocab moment: JVA = Japanese Volleyball Association

and that's it! hope you enjoy this chapter, thank you for all the comments<3

The sun had barely crested the horizon when Hinata finished folding the last of his pants into his bag. The zipper caught once, stubborn at the corner where he’d overpacked. He tugged it harder, and it groaned shut.

He exhaled and stood back.

On the table was his key card, his JVA printout, his travel snacks, and the cheap flip-flops Bokuto had reminded him to bring.

He had checked everything twice. Maybe three times. Still, his foot tapped against the wooden floor like his body was ready before his mind was.

From the kitchen doorway, his mother watched him.

“You just got back,” she said quietly.

Hinata turned, a little startled. “Huh?”

“You just came home,” she repeated, a hand curled lightly around her coffee mug. “And now you’re leaving again.”

The mug clinked softly as she set it down. Her voice wasn’t accusing. Just… full.

Hinata’s chest ached in a small, unexpected way.

“I’m not leaving forever,” he said. “It’s just two weeks.”

“I know.” She tried to smile, and this time, it reached her eyes. “I’m so proud of you. You know that, right?”

Hinata nodded.

She walked over and reached for the zipper of his bag, as if checking it herself. Her fingers brushed his. She didn’t say anything for a few seconds.

Then, almost absently: “Do you have enough socks?”

“Yeah.”

“Snacks?”

“Bokuto’s bringing a whole store with him.”

She nodded. “And a jacket.”

Hinata grinned. “Yes, Mom.”

She pulled her hand back. “Good.”

They stood there in the quiet for a moment. The kitchen clock ticked like an afterthought behind them.

“I’ll text you when I get there,” he said.

“Every day.”

“I’ll try.”

“Every day,” she repeated, gentler this time.

He hesitated. Then opened his arms.

She hugged him. Tight. Her chin just barely brushing his shoulder, like she wasn’t quite ready to let him be taller.

“You’re doing good, Sho,” she whispered. “You really are.”

Hinata closed his eyes.

“I’ll do my best,” he said. “I promise.”

His mom didn’t say anything else, just gave his arm a squeeze and stepped back to watch him gather his things. The morning was quiet as he slipped on his shoes, slung his bag over one shoulder, and stepped out into the soft gold of early light. The air still smelled faintly of dew and asphalt from yesterday’s rain.

As the door closed behind him, Hinata adjusted the strap on his shoulder and took a deep breath.

Two weeks.

Outside, Oikawa was already waiting by the curb, leaning against his car like he was modeling for a lifestyle magazine. His sunglasses sat crooked on the bridge of his nose, and his smile was pure smug.

When he’d called a few days ago, just to “catch up,” he’d said, Hinata had told him about the invitation. Oikawa had immediately offered to drive him to the station. Hinata hesitated at first. It felt weird, considering Oikawa hadn’t received one himself.

“It’s okay, Shrimp. I already have plans for my future.”

But he’d said it a little too casually. And in the pause that followed, Hinata could feel it—that small, quiet weight behind his words.

Still, today, Oikawa looked brighter. There was something easier about the way he smiled.

“Chibi-chan!” he called as Hinata approached. “You won’t have to sneak in this time, huh?”

Hinata flushed. He ducked into the passenger seat, setting his bag on the floor. “That was one time.”

He remembered it too clearly. His first year, Kageyama invited to the All-Japan youth camp, Tsukishima to Shiratorizawa. Hinata, left behind, had snuck in like an idiot just to feel close to the game.

“Hey. Thanks for the ride.”

Oikawa sighed dramatically. “The pleasure is all mine. I feel like I’m taking my own child to achieve his dreams.”

“Ew. Don’t say that. That’s weird.”

Oikawa laughed and pulled on his seatbelt. “And you sound just like a child, too.”

Hinata rolled his eyes and slumped back into the seat, arms behind his head. “So. I know you’re dying to tell me. I’m surprised you waited this long.”

Oikawa tapped the steering wheel. “I don’t know what you mean. I’m a deeply private person.”

“Private person my ass.”

“Okay, fine,” he grinned. “I just wanted to tell you in person. But I’ve been... a little busy these past few days.”

Hinata glanced over. Oikawa’s ears were pink. He raised a brow. “Oh. Oh—ew.”

“Shut up,” Oikawa laughed.

But Hinata couldn’t help but smile. His friend looked... lighter. Softer around the edges. Back in Brazil, there had been weeks—months—where Oikawa moved like someone waiting for a reason not to collapse. That weariness was gone now. In its place was something steadier. Something warm.

“So, back at Sugawara’s,” Oikawa began, keeping his eyes on the road. “During the game... something clicked, you know what I mean?”

Hinata nodded. He did.

“When he spiked my toss,” Oikawa continued, “for a second, it was like we were eighteen again. Like no time had passed. He felt it too—I could tell.”

Hinata looked out the window. The buildings slid by in soft, flickering shapes. “Yeah,” he said. “I know that feeling.”

“Iwaizumi was hesitant at first,” Oikawa said. “Still a little distant. But when he came over… we had a couple drinks. And, well. It took about five beers and all of my courage to ask him to talk.”

Hinata barked a laugh. “You couldn’t do it sober? Coward.”

Oikawa gave him a sharp look. Hinata held up both hands, grinning. “I’m quiet now.”

“It was hard for him too,” Oikawa went on, more serious now. “But once we started... he told me everything. He said he thought he was holding me back. That I couldn’t enjoy volleyball because of him. That’s why he broke things off.”

Hinata’s smile faded.

“I told him that our relationship wasn’t what was in the way,” Oikawa said, voice steady. “It was the guilt. We couldn’t say what we really felt. I felt guilty for leaving him behind. He felt guilty thinking he was dragging me down. That silence—that’s what ruined things.”

They were quiet for a while. Just the hum of the car and the low whir of traffic outside.

“So,” Hinata asked gently, “did you work it out?”

“Well...” Oikawa smiled. “After six more beers and a lot of tears—not mine, his—we’re getting there. He visits more now. We talk. There’s still stuff to fix. But it’s better.”

He paused. Then added, with a smirk: “And the sex is—”

“Yeah, okay. That’s it. I’m jumping out of the car.”

Oikawa howled with laughter. “I told you, I’m giving you all the details.”

“You can leave some stuff to the imagination!”

“Your loss.”

They both laughed, the kind that felt like an exhale.

Then Oikawa’s voice softened. “Anyway… what about you?”

Hinata turned his head.

“I was a little distracted this past week. How’d your part of the plan go?”

Hinata looked out the window again. He told him everything. About the conversation at the party, the night in the rain, their brief moment at Suga’s house.

Oikawa listened, quiet for once.

“Well, shit,” he said eventually. “That sounds like a page ripped straight out of a shoujo manga.”

“Yeah. Except there’s no actual romance.”

“—Yet.”

“What?”

“You do know Kageyama’s been at those national camps since like, 2016, right?”

Hinata blinked. “Has he?”

“You do know he played in the 2016 Olympics?” Oikawa’s eyebrows shot up. “Please don’t tell me you forgot that part.”

Hinata turned his face toward the window again, voice lower. “No. I didn’t forget.”

He remembered too well.

The worst part? The Olympics had been in Brazil.

He still remembered the exact moment he saw the headline.

“Japan Men’s National Team Leaves to Rio for the Olympic Games.”

The article opened with a picture of the team walking through the airport. Athletes in matching tracksuits, cameras flashing. Kageyama was in the front. He didn’t look much different from what he’d looked like that night. His face calm. Distant.

Hinata stared at that picture for ten minutes. Kageyama was here. In the same city. In the same country.

So close.

A thousand possibilities exploded in his mind. He could reach out. Apologize. Try to explain why he left the way he did. Why it hurt too much to say goodbye.

He thought maybe this was fate.

But when the team arrived, when the moment actually came, Hinata couldn’t do it.

He didn’t text. Didn’t call. He didn’t even leave his apartment.

For days, he didn’t move. The sunlight hurt. The weight in his chest made it hard to eat. He told himself it was exhaustion. Culture shock.

But it was fear.

Not of seeing Kageyama, of being seen by him.

Of Kageyama looking at him and realizing the truth—that Hinata was a coward. That he’d run. That he didn’t deserve forgiveness. The thought of that face, cold, disappointed, angry, froze him.

So he stayed inside.

He watched the games on TV. He saw Kageyama in uniform. The way he moved. The way he set. He knew, even then, that he was missing something he’d never get back.

By the time he’d found the courage to go outside again, to step into the gym, to breathe, it was already over.

The team had left.

And Kageyama was back in Japan.

“How could I ever forget?” Hinata asked now, quieter than before. 

Oikawa glanced over. He didn’t say anything for a long moment.

Then he just nodded.

Chapter 36: Chapter XXXV

The station was already alive by the time Hinata got there. He bid his goodbyes at Oikawa, who wished him luck one last time, and took off, eagerly, to meet up with Iwaizumi.

The station wasn’t in the rush-hour chaos. It was a steady, calm—suitcases rolling, announcements echoing faintly overhead, fluorescent lights humming like pressure in his ears. The floor gleamed, too clean to feel real, and the cold air smelled like metal and vending machine coffee.

He adjusted the strap on his duffel and scanned the space until he saw the top of someone’s silver hair.

Bokuto was sitting cross-legged on a bench, unwrapping a rice ball with the intense focus of a bomb technician. Ushijima stood beside him, arms crossed, still as a statue.

Hinata waved. “Hey!”

“Shoyo!” Bokuto yelled, mouth already full. “You made it!”

Ushijima nodded once, which Hinata had come to understand as enthusiastic approval.

He dropped his bag at their feet. “You’ve been here long?”

“An hour,” Bokuto said proudly. “Akaashi said we had to beat traffic. And scope out the snacks.”

“He’s eaten five onigiri,” Ushijima said, a little judgy.

“Meh. Four and a half,” Bokuto corrected. “The seaweed on that last one tasted weird.”

Hinata smiled, but it didn’t fully settle. His eyes drifted across the crowd without meaning to, looking for a familiar pair of blue eyes and dark hair.

Still not here.

The thought barely had time to finish before a voice cut through the air behind him.

“Well, well,” Atsumu drawled, slinging his bag over one shoulder. “Ain’t this a star-studded cast.”

He walked up like he owned the place: grinning, shades on despite being indoors, blonde hair messy in a way that looked accidentally perfect. Hinata wondered for a moment, amused, if Oikawa and Atsumu would get along. Probably not.

“Bokuto, Wakatoshi, Hinata,” he said, ticking them off with his fingers. Then turned to Hinata with a sharp smile. “You gonna spike over my sets too, or should I start bribing you early?”

“Try me,” Hinata said without missing a beat.

“God, I missed this group,” Bokuto said.

“We’re not a group,” Atsumu laughed, raising an eyebrow. “We’re a psychological experiment.”

Then the crowd shifted. Hinata could hear the sound of footsteps behind him, not loud, but familiar. Rhythmic. Controlled. He didn’t turn immediately. He didn’t have to.

The air changed before the voice came.

“Hey.”

Kageyama stood a few steps away, bag slung over one shoulder, hair still mussed from travel. His expression was unreadable, neutral, reserved. In a sense, a little guarded, but not unfriendly.

“Hey,” Hinata echoed.

The tension between them stretched out, thin, taut. Almost tangible.

Atsumu’s eyes flicked between them, amused. Bokuto had gone still. Ushijima looked like someone who had just solved a very satisfying equation.

Hinata cleared his throat. “Train leaves in ten, right?”

“Track three,” Bokuto confirmed, finally swallowing. “Let’s go!”

They moved together. A loose cluster of elite players pretending they weren’t dragging a decade of baggage behind them. Something about the five of them walking together turned heads. Maybe it was the height. Maybe it was the quiet pull of history trailing in their wake.

Kageyama walked ahead. Hinata followed behind.

He didn’t mind walking that way. It gave him the chance to look without being seen. The movement of his shoulders with every breath. The muscle in his calves as he stepped. The subtle curl of his hair near the nape of his neck. There was even a small freckle there. Hinata had never noticed it before.

When they reached the platform, they boarded the bullet train in order of arrival. Bokuto, leading the charge, followed by Atsumu. Ushijima walked alongside Kageyama, deep in quiet conversation.

Hinata hesitated just a moment before stepping in last.

“Hey, Hinata!” Atsumu called a few steps ahead. “What seat are you?”

Hinata glanced at his ticket. “10D.”

He looked to the right. 10A through C were grouped in a triple. Across the aisle were two seats: 10D and 10E.

Atsumu groaned. “Shame. I got 10B.”

“10C,” Ushijima offered.

“I’m in 10A!” Bokuto said cheerfully. “I wanted the window.”

Hinata’s stomach dropped a little.

That left 10D… and 10E.

He looked up. Kageyama was already storing his bag in the overhead compartment.

Bokuto had taken charge of the tickets, but Hinata could tell he didn't even notice what was happening. It wasn't his plan. It couldn’t be. Bokuto was too distracted to have schemed this. But Akaashi, on the other hand…

“Want help with that?” Kageyama asked suddenly, nodding toward Hinata’s bag.

His voice was calm, flat. Not cold. Just... contained.

“I can reach just fine, you know,” Hinata said, trying to keep his tone light.

“I know,” Kageyama replied. But he didn’t lower his arm.

Hinata sighed. “Well… okay. Thanks.”

He passed the bag over. Kageyama lifted it like it weighed nothing and slid it beside his own.

“You can take the window,” he said.

Hinata blinked. “That’s okay. You can have it if you want.”

“I don’t. More legroom in the aisle.”

Hinata nodded and stepped past him into the seat.

When Kageyama sat beside him, Hinata understood what he meant. Tobio had grown too. He was now taller, broader. His knee jutted slightly into the aisle, just enough not to trip the food cart. Hinata’s legs, by contrast, fit neatly into the space.

From across the aisle, Bokuto leaned over. “Hey, lovebirds! Want snacks?”

Hinata could feel the warmth sliding up his cheeks, trying not to react. In high school, the nickname had been harmless. A joke, constant, background noise. But now, it hit differently.

Before he could answer, Kageyama said, “Yes, please.”

Of course. He always liked to eat during long rides. Or sleep. He wondered if that had changed.

Bokuto tossed a bag of chips. Kageyama caught it with one hand.

The train gave a small shudder beneath them. A low chime echoed through the cabin.

“Departure in one minute.”

Hinata glanced out the window.

The platform was already starting to blur.

Chapter 37: Chapter XXXVI

The bullet train eased forward with a low, smooth groan, a soft mechanical hum swelling beneath their feet as the platform blurred into motion. 

Hinata settled into his seat slowly, arms crossed a little tighter than usual. He could feel the body heat beside him. Kageyama, calm and still, legs angled slightly into the aisle. 

For the first ten minutes, neither of them said anything. Not out of malice. Not even discomfort. Just... inertia. The same kind of silence that followed a deep breath held too long. 

Hinata kept his head turned toward the window, watching the scenery streak past, heart thudding with every flick of green and gray. He was afraid to blink too long, or lean too far, or, god forbid, fall asleep and shift sideways, like he used to back in high school. 

That closeness had once been easy. Now it felt like sleeping beside a live wire.

But it was nearly a two-hour ride.

Eventually, Hinata relaxed, earbuds in, one only half-inserted, the other dangling uselessly. He tried not to listen to the quiet conversation beside him, but that didn’t stop him from catching pieces of it. Kageyama and Ushijima were talking, their voices low and steady, mostly about volleyball.

They were teammates now, both playing for the Schweiden Adlers. That fact still felt strange. Hinata remembered when the two of them first met Ushijima back in high school, when he was a rival so untouchable he might as well have been sculpted from stone.

Now, apparently, they had both received licenses from the Adlers to attend the national training camp. Their coach, Banjo Suzaku, was betting on Kageyama, Ushijima, and Hoshiumi, all new recruits, to represent Japan at the next Olympics.

Hinata’s stomach twisted slightly. Hoshiumi would be meeting them in Tokyo.

Eventually, the conversation faded. Ushijima dozed off. Kageyama shifted in his seat, cracked open the bag of chips Bokuto had thrown him, and began to eat.

After a few bites, he turned the bag slightly in Hinata’s direction without a word.

Hinata blinked, surprised. He thought back about how it hadn’t been until their third year of high school that they’d started sharing food. A lost bet, at first. Then a habit. By the end of the year, it had become unconscious. Chips during study sessions, rice balls on the bus, protein bars passed across the gym.

Hinata nodded in thanks and took a couple. Kageyama kept the bag in his left hand so Hinata could reach more if he wanted. They didn’t speak.

When the bag was empty, Kageyama slid on his headphones, tilted his head back, and closed his eyes.

Hinata didn’t. He kept his gaze on the window, let the sound of the tracks lull the edge off his thoughts. Every so often, Kageyama’s elbow brushed his. A small reminder that he was still there.

By the time the train began to slow, the station creeping into view, Hinata turned slightly to wake him, only to realize Kageyama wasn’t asleep at all.

He was watching the window too.

Their eyes met, but neither of them spoke.

“Oh, shit. Bokuto’s not waking up,” Atsumu groaned across the aisle. “I think he drooled all over me.”

The moment shattered.

Hinata stood and reached for his bag, but found Kageyama watching him again. Without asking, Hinata grabbed Tobio’s luggage first and passed it to him.

“You’re still not very tall, are you?”

Kageyama’s tone was serious, but Hinata caught the glint of amusement underneath.

“Very funny. Ha ha. Keep moving.”

He turned away quickly, hiding the smile that tugged at his mouth.

Outside the station, a chartered bus bearing the JVA logo waited for them. A woman stood beside it in a sleek windbreaker, her hair tied back in a perfect low ponytail.

She smiled warmly. “Welcome, gentlemen. It’s a pleasure. I’m Najimi Shoko, the chief event manager. You must be starving.” She turned to the bus. “This way, please. We’ll take you to the hotel now.”

Hinata found a seat next to Bokuto this time, somewhere mid-bus, thankfully out of Kageyama’s reach. Not that he was avoiding him. Not exactly.

Things were better between them. But he didn’t want to push his luck.

The ride was short. Fifteen minutes, maybe. Long enough for Hinata to start wondering how long two weeks would feel with that much tension in the air.

When they pulled up in front of the hotel, Hinata’s jaw nearly dropped.

“Welcome to the ANA InterContinental,” Najimi announced once they were all off the bus. “You’ll be staying here for the next two weeks. We hope you find your stay very comfortable.”

The building rose like glass and steel ambition. Clean architectural lines, broad marble steps leading up to a lobby that gleamed under chandeliers. The entrance was flanked by fountains, low and elegant, the kind that whispered luxury without trying too hard. Porters waited near the doors. Inside, everything shimmered.

“A five-star hotel?” Atsumu muttered beside him. “We really must be stars now.”

Hinata could barely hear him. His brain was already buzzing with one thought:

I have to tell Mom and Natsu about this.

Inside, a small group of boys were already gathered in the lobby—tall, athletic, dressed in training jackets. About nine of them. Some Hinata recognized immediately; others he’d only seen in matches, or on his phone screen.

“Ushijima! Kageyama!”

The voice rang out from the crowd, sharp and bright.

Hinata turned just in time to see a flash of white hair, green eyes, and a grin full of mischief.

Kourai Hoshiumi.

He ran towards them, pulling Kageyama and Ushijima both into a quick, rough half-embrace.

Of course. Hoshiumi was now the Adlers' new wing spiker.

Hinata's throat tightened.

That meant he’d taken Hinata’s place, in a way.

It wasn’t just that Kageyama had a new spiker. It was that Hoshiumi was the one person everyone compared to him. Their height. Their jump. Their speed. And lately, Hinata had seen a few too many comments online about how Hoshiumi was more polished. More experienced.

He knew it shouldn’t matter.

But Hinata was competitive. Always had been.

“Hinata Shoyo,” Hoshiumi said, finally turning to him with a crooked smile. “How high can you fly now?”

“I—I haven’t—”

“Pretty high, I assume,” Ushijima cut in. “He just signed with the MSBY Black Jackals.”

“Wait, seriously?” Hoshiumi’s grin widened. “That’s great. The Jackals are playing the Adlers soon. That’ll be fun.”

Chills zipped down Hinata’s spine.

Behind him, Bokuto and Atsumu had gone dead quiet.

He didn’t have to turn around. He could already feel the fire in their stares.

“Of course it’ll be fun,” Bokuto said, smiling too wide.

“Can’t wait,” Atsumu added, flat as a blade.

Hoshiumi scoffed, clearly loving it. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

Hinata bit down a laugh. God, he’d missed this. The charged, ridiculous energy of being surrounded by Japan’s best, where every word felt like a serve, and every serve could turn into a dare.

Najimi clapped her hands once, and the room went instantly quiet.

She didn’t look intimidating, not really. But there was something about her, something that made everyone fall into line immediately.

“We’re very pleased to have you here,” she said. “The next few weeks will be intense, and we’re excited to see what you bring to the court. But for now, we’d like you to check in and get settled.”

She turned to the hotel staff, who were wheeling in a tray of room key cards.

“Please choose a roommate and let us know. Once we have names, we’ll give you your keys.”

Hinata froze. He’d kept that thought buried inside his head. Ignored it all the way here.

Ushijima turned to Hoshiumi. The latter nodded.

Bokuto groaned. “Damn. I wanted to pair up with Ushijima.”

“Sorry,” Hoshiumi said. “He asked since yesterday. Doesn’t snore. Very clean. Couldn’t refuse.”

“I know,” Bokuto whined.

Hinata turned toward him quickly, ready to ask him, only to watch Bokuto clap a hand on Atsumu’s shoulder.

“Guess I’m stuck with this guy. You don’t snore, do you?”

“But Bokuto—!” Hinata began.

“No, Hinata. You move too much in your sleep.” But Bokuto’s eyes said something else entirely.

Atsumu started to protest, but Bokuto was already dragging him off, tossing Hinata a mouthed I’m sorry over his shoulder.

Hinata watched Ushijima and Hoshiumi get their key.

“Must’ve been their plan all along,” came a voice behind him.

He turned.

Kageyama stood with arms crossed, expression unreadable. But his eyes glinted.

“I’d even bet someone like Akaashi or Suga was behind this. Maybe even both.”

Hinata sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I can ask someone else…”

“No,” Kageyama said simply. “I’d rather not room with someone I just met.”

Hinata blinked. Was it really okay?

But Kageyama was already stepping up to the desk.

“Room for Kageyama Tobio and Hinata Shoyo,” Najimi confirmed. “I’ve heard you two were quite the duo back in high school. Let’s see if that spark’s still there.”

Chapter 38: Chapter XXXVII

Notes:

short chapter today<3 we're getting ready for the good stuff

Their room was on the first floor. Number 109.

They rode the elevator in silence, just the two of them, the polished walls reflecting their shapes back in double. The soft mechanical chime announced their floor, and the doors opened to reveal a corridor lined in navy carpet and warm, golden light.

Room 109 was near the end of the hall.

Kageyama slid the key card first.

The lock clicked open with a soft green flash.

The room smelled like soft linen and new carpet. It was definitely bigger than the kind of rooms they’d gotten during high school tournaments. Two beds sat side by side, dressed in crisp white, a small table between them. Floor-to-ceiling windows let in sunlight softened by sheer curtains. There was a wide desk, a television flush against the wall, and a pair of sleek black armchairs angled toward the view outside.

Hinata stepped in slowly, bag slung over his shoulder.

It was nice. Too nice, maybe. Hinata hadn’t stayed in a place like this before. It felt strange, like he didn’t belong, somehow.

He caught Kageyama’s gaze flicking across the space, assessing it the same way he used to scan the court before a serve. Then, wordlessly, he walked to the bed on the right and dropped his duffel beside it.

Hinata took the left.

No discussion. No argument. Just… decided.

They both moved at the same time. Unzipping bags, pulling out stacks of folded shirts, laying toiletries out beside the sink. For a while, the only sound was fabric rustling and zippers dragging teeth. The air conditioning clicked on with a gentle hum.

Hinata glanced across the room, then down at the familiar towel in Kageyama’s hand, blue and a little frayed at the edges. The same one he used in third year, the one he never let anyone borrow. He still had it.

In turn, Kageyama’s eyes landed briefly on Hinata’s shoes, the beat-up pair he’d used in Brazil, bright orange laces double-knotted tight. Something in his expression shifted for a second. Then he looked away.

Hinata cleared his throat.

“Weird, huh?”

Kageyama didn’t answer. Just glanced at him sideways.

“Sharing a room again. Feels like we’re back in high school.”

That got a small twitch at the corner of Kageyama’s mouth. 

“…At least it’s not twelve people in the same room.” Kageyama replied, his tone low as he folded a T-shirt in half and set it down with uneven corners.

Hinata smirked and dropped onto the bed. The mattress was firm, but the sheets were smooth and cool.

Outside, traffic moved like a distant whisper beyond the glass.

He hadn’t realized until just now how loud his thoughts had been on the train.

Hinata had just finished unpacking his training clothes when his phone buzzed.

He grabbed it quickly, half-thinking it was the JVA schedule already, only to see Mom lighting up the screen.

Shit.

He hadn’t messaged her yet.

He picked up, already grimacing. “Hey, Mom. Sorry, I forgot to text. We just got here—like, ten minutes ago? The hotel’s insane. Fancy. You should see the lobby.”

Kageyama looked over, quiet, seated at the foot of his bed.

Hinata turned slightly away. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll send you a picture later.”

There was a pause.

“No, it’s not a single room,” he added. “We’re all rooming in pairs.”

Another pause. Then Hinata winced. “Uh... I got placed with Kageyama.”

Kageyama raised an eyebrow.

Hinata groaned internally. He already knew what was coming.

“...Yeah, he’s here,” he said reluctantly. “Yeah. I mean—if you really want—” He didn’t finish the sentence. Just held the phone out like it was radioactive. “She, uh… She wants to talk to you.”

Kageyama blinked once. Then, with zero hesitation, took it.

“Hello, Auntie,” he said, voice surprisingly warm.

Hinata’s mom didn’t miss a beat. She’d already switched to video. “Tobio! Oh, look at you—still so handsome! You really grew into that jawline, huh? I hadn’t seen you since you moved from Miyagi”

Hinata slammed a pillow over his face.

“Thank you,” Kageyama said, a little sheepish. “Sorry I haven’t visited.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I know how busy you are. Natsu’s been wondering when you’ll come over again.”

Speak of the devil.

“Tobio!” came Natsu’s voice, just barely offscreen. “You still owe me a rematch!”

Kageyama smiled softly. “And you owe me an explanation. I haven’t forgotten.”

Hinata peeked out from under the pillow. Did he mean about the last time, at Karasuno? What the hell was happening? Was this real life?

His mom leaned back into frame. “Shoyo hasn’t been to Tokyo much, so keep an eye on him, okay? And don’t let him spend all his money on vending machine drinks.”

“I’ll do my best,” Kageyama said, chuckling under his breath. “No promises on the drinks.”

“You’re a good boy, Tobio.” Her tone changed slightly gentler. There was something behind her words. Something checking, nudging, watching how he reacted. “We’re glad he has you.”

Kageyama didn’t flinch. “I’ll make sure he’s alright.”

They hung up a minute later, after some final goodbyes and another round of Natsu yelling “Kick his ass in training!” from the background.

Kageyama handed the phone back.

Hinata took it in silence, setting it screen-down on the bed between them.

He looked down at the fabric of his duvet, smoothing it between his fingers. There was something he’d wanted to ask Kageyama about, but he hadn’t found the chance to. But now…

After a moment: “I, uh… I heard you walked Natsu to school for some time, when I was gone… Why’d you do it?”

Kageyama shrugged, but it was slower than usual. “There was that thing going on. With the kidnapper near the school.”

“I know,” Hinata said. “But we have other family. My uncle lives close. My mom could’ve asked him.”

“I don’t know.” Kageyama said. “Just because.”

A silence settled between them. Hinata could tell there was a reason. Something deeper. Something Kageyama either didn’t want to or couldn’t admit just yet.

Hinata looked over.

“Well, whatever it was… thanks,” he said.

Kageyama didn’t answer. He just leaned back, looked toward the ceiling, and let the quiet stretch out again

Chapter 39: Chapter XXXVIII

After unpacking, they headed downstairs to check if lunch was ready. Neither had eaten anything since Bokuto’s chips on the train, and Hinata’s stomach had started to ache in that hollow, sharp way it did when nerves piled on top of hunger.

The restaurant was sleek and spacious. Dark wood floors, polished brass fixtures, soft golden light that made the silverware gleam. Players filled the tables, some still in travel clothes, others already in sandals and hotel loungewear. Laughter rang out across the room, along with the clatter of dishes and the faint aroma of garlic and soy.

“There they are!” Bokuto’s voice cut through the noise like a knife. “Finally!”

They found seats near him. Hinata next to Atsumu, Kageyama across the table beside Hoshiumi. Other familiar faces sat nearby, scattered across half the room.

“I heard the food here’s insane,” Bokuto continued, clearly the only one still full of energy. “Coach said they customized the whole thing for us—nutritionists and everything.”

“I don’t know how I’m gonna survive two weeks of that,” Atsumu muttered under his breath, gesturing vaguely at Bokuto.

“You could always ask Akaashi for tips,” Hinata said with a grin. “He probably has a whole survival manual.”

Atsumu snorted. “I asked once. He just said, ‘earplugs.’”

They didn’t have to wait long. Within ten minutes, trays were arriving. Chicken, rice, sautéed vegetables, tofu, miso soup, even dessert options. The JVA had apparently booked out the entire restaurant wing, and the food was tailored like a pro athlete’s dream.

For a few minutes, no one spoke. Just forks scraping plates, spoons clinking, the quiet, sacred rhythm of exhausted men inhaling fuel.

Midway through the meal, Bokuto launched into a conversation with Hoshiumi and Ushijima about a match they’d all seen last year. Hinata tuned them out. He was trying to eat slow, savor each bite, but something about the atmosphere had shifted.

He felt it before he heard it.

“Hey, Shoyo.”

Hinata turned slightly. Atsumu was leaning back in his chair, expression relaxed, voice syrupy.

“Yeah?” Hinata asked, sipping his water.

“I didn’t get to congratulate you on signing with the Jackals,” Atsumu said. “Bokuto didn’t wanna give me your number. Said I’d scare you off.”

Hinata laughed lightly. “That sounds about right. He thought you’d blackmail me or something?”

Atsumu shrugged, all teeth. “Maybe. Maybe something else.”

Hinata choked slightly on his water.

Atsumu tilted his head, eyes locked on him. “Remember what I said when we first met? That one day I’d set for you?”

Hinata swallowed, throat suddenly dry. “Yeah... I remember.”

“Well.” Atsumu leaned in a fraction. “Dreams do come true.”

The way he said it, low, lazy, edged with heat, made something twist in Hinata’s gut. He’d been flirted with before, back in Brazil. It had always been fun, easy, usually in broken English or too-fast Portuguese. This was different.

This was clear.

He gave a quick, nervous laugh, unsure how to play it. But Atsumu wasn’t done.

“So how do you like Tokyo so far?” he asked, more casual now. “It’s a good city. Gets lonely, though. Especially at night.”

Hinata blinked. Was this even real? How could he talk like that in front of everyone else?

From across the table, Bokuto’s voice cut in, light, but not casual. “Oh, c’mon, Atsumu. Give my kid some breathing room.”

“Your kid, huh?” Atsumu grinned, raising an eyebrow. “So I gotta ask you for their blessing?” He turned back to Hinata and tilted his head, playfully. “To play, I mean.”

Hinata looked up. Everyone at the table had gone quiet.

He shifted in his seat.

“No,” he said finally, voice steady. “You don’t have to ask Bokuto.” He looked Atsumu straight in the eye. “You ask me.”

Atsumu’s smirk deepened. “Yes, sir. Noted.”

But something in his gaze flicked, off to the side, directly at Kageyama.

Hinata followed it.

Kageyama wasn’t looking back. He’d returned to his food, poker-faced. But his knuckles were pressed hard into the edge of his tray, fists tight, tendons sharp under the skin.

So. He had heard.

Hinata looked down at his plate. His appetite was gone.

Then a voice rang out. Clear, commanding, older.

“Gentlemen.”

Everyone turned.

A middle-aged man stood near the entrance, arms crossed. He had thick eyebrows, dark eyes, and a short anchor beard. His voice carried effortlessly. He looked serious, yet friendly. 

“It’s a pleasure to have you all here,” he said. “I’m Fuki Hibarida, but you can call me Coach Hibarida. I’ll be leading this training camp, and overseeing national team scouting. Some of you have been here before. Some of you are new. All of you are here for a reason.”

His gaze passed across the room, pausing briefly on Kageyama.

“Let me be clear. Being invited here does not guarantee you a spot on the national team. It’s up to you to show us your best. We’re looking for hunger. For growth. For chemistry. But I must remind you… volleyball is a team sport. The moment you forget that, you’re already off the court.”

A few players sat a little straighter.

Hinata’s skin prickled. The moment with Atsumu was still heavy in the air. He couldn’t help but glance at Kageyama again.

If he noticed, he didn’t show it.

Coach Hibarida gestured to his side. “Manager Najimi will now go over the schedule.”

Najimi stood up, smiling professionally as ever. “You’ll find a detailed itinerary in your rooms, but here’s the overview: the hotel shuttle leaves at 6:30 a.m. daily. Training begins at 7:00. You’ll have structured sessions, scrimmages, and off-court conditioning. Breakfast and dinner will be served here. Lunch will be served at the Training Center. Hotel’s recreational areas are open until midnight.”

She paused. “Today is yours. Explore the space. Rest, swim, stretch—just be ready for tomorrow.”

Hinata stared at his plate, appetite long gone.

“So,” Bokuto said brightly, as if nothing had happened. “Pool time?”

“I’m in,” Hoshiumi chimed.

“None of you can bail now,” Bokuto added. “Coach said we gotta bond. Pool counts as team-building. Right, Shoyo?”

Hinata smiled, trying to shake it off. “There’s no way I’m turning down a pool party.”

He returned to the room early to grab his swim clothes. Natsu had insisted he bring them, and now he was grateful. His stomach was still tight from the tension, but maybe water would help.

In the bathroom, he changed into the swim shorts he’d bought back in Brazil. Blue with orange lining, a little faded from sun and salt.

He caught his reflection in the mirror.

His skin was still tanned, and the outlines of his old tank top had left faint sunmarks on his chest and shoulders. His body had changed. More definition now, more muscle than he’d had in high school. But it wasn’t just that. He looked older. Sharper.

He didn’t feel it, though.

He grabbed his sunscreen, opened the door—

And stopped cold.

Kageyama was already back, standing beside his bed with his bag half-open, digging for something. When he turned, he froze too.

Hinata didn’t miss the way his eyes flicked over his chest, his arms, the sun-faded marks of Rio… Then, just as quickly, Kageyama looked away.

Hinata moved fast, practically diving for his shirt.

“You done with the bathroom?” Kageyama asked, voice a little too flat.

“Uh. Yeah. All yours.”

He didn’t look back as Kageyama passed him.

But he could still feel the silence.

It was loud enough to drown in.

Chapter 40: Chapter XXXIX

The rooftop pool glowed pale blue under the setting sun, its surface catching golden streaks of light between soft ripples. Steam lifted gently from the water, made warmer than expected by some quiet luxury the hotel didn’t advertise. Around it, white lounge chairs circled in even lines, and gentle jazz played from sleek ceiling speakers tucked into the stonework.

Hinata stepped out onto the pool deck in his swim shorts, towel slung over one shoulder. The air was cooler than he expected, the scent of chlorine sharp but clean. A few of the other players were already there, some easing into the water, others chatting in low voices with drinks in hand from the juice bar nearby.

Bokuto waved him over with both arms, already soaking wet and grinning like a kid on summer break. “Shoyo! Hurry up, we’re starting a breath-hold contest!”

“You’re insane,” Hoshiumi called, floating on his back. “You’re gonna pass out.”

“Worth it,” Bokuto replied, disappearing under the surface with a dramatic flourish.

Hinata laughed and walked toward the shallow end. He still wasn’t sure if he wanted to swim laps or just float until his arms went numb. The hotel was too nice. The view was too peaceful. He almost didn’t want to move.

Behind him, the sliding doors opened.

Atsumu strolled in like he owned the place, shirtless, towel hanging low on his hips, sunglasses on even though the sun had nearly dipped behind the skyline.

“Shoyo,” he drawled, stepping up beside him. “Didn’t take you for a pool guy.”

Hinata raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t take you for a guy who wore sunglasses at night.”

“They’re transitional lenses,” Atsumu lied without blinking. “Also, fashion.”

He leaned in slightly, gaze flicking down the line of Hinata’s shoulder. “Gotta say, Brazil really did you good. Those arms are something else.”

Hinata choked slightly on his own breath.

From across the pool, Bokuto stood up in the water like a submarine surfacing from the deep. “Atsumu!” he yelled. “I swear to god—”

“Relax, Dad,” Atsumu called, backing up with a smirk. “We’re just talking.”

Bokuto trudged out of the water, grabbing a second towel and tossing it around Hinata’s shoulders with forceful affection. “You talk with your eyes too much.”

“I’m expressive,” Atsumu said.

“You’re a menace,” Bokuto replied.

Hinata, sighing deeply, just muttered, “I’m gonna go sit in the hot tub.”

“I’ll join! You’ll need a bodyguard” Bokuto warned.

As they crossed the deck, Hinata looked around. “Where’s Ushijima?”

“He stayed back in the room. Said he wanted to take a long bath and sleep early,” Hoshiumi answered from Bokuto’s arms, now being carried toward the hot tub like a sack of flour. “I think he’s just nervous about the camp.”

When they finally reached the hot tub, Kageyama was already there. He looked up at them like his brief moment of solo peace had just been stolen.

Bokuto greeted him with the enthusiasm of a golden retriever. Hoshiumi cannonballed in. Atsumu, who’d been pretending to take selfies by the pool, noticed Kageyama and zeroed in.

Kageyama looked unimpressed.

As Hinata set his towel down, he turned and caught, at the worst possible moment, the sight of Kageyama taking off his shirt.

He looked away immediately, ears pink. Kageyama had always been muscular, but he’d filled out more in the last two years. His shoulders were broader, waist lean, skin pale and barely touched by the sun. Hinata tugged off his own shirt quickly and slipped into the water without comment.

Once they were all inside the hot tub, arms draped along the rim, steam rising in slow, swirling tendrils, Hinata realized just how lucky they were that Ushijima had stayed behind. The tub was roomy, not that roomy, but with five grown athletes packed in shoulder-to-shoulder, it was already pushing it.

A few minutes passed in quiet satisfaction. Bokuto sighed like he was on a tropical vacation. Hoshiumi floated. Even Atsumu leaned back with his arms spread and a kind of smug serenity that was probably rehearsed.

“I could stay here forever,” Hoshiumi mumbled, eyes closed.

“Yeah,” Hinata murmured. “I could get used to this.”

But, of course, Bokuto stirred. The silence didn’t stand a chance.

“So!” he said, straightening up with water dripping off his hair. “What are we playing?”

Kageyama groaned. “We’re not playing mermaids.”

“I wasn’t gonna say mermaids—but also, don’t knock it ‘til you try it.”

Atsumu raised an eyebrow, grinning. “Why not spice it up? Truth or dare, maybe?”

That earned a visible flinch from Hinata.

From across the tub, Kageyama shifted too, sharp and subtle. Their eyes met for half a second, enough to confirm that they were both remembering the same thing.

“Yeah, no,” Hinata said quickly. “Not a lot of dares you can do without getting banned from the hotel.”

“Well then,” Hoshiumi offered, arms folded over the tub’s edge, “what about ‘Most Likely To’?”

Bokuto blinked. “What’s that?”

“You just ask who’s most likely to do something,” Hoshiumi explained. “And everyone points. You get a lot of judgment and very few rules. It’s fun.”

Kageyama frowned slightly. “Can I pull out my phone to look up questions?”

“No, dumbass,” Hoshiumi said, flicking water at him. “You’ve played this before. Use your brain.”

Kageyama grumbled something under his breath and looked around as if the perfect question might materialize on someone’s forehead. “Fine. Who’s most likely to… end up in jail?”

The hands went up, half instantly.

Atsumu and Hinata pointed at Kageyama. Hoshiumi pointed at Atsumu. Kageyama pointed at Hoshiumi. And Bokuto was pointing somewhere... behind the wall.

“What—are you pointing at the building?” Hinata asked.

“I’m pointing at Ushijima,” Bokuto said seriously. “Have you seen his death glare when someone messes with his towels?”

Hoshiumi made a face. “He’s the most law-abiding guy I know.”

“Exactly,” Bokuto whispered, ominously. “It’s always the quiet ones.”

Atsumu was already launching into his question. “Alright. Who’s most likely to have a spicy dream about someone in this hot tub?”

He was halfway through the word hot before he pointed directly at himself.

Everyone else, predictably, pointed at Atsumu, too.

Except Hoshiumi, who pointed straight at Kageyama, face deadpan and perfectly unreadable.

Bokuto’s eyes went wide. “Huh.”

Kageyama’s expression didn’t move, but his hand slowly drifted under the water, like he was weighing the pros and cons of drowning Hoshiumi.

Hinata’s face felt like it had been dunked in lava. He cleared his throat hard. “Uh… my turn?”

No one stopped him.

“Who’s most likely to lose a game because of a tantrum?”

Every hand pointed at Bokuto.

“Uncalled for,” Bokuto said, offended. “I have improved.”

“You threw your shoes at a referee once,” Atsumu said.

“It was symbolic!”

They kept going.

Hoshiumi asked who was most likely to become famous for something unrelated to volleyball. Everyone pointed at Atsumu. Bokuto asked who was most likely to adopt a dozen stray animals. Everyone pointed at Hinata. Atsumu asked who was most likely to text their ex. Most of them pointed at Hoshiumi.

Then Bokuto grinned wickedly. “Okay. Who’s most likely to marry their setter?”

Hinata immediately pointed at Bokuto. So did Atsumu and Kageyama. Bokuto pointed proudly at himself.

But Hoshiumi, with that same innocent smile, raised a single finger and pointed it, firm and slow, at Hinata.

Hinata froze.

“What? Why me? Bokuto’s practically married with Akaashi.”

“Yes, but Akaashi is not his setter anymore. Atsumu is. You, however… well, Oikawa was your setter in Brazil,” Hoshiumi mused, “but that wasn’t an official team. So that just leaves two options.”

Atsumu leaned in, hand flat against his chest. “Your new setter.”

Then pointed across the tub.

“Or your old one?”

Hinata couldn’t breathe.

Atsumu’s smirk sharpened. The air went electric.

That was the moment Kageyama leaned forward slightly and exhaled, loud enough to cut the silence like a blade.

“You’re annoying,” he said to Atsumu. His voice was calm. Cold. “Ask a real question.”

Atsumu blinked once, caught off guard. “It was real—”

“Your flirting’s too obvious,” Kageyama said, sinking lower into the water. “It’s exhausting.”

Hinata felt something in his chest uncurl. His hands unclenched without realizing they’d been tight.

Hoshiumi chuckled. Bokuto muttered something about tension ruining his skin.

The next few questions were lighter. The edge dulled. Someone asked who was most likely to forget their own birthday. Who was most likely to bring a cat into a locker room. Who was most likely to sleep through a match.

Eventually, Bokuto stretched his arms up and yawned, the water sloshing gently around him.

“Alright, alright,” he declared. “I’m starting to wrinkle like an old man. Time to call it.”

“Finally,” Kageyama muttered.

They climbed out one by one, grabbing towels and slipping into flip-flops, voices lower now. Someone laughed in the hallway. The breeze on the deck had cooled.

As they reached the elevators, Atsumu leaned just a little closer to Hinata and whispered, “So, old setter or new setter?”

Hinata didn’t answer.

The elevator doors slid open. They stepped inside, Kageyama beside him, silent.

And as the numbers ticked upward, Kageyama turned his head, just slightly, and said under his breath:

“That wasn’t subtle either.”

Hinata’s ears burned.

“No,” he admitted. “It wasn’t.”

Chapter 41: Chapter XL

Notes:

slightly short chapter because we're creating that build upppp <33

The corridor was hushed as Hinata and Kageyama made their way to their room, their footsteps soft against the thick hotel carpet. The faint scent of sunscreen still clung to their skin, mingling with a hint of mosquito repellent from earlier. The warmth of it, oddly, filled Hinata with something like comfort. A sense memory of summer nights, of familiarity.

Kageyama was the one to place the keycard against the reader. The soft green light blinked, and the door opened with a quiet click.

Inside, the room was dim and golden, exactly as they’d left it. Clothes from before the pool lay tossed carelessly across the beds. A rumpled towel sat in a heap on the floor. Their toiletries had spilled out across the sink in no particular order. Nothing in the space was clean or precise, and somehow, it made Hinata ache.

For one quiet, stolen second, he closed his eyes.

If he’d never gone to Brazil. If he’d taken that kiss with both hands and never let go. If this mess, this comfort, this quiet cohabitation was just their life. The routine of two people who never really learned how to separate.

If, if, if, if.

But he had gone. He had left. And though he didn’t regret the leaving, not really, he regretted the way it happened. The silence. The empty space.

Hinata exhaled.

“You gonna take a bath now or wait till tomorrow?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light, easy.

Kageyama tilted his head, thoughtful. “Tomorrow. I hate drying off my hair before bed.”

Hinata nodded. “I’ll go now, then.”

Kageyama didn’t respond. He was already halfway to the clothes rack, looking for his pajamas.

In the bathroom, Hinata let the warm water roll over him for longer than usual. The day had been long. Tiring. He was sore in that soft, quiet way. The kind of tired that came from holding yourself a little too tightly, for a little too long. Not just with Kageyama. Now with Atsumu, too. There was always something under the surface.

By the time he emerged, clean and changed, the edge had dulled. He was grateful for it.

Kageyama was already in bed, not asleep, propped against the pillows with the TV on low volume. A volleyball replay. Of course.

“Who’s playing?” Hinata asked before he could stop himself.

“USA and China,” Kageyama replied, eyes still on the screen. “Fourth set. It’s close.”

Hinata sat on the edge of his bed, towel in hand, drying his hair slowly. The sound of the announcers buzzed softly in the background. He didn’t usually enjoy watching replays on TV. He’d always preferred the intensity of a live match, the echo of the gymnasium, the sweat and noise and raw immediacy, but something about watching with Kageyama made it feel different. Like sharing something familiar and sacred, without needing to speak.

By the time the match ended, China winning 32–30 in an extended fifth set, Hinata’s hair was nearly dry. He hung his towel by the window, then collapsed face-first into the bed, arms spread wide.

The sheets were crisp and cool, freshly washed. The pillows smelled faintly of citrus and starch.

He rolled onto his side, watching Kageyama flip absently through the channels.

A small thought came to him, one he hadn’t planned to voice.

“Do you, uh…” He hesitated. “Do you still play the TV to fall asleep?”

Kageyama didn’t answer right away. “Yeah,” he said finally. “Doesn’t always work. But it still helps sometimes.”

Hinata nodded, eyes on the ceiling now. The mood was different tonight. Softer. The sharp edges had dulled. Kageyama’s voice wasn’t so tightly wound. His shoulders weren’t drawn so high.

The silence settled. Heavy, but not cold.

“Are you sure you’re okay sharing a room with me?” Hinata asked.

Another pause.

“I don’t know,” Kageyama said. Not defensive. Just honest.

Hinata turned on his side again, facing him. “... Why?”

Hinata knew it was a dumb question. Of course he knew why. However, for some reason, it occurred to him at that moment that he’d never really asked Kageyama how he felt about, well, anything. Not properly, at least. Not with his hands open.

Kageyama sat up slowly. The TV still buzzed in the background, some late-night cooking show looping in closed captions.

“Do you really want to have this conversation now?” he asked.

Hinata shrugged. “Do you think it’d help? Feeling more comfortable around me, I mean.”

“I don’t know,” Kageyama said. His voice had gone quieter. Not quite hesitant, but quieter. “Maybe.”

“Then we can try.”

Hinata sat up, too, dragging a pillow behind him to rest against the wall. Between their beds, the small bedside lamp cast a warm glow, soft and golden, just enough to make the shadows gentle. Everything about it felt quiet, private, separate from the world outside.

He was nervous, yes, but not as much as he’d imagined.

Maybe it was the warmth of the bath still clinging to his skin. Maybe it was the soft light of the room, the quiet buzz of the television, the hush that came after a long day. Or maybe, just maybe, it was that for once, they weren’t being watched.

Their friendship had always belonged to everyone else. On gym floors. In tournament brackets. In whispers behind lockers and coach mutterings and the sidelong glances of teammates who never really understood what they were looking at.

Even their first kiss had been in front of their friends.

But this… this wasn’t a play or a performance.

It was private. Intimate.

Just two boys, sitting in the dim light of a hotel room, still learning how to carry both love and resentment in the same breath. Still learning what it meant to hold onto each other, even after everything had come undone.

Hinata took a deep breath.

“I want to know everything,” he said, voice low but steady. “I want to know how you felt that day. And how you feel now. I want you to be honest with me.”

He met Kageyama’s eyes. Really looked at him.

“I know I messed up. I know I deserve whatever anger you still have. But I’m here. I want to fix it. So please… talk to me.”

Chapter 42: Chapter XLI

Notes:

another chapter i loved writing<3 hope you guys enjoy it!!

“Did you ever think that, maybe, more than being angry because he left... you're hurt because you didn’t get to say anything before he did?”

Suga’s voice wouldn’t leave him. It lived in the back of Kageyama’s mind, echoing louder than he liked to admit.

Ever since that day, ever since Suga said it, something inside him had shifted. A quiet crack in the foundation. A pressure behind his ribs that wouldn’t release.

He had thought it was just anger.

And yes. There was anger. A lot of it.

There were still days when the memory of it all made his chest tight, his hands curl into fists beneath his desk. Days when he’d think about how easily Hinata had disappeared, no warning, no goodbye, and he’d feel a dull, sick heat crawl up his throat, the kind of fury that made him want to scream until something broke.

But it wasn’t just anger. It never had been.

There was something underneath it. Smaller. Quieter. A longing that felt too raw to name.

A stupid part of him, one he tried to ignore, wanted to lean forward right now. Just to press his fingers into that ridiculous orange hair again. To let his hands curl into it like they used to back when they were close. To bury his face in Hinata’s neck and let the scent of sweat and citrus and something unmistakably him settle into his lungs again.

It wasn’t right.

Hinata had hurt him. Deeply. Maybe more than anyone ever had.

But even now, even after all this time, part of him still wanted to be held by the person who broke him.

Kageyama realized he was gripping the edge of his blanket too tightly. He unclenched his hand.

“I don’t even know where to start,” he said at last, his voice low.

He’d imagined this conversation so many times, screaming, accusations, doors slammed shut. He’d played it out with Suga again and again, letting the fury rise and crest and crash. But none of those rehearsals had ever included this Hinata, quiet, vulnerable, soft-eyed and listening.

There was nothing performative about it. No excuses. No defenses.

Just him. Open. Ready.

It made everything harder.

Hinata looked down, twisting the hem of his shirt between his fingers. His voice came out tentative. “You could, uh… We could start with how you felt. That, uh. That day.”

Kageyama drew a long breath. Suga’s words again: He’s trying. Meet him halfway.

He met Hinata’s eyes.

“Well. Honestly… I was planning to tell you how I felt before we… you know.” He glanced down, rubbing the back of his neck. “Before we kissed.”

Hinata blinked, expression caught somewhere between surprise and something softer.

“It took me a long time to figure it out,” Kageyama said. “What I felt. That it wasn’t just... respect. Or excitement. It was something else. It scared me. It didn’t feel normal, but it felt real. And when we kissed that night... I was over the moon. I was awkward and terrified but I—I’d never felt anything like it. Not ever. It was my first kiss. And it felt like... like the first time I understood I could actually want someone.”

Hinata’s hands had gone still.

Kageyama went on, voice quieter. “And then Tanaka said you were leaving.”

He swallowed.

“It made sense, in a horrible way. You’d been acting different. Distant. Nervous. I think... part of me already knew. But hearing it, right after that kiss… it felt like getting a brick to the stomach.”

He looked down at his hands, frowning.

“You know, when we first met, I hated you,” he admitted. “I really did. You were reckless. Loud. All that talent, and no idea what to do with it. And somehow, you still got through to me. You figured out the exact words to say that made me want to prove you wrong. Or right. I’m still not sure.”

He forced a breath out through his nose.

“Back at Kitagawa Daiichi, when I tossed that ball and no one was there to spike it… I’ll never forget that moment. The silence. The humiliation. The fear. I thought: this is what I am. This is what I’ll always be. A tyrant. A king with no subjects. A kid no one wants to play with.”

His voice cracked then, just slightly.

“But then you came along. And every toss I gave you, you were there. You never let it drop.”

He looked up again.

“So when you left… when you left like my parents did, like my grandpa, like every single person who swore they’d stay—”

He bit the inside of his cheek.

“It was hell.”

The room was quiet except for the soft hum of the television. Kageyama’s voice dropped even lower.

“I know I said awful things that day. I was cruel. But it felt like everything I’d worked for, every bit of progress I thought I’d made, was just some stupid, fragile dream.”

Then, bitterly: “And I still loved you. Through all of it. I hated you and I loved you. I couldn’t stop.”

Hinata’s breath caught. He looked stunned, like he’d been holding it in for minutes.

“So… I went to the airport,” Kageyama said.

Hinata’s head snapped up. “What?”

“The day you left. I got on a train. I went to the airport. I—I was going to find you. I wanted to stop you. Or at least see you one last time. But I couldn’t move. I couldn’t walk inside.”

He shook his head slowly.

“Suga found me there. Don’t even know how. He got me into his car and took me home. I didn’t leave his place for two days.”

Hinata’s hands were trembling now. Not visibly. But Kageyama could feel it. The kind of shaking that started deep in the core and rippled outward, silent but unstoppable.

“I waited,” Kageyama said. “I waited for a message. A call. Anything. But nothing came. Then I found out you’d blocked me.”

Hinata flinched. Visibly, this time.

“That,” Kageyama whispered, “that almost finished me.”

Silence.

“And now you’re back. You came back, and you… You still look like you. But not. You're different somehow. I kept wishing you’d come back changed. So much that I wouldn’t even recognize you. So I could just keep hating you. But you didn’t. You came back and you’ve been—god, you’ve been trying. I can see it. You’re trying to fix things. And I… I don’t know what to do with that.”

Hinata’s eyes were glassy, and Kageyama could see him wrestling with something. Words clawing their way up his throat.

Finally, Hinata spoke.

“I was scared.”

Kageyama blinked.

“I wanted to tell you,” Hinata said, voice shaking. “But I didn’t know how. I thought maybe... maybe if I didn’t say anything, it wouldn’t hurt so much. That if I kept it quiet, maybe you’d be okay. That you’d move on faster if you hated me.”

His voice cracked. “But I was wrong. I know I was. I thought I was protecting you, but the truth is—I was protecting myself. I was terrified of looking you in the eye and saying goodbye. Terrified of seeing you disappointed in me. Terrified of you moving on with someone who wasn't me.”

Kageyama’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t speak.

“I should’ve said something,” Hinata whispered. “Anything. You deserved that. You deserved so much more than what I gave you.”

His fingers curled into the blanket. His next breath was ragged. “I was a coward. I won’t pretend otherwise. And when I realized what I’d done, how badly I’d hurt you… I didn’t know how to fix it. I thought maybe it was too late. Maybe reaching out would just reopen something you were trying to heal.”

He looked up then, eyes rimmed red but steady.

“I’m sorry, Tobio.”

The words were simple, but they hit like thunder. He wasn’t just saying them. He meant every part of them.

“I’m sorry I left. I’m sorry I didn’t explain. I’m sorry I hurt you, and disappeared, and blocked you like a goddamn coward. I’m sorry for all the ways I made you feel abandoned. For every second you waited for a message I didn’t send. For making you feel like everyone else who left.”

Hinata swallowed, hard. His voice dropped, nearly a whisper.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me. You might never. And I might not deserve it. But I swear—if there’s anything I can do to make this right… if there’s any way I can start to earn your trust back, even if it takes years… just tell me.”

Kageyama sat frozen for a long moment.

Something behind his eyes flickered.

Then, slowly, like the tension was finally beginning to loosen, he looked down at his hands, and exhaled.

“I missed you,” he said again, quieter this time.

Hinata’s breath stuttered. His eyes shimmered.

“But I can’t go back to how it was,” Kageyama added, firm but not cold. “I can’t pretend this didn’t happen.”

“I don’t want to pretend,” Hinata said quickly. “I just want to be honest. For once. With you. About everything.”

Kageyama looked up. Their eyes locked.

Hinata’s voice was steady now, even if his hands weren’t.

“I don’t want to run anymore.”

A silence stretched between them. Full of ache and memory and something just beginning to soften.

Kageyama didn’t smile. But the edge of his expression gentled.

The TV clicked off.

Silence settled like a soft blanket over the room, broken only by the low hum of the AC and the occasional passing car outside the window.

They both stayed upright a little longer than necessary. But after a moment, they both lay back down.

Then, slowly, Hinata turned toward the space between the beds. The warm lamp on the nightstand cast long shadows across the comforters.

“…Tobio,” he said.

Kageyama’s head shifted. A breath. “Yeah?”

Hinata hesitated, thumbs twisting. “I know it’s dumb. But—can I…?”

He didn’t finish. The words caught somewhere in his throat.

He shook his head. “Never mind. It’s stupid.”

Kageyama was quiet for a long second.

Then, Kageyama reached out. Across the small nightstand between their beds, he extended his hand, fingers half-curled, unsure.

Hinata looked at it for a second.

Then reached too.

Their fingers touched.

Hesitated.

Then gently, hesitantly, they intertwined. Not tightly. Not completely. Just enough.

A bridge between beds. Between anger and apology. Between then and now.

They stayed like that, unmoving. The contact small, but burning.

And in the quiet, it said:

I’m here. I’m still here.

Chapter 43: Chapter XLII

Soft pink sakura petals fell onto his face, his shoulders, his feet.

He closed his eyes, recognizing the scene once more. He hadn’t had this dream since he came back home. He watched, astonished, as his hand reached toward the same falling petal he’d seen many times.

Hinata looked around. His bike. Same road. Same sakura tree. The clothes we wore before falling asleep.

He reached for the petal, fingers almost closing around it. His ears sharpened, listening.

Last time, he’d seen a figure walking towards him. A figure that felt familiar but Hinata still couldn’t really recognize. The voice. He knew the voice from the dream belonged to it. 

When the voice started, the words were still unrecognizable, but now much clearer.

He turned his head toward the sound.

The tall figure emerged, but this time, it didn’t approach Hinata. It froze in its place, watching him. Hinata turned to look at the petal, but somehow, something felt different. His arm reached out, finally reaching the petal. 

As his hand wrapped around it, the voice stopped. He turned to look at the figure, his heart beating fast. 

The figure… he finally recognized it. It was Kageyama. 

He was staring at him, his eyes looking, expectant. He looked as if he had been waiting for Hinata to reach the petal. 

Hinata tried to take one step toward him, and his feet moved with difficulty. It was heavy. He felt as if he was talking in water. He tried to take another step, it was heavier. 

He kept trying to walk. With each step he took, Kageyama looked… relieved. 

He was closing the distance with Kageyama, more and more. But suddenly he stopped. Kageyama was looking at him differently. 

His hand went up to his chest. 

Kageyama turned and walked away. Hinata couldn’t move anymore. He struggled as much as he could. He wanted to call for him, but the voice wouldn’t come out of his throat. 

Nothing. 

 

---

 

Hinata woke with a jolt, bolting upright like he'd been shot from a cannon. His phone buzzed and chirped next to him, the obnoxious alarm vibrating against the nightstand.

The dream...

His chest rose and fell too fast, like he’d been running. He blinked at the ceiling, trying to get his bearings. The sheets were twisted around his legs, his shirt damp with sweat.

To his right, Kageyama’s bed. Empty.

Hinata’s gaze slid to the sliver of light under the bathroom door, soft and pale, accompanied by faint rustling and the occasional clink of a bottle cap or zipper.

Right. Kageyama was already up.

Hinata let out a slow breath and scrubbed his palms over his face, trying to shake the rest of the dream from his skin. He hadn’t had it in months. Not since coming back to Japan. But this one had lingered. Longer. Heavier. And different.

He didn’t hear the bathroom door open. Only looked up when a voice cut into the quiet.

“You good?”

Kageyama stood at the edge of his bed, towel slung around his neck, damp hair clinging to his forehead. He was already in training clothes, clean and ready, like the dream couldn’t touch him.

“Yeah,” Hinata said quickly. “I’m good.”

He wasn’t, exactly, but looking at Kageyama, very real and very present, helped ground him. In the dream, he'd tried to reach him and failed. But here, in this room, he was right there.

“Nightmare?” Kageyama asked, sitting down on the edge of his own bed.

Hinata nodded, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Something like that.”

He got up and reached for his gym clothes, folding the conversation away like a piece of paper he couldn’t throw out just yet.

Kageyama didn’t say anything while Hinata gathered his things, but just before Hinata stepped into the bathroom, a quiet voice met his back.

“I get those too.”

Hinata paused. Just for a second. Then stepped inside and shut the door gently behind him.

The water in the sink was cold. He cupped it in his hands and splashed his face. It helped, a little.

Bits of last night flashed behind his eyes. Words left hanging in the dark, Kageyama’s voice softening like it hadn’t in years, the way their fingers had twined together.

It had meant something. He didn’t know what to call it yet. Definitely not “friends,” not in the usual way, but something had shifted between them. Something warmer.

When Hinata emerged, dressed and toweling his hair dry, Kageyama was still seated on the bed, scrolling slowly through his phone. He looked up for a moment, expression unreadable, then went back to whatever he was reading.

“You done?”

Hinata nodded. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

It was exactly 6:00 a.m.

Thirty minutes to grab breakfast and meet the others before the shuttle left.

They didn’t speak in the elevator, but it wasn’t an awkward silence. It didn’t hum with tension or weight. It just was.

The hotel restaurant was already half-awake, warm yellow light washing over tidy white tablecloths. Ushijima and Hoshiumi were already seated, eating with precise, tired efficiency. Well, Ushijima was precise. Hoshiumi looked like he’d woken up inside his shoes and hadn’t forgiven the world for it.

Kageyama and Hinata headed straight for the food bar, filled their trays, and took their seats.

“Morning,” Kageyama offered as he sat.

“Where’s Bokuto?” he added, glancing around.

Hoshiumi groaned faintly, stabbing at a slice of fruit. “Atsumu forgot to schedule mirror time. They’re running late. Told us to grab their breakfast for them.”

Ushijima, as expected, looked perfectly unbothered.

They ate in relative silence, the table feeling oddly empty without Bokuto’s constant noise. Hinata usually filled in those gaps with easy chatter, but the dream still pressed at the back of his mind, dull and uncomfortable like a bruise.

Just as they were clearing their trays, a loud voice called from the lobby.

“Hoshiumi!”

They turned in time to see a tall figure heading their way. And not just tall. Towering. Broad. Built like a refrigerator.

“Hey! Hakuba!” Hoshiumi lit up as he walked over to greet him.

Gao Hakuba. Kamomedai High. Hoshiumi’s old teammate. He looked the same. Slightly ridiculous in proportions, but with a gentle energy that matched the grin on his face.

“Good to see you, man. Figured you’d be here,” Hakuba said, then turned to the rest of the group. “Hinata Shoyo. I thought I might find you too... but you two—” his eyes landed on Kageyama and Ushijima, “why are you guys here? Aren’t you already on the team?”

“We’re still officially selected,” Ushijima replied matter-of-factly.

Hinata blinked, caught off guard. He turned to Kageyama. “Wait, what?”

Kageyama met his gaze and shrugged. “He’s right. Coach just wants to see if we’re still in shape for the Olympics.”

Oh.

That dull pang again. An ache at the idea that some of them had already made it. That they didn’t have to fight as hard to prove they belonged.

“Guess you’ll have to share some tips,” Hakuba laughed, then turned back to catch up with Hoshiumi.

They resumed walking toward the hotel’s entrance, where the shuttle was already parked. The doors were open, engine rumbling low.

Just as they were about to board—

“WAIT FOR US!”

Bokuto’s voice echoed through the lobby like a foghorn. He came sprinting out, hair wild, hoodie askew, dragging Atsumu behind him like an inconvenient suitcase.

The shuttle hadn’t even started boarding, but Bokuto threw himself in like it was leaving without him. Hinata burst out laughing.

He climbed in after them, taking the window seat next to Bokuto’s single spot. A quiet part of him hoped Kageyama would sit next to him.

But his hopes didn’t last long.

Atsumu plopped into the seat beside him before Hinata could open his mouth to protest. Kageyama passed without a glance, claiming a solo seat behind Bokuto and putting in his earbuds.

“Don’t get too excited about seeing me, Sho,” Atsumu whispered, leaning a little too close.

Hinata shoved a paper bag into his lap. “Here’s your food.”

He handed the other bag to Bokuto, who clutched it like a long-lost treasure.

Just then, Manager Najimi stepped onto the shuttle, her expression as composed and regal as always. Even in a tracksuit.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” she said brightly. “I hope you all had a good rest. Just a few reminders before we head off.”

The bus went quiet.

“We’ll be arriving at the training center shortly. Please go straight to the main gym. Coach Hibarida will speak briefly, and then we’ll begin warm-ups. Lunch is at one o’clock. You’ll have one hour. Practice ends at five. Any questions?”

A few hands went up. Someone asked where the coffee was. Another asked about the ice bath schedule. One brave soul inquired if there would be dessert.

Najimi answered every question with a smile that could disarm a landmine.

“Very well. Day one officially begins now. Let’s do our best.”

Hinata glanced out the window. The city was just beginning to glow. A quiet, golden promise rising behind the buildings.

His heart thudded gently.

Day one.

It was finally beginning.

Chapter 44: Chapter XLIII

The gym was too bright.

Hinata squinted as he stepped inside, blinking up at the rows of fluorescent lights suspended from the steel-beamed ceiling. The air was crisp and too clean, and the gleaming hardwood floor stretched out in every direction like a polished stage. Everything smelled faintly of fresh varnish and anticipation.

Twenty-four players were already in uniform, stretching, running warm-up laps, talking in quiet, clipped tones. Manager Najimi had explained it during the shuttle ride: ten of the athletes had arrived directly from Tokyo, which is why the hotel hadn’t seemed full yesterday. Now, all of them were here.

Hinata scanned the room quickly. Kageyama was on the far side, passing the ball with Ushijima. Their movements were sharp, clean, like clockwork. The familiar mechanics of their sync made something inside Hinata clench without warning. They looked like they’d been doing it together for years.

He tugged gently at the hem of his shirt and tried not to let it show.

Beside him, Hoshiumi cracked his neck with a dramatic grimace. “These lights make me look like a ghost. Hospital-grade. Tragic.”

Hinata blinked, startled, then snorted. “You look fine.”

“I look like I live underground.” Hoshiumi gave a long-suffering sigh. “Anyway. You ready?”

Hinata nodded, even as his pulse pounded too hard in his ears. “Always.”

Coach Hibarida’s voice snapped through the gym like a whip. “Line up!”

Hinata moved with the crowd, forming clean rows, standing at attention. Hands behind backs. Eyes forward. Hibarida stood on a raised platform near the center line, a clipboard in one hand and no visible trace of a smile on his face.

“This camp isn’t about who’s good,” the coach began. “It’s about who’s better. Smarter. Consistent. And above all: who can play as a team.”

His eyes swept the line like floodlights.

“You want to be on the national team?” he asked. “Then earn it.”

No one moved.

“Warm-up drills. Pairs. Show me something.”

The sharp blast of a whistle cut the stillness, and the line broke apart.

A ball landed against Hinata’s chest, and he barely caught it.

“Looks like you’re stuck with me, Brazil Boy,” Hoshiumi grinned.

Hinata grinned back. “Just try to keep up.”

They started slow. Underhand passes. Gentle sets. The ball arced between them, building a rhythm. Clean, efficient, quiet. The sound of sneakers, the soft thud of forearms connecting with leather, and the occasional breathless laugh filled the space between.

Then Hoshiumi picked up the pace. His sets came faster, steeper. Hinata pushed off his toes, body tuned to every shift of momentum. He met the rhythm without flinching. Twisting, diving, jumping into motion like it was instinct.

Pass. Set. Pass. Jump set. Counter-pass.

They weren’t just warming up anymore. They were testing each other.

Coach clapped sharply, signaling rotation, Hinata’s shirt was clinging to his back with sweat. But he was smiling. 

The rest of the warmup ran like clockwork. Target passes, serve receives, block syncing, reaction drills. Forty minutes passed like they were nothing.

Then the whistle again.

“Scrimmage time,” Hibarida called. “Four teams. You’ll rotate in. One-set matches. First to 25. Losers off the court. Let’s see who adapts fastest.”

Hinata and Kageyama were placed on separate teams.

Of course.

The first match: Team Green versus Team Yellow. Bokuto and Hoshiumi versus Atsumu and Ushijima.

The match was brutal. Bokuto was a cannon, Hoshiumi a storm. But Atsumu was wily, his sets slippery and unexpected. Ushijima anchored his team like an immovable pillar. They clawed point after point. The game ended 29–27, Yellow taking the win.

Hinata’s team, Team Blue, subbed in next. He was positioned as opposite hitter. His setter was Onigashira. Precise, cautious, but steady. They fought hard, even gained a lead at one point, but Yellow’s firepower proved relentless.

They lost by two.

Hinata didn’t let it shake him. He shook off the sweat, reset his mind. This was Day One.

The next match: Kageyama’s team, Team Red, took the court.

He didn’t say much. Didn’t need to. His serves were thunderous, calculated. His sets to Wakatsu Kiru landed with deadly accuracy.

They crushed Yellow.

Then came the match of the day: Green vs. Red.

Bokuto and Hoshiumi were in their element now, all muscle and chaos and sheer glee. But Kageyama? He read their offense like a seasoned scholar. Every block, every narrow-angle shot… they were all anticipated. The match dragged into extra points.

Green won. Barely.

Finally, Hinata’s team came up again. Blue vs. Red.

For the first time in two years, Hinata and Kageyama were facing each other on level ground. A real court. Real stakes. Real tension.

And Hinata? He was buzzing.

He didn’t hold back. Not for a second.

He covered wide ground, throwing himself for desperate saves. He adjusted on the fly. He found the holes in Red’s defense and punished every opening. They went point for point. He could feel Kageyama’s eyes on him with every jump.

Blue won. 34–32.

The rest of the tournament rotated fast. Red beat Yellow. Yellow beat Green. Green beat Blue.

Every match felt like a war fought on tired legs. By the time the final whistle blew, they were soaked through and heaving. But the adrenaline hadn’t worn off.

At the water station, Hinata was filling his bottle when he felt the air shift behind him.

“You’re jumping too soon,” Kageyama said, calm and flat.

Hinata turned his head. “And you still shy away from the center when you think the blockers are smarter than you.”

That earned the smallest smirk from Kageyama.

“So, what’s the score now?” he asked, casually.

Hinata sighed, exasperated. “Four-three. You’re ahead. For now.”

“We’ll see.” Kageyama said, sipping his water.

The silence that followed wasn’t cold. It was… familiar. It felt like being sixteen again. Just for a second.

Coach Hibarida called for everyone to gather.

“You’ve all shown why you’re here,” he said. “Today’s performances proved something. You’re not just good, you’re contenders. But don’t get comfortable. This is just the beginning. The national team doesn’t want sparks. It wants endurance.”

A few tired nods. Others stood tall, hiding their exhaustion.

“Those returning to the hotel,” Najimi added, stepping forward, “your shuttle leaves in twenty minutes. Be ready.”

Hinata pulled out his towel, wiping his face. His whole body buzzed. Exhausted. Satisfied.

“You were playing like you were trying to impress your ex.”

Hinata turned, scowling before the voice even finished. Atsumu stood behind him, smirking.

Hinata punched him lightly in the arm, rolling his eyes. “Shut up.”

Atsumu leaned in a little. “Heard the coach took notes.”

Hinata turned to glance behind him. Kageyama stood a few feet away, staring with what could only be described as withering disinterest. But he’d definitely heard.

Hinata sighed, shouldered his bag, and walked toward the shuttle without a word.

Right now, what mattered most was this: today, he had belonged on that court.

And tomorrow, he was going to prove it all over again.

Back at the hotel, the elevator ride was quiet.

Hinata stood beside Kageyama again, towel slung around his neck, a bottled water in one hand. Their shoulders brushed as the elevator shifted floors. Neither of them spoke.

The hallway light in the hotel was dimmer now, tinged gold by the early evening sun. Their room greeted them like it hadn’t changed. Two beds, two bags, shared silence.

Kageyama kicked off his shoes without a word and dropped onto his mattress, legs splayed out.

Hinata stood at the window for a long second. Then he laughed softly, not even sure why. His chest ached, but in a good way. Like a stretch after a hard run.

He turned around just in time to see Kageyama shift sideways and toss a small sports drink bottle underhand in his direction. It bumped off Hinata’s arm and landed against the windowsill.

Hinata blinked. “What’s this?”

“You looked like you were gonna faint,” Kageyama muttered. “Drink something.”

Hinata picked up the bottle and cracked it open.

“Thanks,” he said, voice softer.

Kageyama was already flipping through the TV channels like nothing had happened.

And for a little while, Hinata let himself believe maybe everything was just starting to happen again.

Chapter 45: Chapter XLIV

Notes:

hey guys! sorry for the late upload, I was at pride and unable to check my phone, but here is the new chapter!!

hope you guys enjoy it, and happy pride to those who celebrate<3

The sun wasn’t even up when Hinata stirred, eyes fluttering open to the pale blue-gray of early dawn. For a moment, he didn’t bother turning off his alarm, until he caught the soft, irregular rustle of movement on the other side of the room.

Kageyama was already awake.

He sat on the edge of his bed, hoodie half-zipped over his gym shirt, a single earbud tucked into his left ear. His hair was still messy from sleep, shadows falling sharp across his cheekbones in the dim light. He was hunched over his phone, watching replays, probably, or footage from the scrimmages yesterday.

He hadn’t noticed Hinata was watching.

Hinata turned onto his side, careful not to rustle the sheets too loudly. It wasn’t the first time he’d woken to find Kageyama like this: silent, already locked into his own world, but it felt different now. Not like they were strangers sharing a room. Not quite like friends, either. Something quieter. Closer. Something neither of them had named yet.

Kageyama glanced over suddenly, sensing the weight of a stare. Their eyes met.

“Morning,” he said, voice low and rough. He didn’t take the earbud out.

“Morning,” Hinata echoed, his own voice scratchy with sleep.

That was it. No other words. But maybe they didn’t need any. Or maybe neither of them knew what else to say.

Hinata swung his legs off the bed and stretched, groaning faintly. The room still smelled faintly of minty sports rub and fresh laundry. A kind of domestic stillness, unfamiliar but not unwelcome.

“I’ll shower first,” he mumbled, padding toward the bathroom.

Kageyama gave a quiet nod, eyes drifting back to his phone.

By 6:00 a.m., they were already in the elevator on the way to breakfast.

Hinata’s mother used to tease him about how he could be late to school, to part-time jobs, to family dinners... but never to anything volleyball-related. Kageyama, he suspected, had always been the same. Punctual in the way that only obsession could make a person.

Breakfast was more relaxed than the day before. Bokuto and Atsumu had finally figured out their schedules and joined them at the table. It wasn’t exactly cheerful, too early for that, but the quiet murmur of conversation helped settle the nerves that still fluttered faintly in Hinata’s chest.

At the Training Center, after warm-up stretches, Coach Hibarida’s voice rang out:

“Pair off. Let’s begin with controlled passes and sets. Don’t waste my time.”

Hinata was still glancing around the gym when a voice appeared beside him.

“Wanna pair up?”

He turned. Kageyama.

There was a moment, just a flicker of surprise, before he nodded. “Yeah. Sure.”

Kageyama gave a short nod, but his eyes darted behind Hinata’s shoulder, just briefly.

Hinata followed the glance.

Atsumu was there. Hands raised in mock surrender, smirking like he’d been caught stealing something. Again.

Oh.

Was Kageyama…?

Hinata shook his head. No use thinking about that. Not now.

They started their drill just like the day before. Pass. Set. Reset. No words exchanged, but the movement between them was smoother than yesterday. Adjusted. Tighter. Their rhythm clicked together like teeth on a zipper.

Hinata thought back to that afternoon at Karasuno, just a few weeks ago. How strained things had felt. How stiff Kageyama had been. That sharpness wasn’t there now. Not quite. Not in the way he passed, not in the way he looked up after a toss to see where Hinata landed.

Coach Hibarida’s voice sliced through the noise again:

“Synchronization drill. Group three—step forward.”

They both turned. Their names were among the list.

“No signals,” the coach said. “Spiker initiates. Setter reads. Let’s see who actually knows their partner.”

Hinata and Kageyama faced each other across the narrow court. There were whispers in the corners of the gym, but they didn’t matter. Kageyama bounced the ball twice and steadied it in his hand.

He didn’t look up. But he didn’t need to.

Hinata shifted into a crouch. Loaded his legs like a slingshot.

And sprang.

Kageyama’s toss came quick, cutting, fast, but not too high. Hinata launched after it like a hawk, arm snapping out. The ball cracked off his palm with a sharp echo that rang through the gym.

It was a perfect spike. At least to everyone watching.

But Hinata turned on his landing, already looking at Kageyama.

And Kageyama was shaking his head.

“Too low,” he said, voice low. “Sorry. One more.”

Hinata just nodded. “Okay.”

They reset.

A few players nearby exchanged glances. Someone muttered, “That was too low?”

But neither of them heard. Or maybe they just didn’t care.

The second toss came. Sharper arc. Slightly higher. Hinata adjusted mid-run, and this time, he flew.

The ball met his hand like a secret.

It hit the floor so fast the receiver didn’t even twitch.

A whistle. Then clapping. One of the assistant coaches let out a soft whistle through his teeth.

“Jesus,” someone muttered. “That’s not a quick. That’s a glitch.”

But Hinata was already catching the rebound. Kageyama was resetting his band. Their eyes met for half a second. Nothing was said.

But everything had been understood.

The rest of the session blurred. Kageyama rotated into serve defense. Hinata got thrown into a block-reading drill with Hoshiumi and Atsumu. The pace was brutal, but exhilarating.

Atsumu gave good feedback. He adjusted Hinata’s form with a smug kind of confidence that normally would’ve irritated him, but today, it worked.

“Try bending your fingers forward a little,” Atsumu said, adjusting Hinata’s arms with both hands. “Like this. Less like a tree. More like a hook.”

Hinata rolled his eyes, but the tip helped. A few spikes later, he and Atsumu managed to shut down one of Hoshiumi’s angles. Hinata shouted in victory, thumping Atsumu’s arm, and Atsumu returned it with a cheeky grin.

It might’ve been a perfect little moment, until a loud crack echoed through the gym.

Everyone turned.

Kageyama had just served.

Even Ushijima blinked. The ball had ricocheted so violently, it bounced halfway back across the court. The receiver missed it entirely.

Kageyama didn’t even smirk. He was staring across the court, at them. At Atsumu.

Hinata felt a chill run down his spine.

The rest of the day blurred by. There were rotations, team switches, drills that tested stamina and coordination. Hinata found himself playing alongside strangers and veterans alike, and each round forced him to adapt, readjust, perform.

At the end of it all, he was wrecked, but buzzing. Like his muscles were still reverberating with the tempo of the court.

Back in the locker room, they changed in comfortable silence. Kageyama pulled out an energy bar from his bag.

“You switched?” Hinata asked, eyeing the wrapper.

“Huh?”

“You used to hate no-sugar protein bars.”

Kageyama made a face. “The Adlers’ nutritionist cut me off. Sugar’s banned.”

Hinata snorted. “And you just listened?”

“It worked,” Kageyama said flatly. “I didn’t gain weight.”

“You never gain weight.”

“Now I don’t have to try.”

Back at the hotel, everyone dispersed. Bokuto collapsed face-first into bed. Ushijima took a call. Atsumu tried, unsuccessfully, to talk Hinata into going out. Kageyama disappeared early into their room.

Hinata stopped at the vending machine. He bought two bottles of milk.

When he came in, Kageyama was sprawled on his bed, staring at his phone with that furrowed, hyper-focused scowl he always wore when watching films or replays. Hinata crossed the room and silently placed one of the milk bottles on his nightstand.

Kageyama glanced at it. “Thanks.”

Hinata nodded, about to grab the remote when Kageyama spoke again. “You should see this.”

He turned the phone slightly.

Hinata leaned over to squint at the screen.

“Too small,” he muttered.

He moved instinctively to kneel beside the bed, but Kageyama shifted, his voice almost too quiet.

“You can sit.”

Hinata blinked.

“What?”

“You can sit,” Kageyama said again, not looking up. His ears were flushed pink.

He shifted over, making space.

Hinata hesitated for a moment, and then sat carefully on the edge of the bed. His knees bent, back stiff, body hyper-aware of every inch between them.

They watched in silence. Footage of their drills. Their rallies. Their tosses. Kageyama made the occasional comment. Hinata replied softly. The air between them wasn’t tense, but it buzzed. Like the space before a serve.

When the final video ended, Kageyama locked his phone. The room went quiet.

Hinata was still leaning against his pillows.

Still in his bed.

He stood too quickly.

“I’ll, uh—I’ll throw these out,” he said, grabbing the empty bottles.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

Kageyama’s voice was even. But something about it felt too steady. Too level. Like a tightrope.

Hinata didn’t look back.

His ears were burning.

Chapter 46: Chapter XLV

The low thrum of breath and distant city traffic hummed beyond the hotel window. The pale, pre-dawn sky bled faint blue across the ceiling. Hinata stirred, one eye cracking open. His alarm hadn’t gone off yet, but something in the room had shifted.

He rolled slowly onto his side.

Kageyama was already up.

He stood near the far wall, hoodie pulled half on, a resistance band looped under one foot. He tugged it overhead in slow, methodical pulls, left shoulder, then right, face blank, jaw tight with focus. The light from the bathroom had been left on, casting a warm slant of yellow across the edge of the bed. It looked like something from a dream.

The air smelled faintly like coconut shampoo and muscle rub.

Hinata blinked hard and sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He didn’t say anything at first. He just watched as Kageyama shifted posture, switching to a different stretch. The band creaked under strain.

It was strange. Back in high school, seeing Kageyama stretch at five in the morning would’ve felt like some ridiculous punishment. Now, it just felt... like him.

“Morning,” Hinata murmured.

Kageyama didn’t stop stretching, but his eyes flicked over, just briefly. “Morning.”

His voice was scratchy, still rough with sleep, but not unfriendly.

Hinata stood, legs stiff, shoulders clicking as he reached his arms over his head. He paused for a second, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror, his shirt askew, eyes still swollen, hair flat on one side and wild on the other.

Kageyama caught the glance. “You look like you got run over.”

Hinata let out a groggy snort. “You look like you got up just to judge me.”

“I’ve been up for thirty minutes.”

Hinata scratched the back of his neck. “Of course you have.”

They didn’t smile, but something passed between them. Familiar, but still unsure.

Kageyama dropped the band and reached into his duffel. “Wrap your knee again. Yesterday you were landing off.”

“I wasn’t—” Hinata paused. He was. “Yeah. Okay.”

Without speaking, Kageyama pulled out a roll of sports tape and tossed it lightly across the room. Hinata caught it one-handed, with a soft thwap of fabric on palm.

He held it for a second.

Then, softly: “Thanks.”

Kageyama didn’t answer. He was already packing the band away.

The silence wasn’t awkward. But it wasn’t comfortable yet, either. It was something in between. Something stretching between beds and tape and shared routines. Something that didn’t have a name.

 

---

 

The assistant coach stood at the center of the court with a bucket full of volleyballs, his whistle hanging from his mouth like a threat. Around him, a wide semicircle of players crouched low, hands hovering over their knees like coiled springs.

Hinata was among them, shoulders tense, eyes sharp. The instructions had been clear: watch the coach's movements, react instantly. No signals, no warnings. The ball could come at chest, face, knees. You didn't get to choose.

The coach didn’t speak. He simply snapped his wrist and let the first ball fly.

It whizzed past someone’s ear before they even flinched.

The second came faster.

Hinata leaned forward, weight on the balls of his feet. His whole body hummed like it knew the game before his brain did. The third ball flew, left side, low, and Hinata dove without thinking. Palms out, forearms catching the ball clean in a low dig.

“Nice one,” muttered someone behind him. Maybe Hoshiumi.

The tempo built like a heartbeat. The coach didn’t pause between throws. Each movement was unpredictable. No rhythm, no pattern. Just chaos in a straight line.

When the ball came directly at Hinata’s face, he didn't flinch. He stepped in and deflected it with the heel of his palm. Controlled. Clean.

During their water break, Atsumu nudged Hinata with his knee, a bottle dangling from one hand. “So… Brazil, huh? Was it really as hot as they say?”

Hinata blinked at him, still catching his breath. “ Hell yeah. I slept with the fan pointed directly at my face most nights.”

“Close to the beach?”

“Ten minutes by bike. I’d stop at this little café on the way every morning for breakfast.” He grinned faintly. “I miss pão de queijo .”

The words slipped out naturally. He hadn’t realized how much he missed talking about Brazil.

He also didn’t notice how still Kageyama had gone across the court, where he’d been stretching in the shade. But when Kageyama stood abruptly and crossed the gym toward the far court, fists flexing, shoulders rolling hard, Hinata noticed.

Something in his movements had changed.

Back at the gym, the atmosphere was alive with motion. Not the neat, choreographed kind from morning drills, but wild, reactive chaos. 

Every few seconds, a coach launched a ball into the court. Some were blunt one-touches from the side. Others were soft, erratic tips meant to fall between indecision. It wasn’t about technique anymore. This was scramble work: reading the mess, adjusting on the fly.

Hinata moved without thinking. He dove once, twisting to save a ball that rebounded hard off a block. He hit the floor and rolled back up in one motion, breath sharp in his lungs.

“Red team, merge!” barked Coach Hibarida.

There was a shuffling of feet, the sound of sneakers pivoting on polished wood, and then, Hinata saw him.

Kageyama stepped onto the court, sweat clinging to his throat, the collar of his jersey stretched from exertion. His eyes were narrowed, unreadable. 

They didn’t speak. They didn’t nod.

The next sequence began without pause. A hard-driven ball ricocheted off a backrow player and hung briefly in the middle of the court. Bokuto ran it down and popped it up. Not pretty, but high enough.

Kageyama was already under it, body coiled, hands up, and Hinata was ready.

He’d felt this moment coming. Had felt it simmering beneath the silence between them all day. He knew this pattern. He knew this rhythm.

His feet exploded forward. It was timed perfectly.

Or at least, it should have been.

Kageyama tossed, but the arc was wrong.

Not wrong enough to look like a mistake. Just a shade slower, a breath shorter. The kind of adjustment you couldn’t see unless you knew the original rhythm by heart. Unless you’d built that rhythm together.

Hinata jumped into empty air.

His arm cut through the space where the ball should’ve been.

The ball, beautiful, deliberate, fractionally late, dropped behind him.

Silence clamped down on the gym. Not a dramatic hush, but a stunned blink. A soft intake of breath from a few teammates, and then the subtle shift of heads turning.

It had looked like a perfect play.

Hinata landed hard, stumbling one step before catching himself. His chest rose with the effort of restraint, not exhaustion.

He didn’t need to turn. He knew where Kageyama was standing. Knew he wouldn’t say anything.

Still, he looked up.

Across the court, Kageyama’s eyes met his. Flat, unreadable, but holding.

And that was when Hinata knew: it wasn’t a misfire. Not a moment of miscommunication.

It was a choice.

Kageyama had changed the tempo at the very last moment. He had made the toss harder to reach.

Hinata bit down the flare in his throat.

The next rally began almost immediately. Bokuto sent another mess of a ball their way, and Kageyama tossed again.

Same angle. Same spin. But this time, Hinata had adjusted. Not just his footwork. His expectation. He didn’t jump as soon. He waited half a beat longer.

He launched.

The spike was thunderous. It smacked the floor with a brutal snap, brushing past a block and catching the edge of the corner.

Someone muttered a low “ shit ” under their breath. A few scattered claps rose. 

But Hinata didn’t celebrate. Kageyama didn’t look at him.

They played out the set in silence. No missteps. No more tosses off-tempo.

The set ended minutes later, Coach’s whistle slicing through the gym.

Hinata walked off-court slowly, wiping his hands on his shorts. His face was blank, but the flush on his neck betrayed him. His shoulders were tight. His jaw tighter.

He didn’t see Atsumu until the setter appeared beside him, towel slung casually around his neck, a teasing grin already in place.

“You always flirt like that?” he said, low and amused. “Or is that just your brand of couples therapy?”

Hinata didn’t answer. 

His fingers were still tingling.

 

---

 

Hinata was just zipping up his bag when Atsumu sat beside him on the bench, digging through his own gear.

“What was it like playing with Oikawa?” he asked. “He talk as much as they say?”

Hinata exhaled slowly. His body still felt wound tight from the drills, but the question made his mind wander back to hot courts and louder mornings.

“And not just in one language,” he said with a short laugh. “I had to pick up Portuguese and Spanish just to keep up. He liked calling plays in whatever language would throw the other team off.”

Behind them, a locker slammed shut.

Hinata flinched.

Kageyama was already standing, bag slung over one shoulder, hoodie half-zipped. 

“Bet you didn’t miss us at all,” Atsumu added sweetly, just as Kageyama walked through the door.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t look back. He just shoved his earbuds in and walked out.

Hinata said nothing as the door swung closed behind Kageyama.

 

---

 

Hinata returned to the hotel room well past sunset. 

The room was dim. Kageyama was lying on his bed, earbuds in, phone glowing in the dark. He didn’t look up. Didn’t acknowledge Hinata’s entrance.

The silence felt different tonight.

The warmth from that morning, tangled in tape, in shared routines, in unsaid softness, was gone now. The air had cooled around it.

Hinata paused at the edge of his bed.

He wanted to speak. To break the space between them. To explain something he wasn’t sure he could name.

But the words wouldn’t come, so he sat down in silence.

And the quiet wrapped around them both, cold as a missed toss.

Chapter 47: Chapter XLVI

The next morning was just as cold.

Hinata woke to the sound of rustling fabric, the quiet shuffle of someone moving around in the dark. He opened his eyes slowly, the hotel room still painted in the heavy indigo of pre-dawn.

Kageyama was already dressed. His bag was slung over one shoulder, his hood pulled up, casting a shadow over his face.

He didn’t say anything. Just turned, grabbed his water bottle, and walked out.

It was barely 5:30 a.m.

Hinata stared at the door for a moment after it clicked shut, his breath puffing in the cold air of the room. The silence that followed wasn’t peaceful. It was hollow.

He showered quickly, got his gear together, and made his way down to breakfast.

Kageyama had taken his food to go.

Everyone at the table had paused to glance up when he left, trays still in hand. Only Ushijima didn’t react. He simply followed him with his eyes, then went back to peeling the skin off his orange with the same quiet precision he did everything else.

On the shuttle, Kageyama took an isolated seat near the back. Headphones in. Gaze fixed on the window like there was something out there only he could see.

Hinata sat near the front. He didn’t mean to stare, but the weight in his chest wouldn’t go away.

Practice started with rotations and strategy review. Mapping out possible matchups, blockers versus spikers, how to restructure mid-game when the opponent overloaded one side. The kind of training that demanded attention. Precision. Patience.

Hinata tried to focus, but his eyes kept drifting. Every few minutes, they found Kageyama, seated at the opposite corner of the gym, posture straight, expression carved in stone. His eyes never flickered back.

But someone else noticed.

Atsumu caught him mid-glance and raised his brows with a slow, knowing grin.

When Hinata turned away, Atsumu leaned over with a whisper only he could hear. “If you keep staring at him like that, I’m gonna get jealous.”

Hinata didn’t respond. Not with words. But his cheeks flared just enough to make Atsumu laugh quietly to himself.

By the time Red and Green faced off in practice, the gym had a different energy. The players were hyped for the match. Kageyama vs. Bokuto and Hoshiumi promised nothing short of chaos.

But something was off.

Kageyama’s tosses weren’t bad. They weren’t even mediocre. Technically, they were clean, sharp, perfectly placed. But they lacked something. An edge, a push. He wasn’t adjusting to his hitters the way he usually did. No experimentation, no calculated risks. He was playing like a machine set to default.

And the players could feel it.

By lunch, Kageyama had disappeared again. Picked up his tray and vanished before anyone could ask where he was going.

“Jeez,” Atsumu whistled. “Who pissed in his protein shake?”

Hinata clenched his jaw. He tried to eat, but his appetite had left the table with Kageyama.

He left his food untouched and stepped outside the cafeteria. The quiet was colder out here. Crisper. He scrolled his phone aimlessly for a moment, thumb hovering over a contact name he hadn’t expected to dial again so soon.

But he did.

Four rings.

Then—“Shoyo?”

Hinata let out a breath. “Hey, Suga… you busy?”

The voice on the other end softened instantly. “Nope. What’s going on? You good?”

“I don’t know,” Hinata said honestly, scratching the back of his neck. “I mean, I guess. Sort of. It’s uh… it’s about Kageyama.”

Suga’s tone didn’t shift. But Hinata could practically hear him sit up straighter.

“Okay,” he said. “Tell me.”

Hinata poured it out. Everything. Atsumu’s relentless flirting. Kageyama hearing their conversations yesterday. The weird energy. The off-tempo toss. The distance. And now, the silence. How it was like something cracked again.

When he finished, there was a long pause.

Then Suga exhaled. “You already know what this is, don’t you?”

Hinata leaned against the wall, eyes closed. “Yeah.”

“But?”

“I just… I don’t know how to fix it.”

“You ask,” Suga said simply. “You don’t guess. You ask.”

“I don’t think he wants to talk to me right now.”

Suga’s voice sharpened, just slightly. “Hinata. You came all this way. Are you really gonna let this fall apart again because you can’t ask?”

The words hit harder than Hinata expected. He winced.

“You’re not a kid anymore,” Suga continued, softer now. “You don’t get to run away from this stuff and call it fate. If you hurt him, you talk to him. If he hurt you, you talk to him. That’s what adults do.”

Hinata rubbed a hand down his face. “I just… I thought we were getting closer.”

“You are,” Suga said gently. “But progress isn’t a straight line. You take one step forward, two steps sideways. You’re doing okay.”

Hinata didn’t realize he’d been holding back tears until Suga added, quieter. “It’s going to be okay.”

He laughed through his nose, wiping his cheek with his sleeve. “Thanks, dad.”

“Shut up. You wish you were my son.”

 

---

 

Later that night, the shuttle ride home was quiet.

Hinata had planned to talk to Kageyama immediately, but players cornered him in the hotel lobby, asking for help with block reading drills. He gave out his number with a polite smile, but all he could think about was the conversation waiting upstairs.

By the time he reached their room, it was empty.

His stomach dropped.

Hinata dialed his number without thinking. One ring. Two. Three.

He almost hung up.

“Hello?”

“Where are you?”

A pause. “Why?”

“Please,” Hinata said. “Just tell me.”

Another silence.

Then, soft and low. “I’m by the pool.”

Hinata ran.

His legs burned. His backpack bounced against his side. Someone in the hallway shouted after him, but he didn’t stop. Not until the automatic glass doors opened and the night air hit his lungs like ice.

The rooftop pool glowed beneath the lights. A few players lounged in the hot tub, laughing over bottled tea. But at the far end, past the low glass railing, Kageyama stood alone.

The rooftop was quiet except for the occasional sound of water lapping against tile and the low hum of the city far below.

Kageyama stood at the edge of the glass barrier, hands in his jacket pockets, his shoulders stiff. The sky behind him was navy blue, streaked faintly with light pollution and stars that barely made it through. He turned his head when Hinata approached.

His expression didn’t shift much, but something about his eyes softened. There was no anger. No coldness. Just exhaustion, tightly bound.

“Hey,” he said, voice low.

“Hey,” Hinata replied.

He stepped up beside him, careful not to get too close. The view from up here stretched forever. The city sprawled out beneath them, glowing with movement. Cars the size of bugs, windows flickering like stars on the pavement.

“Can I ask you something?” Hinata murmured, his voice barely louder than the breeze.

Kageyama kept his gaze on the skyline. “If you want.”

Hinata exhaled, slow. “Did I do something to piss you off?”

Kageyama didn’t answer right away. His jaw shifted slightly, like he was chewing on words that didn’t want to come out.

“It’s fine,” he said.

“It’s not,” Hinata snapped, too quickly. Then, gentler. “It doesn’t feel fine. Not between us. Not since yesterday.”

Another silence.

“You remember what I told you?” Hinata continued, eyes still on the city. “That I don’t want to run anymore? That I want to stay? I meant that. All of it. But if we keep doing this thing, where we guess instead of asking, where we pretend we’re fine when we’re not… it’s gonna fall apart all over again.”

Kageyama’s shoulders tensed, but he didn’t move.

“I’m trying, Tobio,” Hinata whispered. “But I need to know if I did something wrong. And if I did, I want to fix it.”

Suga's voice resonated across Kageyama's mind. “He's trying. Meet him halfway.”

He fucking hated when he was right.

Kageyama didn’t look at him at first. His hands were tucked into his jacket pockets, his posture rigid. But when he spoke, his voice was quieter than it had been all day.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said.

Hinata turned his head slightly. “Sure doesn’t feel that way.”

There was a pause.

Then Kageyama exhaled, rough and uneven. “Yesterday, when you were talking to Atsumu about Brazil…”

His jaw flexed. His eyes stayed on the city.

“I don’t know what happened. I just— I hated hearing it.” He shook his head, like he didn’t want to be saying this. “It made me feel like I missed everything. Like someone replaced you and dropped a version I don’t even know back into my life.”

Hinata stayed quiet, letting him speak.

“You’re talking about bike rides and cafés and places I’ve never seen. People I’ve never met. You’ve lived this whole other life. And I wasn’t there. I didn’t even know who you were becoming.”

Hinata’s breath caught softly in his chest. He hadn’t expected Kageyama to put it like that. Not so clearly.

Kageyama shifted his weight. “And I hate that it makes me feel this way, because—” He stopped, looking away.

“Because?” Hinata pressed gently.

Kageyama’s voice came smaller. Like the words scraped on their way out. “Because even though it hurts hearing it… I still want to know everything. I don't know what's wrong with me.”

He turned to look at Hinata, eyes dark with something raw.

Hinata understood what he meant. He felt the same way whenever they mentioned Kageyama’s time in the National Team or in the Schweiden Adlers. 

“I want to know what you did there. Who you trained with. What you learned. I want to know every second of what I missed… even though I know I can’t get any of it back.”

The silence that followed was full and trembling.

And Hinata, who had stood in oceans Kageyama would never touch, who had sat on rooftops like this one on the other side of the world thinking about the boy beside him now, didn’t hesitate.

“But you were there,” he said.

Kageyama blinked. “What?”

“You were there. Even when I didn’t let myself think about you.” Hinata’s voice was quiet but certain. “You were in every wave, in every grain of salt, in every morning coffee. You were the first ray of sunshine and the first star to shine at night. In every failed spike I cursed under my breath. In the way I reset my stance and told myself I could do better—because that’s what you’d say. You were there, Tobio. In everything.”

Kageyama’s lips parted slightly, but he didn’t speak.

“So if you want to know about Brazil,” Hinata said, stepping closer, “you can ask. Whenever you’re ready. I’ll tell you everything.”

A long pause. Then, softly. “I’m not ready yet,” Kageyama admitted.

“I know,” Hinata said. “But when you are, I’ll be here.”

Kageyama huffed a breath. It could’ve been a laugh or the start of one.

“Would’ve been easier if I could just hate you,” he muttered.

Hinata smiled faintly, turning his eyes back to the skyline. “Yeah. But then who would’ve dreamed about your tosses halfway across the world?”

Notes:

can you tell i love writing heartfelt conversations between these two?? 😩

hope you enjoyed this chapterrrr, something fun is coming<3

Chapter 48: Chapter XLVII

Friday came in differently than the days before.

The air around them had shifted, just enough to notice. A gentler current beneath the tension, like ice starting to melt.

Hinata stirred earlier than usual, something restless under his skin. The room was still dim, painted blue by the last stretch of night. He blinked against the quiet, turning on his side.

Kageyama was already up.

He stood near the window, hoodie unzipped, wrist wrapped in tape, looping a resistance band under his foot with slow, deliberate pulls. The bathroom light had been left on, casting warm gold over the edge of the bed. His silhouette was clean against it, half-cast in glow, half in shadow. The movement was fluid. Unhurried.

Hinata watched for a while, silent. Something about it felt somehow intimate.

Kageyama didn’t look over. “You should wrap your knee tighter,” he said quietly. “You were wobbling on the landings yesterday.”

“Yeah,” Hinata murmured, voice still caught in sleep. “I noticed.”

Kageyama tossed the roll of tape across the room. Hinata caught it with a lazy hand, blinking at it in his palm for a moment before letting out a soft laugh.

“Thanks.”

No answer. Just the quiet creak of the resistance band and the buzz of the overhead light.

Training that day passed in a blur of motion and light.

They didn’t work together. Kageyama rotated through serve reception and back-row defense, while Hinata was placed in transition drills and off-speed play. But even on opposite sides of the gym, they seemed more… aligned. Something wordless passed between them: nods at the water cooler, mirrored reactions when a set was misjudged, the smallest flickers of eye contact across the net.

It wasn’t obvious. But it was there.

And Atsumu noticed, too.

He was quieter today, more clipped in his jokes, his sidelong comments less frequent. When Hinata laughed, just once, mid-drill at something Bokuto yelled, Atsumu’s eyes flicked toward him and then quickly away. He missed a toss moments later. Didn’t apologize.

At lunch, he sat further down the table than usual, nursing a sports drink with a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Hinata noticed that too.

 

---

 

After dinner, the halls of the hotel fell into a soft hush. Some players hung out in the lounge or at the vending machines. Others drifted toward the pool deck, talking in low voices, towels slung over shoulders. But in their room, things had gone still.

Kageyama was sitting on the floor, back resting against the side of his bed, one towel looped lazily around his neck. His hair was still damp. A pair of clean socks lay forgotten beside him. He was watching something on his phone, one earbud in, shoulders loose from the shower.

Hinata stepped inside and shut the door with care.

The room smelled faintly of shampoo and eucalyptus muscle rub. The warmth from the heater crept along the carpet like a blanket.

“You iced your knee?” Kageyama asked, not looking up.

Hinata blinked, caught off guard. “Yeah. Just now.”

“Good.”

He dropped his bag gently by the bed and sat cross-legged on the floor, not quite next to Kageyama but close enough to feel the heat radiating from where he sat.

They didn’t speak for a while. The buzz from the hallway dimmed into distant murmurs.

Then, almost at the same time, their phones buzzed.

Hoshiumi [Group Chat]:

“SATURDAY = DAY OFF. 10AM. ARCADE. I’ve got tokens and absolutely no moral restraint. Come ready to lose.”

Bokuto:

“I’M BRINGING THE CROWN. LET’S GOOOOO”

Atsumu:

“Gonna sweep all y’all and do it in style.”

Hinata grinned, scrolling up. “Wait… Bokuto actually has a crown?”

Kageyama let out a faint exhale. “He wore it to a New Year’s party once. Akaashi had to smuggle it out of the photo booth before it showed up in press shots.”

Hinata snorted. “You going tomorrow?”

There was a beat of silence. Then Kageyama shrugged. “...Yeah, maybe.”

The light from the phone screen cast pale shadows over his cheekbones. He didn’t look away, but he didn’t close the conversation either.

Hinata leaned back, resting his weight on his palms. “Bokuto’s gonna force me onto Dance Dance Revolution again. My legs are already trembling in fear.”

“You’ll fall.”

“Probably.”

“You probably still suck at it.”

“Sure do. I won’t even try to debate that one.”

Kageyama let out a soft chuckle. Outside, somewhere beyond the glass, the lights of Tokyo blinked like a slow, steady pulse.

Tomorrow would be loud. Chaotic. Bright.

But tonight was quiet.

And that felt just right.

Notes:

short chapter because we're setting everything up for the arcade day!!!!

Chapter 49: Chapter XLVIII

Hinata had changed his shirt four times that morning.

The black one looked too serious. The blue one reminded him of their second year. The red one made him look like he was trying too hard. He finally settled on an old white t-shirt, soft from wear, a little plain, but safe. 

Now, the humidity of central Tokyo pressed close as they stepped through the sliding glass doors of the arcade, and all thoughts of shirts, shoes, and nerves were drowned in the blur of color and noise.

“BEHOLD!” Bokuto yelled, arms flung wide like he owned the place. “Our colosseum!”

Flashing neon and machine buzz swallowed them instantly. Inside, the air was cold and reeked of sugar, grease, and warm metal. Somewhere deep in the back, a claw machine was screaming victory noises. Hinata stepped over the threshold and felt his chest lift.

“Okay! Listen up!” Bokuto shouted, turning in front of the group with his hands planted firmly on his hips like a coach about to announce drills. “Roommate Ticket Wars are about to begin.”

Atsumu squinted. “That’s not a thing.”

“It is now.” Bokuto was already pulling tokens from his bag like he’d smuggled them in. “Whoever gets the most tickets before 01:00pm wins. Losers buy the winners whatever they want to eat. No cheating, no crying, no refunds. Winner gets to wear this,” Bokuto took a carton crown out of his bag with a crooked smile. “What do you think?”

Hinata almost laughed. The crown looked so simple, almost as if it had been made by a kindergarten child, and still, Bokuto held it up like a national trophy.

Hoshiumi, without waiting for a response, grabbed Ushijima’s arm and practically dragged him toward the cashier to stock up on tokens.

“Are we really doing this?” Atsumu groaned, throwing his head back.

“Suck it up, man. We can’t get left behind.” Bokuto clapped him on the back, then turned to Hinata with a grin. “You think you can keep up?”

Hinata was about to respond when Kageyama walked past Bokuto and Atsumu, voice low but cuttingly confident.

“I’ll have pork curry,” he said, locking eyes with Atsumu. “Make sure the egg’s soft.”

Then, to Hinata: “Well? Are you coming or not?”

Bokuto raised a brow, amused. Atsumu’s jaw clenched.

Hinata barely kept from grinning. He followed after Kageyama, quickening his pace to match.

The first machine blinked to life before Hinata even realized which one Kageyama had chosen.

Mini basketball. Of course.

They took their stances automatically, baskets lighting up like countdown clocks. The music blared. Hinata’s first shot bounced off the rim, but Kageyama’s swished cleanly. They didn’t talk. Didn’t need to. One glance between them said everything.

When the timer buzzed, their ticket count was double Bokuto and Atsumu’s.

Next was air hockey. The puck danced like lightning. Kageyama moved with sniper-like precision; Hinata darted fast and unpredictable. He squeaked out a narrow win.

“That was just luck.” Kageyama muttered, snatching up the tickets.

Gun games next, one of those zombie shooters with oversized neon rifles. They stood shoulder to shoulder, backlit by the flickering screen. Hinata let out a whoop when Kageyama accidentally shot a civilian. Kageyama groaned but didn’t argue. They cleared the final level with synchronized headshots.

Then the whack-a-mole machine. Hinata laughed so hard he nearly missed half the targets. Kageyama, next to him, would let out a chuckle of his own every now and then. Especially when he was concentrated in the game, oblivious of everyone else but Hinata.

They zipped from station to station. Skee-ball, token drops, a racing simulator with a massive wraparound screen that made Hinata dizzy. Kageyama leaned forward so seriously that he looked like he was preparing for a serve.

By the time they hit their tenth machine, Hinata had lost track of time. The others were still scattered throughout the arcade, but they’d become a blur in the background. He only noticed Kageyama. The narrowed eyes. The sharp breath between games. The way he kept turning just slightly toward Hinata, their shoulders and arms brushing every now and then.

And then they saw it.

Dance Dance Revolution. Twin platforms glowing beneath a flashing screen, blasting synth-heavy music from the early 2000s.

Kageyama gave it a flat look.

Hinata was already stepping up. “Come on. Don’t be a coward.”

Kageyama raised an eyebrow. “Coward?”

Hinata grinned, bouncing slightly on his toes. “You heard me.”

Something shone in Kageyama’s eyes, something close to amusement. He tilted his head slightly and smirked, as if the challenge pleased him.

They selected a two-player mode. The screen lit up. The countdown started.

Hinata’s heart beat harder than it had all day.

The first notes of a peppy J-pop track crackled through the speakers. The pads under their feet glowed. Hinata felt the shift before the music even kicked in. They weren’t just playing now.

They were performing.

At first, the steps were slow and easy. Kageyama was stiff, arms at awkward angles, movements slightly behind the beat. Hinata had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

But then the tempo climbed. The arrows sped up. The moves grew sharp and relentless.

And Hinata flew.

His feet moved like they remembered every crowded dance floor in Brazil. Every beat of reggaeton and samba and sweaty laughter. His body leaned into it. Hips loose, arms instinctive, rhythm perfect. For the first time all day, he stopped thinking. He let the music take over.

He didn’t notice the crowd gathering behind them. Or Bokuto’s voice yelling his name. Or Hoshiumi laughing so hard he nearly dropped his soda.

He only noticed when the song ended.

When he looked left, and Kageyama was staring.

Not at the screen. At him.

He looked winded. His chest rose and fell like he’d just finished running laps. His mouth was slightly open, hair a little mussed, eyes wide and caught in something he hadn’t meant to reveal.

They didn’t speak. The moment stretched, tight and pulsing.

“Snap out of it, loverman!” Hoshiumi yelled from behind them. “Hinata beat your ass!”

Hinata startled and turned away, cheeks burning. He’d doubled Kageyama’s score.

They all cheered and jeered, but the buzz in Hinata’s chest wasn’t from victory.

Kageyama walked over, holding the ticket strip. His expression was almost normal again. Almost.

“You said you still sucked at this,” he muttered.

“Guess I got a little better,” Hinata said.

“‘A little better’ my ass!” Bokuto threw an arm around both of them. “Must’ve been all that partying back in Brazil.”

Hinata froze. He shot a look at Kageyama, but he was snickering with Hoshiumi, letting him mock his hips.

“Must be,” Hinata replied, smiling.

“Okay!” Hoshiumi clapped. “It’s 1:00 p.m. Time to count!”

They all crowded toward the restaurant tables, dragging tangled chains of tickets behind them like multicolored battle scars. The area was packed with birthday balloons and tray-carrying kids, a low buzz of laughter and electronic jingles filling the air. Sulky teenagers glanced up from phones as the national team members gathered like a small parade.

Team Bokuto-Atsumu went first. Loud cheers erupted as their count flashed: 678 tickets.

Hoshiumi and Ushijima stepped up next. Hoshiumi fed the strip into the machine with the dramatic flair of someone resigned to tragedy. Ushijima stood beside him with a frown so serious it made the arcade light look dramatic. 498.

Then it was their turn.

Hinata took the lead, slipping the crumpled, knotted wad of tickets into the counter. Unlike the others, he and Kageyama hadn’t planned or talked. They’d just played. Every machine, every level, a competition in itself. Not to win the prize. Just to beat each other. Side by side.

The machine blinked to life. Numbers climbed.

400, 401.

Kageyama, standing close enough for his arm to brush Hinata’s, said quietly, “We’re gonna win.”

Hinata eyed the last bundle. “There’s no way that’s over a hundred.”

The counter ticked up.

540, 541. 

Bokuto shifted restlessly.

580.

Ushijima frowned. Hoshiumi flopped onto the floor, groaning dramatically.

The final number glowed:

699.

Hinata let out a laugh that cracked wide open. Without thinking, he threw his arm around Kageyama and jumped.

Kageyama laughed, too, real and bright and unguarded, his arm tightening briefly around Hinata’s waist.

They turned to each other, breathless.

And then they froze.

Hinata’s hand was curled behind Kageyama’s neck. Kageyama’s palm rested against Hinata’s waist. For one suspended second, neither of them moved. Their eyes locked, faces flushed, too close and too aware.

Hinata pulled back first. “Sorry,” he said quickly.

Kageyama didn’t answer. His ears were red.

“Disgusting,” Hoshiumi muttered.

“Yeah, get a room,” Bokuto added.

Hinata barked a nervous laugh, stepping aside. He spoke up, trying to sound casual. “Bitter, are we?”

“Whatever. You guys took it too seriously.”

“It was your idea,” Kageyama said.

“Whatever!” Bokuto waved them off. “I was gonna treat you guys to some food anyway.”

Hinata grinned. “How about Hoshiumi and Ushijima pay for lunch, and you two cover dessert?”

“Whatever,” Atsumu scoffed.

“So,” began Bokuto, the carton crown at hand, “I guess this is yours. For now.” 

He placed the crown at the top of Hinata's head. He wondered how he looked with it. 

He wondered for a second if it'd be too mean if he just took it off, but he could tell Bokuto was serious about it. He kept it on, even when he felt a little dumb with it.

He took a glance at Kageyama. He was surprised to catch him staring at him with a smile on his face. He felt the blood rush to his cheeks and immediately looked away.

They migrated to the prize counter. The remaining tickets, split between pairs, didn’t go far. Most of the guys picked up plastic trinkets or cartoon-eyed plushies.

Hinata and Kageyama reached the front. Hinata turned. “Take my tickets.”

“What?”

“I’m giving you my part.”

“But—”

Hinata pointed at a black cat plushie. “Can I get that one?”

The girl behind the counter handed it to him.

Hinata immediately pushed it into Kageyama’s hands. “Here. It looks like you.”

Kageyama opened his mouth, but Hinata was already spinning away. “Gotta use the restroom!”

He ducked into the crowd before his brain could catch up.

Hinata ran to the bathroom, not because he really needed to go, but because his heart was beating too fast. Earlier, while they were playing, he’d been too distracted to really notice how close he’d gotten to Kageyama throughout the day. The way they cheered, laughed, joked with each other. He’d felt relaxed, focused on what he was doing. He’d felt just like he had many years ago, before the two-year distance had stretched between them. And then, that hug at the end...

Hinata splashed cold water on his face. He needed to chill. He didn’t want to push Kageyama or make him feel uncomfortable by being too much.

Hinata returned from the restroom with a damp face and a half-steady breath, the tiled floor still echoing faintly in his ears. His pulse had finally stopped thundering in his chest. Or maybe he’d just gotten used to the noise. He weaved back through the crowd, ducking past a family gathered around the claw machines, until he caught sight of the others by the prize counter.

Kageyama stood slightly apart, his back to him, hands folded around something soft and orange.

For a second, Hinata hesitated. Then he stepped forward.

“Hey,” he said casually, trying not to sound like he’d just been hiding in a bathroom stall with his face over a sink. “Why’d you change?”

Kageyama didn’t turn around. “You didn’t even ask me what I wanted,” he replied, his voice low and dry, but not cruel. “I like this one better.”

Hinata blinked. The plush in Kageyama’s hands wasn’t the black cat he’d shoved at him minutes ago. It was a small, slightly lopsided fox, with oversized ears and soft orange fur. Its stitched expression looked somewhere between curious and an absolute menace. 

He opened his mouth to say something—what, he wasn’t sure—but before he could, Hoshiumi’s voice sliced in.

“So. Hinata’s back.” He was already moving. “Let’s go before it gets crowded.”

“What?” Hinata asked, thrown.

“Skating,” Kageyama answered, still not looking at him. He was watching the plush in his hands like it might bite. “They want to skate before lunch.”

He shifted slightly, brushing past Hinata as he turned toward the annex. Their shoulders touched in the motion, barely, but enough.

The group started making their way down the short corridor leading to the rink, voices overlapping. Atsumu complaining about the ankle support on rental skates, Hoshiumi threatening to body-check someone for fun, Ushijima walking in solemn silence like they were headed to war.

As they entered the rink area, a wave of cold air rolled out to meet them, sharp and clean, tinged with the scent of waxed floors and processed cheese. A glowing sign hung above the entrance, flashing in rhythmic blue pulses: ROLLER NIGHT – OPEN UNTIL 8PM.

They passed through the door and into the dimmer light of the annex. The rink stretched out before them, glossy and looping, ringed by plastic seating and lit from above by violet overheads. Bokuto was already there, waving at them from a table near the edge, a comically oversized bowl of nachos in front of him. He was grinning like he’d just won a championship, a smear of cheese on his cheek.

Everyone dropped their bags at the table, peeling off jackets and chattering as they made their way toward the skate rentals. Kageyama and Ushijima led the way, silent and efficient. Hoshiumi jogged after them, muttering something about racing laps. Hinata finally took the crown off and placed it at the table with the excuse of keeping it safe.

Hinata was about to follow the other guys when Bokuto’s voice called out behind him.

“Aw, this looks just like you, Shoyo.”

He turned.

Bokuto was holding the fox plushie by the scruff of its neck, dangling it with two fingers like it had done something wrong. Its ears flopped a little to one side.

“What? No it doesn’t,” Hinata said, but the words came too fast, too defensive.

Bokuto tilted his head, smirking. “What do you mean? You guys are twins. All jittery and orange and full of weird energy. That must be why Kageyama wanted it.”

Hinata’s mouth opened, then closed again. His body flushed warm. First his neck, then his cheeks, then somewhere deeper. He could already feel the heat crawling up behind his ears.

Bokuto didn’t seem to notice. He dropped the plush back onto the table with a shrug and reached for his nachos.

Hinata looked at the fox. Its eyes were stitched into a soft curve. It looked like it was keeping a secret.

Then, quietly, he walked toward the others, the wheels of the rented skates rattling faintly as someone pushed past him. The air near the rink was cooler, but the heat in his chest refused to fade.

Chapter 50: Chapter XLIX

Notes:

hello beautiful people!!

i was about to post yesterday when the service went down :( but we're back!!!

hope you guys enjoy this chapter<3

The rink was colder than expected.

Hinata shifted awkwardly near the wall, one skate strapped halfway on, the other still dangling from his fingers. Inside the rink, bright violet lights pulsed to the beat of a tinny pop remix. Kids zipped by in loose, weaving patterns, shrieking and laughing and occasionally crashing into one another like cheerful wreckage.

His friends were already out there. Or close. Hoshiumi was clinging to the rail like it was a lifeline. Bokuto had attempted a running start and landed flat on his ass. Ushijima skated forward with the slow, methodical energy of a man chasing a ghost.

Hinata didn’t move.

He stared at the glossy surface with deep suspicion.

Atsumu, standing beside him and halfway through buckling his skates, shot him a look. “You’re not gonna chicken out, are you?”

Hinata made a face. “I’m not chickening out. I’m being cautious.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m being smart.”

Bokuto skated—or rather, stumbled—past and offered an exaggerated thumbs-up. “Nobody’s good at this! That’s the point!”

“He is.” came Hoshiumi’s voice, stained with effort.

They turned.

Kageyama was already in the rink, gliding in long, smooth strides like he’d been born with wheels on his feet. His arms were relaxed at his sides, posture perfect, head steady. He weaved between two little kids without breaking pace, then executed a crisp spin at the far curve of the rink. When he turned again, his momentum carried him backward. Graceful, effortless, completely silent.

Several heads turned as he passed. A cluster of women standing near the benches tracked him with unabashed interest.

Hinata’s jaw dropped slightly. “What the hell.”

Atsumu whistled low. “Since when can he do that?”

“Used to skate with his grandpa,” Ushijima offered from the rail. “Told me once back in Miyagi.”

Hinata tightened his grip on his unbuckled skate.

Kageyama coasted to a stop near the center of the rink, then looked around once, eyes scanning until they found Hinata still loitering by the benches. His brows drew together.

He skated toward the edge, slowing as he approached, and leaned forward slightly.

“Why aren’t you coming in?” he asked.

Hinata cleared his throat. “I, uh. I’ve only skated once before. For Natsu’s birthday. I ended up nearly breaking a leg and giving my mom a panic attack.”

Kageyama blinked. “You?”

Hinata huffed. “Not everyone can be a secret skating prodigy.”

“I’m not a prodigy.”

“You just did a backwards turn and didn’t die. That counts.”

There was a pause. Kageyama tilted his head.

“Do you want help?”

Hinata hesitated, then gave a noncommittal shrug. “I don’t know if I want to go back to the hospital over this.”

Kageyama reached out a hand.

“Then don’t fall.”

Hinata looked up at the boy in front of him. “Are you making fun of me?”

He tried to keep his tone light, as if making a joke, to ignore the heart beating fast in his chest.

“I’m not.” Kageyama’s gaze was serious. His hand remained firm, outstretched towards Shoyo. 

Hinata let out a low, amused “Hmph,” before taking his hand.

“Hold on to the rail,” Kageyama instructed, his voice steady and close.

Shoyo took a tentative step into the rink, his knees wobbling slightly. With his right arm, he latched onto the rail as instructed, and Kageyama stayed just beside him, their joined hands the only point of warmth in a space that suddenly felt much colder.

As Hinata let go of the rail and let Kageyama guide him, he nearly lost his balance. Kageyama stepped closer, steadying him with a firm hand at the small of his back. The touch wasn’t fleeting. It lingered just long enough for Hinata to feel every degree of it. The warmth of Kageyama’s palm through his shirt, the shift of pressure as Kageyama adjusted his hold to match Hinata’s weight…

Hinata swallowed, trying to focus on anything else: his footing, the sound of skates slicing into polished floors, the thump of music vibrating through the rink.

“Bend your knees a little,” Kageyama said from behind him. His breath tickled against the shell of Hinata’s ear.

He did, and to his surprise, the world felt just a bit less shaky. His legs adjusted, his center of gravity lowered. The panic in his chest eased.

Kageyama moved in front of him, skating backward with practiced ease. When he turned, it was fluid, as if his body obeyed a rhythm Hinata couldn’t yet hear.

“Now try to get to me,” he said.

His voice was even, almost gentle. No teasing. No mocking.

Hinata found himself grateful for that. He didn’t think he could take teasing. Not when he already felt so exposed.

He started forward, tentative, arms outstretched slightly, as if preparing for flight. His body wobbled, tilted, but didn’t collapse. Kageyama skated backward slowly, always within reach.

Across the rink, Bokuto had his arms flung wide for balance while Ushijima pushed him forward with stiff, measured nudges.

“You’re a menace!” Bokuto cried, laughing.

“You requested momentum,” Ushijima said flatly.

“Yeah but I didn’t mean this much!”

Kageyama glanced over and snorted. Hinata almost lost balance just watching him.

By the time Hinata completed a full lap without touching the rail, he was panting with effort, but upright. His shirt clung to his back. His palms were warm and a little damp.

Kageyama never drifted more than a meter away, shadowing his movements, ready to catch him.

Hinata felt braver. More confident in his feet.

He picked up speed.

“Try shifting your weight more to your right foot when you push off,” Kageyama suggested.

Hinata did.

Then promptly lost control of his direction, stumbled over his own wheels, and went down hard.

Kageyama burst out laughing.

Not cruelly, not mocking. The sound had come out of his mouth with such ease. His eyes closed, his shoulders moving. It was a beautiful sound. Honest. Careless. Real. Shoyo felt his chest grow warm.

“I was trying,” Hinata finally grumbled, face hot as he stared up at the dim purple lights above.

“Oh, I could tell,” Kageyama said, still smiling as he skated over and extended a hand.

Hinata took it.

Kageyama pulled him up in one smooth, practiced motion, and for a second, they were close again. Too close. But neither moved.

Hinata brushed his knees off and tried not to think about the hand still loosely gripping his arm.

He took another lap, faster. Then a third.

Then, disaster.

Hoshiumi had tripped near the curve of the rink and was sprawled across the slick floor, groaning dramatically.

Hinata, too focused, didn’t see him in time. Kageyama did.

Everything happened in a blur. A thud of skates. A hiss of air.

Kageyama crashed into Hinata just in time to knock him off course. They tumbled, a tangle of limbs and startled shouts.

Hinata landed hard, Kageyama's weight half on top of him. But there was no sharp pain, just breathlessness, adrenaline, and the warmth of a body shielding his own.

Their faces were inches apart.

Hinata’s hands were twisted in Kageyama’s shirt, clutching tight without meaning to. Kageyama's breath was warm against his cheek. The world narrowed until all Hinata could see were Kageyama’s eyes, wide and startled and impossibly blue.

A freckle dusted the corner of his right eye. His lashes were longer than they had any right to be. His mouth was slightly parted, his lips a little dry.

Then Hinata noticed the tension in Kageyama’s body, the faint wince across his brow.

“Your hand,” Hinata said, his voice a whisper. “Did you—”

Kageyama blinked. “It’s fine.”

Hinata pushed him off gently, sitting up as he took Kageyama’s wrist in his hands. “What the fuck, Kageyama? Why’d you put your hand there?”

He examined it, pressing lightly, checking for a reaction.

Kageyama didn’t flinch. But then Hinata saw it. The faint red imprint of the rink floor against his hand.

Realization sank in.

“You put your hand there. Under my head.”

Kageyama looked away. “It was instinct.”

Hinata didn’t speak. He just held his gaze a second longer.

Eventually, they stood. Kageyama rolled his wrist once and shook it out.

They didn’t say much after that. But they kept skating.

And time slipped.

What started as a cautious hour became two, then three. Routines formed. They took breaks at the benches, drank soda that tasted like syrup and melting ice. Hinata teased Hoshiumi about his tragic wipeout. Bokuto challenged Ushijima to a race and immediately crashed into the wall. Atsumu joined them halfway through and tried to spin and fell dramatically, as if auditioning for a musical.

The music changed. The lights dimmed slightly as the afternoon wore on. The crowd thinned. Laughter echoed off the walls in shorter bursts.

By the time someone checked the clock and realized they’d been skating for nearly four hours, they were all flushed, out of breath, and reluctant to take off their skates.

Hinata sat on the bench, untangling the laces of his rental skates, when Kageyama dropped down beside him.

“So, how many falls?,” Kageyama asked, amused.

Hinata smiled. “That last lap doesn’t count.”

Their shoulders brushed. Neither moved away.

“You got better,” Kageyama added, quieter.

Hinata paused, then looked at him. “Thanks. For helping me.”

Kageyama just nodded, fingers working at his laces.

Outside, the last traces of sunlight spilled in through the arcade windows, and for the first time in days, Hinata felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

 

---

 

By the time they left the rink, the sky outside had begun to turn dusky lavender. The air smelled faintly of summer exhaust and fried food from a nearby stall. Everyone moved slowly now, as if the wheels were still under their feet.

Lunch had come late, paid for, grudgingly, by Hoshiumi and Ushijima. Dessert was handled by Bokuto and Atsumu, who took their duty more seriously than expected, ordering double portions of brownie sundaes and a round of sodas to go with them.

Their laughter had echoed off the tall windows of the arcade's café space long after most of the other patrons had gone.

Now, the boys were on the train back to the hotel, pressed shoulder to shoulder in their seats, lulled into silence by motion and exhaustion. The setting sun painted gold across their tired faces. Sneakers tapped gently against the metal floor. No one said much. There was nothing that needed to be said.

When they finally arrived back at the hotel, it was well past seven. The air in the lobby was warm and still. Someone yawned. Someone else muttered about showers.

But Hinata stood for a moment by the elevator and looked sideways at Kageyama, the fox plushie tucked under his arm.

Neither of them spoke.

But their eyes met.

And held.

Once they made it to their room, Hinata went straight to his bed. He threw himself onto the pillows, face first, and let out a dramatic sigh.

"I won't be able to stand tomorrow."

"You're lucky we only have a half-day practice," Kageyama replied.

Hinata turned his head, squinting at him. "How come you look so... so okay?"

Kageyama, who had been stretching his legs while scrolling through his phone, glanced over, amused. "Maybe because I am okay."

"But how? With all that skating..."

"Well, I did skate less than I usually do," he said with a lazy shrug. "I was trying to match your rhythm, after all."

Hinata rolled his eyes, a wide smile blooming across his face. "So, since when do you have this weird talent? I never would’ve imagined."

Kageyama locked his phone and reached into his bag. "My grandma used to be a skater when she was young. My grandpa learned just so he could join her at the rink without looking like an idiot."

His voice softened slightly, and a rare, quiet smile crept across his face.

"He taught Miwa and me when we were little. I only stopped doing it often because of volleyball."

Hinata smiled, imagining a tiny, wobbly Kageyama trying to mimic his grandparents. The image was so endearing he almost laughed.

"Here," Kageyama said suddenly.

Something landed next to him on the mattress with a soft thump.

Hinata looked. A small black cat keychain lay by his arm, stitched into a lazy curl with a looped tail and too-big eyes.

He blinked. "Wha—?"

"My fox wasn’t that expensive. There were some tickets left," Kageyama muttered. He wasn’t looking directly at Hinata. His ears were a little pink. "And since you picked the black cat before, I figured you liked it. So. It’s yours."

Hinata picked it up slowly, turning it over in his hand. It was soft and cheap and probably wouldn’t survive a year on his backpack zipper.

He held it like it was made of glass.

Quiet settled in the room, calm and light.

"Thanks," he said finally, voice low.

Kageyama didn’t answer right away. He just nodded and lay back against the headboard, arms folded behind his head.

Outside the window, the last of the sunset bled into the Tokyo skyline. Inside, the room was dim and warm.

Hinata clutched the keychain loosely in one hand, eyes growing heavy.

A full day. A good day.

And maybe, one he’d remember longer than most.

Chapter 51: Chapter L

Notes:

hello guys! sorry for the late upload. i sometimes work during weekends so I wasn't able to post earlier.

i'd like to add a trigger warning for this particular chapter: there will be mentions and descriptions of blood.
if you're sensible to this topic, stop reading at "and then everything went weightless." and go to the end note for a summary of what happened after.

Sunday morning had started on the wrong foot. Or maybe the right one, depending on how you looked at it. Kageyama had slept through his alarm, something he almost never did, and Hinata had only noticed because of the blaring buzz that wouldn't stop. Still half-dreaming, he lobbed a rolled-up towel straight at Kageyama’s face, who jerked upright in bed, hair flattened on one side and sticking out wildly on the other. They both shuffled through their routines like zombies, brushing their teeth without looking in the mirror, throwing on mismatched socks, leaving the room in a state of complete chaos.

Later, during warmups, Hinata nudged Kageyama’s shoulder just slightly and muttered, “By the way… nice hair this morning.”

Kageyama’s ears turned faintly red. He didn’t answer, but his next serve went just a little too hard. Hinata grinned to himself. It was a small thing, but it hung between them, something unspoken and strangely warm.

Monday crept in quietly, without the usual weight of anticipation or leftover tension. The sky outside the hotel was pale and still, just beginning to bloom with color when Hinata opened his eyes. For a moment, he lay there, staring at the ceiling, listening for movement. The rustle of sheets. The soft pad of Kageyama’s socks on the carpet. The familiar rhythm of breath from the other side of the room.

Hinata sat up slowly, palms pressed to his knees. The ache in his legs was less sharp than yesterday. His body was beginning to adjust. 

He showered quickly, tied his shoes tight, and grabbed an extra milk carton from the vending machine without thinking. Just like he had the last two days. He didn’t know if Kageyama expected it, or thought anything of it. But he still drank it. That was enough.

In the hotel restaurant, most of the others were already gathered in clusters, trays crowded with toast and rice and eggs. Kageyama sat on the far end, quiet as ever, flipping through the camp schedule on his phone. Hinata crossed the room and set the milk down beside his tray without a word, then slipped into the seat beside him.

“Thanks.” He said, looking up at Hinata as he sat down next to him.

He didn’t speak during breakfast. Neither did Hinata. But their trays were aligned. Their elbows nearly touched. When they both reached for the soy sauce at the same time, Hinata let his hand linger a second longer. Just enough for Kageyama’s fingers to brush his.

The way he pulled back, quick, startled, but not angry, made Hinata smile to himself behind a bite of rice.

Coach Hibarida gave instructions that morning with little ceremony.

“Court one: Set tempo with midline read drills. Court three annex: adaptive scrambles and cross recovery.” He pointed to the groups without waiting for questions.

Hinata’s name was called alongside Bokuto and Hoshiumi. Annex court. Atsumu's and Kageyama’s name were on the court one list.

For a moment, Hinata hesitated, half a step behind, eyes trailing toward the taller boy’s frame as Kageyama adjusted the strap on his knee pad.

Hinata couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. He liked sharing the court with Kageyama, even when they were not playing together. 

Feeling a little down, Hinata picked up his own bag and walked behind Bokuto, who was already on his way to the annex.

Kageyama didn’t turn. He didn’t need to. As Hinata turned to leave, he caught the smallest flicker of motion in the corner of his eye. Kageyama’s gaze had followed him halfway to the annex doors.

The gym floor at the annex gleamed beneath the white lights overhead, polished and brutal under the weight of so many moving bodies. Heat hung low in the air, the scent of chalk and rubber clinging to sweat-slick skin. Coach Hibarida paced at the edge of the court, his whistle swinging like a blade from a loose string.

“Cross Recovery drill,” he called out. “Make it count.”

Hinata stood at the ready, crouched low in position. His breath moved slow through his nose, measured, but his pulse was bright and wild beneath his ribs. 

“Ball one,” shouted the assistant coach.

A sudden serve from the near line, short, calculated, meant to bait. Hinata lunged forward, caught himself on one hand, redirected all his weight, and sprang back to his feet.

“Ball two!”

The next ball came sharper, pushed to the opposite sideline.

Hinata burst left, his legs slicing across the lane, chest low. He wasn’t the fastest, but he was fast enough. Focused enough. The moment the ball dropped into view, he met it mid-dive with a full-body sprawl, arms locking to send it flying back up in a clean, upward arc.

Another came. Then another.

By the time Coach blew the final whistle, Hinata’s lungs were burning and his body was humming. He caught himself on one knee and laughed, shoulders heaving, slick with effort.

The drill ended with good feedback. No one had to say it aloud: their rotation had looked clean, sharp and fast. The first few days of training were finally paying off.

But there was no time to savor it. Coach Hibarida’s voice rang again:

“Reset. Adaptive scramble, gentlemen. High chaos sequence. Keep it moving!”

The court thinned. Smaller groups rotated in. Hinata stood shoulder to shoulder with Hoshiumi, knees bent. His chest was still rising and falling from the last drill.

First ball. Fast and tight. Bokuto blocked it just barely, causing a tip over the net. Hinata dove and sent it back up. Second ball, ricochet off the net. Hoshiumi moved in to dig. Third ball, barely a deflection. Another player swept it sideways.

“Ball!” shouted one of the assistants.

Another shot, low and wild, drifted fast across the center. Hinata and Hoshiumi both reacted.

They darted for it, converging in the same lane of motion, bodies misaligned. Hinata lunged from the left, his eyes locked on the ball, every muscle tense in anticipation.

But just as he reached out… bam.

They collided.

Not just a shoulder graze, not a brush. A full-body slam. Hoshiumi’s frame struck him from the side, compact but unyielding, and Hinata’s head snapped forward from the force. A sharp, shocking crack filled his ears. His face hit Hoshiumi’s shoulder, nose first, and then everything went weightless.

There was no time to catch himself. His knees buckled, the floor crashing up to meet him. The pain hit second, hot and thick and immediate, bursting across his face.

He blinked up. Red spilled down the front of his shirt.

Someone shouted, “Hinata!”

Another player ran forward. Hinata pushed up on one elbow, his vision tilting sideways.

“I’m—fine—” he managed, but his voice was too soft. His nose felt… detached. The blood wouldn’t stop.

He tried to stand and nearly toppled sideways.

Hands were on him, Bokuto’s, maybe. Hoshiumi crouched beside him, mouth open in alarm, reaching but unsure where to touch.

Coach Hibarida’s whistle sliced the moment in half.

“Off the court. Now. Get him to the infirmary—go!”

Hinata didn’t argue. He didn’t have it in him. The dizziness was worse now, pulsing in the back of his skull. He staggered once more toward the bench.

Someone caught him before he could fall again. Their grip was steady and urgent. It was the assistant coach. 

He held Hinata tightly around the waist. Hinata walked beside him, his hand covering his nose as it bled through his hands, the blood reaching his arms. He’d never bled so much in his entire life. His head was still throbbing by the impact. 

 

---

 

The infirmary was quiet. Too quiet, even. The hum of fluorescent lights buzzed faintly above, and somewhere in the corner, a small fan turned in slow, lazy rotations. Hinata sat on the padded table, a wad of gauze pinched against his nose, head tilted forward slightly per the nurse’s instructions. His shirt was stained, his face tacky with dried blood, and his temple throbbed with every heartbeat.

The attending medic, Dr. Yoshida, if Hinata heard right, was a middle-aged man with steady hands and a tired voice. He stood beside him now, examining the bridge of Hinata’s nose with gloved fingers, his touch firm but not unkind.

“It’s not broken,” he said finally, voice low and measured. “But it’s close. You’ve got a hairline fracture right along the upper nasal bone—see here?” He held up a small light and gestured to the portable scan monitor nearby, which showed a faint shadow just along the top of the nasal bridge.

Hinata blinked at it. “So it’s... cracked?”

“Hairline,” the doctor clarified. “No displacement. That means the bone isn’t out of place, just stressed. But it bled like hell because it’s pretty banged up inside. Noses are like that. They love to dramatize.”

Hinata almost laughed, but it hurt too much. He winced instead.

“You’ll be sore. A little swollen for a couple of days. You’ll need to avoid contact for at least forty-eight hours. I’ll give you an ice pack and something for the swelling. Try not to blow your nose unless you want to make it worse.”

“But I can still train, right?”

Yoshida gave him a look. Not stern, but assessing. “You can train. Just not in any way that risks another hit. Stick to cardio, light drills. You’re lucky. One centimeter lower and we’d be talking about surgery.”

Hinata nodded slowly. He was still dizzy, and a dull ache had settled behind his eyes. But the worst part wasn’t the pain. It was the thought of sitting out, watching from the sidelines.

“Will I be okay by next week?” he asked, quietly.

“You’ll be bruised. A little purple here and here,” the doctor said, gently pressing near his cheekbone. “But yes, you’ll be fine. Just don’t push it. Let yourself heal.”

Hinata nodded again, slower this time.

Dr. Yoshida finished filling up his report and gave Hinata a couple more instructions before leaving the infirmary, probably to share the results with the assistant coach, who remained outside the infirmary, waiting.

Hinata shifted in his place. His head wasn’t throbbing as much as before, but he still felt slightly dizzy. He took a deep breath. 

The sound of rapid footsteps cut through the quiet like a drumroll, too fast, too uneven, echoing sharp against the linoleum. As they came closer, the assistant coach’s voice rang out, half-chiding, half-surprised.

“Hey! You can’t just—wait!”

But whoever it was didn’t stop.

The door flew open with a dull slam against the rubber stopper. Kageyama burst into the room like a wave breaking against the shore, his chest heaving, shirt clinging damp to his back. His hair was sweat-darkened, plastered to his forehead in chaotic clumps. His eyes scanned the room wildly until they landed on Hinata, and then they didn’t move.

Hinata sat upright on the padded table, one hand still holding the gauze gently to his nose. He blinked, startled, as Kageyama stood frozen at the threshold, silhouetted in the sterile light, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“You—” Kageyama’s voice caught, dry, raw. He swallowed hard. “What happened? Why—why is there so much blood?”

Hinata opened his mouth, then closed it. He hadn’t expected this. Not the look on Kageyama’s face, not the breathless urgency. It was almost too much.

“I’m fine,” he said quickly, quietly. “It’s not as bad as it looks. It’s not even broken.”

Kageyama stepped inside like he didn’t quite trust the floor to hold him. His eyes were glued to the streaks of red down Hinata’s face, the smeared patch on his chin, the dried trail beneath his nose. He looked dazed.

“I went to the annex,” he said, voice flat but shaking beneath it. “There was just… blood. All over the court. You weren’t there. No one said anything. I thought—”

He didn’t finish.

Hinata tried to smile, but it felt tight and crooked. “Yeah. It was a lot. I didn’t even feel it at first, honestly. Just got dizzy.”

His hand twitched, as if to brush more of the blood away, but then paused halfway. The smear on his fingers made him freeze.

Kageyama was already moving.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t ask permission. He just stepped forward, reached out, and very carefully wrapped his fingers around Hinata’s wrist, just enough to still it.

“Let me,” he said, so softly it was nearly a whisper.

Hinata’s breath hitched. His skin tingled beneath Kageyama’s touch, but he didn’t pull away.

Kageyama turned to the small table where the doctor had left a clean bowl of warm water, a folded towel, and a packet of sterile gauze. He moved with surprising care. No jerky motions. No roughness. He dipped the towel into the water, wrung it out slowly, and then stepped between Hinata’s knees.

Hinata’s legs parted slightly to let him closer. The moment hovered, electric.

Without looking at him, Kageyama pressed the cloth gently to Hinata’s cheek. The warmth of it startled him. His eyes fluttered shut.

Kageyama worked in silence, brushing away dried blood with featherlight strokes. Every pass of the towel felt more like a question than an action. Tentative, cautious, tender. He paused now and then, as if memorizing the angles of Hinata’s face, tracing the bridge of his nose without pressure, careful to avoid the fracture.

Hinata opened his eyes. Kageyama was close. Closer than he’d been in a long time. His brow furrowed in concentration, his lips slightly parted, breath still uneven. But his hands were steady. Gentle.

The cloth made one more pass along Hinata’s jaw before Kageyama dipped it again. He didn’t speak. Neither of them did.

Hinata swallowed. “You didn’t have to come.”

“I know,” Kageyama muttered.

“But you did.”

Kageyama still didn’t look at him. “Of course I did.”

Something thick hung in the air between them. Not unspoken. Just unspeakable.

Hinata tilted his head forward, just slightly. “Thanks.”

Kageyama gave one small nod. The final swipe of the cloth grazed the edge of Hinata’s jaw. He let the cloth fall to the table.

Their eyes met, and for a moment, neither of them breathed.

Notes:

summary of the rest of the chapter:

Hinata suffers a facial injury during practice and is taken to the infirmary, dizzy and in pain. The doctor confirms a hairline fracture in his nose (painful but not serious) and instructs him to rest and avoid contact training for a few days. Hinata is frustrated by the possibility of having to sit out training.

Later, Kageyama rushes into the infirmary, visibly distressed after seeing the aftermath on the court. Without speaking much, he gently cleans Hinata’s face, his actions quiet but deeply caring.

_

we reached the 50 milestone AAHHHHH

i would like to thank every single one of you for reading this story, you have no idea of the joy that every comment, bookmark or kudo notification i receive on my phone gives me<3

hope you enjoyed this chapter <3

Chapter 52: Chapter LI

The swelling had gone down, but Hinata could still feel the ache every time he wrinkled his nose. A sharp little reminder that yesterday had ended with him sitting in the infirmary, blood on his face, cotton in his nostrils, the distinct buzz of adrenaline-turned-exhaustion pooling behind his eyes and Hoshiumi begging for forgiveness on his knees.

They hadn’t let him back on court. Not even to stand and watch. Instead, one of the assistant coaches took him to a side room with a whiteboard, videos queued up on a laptop, and a careful, quiet explanation of serve zones, blocker reads, offensive shifts. It felt like a punishment at first, until Hinata realized it wasn’t. It was trust. And maybe even a test.

That night, back at the hotel, Kageyama had been unusually quiet. Not cold. Just... watchful .

He hadn’t said anything about the injury. Not a single word. But he'd waited for Hinata to take his meds before turning off the light. And when Hinata had leaned back in bed with an ice pack pressed to his face, Kageyama had stood by the window too long, as if making sure everything in the room stayed where it should.

Hinata couldn’t stop thinking about Kageyama’s expression as he entered the room. About how honest, and worried his eyes had looked. About how gently he had wiped off the blood from his face. At how close they’d been from one another. 

He felt warm all over. 

The next day, Hinata sat on the edge of the examination bed, sneakered feet tapping lightly against the steel frame. His nose wasn’t as sore as it had been. A little tender, sure. But nothing that should keep him off the court.

Dr. Yoshida pressed gently along the bridge, checking the alignment again, and finally nodded. “You’re cleared,” he said, “but go easy.”

“No diving, no all-out saves, nothing headfirst,” he added, already scribbling on a clipboard. “You’re cleared for drills, maybe light scrimmage. Just don’t try to prove anything.”

Hinata smiled like that didn’t dig under his skin. “Got it.”

He stepped out into the corridor and almost ran into a wall.

Well. No, not a wall. A person.

Kageyama stood just outside the infirmary door, arms crossed, shoulder pressed to the painted concrete like he’d been there a while. He didn’t move when Hinata appeared. Just lifted his eyes, slow and steady, and stared.

“I’m cleared,” Hinata said.

A pause.

“For everything?” Kageyama asked, voice low.

Hinata tilted his head. “Most things. No faceplants, apparently.”

Something passed over Kageyama’s expression, too quick to name. Hinata caught the way his eyes flicked up toward the bridge of his nose, then held.

Hinata let the silence sit for a moment before adding, with forced cheer, “You gonna start tossing me baby sets now? Just lob it underhand and pray I don’t break?”

Kageyama didn’t answer.

There was something about his facial expression that seemed annoyed, but at the same time, he looked a little embarrassed. Hinata couldn’t resist the urge to tease him a little. 

Hinata stepped closer, just a breath. His voice dropped, still light but with a grin curling at the edge. “You scared?”

Kageyama’s jaw tensed.

“You think I’m that delicate?”

“You’re reckless,” Kageyama said flatly.

“That’s not new.”

“You love receiving balls with your face.” Kageyama added, and then, more quietly “You always have.”

It landed somewhere behind Hinata’s ribs, sharp and unexpected.

He exhaled through his nose, gave a small, crooked smile.

“I’m flattered,” he said, “that you’re so concerned about me.”

Still no response. Just the tiniest flicker in Kageyama’s eyes.

“You wanna carry me to the gym too?”

This time, Kageyama opened his mouth, closed it again, and shook his head. “ Ew? No.”

Hinata couldn’t help but laugh. 

The gym was alive when they stepped in: sound bouncing off hardwood, the echo of sneakers and barked instructions. Bokuto was already mid-rant about how if the ceiling were just a few inches higher, his last spike would’ve definitely been a kill. Ushijima stood across the court like a statue. Hoshiumi was doing single-leg lunges like they personally offended him.

As Hinata and Kageyama crossed the threshold, Hoshiumi turned.

He looked at Kageyama. Then at Hinata. Then back at Kageyama.

“Big guy’s back.” Commented Bokuto, his eyebrow raised. “You good, Shoyo?”

“I’m fine,” Hinata replied, a smile on his face. 

“Sure,” Hoshiumi added, “as long as you don’t sneeze too hard.”

The coach Hibarida stepped into the court  just then, calling, “Hinata.”

Hinata jogged across the court. The room quieted slightly.

“You’re cleared?” the coach asked without looking up.

“Yes.”

“You know your limits?”

“Yes.”

A pause. Then the coach glanced up.

“You’ll still get your reps, but be careful. Step out of the court if you must.”

Hinata nodded. He breathed in slowly, then turned back toward the court.

Hinata tried to keep it light, just like the coach ordered.

No high-impact drills. Nothing wild. Nothing sprawling. Just rotations and rhythm, serve receives, soft tosses, controlled scrimmage.

But Hinata still felt it. A floating kind of pressure behind his eyes, like the blood hadn’t quite settled from yesterday. The bruised cartilage in his nose throbbed slightly when his heart rate spiked too fast. He didn't mention it. Not when the gym floor stretched open like an invitation and every part of him was desperate to run at full speed.

Still, during the third passing drill, his vision blurred for a second when he turned too quickly. He steadied with a hand on his knee and caught Hoshiumi eyeing him across the court, brow furrowed.

“I’m fine,” Hinata said aloud to no one, and to everyone.

They let it slide.

Kageyama was quiet. Focused. But his tosses were just a little too conservative, arched high, slow-spinning, clean. Easy. As if he were dialing down the weight of every second.

Hinata felt it in his legs: the pull to jump harder, faster. To close the gap between now and before. But each time he tried, the court tilted just enough to remind him that it wasn’t worth it. Not yet.

He missed a clean shot on the fifth rotation. Pulled short. Landed awkward.

“Don’t chase it,” the coach called, even though Hinata already knew.

Hinata gritted his teeth and nodded.

Bokuto clapped him on the shoulder as they switched out. “It’s your nose, not your legs,” he said cheerfully. “You look like you’re running on mute.”

Hinata didn’t respond. Hinata could feel the pressure in his nose, yes, but that wasn’t the only thing holding him back. He could feel everyone acting differently around him. Everyone was more careful, more subtle, more gentle. The special treatment felt humiliating. Like Hinata was made of glass. 

He sat on the bench for a few reps, towel slung around his neck, sweat drying unevenly against his temple. His breath felt too loud in his chest.

Kageyama passed by on the way to the water station and paused, just for a second, before sitting next to him. 

“You don’t have to prove anything,” he said under his breath, without looking at him.

Hinata turned toward him. “I’m not.”

Kageyama gave him a look. It was neutral, unreadable.

“He’s been watching you,” Kageyama said. “Since before this camp. Even before the injury. Coach already made up his mind.”

Hinata blinked.

“He knows who you are. What you’re capable of,” Kageyama added. His voice was low. “You don’t have to burn out just to show him again.”

It sat there between them. An unwrapped gift Hinata didn’t quite know what to do with.

He looked away first.

“…You could set like normal,” he muttered. “That’d help.”

There was the faintest twitch at the corner of Kageyama’s mouth.

“No more baby sets, then?” he said, a smug smile on his face. “I’m just concerned about you, you know.”

Blood rushed to Hinata’s face. His words from earlier at the infirmary coming back at him like cold water on his face. Why had he said something so embarrassing?

“ Tsk . Shut up.” He nudged Kageyama with his shoulder, unable to meet his eyes. 

That was it. He stood up and walked back to the court.

But the next Kageyama sent to Hinata came with more bite. More lift. Not dangerous, but familiar. And Hinata, dizzy or not, hit it clean.

 

---

 

Back at the hotel, once practice was over, they made it to the restaurant to catch some dinner. 

The weight of being practicing for over a week now was growing stronger. Some of the players were not even staying for lunch. They just took food to go and had their dinner in their rooms, not even bothering to stay for a while with the rest. 

Hinata’s friend group were having their dinner in absolute silence. The only person missing from their table was Bokuto, who had left his untouched food at the table and was sitting with another group, his stance and voice low and mischievous, as if he was hiding something. 

Shoyo didn’t even want to ask. He could feel his eyes getting heavier and heavier. 

However, after a couple of minutes, Bokuto finally came back, a new light in his eyes. 

“I hope you people don’t have plans for tonight, because we’re going somewhere.” He muttered, a huge smile on his face. 

“Plans? Who’d make plans on a tuesday ?” Asked Atsumu, groaning. 

Bokuto shushed him. He placed his fist at the table, his eyes filled with determination. “We have just been invited to a secret hangout. There will be some alcohol involved. You people can’t say no,” He turned to Kageyama. “Especially you . Sasaki was particularly interested in your attendance.”

Kageyama tilted his head in confusion. Hinata’s heart skipped a beat. 

“Who?” He asked, before thinking about it. 

“Sasaki Ren.” Bokuto responded, shrugging. “He’s the setter from Fukushima.”

Hinata looked at the table behind Bokuto. Sure enough, there was a guy staring intently at their table. Hinata recognized him. They’d played on the same team a couple of times. While he wasn’t particularly bad, Hinata still couldn't find anything interesting or special about him. He hadn’t even bothered to remember his name. 

“You know him?” Asked Hoshiumi, kicking Hinata out of his thoughts. It took him a second to realize he was talking to Kageyama. 

“Yeah. Kind of. He tried to get my number the other day.” 

Hinata snapped his head at Kageyama. “He what ?”

Hinata’s heart was beating fast, but that wasn’t the only strange sensation he was currently feeling. There was something else. Something more sour. Even painful. 

“Yeah. It was during water break, like, last week I think? Don’t remember.” 

“And did you give it to him?” Asked Hoshiumi, an amused expression across his face. 

“No.”

Hinata felt the knot in his stomach untangle slightly. 

“But we did follow each other on Instagram, though.” Kageyama added before going back to his food like it didn’t really matter.. 

Hinata felt his breath hinch. There were goosebumps across his arms and on his neck. He wanted to say something. He was clearly annoyed, but how could he? There wasn’t anything really bad about Kageyama giving his Instagram away. Not really. 

Then, why was he feeling that way?

“So, are we going?” Asked Bokuto, finally.

“I don’t kn-” Began Hoshiumi before being brutally interrupted by Hinata.

“Yes. I’m going.” 

His voice was determined. Cold. Almost like a threat. 

Hinata wanted to see the guy from up close. Figure out what he wanted from Kageyama. 

Bokuto blinked at his friend’s determination. Soon after, a smile was drawn across his face. “Good. That’s what I’m talking about.”

Chapter 53: Chapter LII

The room had no business holding ten people, but somehow it did.

Beds pushed back, blankets and duffel bags stuffed into corners, someone’s phone rigged to a tiny speaker playing low music. The hotel lamp was dimmed under a hoodie sleeve. The air smelled faintly of synthetic fabric and alcohol, and the floor was already littered with half-drunk plastic cups.

Hinata sat near the edge of the makeshift circle, back against the dresser. His drink sat untouched by his feet. The faint ache in his nose still hadn’t let go, but it wasn’t what was keeping him tense.

It was Sasaki.

He’d claimed the edge of the bed beside Kageyama the moment they walked in. Not directly next to him, not so obvious it could be called out, but close. Intentional. Hinata watched the way he leaned toward Kageyama, shoulder angled in, and how he tilted his head closer to him wherever he laughed.

Kageyama didn’t seem bothered. Or even particularly aware.

Until he laughed.

Hinata’s stomach flipped.

He didn’t hear what Sasaki had said but it didn’t even matter. The sound of Kageyama’s laugh, quiet and rare and genuine, was louder than the music, louder than Bokuto’s cackling across the room, louder than the clink of ice in Atsumu’s cup as he leaned in too close.

“Well, aren’t you quiet tonight,” he said, handing Hinata a new drink. “What’s got you brooding? Kageyama being prettier than usual, or are you still mad at your own nose?”

Hinata blinked at him. “What?”

“Never mind.” Atsumu smiled. “Just trying to loosen you up.”

Hinata thought, for a second, about how distant Atsumu had been since his injury. He’d asked him if he was okay after he came back from the infirmary that day, but hadn’t gotten any closer since then. No out of place comments or shameless flirting. At least not until now. It seemed like he was just… calculating something.

Atsumu winked, but before Hinata could keep overthinking about the boy next to him, he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. Sasaki had leaned in again, this time to whisper something in Kageyama’s ear. 

He wanted to throw his drink at him.

Across the room, Ushijima was seated stiffly between Ao Nakisuna and Hyakuzawa, two other players from the training camp who had joined them but looked half-asleep already. Kiryu Wakatsu, another of Sasaki’s friends, lounged against the wall, long legs folded under him, a bottle resting on his knee like it belonged there.

Kiryu took a slow sip and said, to no one in particular, “This feels like the kind of night where someone says something stupid and someone else gets kissed.”

“Jesus, Wakatsu,” Nakisuna groaned.

“I’m serious. That’s the energy.”

“Then suggest something,” Bokuto said. “We’re wasting potential.”

Kiryu raised an eyebrow. “Alright. Let’s play Burning Questions.”

A murmur ran through the room.

“What’s that?” Hyakuzawa asked, blinking.

Kiryu reached over, grabbed an empty bowl from the corner table, and handed it to Hoshiumi. “You write a question. Anything. Drop it in. We mix. We pull one at random. You either answer it or drink.”

“I know this one. You only get one pass,” Hoshiumi added automatically. “Only one.”

“No lies,” Bokuto said. “We boo you if you lie.”

“Oh my god,” Atsumu groaned, clearly thrilled. “Yes.”

Sasaki, still comfortably near Kageyama, smiled into his drink. “Anonymous, right?”

“Of course,” Kiryu said.

Paper scraps were torn from notepads and hotel brochures. Pens were passed. Laughter rose as people hunched over their knees, scribbling quickly, folding their notes tight. The bowl started to fill.

Hinata’s hands stayed still in his lap.

Kageyama hadn’t moved away from Sasaki. He hadn’t moved at all.

The bowl began making its way around the room.

The game started innocently. Embarrassing middle school questions. Who had cried after a loss. Who still had a crush on a coach from high school. They laughed too hard at things that weren’t that funny, but it felt good. Less like camp. More like something they’d all forgotten how to be: just boys.

Kiryu admitted to eating instant ramen in the shower during away games. Hoshiumi confessed to texting his ex after every single win. Atsumu declared he once faked a cramp to get out of playing a match on his and Osamu’s birthday.

Even Ushijima got a laugh when he said, entirely deadpan, “I thought the libero was just a very bad spiker throughout my first year.”

Then it was Hinata’s turn.

He drew a folded slip from the bowl. He opened it slowly, feeling every eye on him. Read it once. Then again.

Who was your first crush?

His pulse spiked.

He didn’t look up. He didn’t look at Kageyama.

“I pass,” he muttered, his cheeks burning.

Bokuto booed halfheartedly, but no one pressed. Hoshiumi side-eyed him, suspicious, but said nothing.

The bowl moved on. More questions. Laughter, jeers, someone groaning on the carpet as they tried to explain a terrible Tinder date. But Hinata couldn’t follow. His ears were too hot.

Then the bowl came back to him.

He reached in without thinking. His fingers closed around the nearest slip. He unfolded it.

Have you ever kissed someone in this room?

His breath caught.

Bokuto saw his face. “Oho,” he said. “That good?”

Hinata didn’t answer.

“Well?” Hoshiumi asked. “Whatcha got?”

Hinata cleared his throat. Read the question aloud, even though it physically hurt him to.

“Have you ever kissed someone in this room?”

Laughter exploded. Groans. Hoshiumi hollered. Someone clapped.

Hinata sat very still.

“You already passed,” Hoshiumi reminded him, smile twitching at the corners. “So... answer or drink.”

Hinata looked at the cup beside him. 

He thought for a moment. He could lie. Could laugh. Could pretend.

But he also thought about Sasaki sitting close to Kageyama. About how he leaned into his ear to whisper something. About how he’d made him laugh. About how he could reach out to him and text him through Instagram. 

Maybe the alcohol had something to do, but somehow, he felt extremely confident. 

He lifted his chin and met Kageyama’s gaze head-on.

“Yes,” he said.

The room went quiet.

“Wait, what?” Bokuto said, blinking.

“I have kissed someone in this room,” Hinata repeated with a shrug so forced it felt like it cracked his shoulder.

No one spoke for a second.

Bokuto laughed, not loud this time. “Shit. Alright.”

Hoshiumi glanced at Kageyama, then back at Hinata, eyes narrowing like he was doing math in his head.

Kageyama’s face didn’t change at first. His eyes had not left Hinata’s.

It wasn’t until a moment later, which felt like an eternity, that the corner of his lips twitched slightly. Like the beginning of a smile. Hinata realized, startled, that he looked… satisfied. Amused, even. 

He looked away first. The initial courage he’d had to answer the question now long gone. He looked down at his cup, the blood rushing to his cheeks. 

The game didn’t last much longer.

The room had softened after Hinata’s answer. No one said anything out loud, but something shifted. The laughter got thinner, more scattered. Drinks slowed. Someone changed the music to something quieter, hazier. Kiryu leaned back against the wall, eyes closed. Bokuto sprawled across the mattress like a drying towel.

The bowl still sat between them, half full.

Kageyama reached for it.

Sasaki handed it to him, fingers brushing against his for a moment too long. Hinata saw it. Everyone did, probably, but no one said anything.

Kageyama unfolded his slip, stared down at it.

He didn’t flinch, but there was a pause, just long enough to mean something.

“What’s it say?” Hoshiumi asked, nudging him with his foot.

Kageyama’s voice was quiet.

“If you had to go out on a date with someone in this room, who would it be?”

Groans. Laughter. The same chorus as before. But Hinata sat perfectly still.

Kageyama reached for his drink.

Atsumu let out a mock wail. “Boooooo. Coward.”

Kageyama raised the cup to his mouth, but before he drank, he shot a look at Hinata. He then drank without blinking, his eyes not leaving Shoyo’s for a second. He set the cup back down. 

Hinata’s throat felt dry again.

Someone said they were getting tired. Hyakuzawa yawned so loudly it startled Nakisuna. One by one, the group began peeling off. Stretching. Standing. Saying they had morning drills. Making excuses that no one needed to believe.

Hinata stood too.

His limbs felt slow. Like he’d been underwater all night.

Kageyama was already near the door, waiting without being asked.

They didn’t speak on the way back. Just walked. Hotel carpet under bare feet, hallway lights flickering gently overhead. One quiet elevator ride. The soft click of their door unlocking.

Inside their room, Hinata went straight for the sink, rinsed his face with cold water that did almost nothing. When he came out of the bathroom, Kageyama had already changed into something more comfortable. The air was too still.

Neither mentioned the game.

Neither asked any questions.

When they finally climbed into their respective beds, the space between them felt smaller than it ever had. Even in silence, something stayed.

Chapter 54: Chapter LIII

Notes:

hello beautiful people! sorry for the delay, there's been a couple of earthquakes in my country but not even THAT'S gonna stop me from posting.

(i'm currently stuck in my car trying to get home but the traffic's impossible, it feels apocalyptic)

anyways, hope you guys enjoy this chapter ❤️‍🩹

By wednesday, the court had started to feel familiar again.

The morning air in the gym was thick with heat, condensation already streaking down the tall windows before warmups had even finished. The floorboards moaned under weight and repetition, and the smell of resin, sweat, and faintly sour laundry detergent had woven itself into everything. Practice jerseys clung to backs. Water bottles sweated in plastic clusters on the sidelines.

Hinata was swapping warmup reps with Hyakuzawa when Sasaki walked in, late and smug, towel slung over one shoulder.

Kageyama was stretching near the far wall, head down, focused.

Sasaki drifted over.

“Morning,” he said, tone low and light. “Sleep okay?”

Kageyama glanced up. “Yeah.”

Sasaki crouched beside him, unrolling his tape with a pop. “That was a fun game last night. Some bold answers.”

Kageyama grunted something noncommittal.

“You didn’t say who you’d take on a date,” Sasaki added. His voice was still casual, but his posture wasn’t. He leaned in, elbows on his knees, eyes sharp. “I wonder who’d be the lucky person.”

Kageyama didn’t respond. He stood and walked toward the basket of balls at the center of the court.

Sasaki didn’t follow.

Hinata, from across the gym, had seen everything. He couldn’t help but smile at Sasaki’s annoyed look after Kageyama left.

During practice, Hinata’s nose still throbbed faintly when he blinked too hard, and the assistant medic had reminded him, twice, not to risk any more face-first saves. But for the first time since the injury, he didn’t feel like he was being observed. Just... included.

Coach Hibarida called names for a sequence drill: synchronized movement from serve receive to immediate counterattack. Everyone paired off, some naturally, some assigned.

“Kageyama. Hinata.” Called Coach Hibarida. “You two pair up.”

The room didn’t react, but a few glances flicked sideways.

Hinata rolled out his shoulder once, then jogged toward the net.

Kageyama was already there, tying the string of his athletic tape tighter, jaw tense with focus. He didn’t look up when Hinata approached. Just passed him a ball, casual.

They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to.

The drill began.

The rhythm was simple: dig, shift, toss, spike, reset. And again. Then again. Over and over, until the edges blurred.

And somehow, it was working.

Kageyama’s sets came in fast. Clean, precise, with just the right sting at the top. Hinata rose to meet them like his body had been waiting for this signal all week. Muscle memory took over. The court faded. All that remained was breath, friction, and the thrum of each successful impact.

He couldn’t tell how many reps passed before someone called time. When they stopped, Hinata was drenched. Kageyama, too. Their chests rose in perfect sync.

A moment passed where they stood there, facing each other, barely two feet of space between them. Kageyama’s eyes narrowed, not sharply, just focused.

Hinata, still breathless, lifted a hand.

Not quite a high-five. Not quite nothing. Just a palm, open.

Kageyama met it.

Their hands touched. They lingered for a moment, their eyes set on each other, and then parted. 

Hinata didn’t look back as he walked off the court. He didn’t need to. His skin was already burning.

 

---

 

Later that afternoon, during a water break, Hinata stood near the benches, dabbing sweat from his face with a towel when Atsumu walked over, casually sipping from his bottle. He gave Hinata a quick once-over, then nodded toward the ugly looking bruise under his eye.

“Damn,” he said, voice light. “That nose still giving . 

He thought about the day before, how he’d noticed that Atsumu seemed to be taking his distance and just… observing. Almost like a game that was about to begin. There was definitely something off, but he couldn’t point out exactly what it was.

After a while, it occurred to him, just for a second, that Kageyama wasn’t on the court right then. Hadn’t been for the last set. In fact, he recalled that during most of Atsumu’s normal, almost friendly interactions with him, Kageyama had always been somewhere else.

It made something in the back of Hinata’s mind click, faintly.

But the whistle blew before he could think about it longer.

 

---

 

That night, the air in the dorm was thick with heat, the AC rattling uselessly in the corner. Practice had left them wrecked in the best way. Their bodies were sore, minds quiet. Kageyama had stripped down to his base layers almost immediately after walking in, letting his shirt hang off his bedframe as he dug through his bag.

“Do you want me to tape it for you?” Hinata asked, nodding toward the exposed skin of Kageyama’s shoulder.

Kageyama looked up, surprised. “You know how?”

Hinata shrugged. “Of course. Come here.”

Kageyama crossed the room and sat at the edge of his bed, his back turned. Hinata knelt behind him with the roll of athletic tape.

He hadn’t realized how close they’d have to be.

Kageyama’s skin was warm. Damp with post-shower heat, muscles still humming from the day. Hinata’s fingers hovered for a second before they made contact, palm against the slope of his scapula to steady him, then smoothing the tape down in deliberate, practiced strokes.

“Does this hurt?”

“No.”

“You’re not just saying that, are you?”

Kageyama huffed. “I’m not.”

Hinata pressed a little more firmly with his thumb, flattening the edge. Kageyama’s shoulder twitched under him.

“You should’ve asked me sooner,” Hinata muttered. “I’m pretty good at this.”

“You never offered.”

“You never asked.”

Kageyama didn’t respond.

Hinata finished the wrap and let his hands fall away slowly.

He didn’t move for a second. Just sat there, knees pressing into his bed, eyes fixed on the smooth curve of Kageyama’s spine, the steady rise and fall of his breath.

The heat radiating off Kageyama’s skin made the air between them feel heavier than it should. It was a quiet kind of heat. Not sweat, not sun, but something alive. Hinata found himself watching the dip of his lower back, the soft tension where muscle met skin. He imagined, briefly, stupidly, reaching out. Just a touch. Just to feel what it was like to press his hand there.

He didn’t move.

But he wanted to.

Then Kageyama stood, pulling the moment with him like a snapped thread.

They didn’t speak again.

But that night, as Hinata brushed his teeth, he caught Kageyama in the mirror. His shirt was still off, still towel-damp, leaning over the desk to grab his phone.

His back was turned. But the tape was still there. A couple of blue stripes across his shoulder, smooth and firm.

Hinata stared longer than he meant to.

When Kageyama turned around, their eyes met in the glass.

Neither of them looked away.

 

---

 

The heat hadn’t broken by thursday.

Breakfast was quiet, filled with clinking metal trays and half-lidded eyes. Everyone was moving slower now. The weight of the camp, the cuts, the stakes, the exhaustion, hung over them like fog.

But the court still welcomed them.

By mid-morning, Hinata and Kageyama had fallen back into that rhythm. No words exchanged, but each motion anticipated. The timing between them felt less like training and more like instinct. Like the space between them had simply dissolved.

They were stretching near the wall when Bokuto walked by and tossed a towel at them.

“You two are freaky in sync again,” he said, not unkindly. “Hope the coaches are taking notes.”

Kageyama blinked. Hinata tried to play it off, but his ears were pink.

After dinner, back in the dorm, Hinata stripped down to his compression shorts and rummaged for a clean shirt. Kageyama was toweling off near the mirror, quiet, focused. The silence between them had started to feel familiar. Like something earned.

Hinata sat on his bed and peeled off his socks.

“You gonna need help with your shoulder again?” he asked, not quite looking up.

Kageyama paused. Then nodded.

“Yeah,” he said. “If you don’t mind.”

Hinata didn’t smile. Not really. But something in his chest lifted.

“Grab the tape.”

Kageyama crossed the room and handed it over without a word. Sat down in the same place as the night before, at the edge of the bed, back exposed, head bowed.

Hinata knelt behind him again. Hands steadier this time. The skin was familiar now: warm and smooth, traced faintly with the shadows of old tension.

“You didn’t sweat it off today,” Hinata murmured.

Kageyama grunted. “I kept it dry. Didn’t want to bother you again.”

“You’re not bothering me.”

Silence. The tape peeled slowly under his fingers. Each line pressed into place with care.

“You always do everything yourself?” Hinata asked, not teasing.

Kageyama didn’t answer at first. He took a deep, careful breath. “I used to.”

Hinata smoothed the last edge with his thumb. His hand lingered.

“Good thing I’m here now,” he said quietly.

Kageyama didn’t move. Didn’t speak. But he didn’t pull away either.

That night, when they lay in their beds with the lights off, the silence felt different.

The weight of something different in the air between them. It wasn’t just comfort. It felt like something bigger, electric. 

A familiar feeling from years ago. 

Chapter 55: Chapter LIV

The drills were gone. No more rotations, no more reps, no more control.

It was matches now. Real ones.

Five-on-five, high-pressure, point-tracked matches where players dove for balls with reckless precision and every mistake echoed off the walls. Coaches stood with clipboards and sharp eyes, making notes that no one got to read. The court had changed. It felt like a battlefield now.

Hinata could feel it in the air. And in his legs. And in the back of his throat where adrenaline buzzed like electricity.

Bokuto was still loud, but he looked sharper, cleaner. No wild, spiraling energy now, just raw power that cracked across the court like thunder. His swings were brutal, and when he laughed after a kill, it felt earned.

Ushijima was quiet as always, but unstoppable. He was playing like he had something to protect. His blocks were perfectly timed, his spikes like hammer drops. Watching him move was like watching gravity take shape.

Hoshiumi moved like lightning. Tight turns, sharp steps, impossible balance. Every serve was calculated chaos, and his grin after each point felt like a dare. He was the hardest to read, and maybe the hardest to stop.

Everyone was performing like it mattered. Probably because now it did. It was day 12 of training camp. They were running out of time to prove their worth.

Hinata could feel the court shifting beneath him, like everything had narrowed. Fewer mistakes. Tighter breathing. No more leniency.

And yet, even in that storm, Kageyama was calm.

He wasn’t loud. He wasn’t pushing. He was just… there. Present and exact. He read the court like it was written in numbers no one else could see. Every toss to Hinata landed like a whisper. Every glance felt too deliberate.

Hinata’s timing with him had returned like muscle memory, but sharper. He didn’t even have to think. He just ran, jumped, swung. Trusted.

By the end of the last match, his whole body hummed. He was soaked through. His knees stung. His voice was hoarse.

But his heart was steady.

 

---

 

Back in the dorm, the heat lingered.

The walls sweated condensation. That day had definitely been way hotter than the rest. Kageyama peeled off his shirt and flopped onto the mattress with the gracelessness of someone who’d given everything on court.

“Everything itches,” he muttered. “The mosquitoes and the sweat and the tape—I’m dying.”

Hinata glanced up from his bag. “You’re not dying. You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m serious,” Kageyama groaned, scratching the side of his back near his waistline. “I got bit right on the hip or something. It’s awful.”

Hinata grabbed the tape roll and nudged his knee. “C’mere. I’ll fix it.”

Kageyama sat at the edge of the bed and turned around, exposing the now-familiar line of his back.

But tonight, his skin was blotched. Little red welts scattered across his shoulders and along the curve of his spine, especially low near the waistband of his shorts.

Hinata winced. “Jesus, you weren’t kidding. You look like a buffet.”

Kageyama sighed through his nose. “It’s the same every summer. I must be sweet or something.”

“You? Sweet? Yeah, right.” Said Hinata, a wide smile drawn across his face. His hands moved slowly, cleaning the skin, gently peeling off the old tape with fingers more careful than they needed to be.

Kageyama scratched again at his side, just beneath the elastic of his shorts. The motion pulled the waistband down a little, and for a second, Hinata saw it: a dark curve of ink, just the edge of something, disappearing beneath the fabric.

He froze.

“What’s that?” he asked, voice low.

Kageyama stiffened. “Nothing. Forget it.”

“You have a tattoo?”

Hinata could see the goosebumps starting to form in Kageyama’s bare arms. 

“... Yeah.”

Hinata blinked. Kageyama? A tattoo?

If he looked at the boy in front of him, it wasn’t that strange. He was an adult. His body was athletic and well-built… perfect for a tattoo. But maybe Hinata was still looking at the sixteen-year-old Karasuno student from back then.

He shook his head, trying to get rid of the thought. Kageyama wasn’t that boy anymore. No more than Hinata was still his old self.

“Can I see?” he asked finally. His voice low.

A long pause. Kageyama didn’t move at first. Then, without a word, he hooked two fingers under the waistband and pulled it lower, just enough to reveal the whole thing.

It was in his hipbone, where his obliques cut a soft line into the curve of his waist. The skin there was smooth and warm, flushed from heat and touch. Two small crows in flight, etched in sharp, clean lines. Between them, in simple script: “飛べ”

Fly.

Hinata stared.

“Please don’t laugh. I know it’s cheesy.” Kageyama said, barely audible. “I got it two years ago. I just... needed to carry it with me, somehow. It’s kind of stupid.”

He wasn’t looking at Hinata. His voice was stiff. Like the act of showing it had cost something.

Hinata couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe, for a second.

Thinking about how Kageyama had loved his high school years so much he had wanted to tattoo them on his body, where they would stay for the rest of his life, made Hinata’s chest grow warm. He felt kind of guilty thinking about how happy it made him to know he’d been part of such a crucial and special time for the boy in front of him.

He also thought about Karasuno often.

Objectively, it wasn’t that much. Just a high school volleyball team. But he knew better.

Being a part of that team had given him a start in life. It had given him long-lasting friendships with the people he now considered family. He’d learned how to really play volleyball. He’d spent most of his days on the court. There were no real worries. Just the ball in front of him and his friends by his side.

Karasuno was so much more than a team.

Back then, he’d lived for it. Sweat for it. Bled for it. Cried for it. It was the first step to who he was. It was the place he’d fallen in love with the boy in front of him.

But the ache in his chest wasn’t just the tattoo, or the meaning of it.

Not exactly.

It was everything around it. The way the curve of Kageyama’s back pulled slightly when he shifted, the way his skin was still red from the heat and the bites, how the line of muscle beneath the ink wasn’t soft anymore, not like before. It was carved. Solid.

There was nothing boyish about him anymore.

Hinata’s hand hovered near the ink. He didn’t touch it, but god, he wanted to.

“It suits you,” he said finally. “It’s not stupid.”

Kageyama let go of the waistband and pulled it back up in one slow motion. His ears were red.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

Hinata went back to the tape. His fingers shook a little now. He hoped Kageyama didn’t notice.

He worked in silence, the image burned into his eyes.

 

---

 

On day 13, the gym didn’t let up.

The morning started with heat already pressing through the glass, heavy and unmoving. No breeze. No relief. Just noise and sweat and the sound of sneakers scuffing faster than the day before. No one was slacking anymore. No one could afford to.

It wasn’t try-hard desperation anymore. It was hunger. Precision. Something sharper.

Kageyama was locked in. Toss after toss after toss. Clean, brutal, unreadable. Like he wasn’t even using effort anymore. Just calculation. Just instinct.

Hinata kept up.

His legs were sore, ankles stiff, hands bruised from too many late dig saves, but still, he ran. Still, he jumped. Still, he swung like the sound of the ball cracking against his palm was the only thing keeping him standing. His nose wasn’t bothering him anymore.

They didn’t talk much on court. They didn’t need to.

There was a moment, late in the final scrimmage, where Hinata swung through a triple block and missed, barely. Kageyama walked past him as they switched positions and murmured, “Too slow.”

Hinata barked a laugh, breathless, “Maybe your set was off.”

Kageyama didn’t even look at him. Just said, “It wasn’t.”

It was. 

 

---

 

They got let out early.

Not because practice was light. Just because there was nothing more to squeeze from them.

Back in the room, the air felt heavier than it should’ve. Not only was the exhaustion solid and heavy on the air. There was something else. 

A memory of a tattoo. About Kageyama’s naked back. About the smoothness of his skin. 

Hinata tried his best to act casual.

Kageyama was already stretched out on his bed, towel under his neck, laptop open on his thighs, a replay of some past national match playing quietly. His hair was still damp from the shower. His shirt hung over the desk chair, forgotten.

Hinata stood near the foot of his own bed, arms crossed, rocking on the balls of his feet.

Then, casually, he asked “Hey… can I watch with you?”

Kageyama blinked. “Huh?”

“Just scoot over. You’re hogging the screen.”

Kageyama made a face. “You have your own bed. And your own laptop, too.”

“Yeah, but it’s farther. Also, I like watching these with you.” Then, realizing what he just said, added quickly, “For educational purposes.”

Kageyama scoffed, amused, then shifted wordlessly toward the wall, leaving enough space for one more body, barely.

Hinata climbed up like it was no big deal. Sat with his legs crossed, back to the headboard, shoulder brushing Kageyama’s.

“Finally,” Hinata muttered after a while. “Some good matches.”

“They’re all good.”

“You would say that.”

Kageyama smirked. “Because I’m right.”

Hinata nudged him with his knee. “You’re such a volleyball nerd.”

“You’re the one watching replays on my bed.”

“You were the one watching them alone in the dark like some freak.”

Kageyama rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. Hinata was too.

“I always watch them in the dark. It’s less distracting.”

“You’re gonna end up wearing glasses if you keep going like that. Then you’ll look like Tsukki.”

Kageyama snapped his head at Hinata. “How dare you? I’d look so much better than that.”

“According to who? One of your fangirls?”

“Don’t mess with my fangirls. Seriously. They’re scary.”

Hinata blinked. Although Kageyama’s tone was light, he still sounded honest.

“Wait… you actually do have fangirls?”

He noticed, just as he finished the sentence, that blood had rushed to Kageyama’s ears. It was subtle but still obvious.

“No… I mean, yeah? Kind of. I guess you could call them that.”

Hinata was trying hard not to laugh. “No way. Are you that famous? Do they pay for fan calls? Buy you stuff? Write fanfiction?” Then, as if a miraculous idea had emerged in his head, “Do they have a fandom name?”

Kageyama kicked him a little too hard. The blood was now rushing to his cheeks as well. “Shut the fuck up. I don’t know.”

Hinata couldn’t resist anymore. He threw his head back against the headboard and almost crashed his skull as he let out a big laugh. “Oh my god. This is gold. Since when do you have fans?”

“Stop asking dumb shit.” Kageyama was forcing an annoyed voice. He wasn’t meeting his gaze.

“No, seriously. I’m curious. I swear I won’t laugh.”

A pause. Kageyama finally looked at Hinata, as if making sure he wasn’t about to laugh in his face. Shoyo’s expression was dead serious.

“…Like a year and a half, I guess? I think it was after the Olympics.”

Hinata blinked.

For a second, the joke was still in his throat, ready to fire back. But it didn’t come. Because suddenly, that answer, quiet, real, unguarded, landed somewhere else. Like a reminder. Like a pause in his chest.

He didn’t know that.

He didn’t know about what came after the Olympics. The life he lead when he went back to Japan. Who Kageyama became when no one was watching. There were whole pieces of the last two years, whole lives, they hadn’t touched.

And somehow, they were sitting here. On the same bed. Laughing like none of it mattered anymore.

Hinata turned his head, the grin still ghosting at the corners of his mouth.

The volume stayed low. The commentary blurred into static. Hinata leaned into Kageyama’s side without meaning to. Neither of them shifted.

Then, softly, Hinata said, “You know… I think I was also scared to ask about your life after I left.”

Kageyama didn’t respond at first. Just breathed. But Hinata kept talking, eyes on the screen.

“Like… if I asked, you’d tell me something I couldn’t handle. Like it was good. Or… like I wasn’t missed. That’s why I understood what you said the other day. About not knowing if you want to know about my life in Brazil at the same time you really do.”

A pause.

Kageyama’s voice was low. “Well. You can ask, too. About my life. If you want.”

Hinata turned his head toward him, just a little.

Kageyama kept his eyes on the screen. But his jaw was tight.

Hinata looked back at the replay.

He cleared his throat. “Does your sister still own that hair salon?”

That made Kageyama glance over.

“Yeah. Miwa’s still cutting people’s hair and terrorizing the neighbors. She dyed her own hair bright orange last month.”

Hinata choked on a laugh. “No way.”

“Swear to god. Said it was ‘in solidarity’ with someone. I didn’t ask.”

Hinata was grinning now, head tipping back against the wall.

“God, I miss her.”

“She didn’t miss you.”

“Liar. She adored me.”

“She said your voice gave her headaches.”

Hinata gasped. “You take that back.”

“Make me.”

They were laughing now. Real laughter. Full-bodied, easy.

And they didn’t move from the bed. They watched another match. Then half of one more. Hinata asked about his new place at Higashiōsaka, about his place and his new teammates at Schweiden Adlers. Kageyama asked about portuguese, his part time job back in Brazil and training in sand and under the sun.

By the time they stopped talking, the sun was long gone. The hallway outside had fallen silent. The room smelled like shampoo and muscle rub and something quieter, like relief.

They didn’t sleep. They didn’t move.

And in the dark, the space between them finally felt like home.

Chapter 56: Chapter LV

Notes:

hello beautiful people! sorry for the late upload, work was crazy today :(

but here's our new chapter! we're getting very close to the end of the training camp arc (which i am SO thankful for because i simply cannot write more drills and games hahaha), but i wanted to take the moment to thank everyone for their time, kudos, bookmarks and kind comments<3 i try to respond to all of them but i can't use my phone during work so some comments slip here and there. i'm still very grateful for each one of them, though.

hope you guys enjoy this new chapter!!

The gym buzzed with tension before the first ball was even tossed. The morning sun of day 14 had barely risen high enough to cut through the windows, but the court already glowed with sweat and anticipation. Everyone was present. No stragglers, no sleepy faces. Just rows of focused athletes, stretching in silence, taping fingers, lacing shoes tighter than usual. Something unspoken hung in the air: a sense that this was it. The final stretch.

Coach Hibarida walked slowly to the center of the court, clipboard in hand, and surveyed the room with the careful eyes of someone who’d been watching for a long time.

When he spoke, it wasn’t just loud. It was grounded. Steady.

“Fourteen days ago,” he began, “you walked into this camp with different goals. Some of you came to impress. Some came to improve. Some came unsure of where you stood.”

His eyes moved slowly over the crowd.

“Today, you stand among the best of your generation. During the past few days, every one of you has grown. You’ve taken hits. You’ve failed. And you’ve come back harder.”

A stillness spread over the court. Even Bokuto was quiet.

“Talent brought you here,” Hibarida said, voice softer now, but no less firm. “But grit, patience, and hunger have kept you here. And that is what the national team needs.”

He paused, letting it settle.

“Now we’re going to finish this the way it was always meant to end: on the court.”

The tension in the room shifted into something electric.

“Four teams. Single elimination. Best of five sets. You lose once, you’re out. No second chances. No resets. Let’s see what you’ve learned.”

He turned and pointed to the roster taped near the wall.

Team A : Kageyama, Bokuto, Hyakuzawa, Nakisuna, Araki
Team B : Hinata, Atsumu, Kiryu, Fukuda, Murata
Team C : Ushijima, Hoshiumi, Saito, Noda, Ishida
Team D : Sasaki, and four additional players

A wave of movement followed. Players huddled around the printout, calling names, tallying opponents.

Hinata read his assignment. Team B. He felt a flicker of tension twist in his stomach. Not from nerves. From something else. From anticipation. From heat.

Atsumu leaned into his space, casual as ever, his voice brushing the shell of Hinata's ear.

“Looks like we’re married for the day, sunshine.”

Hinata didn’t respond.

Across the gym, Kageyama stood in front of the list, jaw tight. Hinata felt his gaze, even if it didn’t linger. Their eyes met. Briefly. Just long enough.

Before Match One, Sasaki approached Kageyama near the service zone. He smiled lazily, like the outcome didn’t matter.

“Hey. Go easy on me, alright? Wouldn’t want to be sore for our next game,” he said, voice low, playful.

Kageyama didn’t blink. He turned and walked past him without so much as a glance.

Hinata saw the exchange. And for the first time since Sasaki had entered the picture, he didn’t feel that sharp, sour jolt in his chest. Just a quiet certainty. The memory of the nights before engraved in his memories like fire: the soft words, the looks, the exposed skin, the sincerity, the teasing. 

Hinata knew, somehow, that he shouldn’t worry about Sasaki at all.

The whistle cut through the gym like a blade. The first match was starting: Team A vs. Team D.

Team A stepped onto the court with a quiet, practiced rhythm. Kageyama led the rotation with a calm intensity that didn’t need words. Bokuto bounced on the balls of his feet, energy simmering just below the surface. Hyakuzawa’s massive frame hovered near the net like a silent warning.

Sasaki opened the serve. It was sharp and fast. Good, even. But Nakisuna caught it without flinching, passing tight to Araki, who popped it into perfect height. Kageyama was already there, wrists snapping into a clean set. Bokuto smashed it down the middle with a thunderclap.

Point.

The sound of it shook the gym.

From there, it was all control. Team D fought, but their rhythm frayed under pressure. Sasaki moved quickly, tossing sets with flashy footwork and theatrical no-looks, but it wasn’t enough. Bokuto read him like a book. Kageyama never hesitated.

Their plays unfolded with surgical efficiency. It wasn’t just domination… it was erasure . Hinata almost felt sorry. Every rally that started with promise ended with the same result: Team A reclaiming the point.

Set One: 25-18. Set Two : 25-14. Set Three : 25-12.

It wasn’t even that Team D was bad. They were not even mediocre. But you could tell, from just watching from the sideline, that team A was something else. Something barely human.

Team D was out. The first to fall.

Sasaki clapped politely at the net, gave Kageyama a parting smirk, and vanished toward the hallway.

Hinata didn’t watch him go.

He was already pulling on his elbow pads: his match was next.

 

---

 

The court felt different now. Less like a court and more like a stage.

The silence between players was loaded. The lights felt harsher overhead, heat radiating down on damp forearms and the slick rubber soles grinding into polished wood. Team C stretched along the far sideline in total synchronization, their bodies quiet but coiled. Hoshiumi rotated his shoulder and spun the ball in his hand with a focused calm, while Ushijima loomed near the net, warming up with slow, devastating swings that cut the air like a blade.

Team B stood shoulder to shoulder, waiting for the signal. Atsumu rocked forward on his heels and leaned into Hinata, voice low and pointed.

“Let’s give them something to remember, yeah?”

Hinata didn’t answer. His eyes were on the ball, on the net, on the breath in his chest.

The whistle blew.

And everything moved.

Hoshiumi opened the first set with a missile of a jump serve, the ball streaking low and nasty into the back line. Fukuda dropped too late. The ball ricocheted awkwardly to the left.

Point.

From there, the match unfolded like a drawn bow.

Every rally was taut with pressure. Ushijima’s attacks came heavy and final, his shoulder swinging with terrifying ease. Hoshiumi read the back row like a map, landing floaters just outside the seam. Hinata pushed himself to every edge of the court, keeping low, calling balls early, adjusting on instinct.

Atsumu set clean, deliberate tosses. Not the showboating stuff he usually pulled in friendlies. There was purpose now. Calculation, even. But the grin never left his face. It was starting to feel like a mask.

Hinata scored the final point of the set with a hard cut shot down the line, just grazing the edge of Ushijima’s block.

Set One: 26-24, Team B.

They rotated in silence. Sweat rolled down Hinata’s neck. Kiryu patted Fukuda’s shoulder.

The next set cracked open fast.

Hoshiumi was merciless. His serves spun like they had their own minds. Ushijima shifted to off-speed attacks that sent Team B sprawling out of position. Their rhythm splintered. Fukuda missed two digs in a row. Atsumu yelled an instruction that came out more like a snap.

Set Two: 25-19, Team C.

Atsumu leaned in to Hinata again. Not smiling this time.

“You feel that?” he whispered. “Not bad for your new setter, right?”

Hinata turned toward him, face blank. “Stop.”

Atsumu smirked, innocently. “Stop what?”

The whistle went off.

Hinata barely registered the next serve. He dove too late, caught it with the edge of his wrist. The ball spun into the rafters.

Timeout.

The huddle was tense. Kiryu kept his head down. Murata rubbed his knee. No one looked at Hinata. He didn’t need them to.

He closed his eyes. Breathed deep. Heard the whistle again.

Then he moved.

The third set became something else.

Hinata stopped hearing the court. He only heard his own pulse. The ball. The wind in his ears.

He scored off a pipe attack that shouldn’t have worked. He tipped past Hoshiumi’s left hand on a jump that made even Ushijima’s eyes follow. The crowd didn’t cheer. They were too stunned.

Set Three: 25-22, Team B.

The fourth set burned. Long rallies. Endless recoveries. Sweat dripping from every jawline, every elbow. Ushijima was a machine. Hoshiumi played like a storm. They took it back.

Set Four: 25-23, Team C.

Final set.

No room for hesitation.

The score clawed upward: 5-5. 8-8. 12-12.

Atsumu set to Hinata in the back row. Hinata launched off one foot and smacked it just inside the line.

13-12.

Team C tied it. Then Hoshiumi hit into the net.

14-13.

Match point.

The final rally stretched for almost a full minute. Receives. Dives. A desperate one-handed save by Kiryu. Then the set from Atsumu: fast, just left of the antenna.

Hinata hit it. Clean. The ball dropped just beyond Ushijima’s reach.

15-13.

Match.

Team B won.

They shook hands, breathless. Hoshiumi nodded once at Hinata. A quiet look, not impressed, not angry. Just something that lingered.

Ushijima said nothing. He didn’t need to.

Shoyo felt his hand still tingling from the impact of hitting the ball. He looked around, and for a moment, he thought back to his time in high school, how winning a match against Ushijima had taken every ounce of strength and effort in his body. How he hadn’t defeated Hoshiumi back in the day. How they both had seemed unreachable, the breach between his talent and theirs too vast to even consider.

But now, many years later, he’d won. He had felt pressed. It had been hard. He had still given everything within his power, but the breach wasn’t there anymore.

It had closed.

Hinata had reached them. And he was playing alongside.

His jersey clung to his skin. His fingers trembled from fatigue. Atsumu clapped him on the back, too hard.

“Told you we’d be a good show,” he muttered.

Hinata didn’t answer. He was already walking off the court, too many feelings forming a lump in his throat.

He went straight to the water station. His throat was dry and burning. People congratulated him along the way.

Once his bottle was filled, he drank from it with such urgency he almost finished it in one go.

“What was that receive during the third set?” he heard a voice behind him.

He turned to find Kageyama walking toward him, holding his own bottle of water.

Hinata scoffed. “Yeah. Good job to you, too.”

His words were a little sharp, but his tone was light, almost too fond. He’d found himself talking with more confidence and comfort these last few days. He didn’t have to think about the words coming out of his mouth that much anymore. He felt more at ease. The ghost of an old dynamic slipping back in.

“I know. Thanks,” Kageyama said, smiling smugly.

Hinata just smiled in return, his eyes still fixed somewhere in the skyline. After that adrenaline hit, his body felt heavier and slower. He suddenly felt like sleeping.

However, whatever tiredness there was behind his eyes suddenly evaporated into a million pieces.

A hand was now resting on the top of his head, softly muffling his hair just a little.

It was Kageyama.

“You really outdid yourself. You looked a little scary out there. I mean it.”

The words weren’t particularly sweet. They didn’t seem to have a secret, deeper meaning behind them. But they felt real. Raw. Human. Honest.

Hinata’s heart skipped a beat just from the softness of Kageyama’s voice, which was so low it almost felt like a whisper.

Chapter 57: Chapter LVI

The hotel room was quiet when they returned from dinner. Not the lazy kind of quiet, more like something tucked behind a held breath. Outside, the distant sounds of Tokyo had dimmed into something low and hazy. The city lights blinked against the window panes, but inside, the space felt warmer, dimmer, like it was holding its breath too.

Kageyama shrugged off his jacket and let it fall across the desk chair. Hinata sat on the edge of his bed, one knee bent loosely, fingertips brushing across the skin just below it. His shorts were pushed up enough to show the faint reddish imprint where his pad had pressed into him all day. A small patch of purple shadowed the upper cheekbone under his right eye. The swelling had gone down, mostly. But the bruise had settled in. Dark, familiar. Faintly green at the edges.

Kageyama glanced over.

"You look like you got beat up," he said, quiet but not unkind.

Hinata snorted. "You should see the other guy."

Kageyama huffed a soft laugh. "Hoshiumi looks perfectly fine."

Hinata grinned despite himself. 

Kageyama stepped closer, hesitated for half a breath, then held out his hand. Not tentative. Just offering. “Give me the tape.”

Hinata blinked up at him.

“You’ve been doing mine,” Kageyama said. “It’s fair.”

He didn’t wait. He took the roll from Hinata’s duffel and knelt down in front of him.

The lamplight caught the edge of Kageyama’s jaw as he leaned in. His hands were warm when they touched Hinata’s knee, fingers spreading slightly to stabilize him. The tape rolled out smooth and clean, one practiced loop around the joint, then another.

“Still sore?” he asked, eyes on his work.

“A little. It’s not bad.”

“And your nose?”

Hinata paused. “It’s just the bruise now.” He touched just under his right eye. “It spread more than I thought it would, though.”

Kageyama didn’t look up. But his thumb shifted slightly as he pressed the tape down, brushing the skin above Hinata’s kneecap, then moving lower, more carefully now.

“You can’t tell unless you’re looking,” he said.

“You just said I look like I got beat up.”

“You do.”

Hinata laughed softly. The sound didn’t fill the room, but it felt like it could have.

Kageyama reached for another strip of tape, pulling it gently, pressing it along the curve of Hinata’s shin. His other hand moved to brace Hinata’s leg again, this time resting a little higher. His thumb grazed the inside of Hinata’s thigh. It was light, almost incidental, but it lingered. The contact sat there in the space between casual and deliberate. Not a mistake. Not fully intentional either.

Hinata’s breath caught for a second, but he didn’t move.

Kageyama didn’t either.

The room felt smaller all at once. The hum of the city faded under the weight of silence.

Then Kageyama stood. His hands left Hinata’s skin slowly, almost with reluctance.

“That should hold,” he said, voice low.

Hinata nodded, fast. He stood before his brain caught up to the movement.

“I’m going to the vending machine,” he muttered, grabbing his wallet from the desk and heading for the door without looking back.

The click of the latch behind him was soft, but final.

Hinata rushed through the corridor and took the stairs instead of the elevator. He couldn’t stay still. Not yet. Not after the way Kageyama’s hands had felt steady, careful, too warm, and the silence between them had stretched just a moment too long.

His heart was still beating louder than it should have. He wasn’t even sure if he wanted the milk anymore. But he needed to hold something when he walked back in. Something to explain why he left.

When he finally reached the vending machine on the ground floor, he let out a breath. The hallway was dimmer here, older, with flickering fluorescent panels that buzzed above the cracked linoleum. He stepped forward and tapped at the screen for two cartons of milk. Something to fill the silence.

He opened his wallet, already distracted, already planning how he’d casually drop one of the cartons on Kageyama’s desk, but when he reached into the billfold, his fingers touched nothing. Just laminated plastic, a folded photo of his mom and Natsu, and a few receipts.

Right . The last of his cash had gone into a pile of ice cream cones after training. A reward for the team. A stupid, wholesome gesture. His stomach twisted.

Really? Was he going to have to swallow his pride and return empty handed? Ask Kageyama for cash? Or maybe he could go to Bokuto’s room and lend some money. Maybe he could walk to a store that took credit cards and just pretend he’d bought them at the vending machine. He could even claim the machine ate his money, or—

A quiet laugh sounded behind him.

“Out for a night snack?”

Hinata turned sharply. Atsumu stood a few steps away, damp hair curling faintly from a recent shower, a towel slung around his neck. He smelled like hotel soap, sharp and clean. His expression was easy, unreadable.

“Well, that was the intention,” Hinata muttered, holding up his wallet. “But I forgot the cash.”

He turned back to the vending machine and reached out to cancel the selection, but Atsumu stepped closer. Too close. His arm reached up beside Hinata’s head, brushing past the side of his neck as he slipped a bill into the machine.

“Don’t worry about it,” Atsumu murmured. “It’s on me.”

Hinata’s body went still. His back was pressed lightly to Atsumu’s chest now, one shoulder pinned by the curve of Atsumu’s arm. There was no room to shift away without making a scene.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he said flatly.

“I know,” Atsumu said, voice low. “But I wanted to.”

The machine accepted the bill with a whirr, but Atsumu didn’t move. His face shifted closer, breath grazing the shell of Hinata’s ear.

“For a price, that is.”

Hinata tensed. The back of his neck prickled. He turned slightly, trying to step out of the corner Atsumu had created, but Atsumu’s arm held the space firm.

“Wanna hear what I want in return?” he asked.

Hinata didn’t answer right away. His body was tired, his skin sensitive from the long day. He didn’t have the energy for this.

“Can I refuse?”

Atsumu chuckled, the sound warm but sharp-edged.

“Of course you can’t.”

Hinata heard the milk cartons drop into the tray. He reached down without thinking, more to get space than to claim the drinks, but as he straightened, stepping free from the boxed-in heat of Atsumu’s body and was just starting to walk back to his room, another voice echoed down the hallway.

It was low, familiar. Almost hesitant.

“Hey, idiot. You forgot the cash.”

Kageyama was walking toward them, wallet in hand, hair slightly rumpled, slippers on like he’d rushed down the hall.

But he stopped cold.

And that was when Atsumu moved.

His arm tightened around Hinata’s waist as he turned him to face him directly. His other hand rose to cup his cheek. In a single movement, he pulled Hinata forward and kissed him.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t asked for. It was possession.

Hinata’s hands flew up immediately as he shoved him back hard, full of stunned rage. Atsumu stumbled and hit the vending machine with a sharp metallic thud. Something inside clattered. Coins, maybe, or a loose drink rattling loose from the impact.

Hinata’s breath left him in a sharp, broken sound. His voice cracked out, raw.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Atsumu leaned back, hand bracing against the machine. He didn’t look sorry.

“I told you there was a price,” he said, almost lazily.

Hinata stared at him like he didn’t recognize his face.

“You—” His voice caught. He took a step forward, teeth clenched. “You think I didn’t notice? You’ve been flirting with me for two fucking weeks. I let it go and I ignored it because I knew you didn’t even mean it.”

He was shaking now. From fury. From adrenaline. From something deeper.

Atsumu started to speak, something slick, something deflecting, but Hinata cut him off with a shove to the chest.

“Shut the fuck up.”

Atsumu took a half-step back, eyes narrowing, but he didn’t argue.

Hinata didn’t stop.

“Do you think I’m stupid? Do you think I haven’t noticed why you’re doing this? It’s definitely not because you like me. It’s because of him ,” He pointed at Kageyama, who stood with the cash in his hands, eyes wide open with disbelief and confusion. “You’re pissed at him . For what, I don’t even know. Because he’s better than you? Because he doesn’t give you the attention you want? Because he stopped playing your games a long time ago? You’ve only been trying to get his attention and piss him off with whatever the fuck this is.”

He stepped even closer. His voice was quiet now, but cutting. Almost trembling.

“Whatever it is, deal with it. Fight it out. Scream at him. Kiss him, for all I care. But leave me the fuck out of it.”

He turned without waiting for a response, brushing past Kageyama without a word.

His palms still burned from where they’d touched Atsumu’s shirt.

His throat was tight and he was shaking, but he didn’t look back.

Notes:

i´m dying to read the comments about this one

Chapter 58: Chapter LVII

Notes:

hi guys! i'm sorry about not posting yesterday :( work was crazy

but here's the new chapter! hope you guys enjoy it <3

Kageyama didn’t move until Hinata’s footsteps had faded around the corner.

The hallway had gone still, save for the distant hum of vending machine motors and the soft clink of something still settling inside. Atsumu leaned against the metal panel like nothing had happened, adjusting the hem of his shirt with a smirk that didn’t quite meet his eyes.  But there was something hesitant about it. Something unnatural and rehearsed. His hands were shaking.

Kageyama took a step forward.

For a moment, he considered hitting him. Just once. Clean. Straight to the face. Something that would snap the tension between his ribs and turn it into action.

But he didn’t.

Not because Atsumu didn’t deserve it. Not because he didn’t want to. But because Hinata had already said everything that needed to be said.

Instead, Kageyama looked him dead in the eye.

His voice didn’t rise. It came out low, steady, without any excess emotion, just pure weight.

“If you ever touch him again,” he said, “I’ll break your hands. Leave him out of this.”

Atsumu didn’t answer. He didn’t even blink. But his expression tightened at the edges, just slightly.

Kageyama turned.

He walked away without another word.

The hallway stretched long and quiet beneath his steps. The carpet muted the sound of his feet, but his pulse was loud in his ears.

He rounded the corner toward their room.

Hinata was there, standing a little too close to the door, card in hand, his body turned sideways as he tried again and again to fit the edge of the keycard into the slot. It slipped past the reader, missing the angle. He tried again. And again. His fingers trembled just enough to keep him from lining it up.

Kageyama slowed, looking at his hands. It didn’t look like the kind of shaking that came from fear. It was pure rage .

He stopped just behind him. Then, quietly, he reached forward.

His fingers brushed Hinata’s, gentle but sure, as he took the keycard from his grip. He didn’t say a word.

He slid the card into the lock and heard the soft mechanical click.

Then he stepped back, opened the door with one hand, and waited, letting Hinata walk in first. Not as a gesture. Just as something unspoken. 

The door clicked shut behind them with a soft finality.

Hinata moved first this time, just barely. He walked straight to his bed, sat on the edge, and didn’t touch anything else. His hands dangled between his knees, fingers twitching slightly, like they didn’t know what to do now that they weren’t shoving someone away.

The room was dim. Not dark, just that muted hotel glow that made everything feel a little too quiet. Too exposed.

Kageyama stood by the door for a beat longer, the keycard still in one hand, his other curled tight at his side. He let the card fall on the desk with a dull plastic clack, then turned and grabbed the water bottle from his nightstand. Unscrewed the cap. Crossed the space between them and held it out.

Hinata didn’t look up. He took it automatically.

He didn’t drink.

His thumb twitched against the plastic. His other hand gripped his knee.

Kageyama watched the tremble run down his arm. When it didn’t stop, he knelt down, gently pried the bottle from Hinata’s fingers, and set it down on the nightstand instead.

He didn’t say anything yet.

Hinata exhaled through his nose, sharp and fast. “I should’ve shut it down. Days ago. I knew what he was doing. Not right away, but… I knew. I knew he didn’t mean any of it. Not really. Not the compliments or the looks. It wasn’t about me.”

Kageyama stayed where he was, crouched low, watching the side of Hinata’s face in profile. He didn’t interrupt.

“It was about you .”

That landed in the space between them like something heavier than the furniture.

Hinata blinked, slow and hollow. “He kissed me to fuck with you.” His jaw clenched. His voice dropped. “He used me to screw you up.”

He wiped his hands against his shorts, like he could scrub the feeling off his palms.

Kageyama didn’t speak for a long time.

He sat stiffly, knees drawn up, elbows braced there like they were the only thing holding him upright. His eyes were on the floor again, focused, but far off. Like he was watching something he couldn’t go back and change.

“I’m sorry, Shoyo. I… I didn’t know if I could step in,” he said finally, voice low. “If I should step in.”

Hinata didn’t answer. His breathing had quieted, but his hands were still clenched in his lap.

Kageyama shifted, just slightly. “I didn’t know if I had any right. To say anything. To do anything.”

Hinata looked at him then, just briefly, but long enough.

Kageyama exhaled, the sound shaky. He leaned forward, forearms on his thighs, gaze still fixed on the space between his shoes.

“There’s history there,” he said, quietly. “Me and Atsumu.”

Hinata didn’t move, but his eyes flicked toward him. Waiting.

Kageyama rubbed his palm against his knee once. “It was a camp, two years ago. Like this one, just shorter. We ended up on opposite sides for everything. We were some kind of rivals, I guess, but it wasn’t like how it is with you and me. It was different.”

He paused. His lips parted, then pressed back together like he was sifting through what to say and what to leave buried.

“He played like he had something to prove. Every match. Every serve. It got… intense.” His eyes narrowed slightly at the memory. “And I didn’t mind. At first. I thought—maybe that kind of rivalry helps push people forward. He was sharp and focused. Funny, even, when he wasn’t being a pain in the ass.”

Hinata was still watching him. Quiet. Not blinking.

Kageyama’s voice dropped a little further. “But he started reading into things. Thought we had something beyond the court. I didn’t think much of it at first. I thought he was just competitive. Looking for validation.”

He hesitated again. The next words came slower.

“I didn’t feel the same. And I think he realized that. But before we could talk about it, the coach picked me for the national program. Didn’t pick him.”

Hinata’s fingers twitched.

Kageyama glanced at him once, briefly. Then back to the floor. “Coach told him he wasn’t ready. Not because of his skills, but because of his ego. Said he played for himself more than for the team.”

The silence after that was thick. Heavy with understanding.

“And he blamed you,” Hinata said. It wasn’t a question.

Kageyama nodded, once. “He never said it out loud. But he didn’t have to. After that, he stopped talking to me. Wouldn’t make eye contact when we crossed paths. And when this camp started, he was just… normal again. It was as if nothing had happened back then. I thought he’d gotten over it, somehow… but I should have known .”

Hinata looked away. His jaw was tight.

Hinata’s voice was low. “And when he started flirting with me?”

Kageyama opened his mouth. Closed it. “I still didn’t know if I had the right to interfere, or if it had anything to do with me in the first place.”

Hinata exhaled slowly.

“I’m so fucking stupid,” he whispered. “I knew and I let it happen anyway. I let him keep pushing just because I thought—just because I didn’t think it’d go that far. I thought he’d get bored.”

“No.”

Kageyama’s voice came sharp this time. Firm.

“That’s not on you.”

Hinata turned toward him, but Kageyama cut him off again, tone unwavering.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I—”

“ No . Don’t say it.” Kageyama shook his head, fast. “Don’t apologize. Don’t try to explain it away. Don’t even try to take it.”

He looked at Hinata then, eyes clear, wide open.

“If someone needs to carry this, it’s me.”

His voice didn’t shake. It didn’t rise. It just landed .

“You want to blame someone? Blame me. For being too passive. For waiting too long. For letting him turn you into a fucking pawn in some stupid game I didn’t even know we were still playing.”

He sat back then, hands loose in his lap. Quiet again.

“I’ll take it,” he said, more softly. “All of it. The blame. The shame. You don’t have to carry any of that. I’ll carry it for you.”

The silence that followed was thicker than before. 

Hinata stared at him, not blinking.

Then finally, slowly, he said, “You’re an idiot.”

Kageyama didn’t smile, but something in his face eased.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I know.”

The silence held for a while longer, and for once, neither of them tried to break it too soon.

Then Kageyama shifted where he sat on the floor, glancing at the empty space beside Hinata’s thigh.

“Can I sit next to you?” he asked.

Hinata didn’t answer right away. But after a pause, he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.

Kageyama stood slowly, not rushing, not making a sound. He crossed to the corner of the room and picked up the extra blanket from his bed, the soft, thinner one Hinata always claimed was “useless” in the summer, and brought it back with him.

He didn’t sit too close. He settled down next to Hinata, careful to leave space between them. Then, gently, he unfolded the blanket and draped it around Hinata’s shoulders. He didn’t touch his skin. Just the fabric. Just enough weight to be there without pressing.

Hinata didn’t move, but he let it stay.

Kageyama sat with his arms resting loosely across his knees. He didn’t look at Hinata when he spoke next.

“Do you want to talk to Coach Hibarida?”

The question hung there for a moment, light but full.

“About what happened,” Kageyama clarified. “We could tell him. He’d listen.”

Hinata shook his head, slow.

“I don’t want to,” he said quietly.

His fingers clenched into the edge of the blanket. “Not yet. Not right now.”

Kageyama nodded.

Hinata added, “I’m not saying I won’t ever. Just… not tonight. I want to stay here.”

“Okay.”

That was all Kageyama said. And it was enough.

The minutes passed.

Somewhere outside the window, the city blinked on. Soft headlights filtered across the wall. Someone upstairs dropped something heavy. The air conditioner rattled in the vent like it always did when it kicked on.

Hinata let himself lean to his side, just slightly. Not into Kageyama, but toward him.

Not for warmth. Not for comfort. Just for presence.

And Kageyama stayed still.

Neither of them spoke again, but neither of them moved away.

Chapter 59: Chapter LVIII

Morning came slowly.

The hotel room was still and quiet, lit only by a thin slice of daylight threading through the curtains. Tokyo outside stirred as usual: the sound of the distant cars and the hum of pipes in the walls, but inside, the world had not yet begun.

Hinata was already awake, lying on his side, not moving. He didn’t feel tense, not exactly. Just heavy. Like everything from the night before had settled into his chest and made a home there.

He couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened the night before. Not just the kiss, but Kageyama’s story about what had taken place between him and Atsumu some time ago. He never would’ve guessed something like that had happened. He tried to recall the few interactions he’d witnessed between Kageyama and Atsumu during the camp—and yes, they had all been tense. Whenever the two of them were in the same room, something always lingered in the air: heavy, charged, suffocating. But Hinata had assumed it was just their setter rivalry. Nothing more than that.

Kageyama shifted behind him. Sat up with a rustle of sheets.

“Morning,” he said, voice still low from sleep.

Hinata rolled onto his back. His eyes found the ceiling.

“Morning.”

They moved around the room quietly, dressing like usual. Familiar rhythms, the occasional bump of an elbow or tap of a foot against a bag. Kageyama tossed the roll of tape toward Hinata’s bed. He caught it one-handed.

“You okay?” Kageyama asked, glancing over his shoulder.

Hinata nodded. “Yeah. I think so.”

There was comfort in the routine. Even after everything, even after the firestorm of last night, the room still smelled the same. The same towels on the hooks. The same scratch in the floor tile near the dresser. The air felt heavy, but safe.

When they stepped into the elevator, Kageyama hesitated.

“We don’t have to eat in there,” he said, nodding toward the cafeteria level on the button panel. “We can take our food up. Sit in the lounge or something.”

Hinata looked at him.

The offer sat there, unspoken but clear: If you don’t want to see him.

Hinata shook his head. “It’s okay.”

“You sure?”

“It’s not like I’m scared or something,” Hinata said, quiet but certain. “I can totally kick his ass.”

Kageyama didn’t say anything, but his expression changed. Just a little. “Yeah. I know you can.”

They walked into the cafeteria together. It was half full already, plates half-eaten, trays clinking faintly against plastic. Hoshiumi, Bokuto, and Ushijima were already seated at the corner table at their usual spot. Bokuto waved them over with a piece of egg still stuck to his chopstick.

The second they sat down, Bokuto dropped his voice a notch and leaned in.

“Atsumu’s gone.”

Hinata stiffened slightly.

“What?” Kageyama asked. His voice was calm, but Hinata heard the shift in it.

“Yeah. He just left,” Bokuto said, almost like he still didn’t quite believe it. “I came back to the room after facetiming Akaashi last night, and he was on the phone. He looked kind of… agitated? He got a call from Osamu, I think. And then he just… started packing. Didn’t say much. Left early this morning.”

“Maybe it was a family thing,” Hoshiumi offered, chewing idly. “Emergency or something.”

Ushijima said nothing. He just ate in silence, steady and unreadable.

But Hinata felt the air shift.

He looked sideways at Kageyama, who was already looking at him.

No words were exchanged, but the confusion on both their faces was unmistakable.

Hinata’s stomach turned once. Then settled.

He didn’t say anything. Just looked down at his tray and picked up his chopsticks. His hands were steady, but his heart was beating hard.

 

---

 

The gym was already alive when they arrived.

Sneakers squeaked across the hardwood like impatient heartbeats. The echo of volleyballs slapping palms, the rhythmic thump of warm-up tosses, the occasional barked instruction from a coach. Everything moved with momentum. It was louder than usual. Or maybe it just felt that way because Hinata’s head was still buzzing.

The air was thick. Not just with humidity, but with something else… anticipation, maybe. The tension of the last match. The fact that the camp was almost over. Everything was vibrating just beneath the surface.

Players moved in their teams, jogging lines, rolling shoulders, stretching calves. Ushijima tossed balls to Hoshiumi near the net. Bokuto shouted something about his joints cracking “in all the wrong places” while he circled the court. Kageyama was already by the service line, bouncing a ball, gaze locked on the far wall like it owed him something.

Hinata jogged a few warm-up laps, stretched his arms overhead, and was halfway into a knee rotation when a voice called from the sideline.

“Hinata.”

He looked up. One of the assistant coaches was waving him over.

“Coach Hibarida wants to see you.”

The world tilted, just slightly.

He nodded, too quickly, and jogged toward the door, towel slung around his neck, heart thudding harder now than it had during the warm-up.

Before leaving the gym, Hinata turned to look back at Kageyama, who was looking at him with a frown drawn across his face, as if asking what was going on. Hinata shrugged once, but tried to keep his expression indifferent. For some reason, he didn’t want Kageyama to notice he was actually a little worried. 

The office was at the end of a narrow hallway, past the storage room and the bulletin board with half-ripped team rosters. The light inside was bright and still. The door was already open.

Coach Hibarida sat behind the desk, one elbow resting on a folder, expression unreadable.

“Come in,” he said. “Close the door.”

Hinata entered the room a little hesitantly. He’d only been there once before during one of the first days of camp, to sign some paperwork and submit his medical information in case of emergency.

It had felt completely different back then.

Now, the room felt too quiet. Too still.

He sat in the chair across from Coach Hibarida’s desk, already sweating cold.

“Hinata,” the coach said. “I know that, up to this point, you’ve mostly known me as the guy shouting instructions on the court. But being your coach also means I’m responsible for you. All of you. And I take that part of the job very seriously.”

Hinata swallowed. His throat felt dry.

“As you may have heard,” Hibarida continued, “Atsumu Miya left the camp this morning.”

Hinata’s stomach dropped. His suspicions were right. This meeting was about Atsumu.

“Yes,” he said, voice tight. “I noticed.”

He tried to read the coach’s expression, but it was unreadable. Calm, direct, maybe just a little weary.

“Before leaving,” Hibarida went on, “he asked to speak with me. To be honest with you… I was expecting a lot of things. But not what he said.”

Hinata’s pulse thundered in his ears. He shifted, shoving his hands under his thighs to hide the trembling.

“I called you in,” the coach finished, “because I want to hear your side.”

Hinata cleared his throat. “Can I ask what exactly he told you?”

The coach nodded, slowly. “I won’t go into detail. But he said that he made you uncomfortable. That he crossed a line. Specifically, that he, uh… forced a kiss on you last night.” He paused. “He said he knew what he did was wrong. And he asked to leave.”

Hinata blinked.

That was not what he’d expected.

He’d expected Atsumu to lie. To deflect. To disappear behind some excuse or charm his way out of it like nothing had happened. But this… this quiet admission, this retreat, it shook something loose inside him. He thought briefly of the phone call Bokuto had mentioned. Of Osamu’s voice, maybe cutting through whatever mask Atsumu had worn the night before.

Coach Hibarida continued, watching his expression carefully. “I hate asking you this. And if it weren’t the last day, if a player hadn’t just walked out of camp, I’d let it go. But I have to ask. Did it happen?”

Hinata exhaled, long and slow. He wanted to run out of that office. He felt ridiculous. He was there to train, not to talk about fake flirting and unwanted kisses.

“Yes,” he finally said. “It happened.”

He hesitated, then added, “And yeah… he’d been flirting with me since the beginning of camp. I didn’t stop him because I thought he was just joking. I didn’t think it would actually go anywhere.”

He looked down at his hands, unable to not feel embarrassed. Was he really talking about this with the national team’s coach?

“I appreciate you telling me the truth,” Hibarida said. “You’re not in trouble and I won’t ask you to tell me any more about it. You’re not being blamed. Atsumu took responsibility. You just confirmed it. That’s all I needed to know.”

Hinata nodded. It didn’t make the weight go away. But it helped.

“Now… are you okay?”

The coach’s tone had been firm and professional up to that point, but now, it shifted. Something in it softened. Lowered. He sounded almost like a father checking in on his kid after a hard fall.

“I know you didn’t want to make it a big deal,” Hibarida added, “but I imagine it still felt… uncomfortable.”

Hinata almost laughed. He’d never expected to see this side of the coach. For a brief moment, he considered telling the coach about what had happened between Atsumu and Kageyama. To explain the truth behind everything that had happened. He knew Tobio wouldn’t be mad if he did so, but he also felt like it wasn’t his place to do it. It was best if he just talked about his experience and his situation. “I’m okay. Really. He just took me by surprise, I guess.”

Hibarida nodded. “I understand. I’m glad you’re okay. You’re one of the best players out there, and it would be a shame if you let something like this push you out of the game.”

Hinata’s heart skipped a beat. The weight he’d been feeling since last night didn’t feel as heavy anymore. “Thanks, sir.”

“No need to thank me, son.” The coach gave him a smile. It was small, a little tired, but warm. “I can tell you’ve built yourself out of hard work. You deserve to be here.”

Hinata felt his throat tighten unexpectedly.

“Now,” Hibarida said, his voice returning to its usual clipped rhythm, “get back to warm-ups. You’ve got a very important match coming up.”

Hinata nodded, stood, and left the office with something close to steadiness in his step.

 

---

 

The gym was louder when he returned.

The sound of whistles, shoes against the floor, and the thump of practice serves filled the air like a living thing. Players rotated across the court, setting, blocking, calling.

Kageyama spotted him the moment he stepped through the doorway.

He was already walking over. Quick steps, ball tucked under one arm, brows drawn in concern but not alarm.

“You okay?” he asked when he finally reached Hinata.

The words were quiet. Direct. Not heavy, but they landed with weight.

Hinata nodded. “Yeah.”

Kageyama handed him the ball. Hinata caught it reflexively, the cool rubber grounding him a little.

“Coach wanted to talk,” he said after a pause. “Said Atsumu told him everything before leaving this morning.”

Kageyama blinked. “He did?”

Hinata gave a short nod. “Yeah. I didn’t expect that either.”

Kageyama looked like he was thinking, jaw tightening slightly. “I thought he’d lie. Or just act like nothing happened.”

“Me too,” Hinata said. “But he didn’t. Coach said he confessed. Took responsibility and asked to leave.”

There was a brief pause between them, filled with the sound of a ball slamming against hardwood across the court.

“Still,” Kageyama muttered, “he shouldn’t have put that on you in the first place. Doesn’t matter if he admitted it or not.”

Hinata’s eyes flicked to Kageyama’s face, then back down to the ball in his hands. “Yeah. I wish I’d stopped him sooner. We wouldn’t be dealing with something this stupid right now.”

“You shouldn’t have had to,” Kageyama said, voice firm. “That’s not your job.”

Hinata blinked at him.

“You’re not responsible for other people’s intentions. You didn’t owe him a reaction just to get him to stop.” He hesitated. “And I should’ve stepped in earlier, too.”

Hinata looked up, eyebrows lifting slightly.

Kageyama glanced at the court, then back at him. “But it’s no use thinking what we should’ve done differently right now. What’s important is that he at least had the decency to be honest and walk out by himself.”

Hinata held his gaze for a second, then nodded, quietly.

They stood in silence for a moment.

It wasn’t the kiss that left Hinata uneasy. He’d been strong enough to push Atsumu off within seconds. His lips had barely even touched his. What unsettled him was something deeper. The realization that he’d been part of a game he didn’t even know was being played. A pawn moved for someone else’s grudge. That was what stung. Being used without his knowledge, being made a tool in someone else’s bitterness, had filled him with guilt, for not stopping it sooner, for not reading between the lines. But Kageyama was right. Regret wouldn’t undo any of it. It wouldn’t take away the sick twist in his stomach.

So instead, Hinata took that frustration and started to turn it into something else. Something real. He remembered what he had done at this camp. What they had done. The work. The sweat. The games. That wasn’t fake. That wasn’t part of anyone’s plan but his own. No matter what happened around him, Hinata still owned a place in this camp, right next to Kageyama. A place he had earned without cheating or hurting others. Something Atsumu could never relate to.

Kageyama shifted his weight and rolled the ball out from under his arm. “Come on,” he said, kicking him out of his thoughts. “You still need to warm up.”

Hinata let out a slow breath. “Yeah.”

They moved in sync without speaking.

Kageyama’s passes were crisp, methodical. Short, fast tosses that snapped into Hinata’s palms like punctuation. Hinata moved easily through the drill, keeping his steps light, shoulder rotations loose, the sting of earlier tension slowly bleeding from his limbs. With every minute, he felt like it was becoming easier to breathe. 

Across the court, teams were gathering. The final match between the losers from yesterday’s matches, Team C and Team D, was about to start.

But it barely looked like a contest.

Hoshiumi’s warm-up was clinical, nearly mechanical. He wasn’t talking. Wasn’t joking. Just moving. Sharp footwork, jump serves that cracked like gunfire, eyes locked forward with something unreadable beneath them. Ushijima didn’t even glance at his opponents. His presence alone seemed to stretch the shadows across the court.

Kageyama stepped closer, towel draped around his shoulders, and nudged Hinata with his elbow.

“Wanna watch the game?”

Hinata nodded. “Yeah.”

They moved toward the sideline, standing near the net as players lined up for the opening whistle. The gym’s sound shifted into that pre-match quiet: tense, expectant, edged with adrenaline.

Team D stepped forward.

So did Sasaki.

He was positioned just in front of them. And when he reached the net, he stopped right beside Hinata, across from Kageyama. He turned his body slightly. Spoke low, like it was meant for one person only.

“Let’s make a deal.” He said, smiling tight and a little too casual, “if we win this match, I get to take you out on a date.”

Hinata’s eyes narrowed. His body tensed before he could stop it.

Kageyama, to his credit, didn’t even flinch.

Instead, he turned his head, deliberately and slowly, just enough to look over Sasaki’s shoulder.

To Hoshiumi. To Ushijima.

Then Kageyama looked back and replied, “Alright. But if you lose, you don’t ask again. No more flirting. No nothing. You stay away.”

Sasaki’s smile wavered, just slightly. He didn’t respond. He turned and jogged back toward his side of the court with his jaw set and eyes locked ahead.

Hinata watched the whole thing from less than two feet away. Felt the heat crawl up the back of his neck. For a second, he wanted to say something, but he didn’t even know what.

But then Kageyama turned to him. The briefest flicker of a smirk on his lips. Not cocky. Just matter-of-fact. Like the whole thing hadn’t even been worth the energy.

And it clicked. Kageyama was trying to prove something. Maybe he hadn’t stopped Atsumu before, but he could stop Sasaki now. 

Of course he wasn’t taking Sasaki seriously. Maybe he hadn’t ever. Hinata could feel his entire body relax. The tension from the last few days evaporated like it had never been there. 

The whistle blew.

Hoshiumi’s first serve hit the court so hard it practically rebounded into the rafters. The second clipped the back line. The third curved like it had a mind of its own.

By the time Ushijima stepped in with a spike that shattered their entire formation, Sasaki had already stopped calling plays.

Hinata stood silently beside Kageyama, arms crossed, watching it happen. The tension in his chest was entirely gone.

Chapter 60: Chapter LIX

Notes:

hello beautiful people! my work's schedule changed, so I will be posting a little late starting today. i'm still going to do my best to update daily, tho! so don't worry about that :)

hope you guys enjoy this chapter!! training camp is almost overrrrr<3

It wasn’t that Team D was bad.

They weren’t. Really.

On any given day, against a dozen other teams, they might have walked away with the win. Their defense wasn’t sloppy. Their communication was decent. Their rotations were clean enough.

But that wasn’t enough today.

Not here.

Not on a court with Hoshiumi, who floated like a stormcloud and struck like lightning. Not against Ushijima, whose body moved like inevitability, like gravity made muscle. Not in a gym filled with the best players in the country. With people fighting for national slots, for careers, for legacy.

Against them, good wasn’t even close .

It wasn’t a match. It was a lesson.

First set : 25–13. No contest.

In the second, Sasaki started rushing his sets, pushing the tempo too hard. He clipped the antenna twice. One of their hitters slipped during a switch and didn’t get back up in time. Hoshiumi sent a cross-court bullet just inside the seam, then turned to his bench without celebrating.

Second set: 25–10. Silence.

By the third, the gym had lost its edge. Even Bokuto had gone quiet, leaning forward in the front row like he was waiting for something to change. But nothing did.

Team D gave what they had.

It just wasn’t enough.

When Ushijima spiked the final ball through the middle block, low, hard and clean, the echo of it felt like a door slamming shut.

Third set: 25–15.

The ref stepped forward to confirm the early call. No need for the full five sets.

It was over.

Sasaki shook hands at the net, then turned and walked straight past his bench, straight past his teammates, disappearing into the tunnel without a word.

Hinata watched from the edge of the court, towel draped over his neck, hands clenched faintly into the fabric. Kageyama stood beside him, motionless, eyes pinned to the now-empty side of the court.

Neither said anything.

Then Hoshiumi jogged toward them, grabbing his water bottle with a half-grin, his breath still even.

“God, that was boring,” he said, wiping sweat from his neck. “You two are lucky.”

Hinata blinked. “Lucky?”

“You get to play a real match,” Hoshiumi said, a wide smile drawn across his face. “I’m jealous.”

And then he walked away.

Left behind in the thick, humming quiet of the gym, Hinata turned to Kageyama.

This was it. The final was next.

And this time, it wasn’t going to end in three sets.

 

---

 

The court was being cleared. The scoreboards reset. The officials moved toward the center line with their clipboards, readying for the next match. There was a lull. Brief, but heavy with anticipation.

Hinata stretched his arms over his head, twisting his torso side to side. His shirt clung to him at the back, damp with effort, but his grin had started to come back.

Kageyama stood next to him, rolling his shoulder, gaze fixed on the net like it had said something personal to him.

“You nervous?” Hinata asked, nudging him lightly with an elbow.

Kageyama snorted. “No.”

Hinata grinned wider. “Liar.”

“I’m not nervous.”

“You’re bouncing your knee.”

Kageyama stopped. Glared at his own leg like it had betrayed him. “Just warming up.”

“Sure you are.” Hinata stepped in front of him, stretching one calf. “You know we’re gonna beat you, right?”

Kageyama’s eyes narrowed, almost instinctively. “You’re not.”

Hinata tilted his head. “I don’t know… Our team’s fast. And you look kinda tired after all these days of training.”

“I’m not tired.”

“You look a little tired.”

“You're hallucinating.”

Hinata smirked. “I think you’re scared.”

Kageyama took one long step forward, until they were almost chest to chest. His voice was low.

“You’re still short.”

Hinata beamed. “I might not be the tallest, but you know damn well I can fly .”

They stared at each other, just for a beat. No real malice. No sharp edges. Just the electricity of years spent toe-to-toe, shoulder-to-shoulder, always one step from sprinting into each other.

“That, I do know.” Kageyama finished before turning away, heading back to his team’s side of the court.

Hinata laughed under his breath.

It was nothing. It was everything.

The gym brimmed with noise: low conversations, shuffling feet, the squeak of rubber soles tracing lines across polished wood. But when the final whistle blew, a hush settled like fog. The tension had teeth.

Everyone—coaches, assistants, eliminated players—had gathered. Even the staff leaned against the walls, eyes locked on the court. This was the last match of camp.

No one cheered yet.

They didn’t need to. The air crackled with something denser than nerves.

Kageyama and Hinata stood across from each other, separated by the net, the way they always were before something big. They weren’t smiling. But something flickered in their eyes. Something old and sharp and alive.

Bokuto opened with a shout that echoed through the rafters.

“Let’s tear the roof off this gym, baby!”

He served first, and Team A came out swinging.

Their plays were loud, bold, almost theatrical. Bokuto dominated the net like it owed him something, slamming spike after spike into the hardwood. Kageyama set with surgical precision. No wasted motion, no hesitation. His connection with Bokuto was fast, aggressive and intuitive.

Hinata’s team adjusted quickly, but the rhythm took time to build.

Kiryu made clean hits off the wing. Hinata sprinted for every ball like his life depended on it. Their substitute setter wasn’t flashy, but he was solid. Hinata adapted fast, finding the sets, reading the tempo, scoring from impossible angles.

Still, Team A took the set.

Barely.

25–23.

Kageyama’s final serve curved over the net and dropped like it had a mind of its own.

When it hit the floor, Bokuto let out a triumphant howl. Kageyama didn’t react. He was already watching Hinata from across the court.

And Hinata was already staring back.

At the second set, Team B found their footing fast.

Kiryu started cutting angles. Fukuda picked up Bokuto’s cross-court like he’d been studying his form for days. Hinata moved like a flame: low, fast, hot. He called for the ball earlier. Adjusted his line. Hit past Hyakuzawa’s massive block.

The gym roared when he pulled off a tip that sent Kageyama stumbling forward.

The look on Hinata’s face was all teeth. Kageyama’s mouth twitched into a smile.

They’d lock eyes across a rotation, and it felt like a dare.

Can you keep up?

Can you stay ahead?

25–21. Team B’s set.

The court buzzed. Even players on the bench were leaning forward now, caught in it.

During the third set, the rhythm turned frantic.

Rallies stretched long. Shoes scraped. Bodies hit the floor. Sweat ran like water down forearms and collarbones.

Hinata’s team got louder. Not Bokuto -loud, but tighter . Encouraging each other between every point. Patting shoulders. Feeding momentum.

And Hinata?

He was everywhere.

He received. He scored. He flew.

Kageyama tried to close him off with tighter blocks. Hinata curved around them. He spun in midair and landed cross-court shots that even Bokuto couldn’t chase.

Kageyama called a double block. Hinata tipped right between them.

The gym lost it.

25–20. Team B led 2–1.

Kageyama stepped off the court at the break, towel slung over his neck, watching Hinata across the sideline.

Hinata caught him looking. He raised both eyebrows, grinning.

Kageyama turned away, but the flush at his ears was unmistakable.

For the fourth set, Team A didn’t plan to go down easy.

Kageyama stopped aiming for flair and focused on control. His sets were crisp, perfect, relentless. Bokuto’s volume doubled. Every point won came with a yell, a chest bump, a fist pump so exaggerated it made even the ref flinch.

Hyakuzawa shut down Kiryu’s line spike with a massive block. Nakisuna scored twice off scrambles. Team A had found their rhythm again.

Kageyama sent a high toss to Bokuto, who launched with a roar and smashed through two blockers for match point.

25 –17. Set four.

All even.

It came down to the fifth.

Hinata breathed deep and rolled his shoulders back, gaze flicking to the center of the court.

He was about to fly again.

He hadn't thought about it much, not out loud at least, but for most of this camp, he’d been tossed to by two of the best setters in the country. Atsumu, loud and calculated. Kageyama, ruthless and perfect. He’d grown up in their shadows, adapted to their rhythm, shaped himself to meet their tempo.

And now?

Now he was playing with a substitute setter. A solid one, yes, but not a genius. Not someone who read his body midair or adjusted with a single breath. Not someone who'd been feeding him the perfect toss for years.

But maybe that was the point.

It took a few plays to adjust. Missed timing, mistimed calls. But then his legs remembered. His arms remembered. His instincts remembered.

He didn’t need perfect. He needed possible .

And in that possibility, he soared.

For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t being lifted by someone else’s greatness. He was running on his own steam. Chasing the ball not because someone had put it in the perfect place, but because he knew he could find it .

It was almost perfect, in a twisted way, that Atsumu had left.

Because now Hinata could prove something he’d always feared wasn’t true:

He didn’t need a world-class setter to reach the top. He could fly with anyone. He could fly on his own . He could play his own game.

And maybe that was what made this match mean more than any other before.

He stood at the edge of the court, back straight, chest open. He was ready.

Hinata and Kageyama didn’t speak. They didn’t need to.

Not between serves, not during timeouts. Just motion. Just eye contact. Just that unrelenting awareness of each other, like gravity. The same silent communication they’d had for years.

Hinata kept his jaw tight. His breath short. Kageyama’s expression had gone calm. Serious , not cold.

The final set flew by.

6–6
8–8
10–10

Kageyama dove for a save and missed. 11–10 . Hinata’s team.

Then Kiryu aced a serve. 12–10.

Then Bokuto slammed a back row attack. 12–11.

The crowd was on its feet now.

Hinata rotated into the back line. The setter tossed. Hinata ran.

He jumped.

The gym held its breath.

He hit. Clean, controlled, devastatingly beautiful.

13–11.

Kageyama shot him a look. Half impressed. Half hungry.

Kageyama tossed a perfect ball tat Bokuto. Point. 13–12.

Hinata was up again. Another spike that crossed the defense. 14–12. Match point.

The final rally stretched on. Too long. Three times the ball scraped the ceiling. Both teams scrambled, collapsed, reset. Every player moved like it was the last game they’d ever play.

And then Hinata got the ball. A soft toss. A strange one.

No power. No perfect arc.

But he saw the opening.

He tipped. The gym went still.

The ball dropped just behind the blocker’s left hand.

15–12.

Game.

Team B won.

The roar didn’t come immediately. It built slow, like disbelief melting into awe. Then it erupted.

Hinata dropped to his knees, shoulders shaking, chest heaving. He’d made it. He’d proven to himself his own worth. 

Kageyama walked toward him, and this time, when they met, they didn’t speak. Not at first.

Just that long look. That smirk tugging at the edge of Hinata’s lips. That small shake of Kageyama’s head.

“You’re still short,” Kageyama muttered. “But you sure as hell can fly.”

Hinata beamed. And then, without even thinking about it, he ran into Kageyama’s arms. He’d done it in the heat of the moment. His head was clouded by the feeling of victory. But his heart was pounding hard against his chest.

He felt so happy. So accomplished.

Back when he was still a kid, the first time he’d ever played an official game against Kitagawa Daiichi, a part of him had shattered into pieces, seeing the huge difference between them and himself. He’d wondered if he would ever reach their level. If he’d ever be as talented as them. If one day, he could walk out of the court with his head held high.

This hadn’t been an official tournament. The results weren’t really that important, not on paper. But to Hinata, it meant everything. It meant he’d made it. It meant he’d fulfilled his promise of winning against Kageyama. At least once.

He buried his face against Kageyama's shirt, holding back tears. He didn’t want to cry. At least not in front of national-level teammates. Not in front of the person he liked.

Kageyama took a second before dropping his arms to Hinata’s back. Shoyo thought about the last time they’d hugged like this. Shamelessly, intensely, intentionally. It had been a couple of weeks ago, on a rainy day, both their clothes and hair damp outside a convenience store. Back then, Hinata had hugged Kageyama to keep him steady. To give him a way of releasing everything he’d bottled up inside. But now, this hug meant something else. It meant Hinata wasn’t only glad about winning this match. He was also happy to have played against Kageyama. He was happy to have spent these last two weeks by his side every moment. He was grateful to have him be the first thing he saw in the morning and the last before going to bed. He was thankful for the uncomfortable conversations, the way they’d both opened their hearts to each other, the way they were both starting to heal.

Despite everything that had happened, it was starting to feel like those two years were starting to be left behind.

Hinata was suddenly very emotional.

Kageyama blinked and returned Hinata’s embrace with just as much strength. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to. Hinata could tell he was feeling just the same way.

It took several minutes for the crowd to calm. Eventually, the laughter softened, the teams spread out, and the applause died down. Everyone was still breathing hard, still high on adrenaline. But the final whistle had blown, and with it came the quiet.

Coach Hibarida stepped onto the court. He didn’t carry a clipboard this time. Just his usual tracksuit and a calm, unreadable face.

The players formed a loose semicircle around him. Some still had towels slung around their necks. Others leaned on teammates. The gym still echoed with the memory of shoes and shouts, but now it held something quieter. Something final.

Hibarida stood still for a moment. Then he took a breath and began.

“Two weeks ago, all of you arrived here with something to prove.”

His voice was low. Grounded.

“Some of you were here to chase a dream. Some were here to earn your spot. Some came just to see how far you could go.”

He looked slowly across the group, meeting eyes one by one.

“But all of you—every single one—showed me something else. You showed me your limits. You showed me your flaws. And you showed me your hunger. You didn’t just push each other. You pushed yourselves.”

No one moved. Even Bokuto was quiet, standing tall beside Kageyama.

“I saw players who didn’t give up. Players who missed a point and came back harder. Players who faced rivals, injuries, mistakes, pressure—and didn’t run from it.”

He paused, just long enough to let it settle.

“I won’t lie to you. This wasn’t an easy camp. And I never intended it to be. Because the court you’re all chasing, the national court, it doesn’t care how famous you are, or how good you were two years ago, or what you think you deserve. It only cares about how far you’re willing to go to earn it. And each of you showed me that.”

A few players shifted on their feet. Some blinked fast.

Hibarida let his hands fall to his sides.

“Selections will be finalized and announced next Wednesday. You’ll receive a call. If you don’t—don’t think for a second that it means your journey ends here. Most of you will be back. Some of you will be playing together again sooner than you think.”

He looked at Hinata briefly. At the bruise still faint under his eye. Then at Kageyama, whose shoulders were still flushed with heat.

“I’m proud of this group,” Hibarida said. “You brought fire into this gym. And it’s been a long time since I’ve seen that.”

The silence held. Thick. Grateful. A little stunned.

Then Hibarida nodded once. “Now go shower. You all smell terrible.”

And with that, the tension broke.

Someone laughed, loudly. Then Bokuto clapped Ushijima on the back hard enough to echo. Kiryu let out a sigh that shook his whole chest. Even Hoshiumi cracked a grin.

The match was over.

But something else, something just beginning, was burning intensely.

Chapter 61: Chapter LX

Notes:

officially at chapter 60!!! can't believe we've made it this far <3

The room was dim and golden in the low hotel light, the sun already long gone behind the skyline. Outside, Tokyo buzzed with muffled life: horns in the distance, music from passing cars, the occasional shout of laughter from other players down the hall. Inside, it was quieter. Calmer. But only on the surface.

Hinata stood in front of the mirror, brushing his fingers through his hair for the third time. He wasn’t used to dressing like this. Not for going out, anyway. The sleeveless knit top hugged his frame more than he’d expected, the edge of it brushing just above the waistband of his black jeans. He’d tucked a pair of sunglasses into his collar, even though it was night, and he kept adjusting them like he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands.

From behind him, he felt eyes.

Kageyama sat on the edge of the bed, tugging his headphones off his neck and placing them on the desk beside him. He was already dressed. Black on black: wide-legged pants, loose t-shirt, sleeves cuffed once at the biceps. He looked like he hadn’t even tried. A little too cool for a volleyball player. A small digital camera peeked from his jeans pocket.

Hinata turned toward him. “Are you seriously bringing that?”

Kageyama looked down at the camera, then back up. “Why not?”

“Because it’s a club? And you look like you’re about to start a documentary.”

“It fits in my pocket.”

“You’re gonna lose it.”

“I won’t.”

Hinata rolled his eyes. “You better not try to take drunk photos of me. If you do, I swear—”

“They’ll be flattering,” Kageyama said, and the corner of his mouth twitched, just enough to count as a smile.

Hinata stared at him, stunned into silence for half a second. Then he huffed, recovering quickly.

He walked over, grabbing his phone and wallet, then paused near the door. Kageyama still hadn’t stood up. He looked relaxed. Loose-limbed. Weirdly unreadable.

Hinata leaned back against the frame, grinning. “You know… since you lost today’s game,” he said, light and sing-song, “I feel like you owe me.”

Kageyama raised an eyebrow.

“Like, as the winner,” Hinata continued, crossing his arms over his chest with mock authority. “I should be treated with proper respect. Maybe… drink service all night?”

Kageyama snorted. “We never agreed to that.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Hinata shrugged. “The court decided.”

Kageyama stood then, slow and deliberate, and stepped close enough that Hinata could feel the warmth of his breath. He tilted his head slightly, and when his voice came out, low and teasing, it sent a bolt through Hinata’s spine. “You’re gonna regret saying that when you’re three drinks in and can’t tell your left from your right.”

Hinata grinned up at him. “I’m not the lightweight here, Kageyama.”

“We’ll see about that.” Kageyama said as he brushed past him, grabbed the key card from the desk, and opened the door without looking back.

Hinata blinked. His grin widened, and without another word, he followed him out into the hallway.

 

---

 

The club sat tucked into a narrow street off the main road, its entrance marked by a neon-blue sign that didn’t list a name, just a pulsing symbol that looked like a heartbeat.

It had been Bokuto and Hoshiumi’s idea. “We can’t just say goodbye in the hotel lobby like sad middle-schoolers,” Bokuto had announced over breakfast. “We need a real wrap-up. Something with bass. Something with fireworks—metaphorical ones.” Hoshiumi, surprisingly, had nodded in agreement, sipping black coffee like it wasn’t the fourth cup.

Now, as they stepped into the line curving toward the entrance, Kageyama and Hinata both paused.

The bass was loud. Not just in the air but in the concrete beneath their feet, in the hum of the railing they leaned on, in the slight vibration that climbed up the soles of their shoes. Inside, lights flashed sharp and fast, reds and violets spilling into the street in strange, rhythmic pulses. People in line turned when they arrived. Some subtle double-takes. A few bolder looks. One girl even nudged her friend and whispered something, eyes flicking toward Kageyama’s face.

Hinata caught it.

“ Wow ,” he murmured, lips barely moving. “Your fangirls are really out in the wild tonight.”

Kageyama didn’t answer. But the tip of his ear went red.

Inside, the club opened like a lung.

Neon lights carved through the dark: aquamarine, ultraviolet, red. The floor beneath them felt alive, like stepping into a bloodstream. Heat swirled from the crush of people. The air was thick with perfume, sweat, and something citrusy and sharp. The music wasn’t recognizable, but it didn’t have to be. Just a pounding rhythm, fast and loud and constant. It melted time.

Hinata was suddenly reminded of the bars back in Brazil. The music might have been slightly different back there, but the same exciting aura welcomed Hinata each time he and his friends, including Oikawa, would go out partying during the weekends. 

They passed through the entrance, and the music hit like a wave the moment they stepped in: deep bass, warm synths, vocals buried under sound. Not overwhelming, but alive. The club pulsed low and electric, streaks of colored light spilling across skin and glass. Tables glowed dim under matte overheads. People moved like slow shadows, some standing, some already dancing, others draped lazily across couches with half-empty drinks.

Bokuto led the charge, already halfway to the booth they'd reserved. A prime location, low leather seats circling a narrow black table near the edge of the dance floor.

The rest filtered in behind him, laughing too loudly. Someone yelled over the music about who was drinking what. Hoshiumi raised a hand for a round of beers. But Kageyama beat him to it.

He stood beside the low table, watching the glass bottles clatter into the metal bucket of ice, and reached for the whiskey first. No hesitation. No label-checking.

Hinata slouched back against the booth, fingers raking through his curls. He still hadn’t fully adjusted to the lighting or the volume or the heat coming off everyone in waves, but it wasn’t bad. It felt… loose. Unhinged in a good way.

A moment later, a glass was handed to him. It was nearly full, and there was no mixer.

He blinked up. Kageyama was watching him with the faintest glint of challenge in his eyes.

“ Really ?” Hinata raised an eyebrow. “This strong?”

Kageyama’s mouth tugged to the side. “You can handle it.”

He didn’t say anything else. Just sat down beside him, casually close, their knees brushing once, then again. Deliberate.

Hinata brought the glass to his lips and drank. Slow. Smooth. But the burn hit hard behind his teeth. The heat flooded his chest.

Still, he didn’t flinch. Didn’t cough.

He looked over, narrowing his eyes. “I know what you’re doing.”

Kageyama said nothing, just stared forward at the bottles across the table like he hadn’t just tried to get him buzzed fast.

Hinata didn’t back down. He lifted the glass again. Drank deeper and finished his drink.

“You're an idiot,” he muttered under his breath.

“I didn’t say anything,” Kageyama replied.

Their silence cracked open just enough for the music to flood in again. Kageyama poured another drink for Hinata. The lights shifted from violet to red. Bokuto let out a dramatic gasp. Apparently, the song blasting through the speakers was one of his favorite songs. 

Bokuto let out a war cry and dragged Ushijima halfway to the dance floor by his sleeve, who allowed it with exactly zero change in expression.

Everyone laughed, even Kageyama. Hinata let his drink cool between his palms and glanced around. Everyone was looser now, swaying in their seats. A couple of the other players had joined up too. Guys from the same camp, their shoulders slung over each other’s necks like they were back in college.

That’s when it hit him.

He hadn’t eaten since lunch. Neither had Kageyama. Or most of them, judging by the way they were clinging to their glasses like lifelines.

His head was just starting to hum, pleasant and warm.

He looked over.

Kageyama wasn’t dancing. Of course not. But he was bouncing lightly to the beat, one heel tapping against the floor, his head dipping now and then like the rhythm had taken root somewhere in his bones.

Hinata leaned in, realizing that the volume of the music made it harder to speak normally. He moved so his voice could be close to Kageyama’s ear. “What’s that supposed to be?”

Kageyama looked sideways. “I’m dancing.”

“Yeah, like a metronome.”

“I’m being cool.”

Hinata snorted. “You’re being tragic.”

Kageyama rolled his eyes. “Are you this confident because you won at Dance Dance Revolution last weekend?”

Hinata flushed immediately. “That was different.”

“I don’t think so. You’re pretty good, so, why don’t you teach me some moves?”

Hinata blinked. “You’re joking.”

Kageyama tilted his head. “Does it look like I am?”

The thing was, he really didn’t look like he was. His expression was soft. A little open. A little earnest. But his eyes were shining. Hinata knew he was just teasing him. 

Hinata hesitated, fingers tightening slightly around his glass. But the whiskey was warm now, and so was his face, and something about the music, the thump of it, the vibration under their feet, made the moment feel less terrifying than it might’ve in another time, another place.

He sighed and stood, finishing his drink in one last swallow. “Fine.”

Before following Hinata into the dance floor, Kageyama made sure to pour down two more drinks and bring them with him. 

The dance floor wasn’t packed, but it was dense enough that bodies moved like heat waves around them. Wrists in the air, shoulders shifting, necks tilted to laugh or shout lyrics.

Hinata reached for Kageyama’s wrist. Just briefly. He didn’t tug, just nudged.

“Okay,” he said, “first rule: you don’t need to look cool.”

“Too late,” Kageyama said. His voice was dry, but his mouth twitched.

Hinata grinned. “Just listen. And move.”

They started slow, barely anything. Just swaying, catching the rhythm, letting the music carry their limbs. Kageyama didn’t even try to dance at first, just mirrored Hinata’s movements. It was a little tense. Sharp. But not bad. His movements seemed way less clumsy than they’d looked back at the arcade. Hinata wondered if the alcohol had something to do with it. 

Shoyo kept watching him, correcting posture with a nudge here, a press there. Hands never quite lingering, but close. Always close.

A couple of songs in, Kageyama had gotten used to it. A little annoyingly fast, to Hinata, but still he didn’t look as out of place as he had at the beginning. His hips and shoulders were more loose and relaxed. His body was able to follow the rhythm almost perfectly. 

Hinata started to forget he was supposed to be teaching Kageyama. His body was moving on its own, going along with the rhythm of the music playing loudly around him. His third drink was almost empty now. The world around him felt somehow slower and faster at the same time. He looked at Kageyama, who was dancing in front of him with his eyes closed. His body was moving with the song, almost as an instinct. He looked like he was actually enjoying it. 

And that's when the song started.

The opening notes hit with a pulse like static electricity. The sound of a track they both knew. A song they’d blasted in a Karasuno locker room years ago for months. It was fast. Stupid. Perfect.

Hinata’s head snapped up.

Kageyama was already grinning. Not wide, not smug, just… full. Bright-eyed.

They didn’t speak.

They just moved.

And then they were dancing. Really dancing. Hinata’s hands lifted, arms slicing through air. Kageyama leaned in closer. Their foreheads almost touched. They shouted lyrics into each other’s faces, not caring who heard, not caring how close they were. They were moving with the beat, with each other, and for a moment, nothing else existed.

Their teammates didn’t matter. The camp didn’t matter. What had happened in the last two weeks didn’t matter.

It was just them. Their rhythm. Their laughter. Their eyes locked, mouths open, music pulsing between them like a shared secret.

Kageyama said something—maybe a joke, maybe a lyric—and Hinata laughed too hard, hand catching Kageyama’s shoulder to steady himself.

Neither of them let go.

The next song slowed down, not a ballad, but smoother. More bass, more shadows. The kind of beat that curled low in the stomach, made people lean in closer. Hinata let himself sway a little, catching his breath. He could feel the sweat gathering at the base of his neck, the collar of his shirt sticking faintly to his chest. Kageyama didn’t move away.

He was flushed, the tops of his ears pink, hair slightly mussed, breath a little quick from laughing too hard. Neither of them spoke for a beat. Just the pulse of the music between them, the light flashing violet-blue across their faces.

Then someone, probably Bokuto, stumbled into them with a loud, “Oi!” and pressed a drink into each of their hands.

“Kageyama! Shoyo! You guys are so good at this,” he said, waving vaguely at the dance floor. “Seriously, you should form a dance unit. Like a real one. I'll manage you. You’re gonna go viral.”

“Stop talking,” said Hoshiumi, tugging Bokuto back toward the booth. “They’re drunk, you’re drunk, everyone’s drunk. Let them live.”

Hinata glanced down at his cup. It was something new. Icy. Sweet. Way too strong.

He looked up. Kageyama was watching him drink again, eyes fixed, not on his mouth this time, but his throat. Hinata’s heart picked up speed.

They walked off the floor together, bodies brushing in the dark.

Back at the booth, the others had reclaimed their spots. The table was a mess now: sticky glasses, empty bottles, someone’s sunglasses, a phone with the flashlight still on.

Hinata collapsed into the seat, still high on movement. Kageyama followed. They sat closer this time. Legs touching fully. Neither of them moved.

Hinata was halfway through another drink when someone appeared beside their table. It was a girl, maybe early twenties, sharp eyeliner, long braids swinging over her shoulder. She looked like she knew exactly what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to ask.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she said, smiling, a little breathless. “But you’re Kageyama Tobio, right?”

Kageyama blinked, straightening subtly. He nodded. “Yeah.”

She held up her phone. “Would you mind if I took a quick photo with you?”

Hinata shifted instinctively, already halfway out of the booth, about to disappear into the shadows, but before he could stand fully, Kageyama’s hand reached out, fingers curling around the denim at Hinata’s hip, right at the waistband.

“Stay,” he said, calm, like it was the obvious thing. Not demanding. Not uncertain.

Hinata glanced down at the hand, then back up at him.

Kageyama wasn’t even looking. He was already turning toward the girl, nodding. “Sure.”

She beamed, passing her phone to someone nearby. She leaned in, not too close, just enough for the frame. And Kageyama didn’t move his hand.

Hinata stayed where he was. He didn’t even know what to do with his own hands. The camera flash snapped once, twice.

“Thanks so much!” the girl said with a small bow before vanishing into the crowd.

Kageyama’s fingers released him, slowly, like they’d forgotten they were still there.

Hinata raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t want her cropping me out?”

“You’d look dumb if you left halfway through.”

Hinata snorted. “Right. Of course. I’m the dumb one.”

Kageyama smirked faintly into his glass. But Hinata could still feel the heat where those fingers had been. Right at the seam of his jeans.

He took another sip, then pulled in a breath and pushed to his feet. “Come on.”

Kageyama blinked up at him. “Where?”

“Outside. It’s way too hot in here.” 

Kageyama stood without another word.

They weaved through the crowd, brushing past bodies that moved like waves. The pulse of the bass eased up as they found the hallway near the restrooms. It was cooler, darker, quiet. A draft from an emergency exit stirred the air.

Kageyama leaned against the wall, glass still in his hand.

Hinata leaned opposite, just watching him.

“You okay?” he asked.

Kageyama glanced up. “Yeah.” Then, after a second: “You?”

Hinata shrugged. “Kind of drunk.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Kageyama muttered with a grin. But his expression softened a moment later. “But seriously. Are you okay?”

Hinata didn’t need clarification. He knew Kageyama was asking because of the whole Atsumu situation.

“I am,” he said. “I was really pissed at first, I think. About feeling used. Played, somehow. But now... I really don’t want this to get to us. To upset me, or you. That’s why he did what he did, after all.”

Kageyama nodded, but his shoulders stayed tense. Hinata could tell he was still feeling guilty. But truly, Hinata had never blamed Tobio for any of it. He knew it wasn’t his fault. It never had been.

“Hey.” His voice softened. “I’m really okay. I promise.”

Kageyama’s gaze dipped for a second. And when his eyes met Hinata’s again, something behind them had shifted.

Hinata stepped a little closer.

“I’m really glad we came,” he said.

Kageyama didn’t answer right away. He just let the silence settle. Warm, and a little strange.

“Me too.”

They didn’t speak after that. Kageyama had understood what Hinata’s words really meant: that the subject was closed. That it belonged somewhere quieter now. Somewhere neither of them needed to carry anymore.

They leaned on opposite sides of the hallway, half-lit by a flickering LED exit sign and the spill of neon from the club behind them. The bass still thudded, muffled, like a heartbeat through the walls.

Hinata let his head tip back against the painted cinderblock behind him. His drink tilted slightly in his fingers. “It feels like we’ve been here forever.”

Kageyama nodded, gaze still on him. “Yeah.”

“It’s weird. Two weeks ago, the idea of coming to this camp scared me a little.”

Kageyama’s brows furrowed. “Why?”

Hinata’s mouth curved. “Didn’t know what to do if I found you here.”

That landed like a quiet slap.

Kageyama straightened, the glass in his hand dipping slightly. His eyes were fixed now. They were open, but unreadable.

Hinata didn’t back down from it.

“I knew this camp wasn’t just about volleyball,” he said, voice low, but steady. “I just… didn’t know what version of you I’d find. Or what version of me you wanted to see.”

Kageyama was very still.

The music shifted inside the club to something deeper now, bass-heavy and slow.

When he spoke, Kageyama’s voice was careful. “I wasn't sure, either.”

Hinata blinked.

Kageyama shrugged slightly, looking down into his glass. “I could see you trying to fix your mistakes, and that scared the shit out of me. I wasn't sure if I could handle this new side of you.”

Hinata stepped closer.

“What side?” he asked.

Kageyama looked up again. His breath caught, just slightly.

Hinata stood in front of him now, arms loose at his sides, the distance between them barely a breath. The hallway felt warmer again. Smaller.

“This side,” Kageyama replied, a little smile tugging at his lips as he gestured at Hinata’s whole self “You’re still annoying as hell. But you're more… mature. Confident. Ready to fix whatever needs to get fixed. It's terrifying .”

Hinata exhaled through a laugh. Quiet, but real. “‘Terrifying?’ So you don't like it?”

“I didn't say that.”

Hinata blinked. “And do you want me to?”

Kageyama tilted his head, just slightly. “Want you to what ?”

Hinata stepped even closer. “Keep fixing it.”

Kageyama didn’t move. Didn’t blink. He just looked at Hinata. His eyes traveled from his hair, to his eyes, to his lips.

“I do,” he said, finally. His voice almost a whisper.

The air between them changed again. Shifted. Slowed.

Hinata’s fingers tightened slightly on his glass. “Okay.”

Kageyama blinked for a moment before throwing back his head as he laughed. “‘Okay’? After all of that your response was ‘ okay’ ?”

Hinata's cheeks, which were already blushed by the alcohol, must've turned an impossible shade of red. “What— What was I supposed to say?!”

He hid his face behind the palm of his hands. He really hadn't been sure about what to say. Kageyama had basically insinuated that he wanted to go back to being close with him. Maybe even something more than just close. The way his gaze dropped to Hinata’s mouth? That said enough.

He’d gotten nervous and just blurted out the first thing that came to his mind. 

Before Hinata could keep embarrassing himself, from around the corner, like a dam bursting, came a shout:

“HEY! WE’RE PLAYING KING’S CUP!”

Bokuto’s voice, hoarse and thrilled. Somewhere behind it, Hoshiumi’s echoing laughter.

Kageyama took a deep breath after laughing so hard, looking away. But the shadow of a smile remained on his lips.

They didn’t say anything as they pushed off the wall and followed the sound.

But neither of them had stopped thinking about what they’d just said.

Chapter 62: Chapter LXI

Notes:

hello, beautiful people! i'm back <3 i just wanted to let you guys know that whenever i don't post a chapter, it is because of work. i just had two terrible days because of it and wanted to take a little break, but i'm back because writing and posting this story helps my mental health so much!

i looooved writing this chapter and can't wait to read what you guys think of it<3

They barely made it back into the main room before Bokuto spotted them.

“HEY!” he shouted, already on his feet, eyes wide with gleeful intoxication. “You two disappeared! Were you making out or something?!”

“Shut up,” Kageyama said automatically, but there wasn’t much heat behind it.

Hinata just rolled his eyes and kept walking, letting the flush on his face be blamed on the drinks. Bokuto didn’t press. He was too busy bouncing on his heels, waving a deck of cards in one hand and gesturing toward the now-rearranged tables.

“We’re playing King’s Cup!” he announced. “You have no choice. We already poured for you.”

The center of the table had a large plastic cup already half-filled with an alarming mix of different colors: neon from someone’s fruity cocktail, dark from beer, something slightly green that might’ve been melon soju.

“Fuck,” Kageyama muttered under his breath.

Hinata groaned as he threw himself onto the sofa. “You guys really love games, don’t you?”

“It’s recreational ,” Bokuto protested, placing the cards face‑down across the table. “An opportunity to create bonding moments.”

Hinata couldn’t help laughing. Most of their friends were already on their fifth or sixth glass, having mixed drinks on empty stomachs. “ I guess two weeks of national‑level training does a number on your tolerance” , he thought, as Kageyama sat beside him, their legs brushing once more.

“I trust you people know the rules?” Bokuto asked, dragging his words a little. 

Everyone nodded. King’s Cup was simple: each player draws a card and follows the prompt. Every time someone draws a King, they pour some of their drink into the center cup; the fourth King forces its drawer to down the murky brew. 

It’s pretty chaotic and the goal of the game is clearly just getting drunk, but the mixture of the loud music blasting through the place, the neon lights changing colors along with the rhythm of the songs, the laughs, the dizziness… it all felt just right for a game like that. 

The first round began with a shout. Bokuto flipped a 2 card, “You,” and without a second’s hesitation, he pointed at Ushijima, his grin wide and feral.

“ You ,” he said triumphantly, “I want to see if sake affects you.”

Ushijima didn’t blink. He reached for the closest drink, lifted it without ceremony, and drained it in one long pull. His face remained perfectly blank, as though he were drinking tap water.

“It doesn’t,” he said simply, setting the glass down.

Bokuto groaned in disappointment. “You’re no fun.”

The next card flipped up. A 5. “Guys drink.”

Groans spread like wildfire around the table, and the men reached for their glasses en masse. Liquid sloshed, someone knocked over a lime wedge, and Hoshiumi rolled his eyes but tipped back his glass like a man on a mission.

Then came a 7. “Heaven.” The room exploded into motion.

Hoshiumi practically flew out of his seat, palm shooting skyward like he’d been waiting for the moment all night. The others scrambled to follow, chairs scraping against the hardwood. Hyakuzawa hesitated, a split second too long, too much weight to move quickly. His hand lagged behind the others.

“Too slow!” Hoshiumi cried gleefully. “Drink twice!”

Hyakuzawa looked resigned. His hand wrapped around the cup like it was made of porcelain.

When Kageyama drew a 3, “Me,” he didn’t flinch. He reached for his glass and took a long, steady sip, longer than he needed to, steady to the point of stubbornness.

Hinata narrowed his eyes at him, head cocked to the side. “Trying to prove something?”

Kageyama stared into the table. “Trying to forget I’m here,” he muttered, but there was a tug at the corner of his mouth, a barely-there smirk trying not to be one.

The next card was an 8. “Mate.”

Kiryu immediately leaned forward and pointed straight at Hinata with the solemnity of a judge handing down a verdict. “You. You’re mine now.”

Hinata squinted at him. “Why would you even phrase it like that?”

Kiryu clinked their glasses without asking. “Every time I drink, you drink.”

“Great,” Hinata muttered. 

More cards flipped. Another King, followed by a chorus of groans as the nearest player dumped the contents of their glass into the King’s Cup at the center of the table. Soju, beer, rum, soda. It was already murky. Unholy.

When Hoshiumi flipped a 4—“Floor”—the scramble was instant. Hands slammed to the floor. Kageyama moved a moment too late, caught in the middle of lifting his glass instead.

“TOO SLOW,” Bokuto yelled with glee. “You’re drunk-slow!”

“I was reviewing the rules,” Kageyama snapped, but he drank anyway.

Hoshiumi drew a 9. “Rhyme.”

Hinata let his head drop back with a groan. “I’m so bad at this.”

Hoshiumi clapped his hands once, like a ringmaster. “Cat.”

“Hat,” said Bokuto.

“Mat,” added Kiryu.

“Bat,” said Kageyama.

“Gnat!” Hinata called proudly.

The game circled once, then twice, until it landed on Ushijima. He paused for too long, face too serious.

“... Lamp?”

The entire table erupted in protest.

“What?!” Bokuto cried. “That’s not even close!”

Ushijima blinked. “I thought it was.”

“Nope!” shouted Hoshiumi. “Drink.”

Without argument, Ushijima raised his cup again. Unbothered. Like gravity didn’t apply to him.

Then came the Jack.

“Never Have I Ever,” someone called, and the energy shifted.

Everyone straightened slightly in their seats, a few glances exchanged across the circle.

Bokuto grinned. “Never have I ever… had sex in a car!”

A few gasps. Some muffled laughter.

Slowly, three hands lowered a finger. Kageyama wasn’t one of them. Neither was Hinata.

Kiryu raised his hand with zero shame. “We’d just won a tournament,” he said. “It was exciting!”

Hoshiumi raised his too. “Same. Victory makes people weird.”

Fukuda raised his without a word.

Hinata’s cheeks warmed. He hated how relieved he felt when Kageyama didn’t put a finger down. He had no idea of the life he led during the two years they spent away from each other. He didn’t know if he’d dated someone during that time. If he’d kiss someone else. If he’d done more than just that. He let out a shaky breath. 

The next person took their turn. “Never have I ever… been drunk on an empty stomach.”

Everyone groaned.

More fingers went down. 

They played through five more rounds, until Hoshiumi had lowered all his fingers. The King’s Cup sat untouched in the middle, sickly and glowing. There were only three cards left. The final King hadn’t been drawn yet.

At least not until Kageyama flipped it.

A hush fell across the table.

Bokuto snatched the card off Kageyama’s hands and held it high, grinning. “The final King,” he declared. “You know what this means.”

Everyone leaned in.

Kageyama sighed. His hand reached slowly for the drink in the center. The others hooted. Teased. Hoshiumi made a mock countdown.

But Kageyama just stared at the cup. Hinata knew that Kageyama was already on his seventh glass. He’s mixed whiskey with soju, and his stomach was most likely going to reject the atomic drink sitting in front of them. But Shoyo also knew that Kageyama was a very proud person, and he was about to drink it without a word.

So, without a word, Hinata reached forward and took it from his hands.

The table froze.

He didn’t hesitate.

The drink hit his tongue and his whole body shuddered. Sugary, bitter, fizzy, raw. He drank it down, all of it, his throat working hard to get through the last inch.

The cup hit the table with a hollow thud.

Hinata wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, jaw tense as the burning, bitter concoction rolled through his chest like a storm front. The taste clung to his tongue. Every kind of drink, all at once. Bubbles and grain and sharp, chemical sweetness.

“Legend,” muttered Hoshiumi, leaning in like he was witnessing history.

“Why’d you do that?” Kageyama asked, his voice too quiet for the others to hear.

“You looked like you were going to throw up,” Hinata said, voice rough. “I couldn’t let you do something like that in public. Your fans are here.”

Kageyama’s stare lingered.

“Shoyo—” he started, voice low, sharp with concern.

“I’m fine,” Hinata said, a little too fast.

He wasn’t fine, but the room hadn’t started spinning yet. Just swaying. Just a little. Like the floor had softened under his feet.

Someone called out another song. Something louder, messier. Something people could scream, and suddenly, they were getting pulled again. Shoulders grabbed, hands tugging, laughter rising all around.

Bokuto was already on his feet, arms in the air.

“Back to the dance floor!” he roared.

Hinata let himself be pulled. Mostly because moving forward was easier than thinking. His legs worked. Sort of. His thoughts floated a half-second behind the music.

The crowd was thicker this time. The lights were darker. Sweatier. People pressed closer, movements looser.

Kageyama moved just behind him. Hinata’s heart beat strangely. His arms were light. His body buzzed.

He started to dance again, just a sway at first, hips moving with the rhythm, arms loose at his sides. But something was off.

His balance tipped a little too far forward. He caught himself, laughed once under his breath, and covered it with a sharper step.

He turned. Kageyama was still watching him.

“Why are you—” Hinata began, then stopped. His voice caught in his own ears. Was he slurring?

Kageyama stepped closer. “You’re not fine.”

Hinata tilted his head back, grinning now. “I’m a legend, remember?”

“You drank battery acid.”

“Don’t be dramatic.”

But his feet stuttered again. His eyes narrowed.

He felt everything , the lights, the music, the closeness of the crowd, louder. Closer. Warmer.

The dance floor was so crowded, that at one point, a girl behind Hinata pushed back as she danced and pressed Hinata against Kageyama's chest. Almost as an instinct, Hinata’s hands went to Tobio’s waist, holding the soft fabric of his shirt. Because of the height difference, his eyes were at the same level as his chest. He could see Kageyama’s neck, pale and sweaty, his Adam's apple, the way his hair curled up against the back of his neck. 

“Sorry,” Hinata said, voice low now, looking up at Kageyama, who was watching him, a little startled. He could feel his pulse, fast and strong, against his own body.

“I think it’s too crowded. Maybe we should go outside for a second.” Kageyama responded, his voice cautious, a little restrained, even.

The moment Kageyama pulled him toward the club’s side exit, Hinata didn’t fight it.

He just let himself be led, stumbling once over his own feet, catching Kageyama’s arm as balance, laughing softly against the noise in his chest. His breath fogged briefly in the cooler air, but everything else still burned.

The door clicked shut behind them.

The bass was muffled now, distant like a storm on the other side of a wall. The alley outside the club was narrow and dimly lit, the brick wall warm against the back of his shoulders where he leaned. They were alone here. Or close enough.

Kageyama stood a few feet away, one hand braced on his hip, the other dragging through his hair. He was flushed. Slightly off balance. He’d clearly been drinking more than he let on. His shoulders weren’t as tight. His words didn’t come as quickly.

He looked at Hinata, then away, then back again.

“You shouldn’t have drinked that shit,” he said, voice low, mouth still turned down like he was mad. “You’re too wasted.”

Hinata smiled at him, slow and crooked. “I didn’t want to see you do it.”

“That’s not—” Kageyama stopped. His hand lowered. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

Hinata laughed. It echoed too loud off the alley walls. “You’ve said that since we were fifteen.”

“Yeah. And it’s always been true.”

Silence stretched.

Hinata’s body slumped slightly, letting the wall hold more of him. The night spun gently. Not in a scary way. Just dizzy. Just soft.

He tilted his head, eyes squinting at Kageyama like he was trying to bring him into focus.

“You’re drunk too,” Hinata said.

“No, I’m not.”

“You’re swaying.”

“I’m standing.”

“You’re blinking like the lights are still inside.”

Kageyama opened his mouth to argue. Closed it again.

“…Okay, maybe I am.”

Hinata grinned. “Knew it.”

They were quiet again.

Kageyama shifted his weight. “You shouldn’t mess with your body like that. Drinking that much. You could’ve—”

“I wanted to,” Hinata said, cutting him off, not unkindly. “Because it was you.”

That shut Kageyama up.

Hinata stepped forward, just once. Not stumbling now. Just moving. Not all the way. Not into his space. But closer.

Kageyama blinked at him. The air between them was humming.

Hinata’s voice dropped. “Can I be honest?”

“Be my guest.”

“I can’t tell if I’m nervous or just drunk.”

Kageyama took a breath like he was about to say something. But he didn’t. He just looked at him. Like he was trying not to fall forward.

Hinata swayed again. Just a little. His body tipped with the wind.

Kageyama stepped forward instinctively. Caught him by the elbow.

“Okay,” Kageyama said, quiet and raw. “Let’s… sit down. Just for a minute.”

Hinata let him guide him back against the brick wall, sliding down until they were seated side by side on the concrete, legs stretched out in front of them. Their knees touched.

Hinata let his head fall back against the brick with a soft thunk , eyes slipping shut.

The air on his cheeks felt cooler now, like the buzz had started drifting toward his skin instead of staying in his blood. The world was softer. Shapes blurred. The sound melted.

He felt Kageyama shift beside him. Not far. Not sudden. Just a small movement, like a wave turning in place. Then, as soft as the wind, he felt the brush of fingers at his forehead. Careful. Slow. A thumb sweeping back loose strands of orange hair, just above his temple.

Hinata’s eyes blinked open, slow, half-lidded, heavy.

Kageyama’s voice came low, slurred at the edges. “Miwa would love to see your hair like this.”

Hinata blinked, slow.

“What?”

“Your hair,” Kageyama said again. His fingers still hovered just near his forehead, like he hadn’t noticed they’d stopped moving. “It’s long. She always said long hair fit you the best.” He lowered his eyes from Hinata’s hair to his eyes. In the darkness of the night, they were a dark shade of blue. They looked almost black. “I think she’s right.”

Hinata stared at him. Or tried to.

The warmth from Kageyama’s hand lingered where it had been, even as it dropped back to his lap. Hinata didn’t look away.

“I didn’t think you even noticed my hair,” he said, quiet.

“I notice everything,” Kageyama muttered.

The words sat there, uneven. Raw. A little too drunk.

Hinata felt the heat bloom again behind his ribs. It made everything tilt. Made Kageyama’s face blur slightly where he sat beside him, just close enough that their shoulders touched.

He felt it then. The electric pull, like a magnet, made them both lean in closer to each other. Both their eyes had lowered to each other’s lips. Hinata could feel his own body shaking. Not out of fear, but pure excitement. Outside of the club, with the cold air of a summer night, the only light coming from the light pole near the entrance of the bar, the stars shining bright in the sky. The space was starting to close between them. 

Kageyama closed his eyes. 

But suddenly, a moment of clarity flashed through Hinata’s head. Instead of aiming for Kageyama’s mouth, at the very last moment, he went for the corner of his lips. He placed the softest kiss there as he tried to pour out every last drop of the feelings that were overwhelming in his heart into it. 

Before Kageyama could pull away, Hinata placed his hand at the side of his head, his thumb caressing his cheek, carefully, his hand preventing him from moving. Kageyama opened his eyes, stunned. 

Before losing his courage, Hinata pulled close once more and placed another kiss at the other corner of his lips. He kissed his forehead, the space between his brows, the tip of his nose. He made sure to do it slowly, enjoying the sensation of Kageyama’s soft skin against his lips. 

He’d thought about that moment many times before. About kissing Kageyama like this. Placing his hand against his cheek. Watching Kageyama’s eyes follow every single one of his movements. Hinata was scared that, at any moment now, his heart was going to pour out of his chest. 

When he finally pulled out, Kageyama didn’t look as confused as he had before. He looked… expectant . As if waiting for Hinata to lean in once more. He pressed his head against Hinata’s hand, that still rested against his face. 

“I–” Hinata began, but his voice was hoarse. He cleared his throat. “I really want to do this. I really want to kiss you. Really kiss you.”

He used his free hand to reach for Kageyama’s hand. 

“I’ve waited so, so long for this. I swear it’s killing me,” He continued, his words steady in spite of his state. “And that’s why I don’t want to do it while being drunk. I want to remember every second of it, and I want you to remember, too.”

Kageyama blinked, slow and stunned, like he was still trying to catch up to where they’d landed. The corner of his mouth twitched. A thousand responses seemed to stall in his throat.

Then finally, his voice came, gruff and quiet.

“That’s annoying.”

Hinata blinked.

Kageyama shook his head slightly, the barest tilt. “You’re being mature. Right now . Of all times.” He exhaled, like he’d been holding something in, like he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “You’re right, but it’s still fucking annoying.”

Hinata let out a soft breath. Half a laugh, half relief. His heart was still hammering against his ribs, but the air around them didn’t feel so charged anymore. He watched Kageyama as the other boy looked down at their still-linked hands, his thumb brushing lightly across Hinata’s knuckles. His face was flushed and bare and impossibly close in the dark..

“The first time we kissed… we were drunk then too.” Hinata said, voice soft. “It felt like we were hiding behind it. Like we needed the excuse.” He looked away briefly, then back. “I don’t want to make the same mistake.”

Kageyama’s gaze didn’t move. He looked at Hinata like he was seeing him for the first time all over again, like the night and the drinks and everything they weren’t saying had been peeled away and left something simple behind.

“You’re right,” Kageyama said finally. “You’re right and I kind of want to punch you now because of it.”

Hinata let out a small chuckle. His hand was still on Kageyama’s cheek. His thumb still moved, slow, so slow, like trying to remember the shape of him by touch alone.

“Please no punches. My face is bruised enough as it is.” 

“... Fine. Whatever.”

They sat there for a moment longer, the quiet stretching warm between them, no pressure to speak. The city hummed in the distance. The bass from the club throbbed like a heartbeat through the brick wall at their backs. Somewhere up above them, a sign flickered with old neon, casting a pale glow onto their shoulders.

The alley door creaked open. A head poked out.

“There you are.”

It was Ushijima. Still composed. Still maddeningly unaffected. He was carrying a very passed out Hoshiumi over his shoulder and dragging an equally wasted Bokuto by the waist. 

“You two coming, or should I call a separate cab?”

They both blinked up at him, dazed.

“Coming,” Kageyama muttered.

Hinata stood with effort. He swayed once and caught himself on Kageyama’s shoulder. Kageyama steadied him with a hand at the small of his back.

As they walked toward the cab, together, shoulders brushing, neither of them spoke. But when Kageyama opened the door and let Hinata slide in first, Hinata looked up and smiled.

This time, it wasn’t because of the alcohol.

It was just him.

Just them.

 

---

 

The cab ride back to the hotel was a blur of city lights and heavy limbs.

Kageyama’s head rested against the window, neon casting ribbons of soft color across his cheek. Hinata sat beside him, warm and quiet. Their thighs touched. Neither pulled away. Bokuto had passed out somewhere near the fifth traffic light, and Hoshiumi’s head lolled slightly against the window, mouth parted in sleep. Ushijima, solemn as ever, was the only one upright and awake in the front seat, staring straight ahead like he was memorizing the route.

When they reached the hotel, no one said much. The night had dulled to a hum, the streets quieter now, the rush of energy from earlier settling into something slow and heavy.

The elevator ride up was a slow-motion replay of the last few nights. Standing side by side, too aware of every inch between them. Kageyama swiped the keycard twice before the light turned green. The door creaked open, and they stepped into the room.

Silence. The kind that felt like a held breath.

They both changed into more comfortable clothes, washed their faces and drank a pill to avoid any hangovers for the next day.

The city lights still shone outside, blurred slightly by the fancy glass. Tokyo’s skyline in soft focus.

Inside, the room felt colder than usual. The beds were still made, one on each side, with just enough space in between for a pair of shoes, a bag, or a line someone hadn’t dared cross yet.

Hinata stood in the middle for a moment, staring at his bed. His head was spinning, but not in the dizzy, tipping-over way. More like everything was still moving too fast, even in the silence. Even in the dark.

Kageyama tossed his phone on the desk, but he didn’t move toward his bed. He stood in the middle of the room too, just a few feet away.

Hinata bent over to pull off his socks. His hand pressed into the edge of the bed as he sat down, but something about the mattress felt… far. Cold. Like it wasn’t where he wanted to be.

He heard Kageyama’s voice then. Quiet. Not awkward. Just honest.

“I don’t wanna sleep over there.”

Hinata looked up.

Kageyama wasn’t looking at him. He was staring at the floor. But he didn’t sound embarrassed. Just tired. Honest. His fingers rubbed at the back of his neck.

Hinata blinked. “You can sleep here.”

Kageyama finally lifted his gaze. It met Hinata’s like it had been waiting there all night.

Neither of them smiled. Not yet. But something flickered between them. Permission, maybe. Or relief.

Hinata scooted over without a word. Pulled back the covers. The motion was fluid, easy, like they’d done it before in some other lifetime.

Kageyama sat down beside him, slow, deliberate. Hinata lay back on the pillow and watched the ceiling. His heart was loud in his ears, but his face was calm.

When Kageyama slid in beside him, their arms brushed. The blanket was too warm. The room was too still. But for the first time all night, Hinata felt himself settle.

He turned on his side, eyes half-lidded.

Kageyama hadn’t moved. His hands were folded over his stomach, his breathing steady but shallow.

Then Kageyama murmured, “So… you’re really not gonna kiss me?”

“Don’t tempt me.”

Kageyama let out a small laugh. “You’re annoying.”

Hinata rolled his eyes. “You’re drunk.”

“I’m tipsy.”

“Same thing.”

Kageyama turned his head slightly, just enough to see him in the dark.

Hinata didn’t say anything else. He just reached out, slow and quiet, and hooked his hand through Kageyama’s.

Their hands stayed like that. Resting between them. Gentle and reassuring.

It was enough. It was more than enough. It was everything.

Tomorrow might be different. Louder. Harder. Complicated.

But tonight, just tonight, there were no lines left between them. Not anymore. Just shared breath. Shared silence. And the warmth of the other right there in the dark.

Chapter 63: Chapter LXII

Hinata stirred first.

The room was filled with the soft, grey blue of early morning, the color that came just before sunrise, when the world was still deciding if it wanted to be awake or not. The curtains swayed faintly against the open window, and a distant bird call broke the silence, soft and shy.

He didn’t move at first. His body was warm. Heavy. Anchored into the mattress by more than just the blanket tucked around his legs.

It was the weight beside him.

Hinata turned his head slowly. Just enough to see the profile that hovered inches away.

Kageyama lay on his side, arm folded beneath his head, facing him.

His hair was a little messy. The strands at the back stuck up in angles that didn’t look intentional. There was a line across his cheek where he’d pressed into the pillow. His mouth was soft. Barely parted.

Hinata’s chest did something weird. A small, involuntary squeeze.

They hadn’t moved much in the night, it seemed. Their legs were still tangled loosely under the blanket. Kageyama’s shin pressed faintly against his. Their knees might’ve touched.

He swallowed hard and slowly pulled back, just enough to create space. His head hit the pillow and he stared at the ceiling like it had answers.

What had last night meant?

Not the games. Not the club. Not the tequila shots or the dance floor or even the way the others had hooted and dragged them back from outside.

But the alley. The quiet. The way Kageyama had looked at him with the kind of stillness that broke him open. The kisses Hinata had given, deliberately, carefully, not out of alcohol or impulse, but choice.

That had been real. As real as it could possibly get. It took some effort, but Hinata remembered it all. He wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. Did Kageyama remember, too?

If he didn’t, then he would bump into a huge surprise when he woke up and found himself sleeping right next to Hinata. In the same bed. In the aftermath.

Hinata felt like someone had plugged a heater directly into his ears.

He dared a glance sideways again.

Kageyama shifted. His breath caught for a second, and then he blinked open one eye. Then the other.

They stared at each other for a moment. Hinata couldn’t get a single word out of his mouth. 

“Morning,” Kageyama said, voice scratchy, like gravel underfoot.

Hinata’s heart jumped against his ribs. “Morning.”

Neither moved.

Silence thickened for a few beats. Then Kageyama sat up, rubbing the back of his head. His shirt had ridden up at the back, revealing a stripe of pale skin.

“I… think Coach texted me,” he mumbled, checking his phone from the nightstand. His eyes narrowed slightly. “Yeah. He wants to meet. Like, now .”

Hinata blinked. “Oh.”

Kageyama stood, grabbing the hoodie draped on the chair, tugging it over his head. He was still facing away when he said, without any hint of awkwardness, “You wanna come with me? You can wait at the gym.”

Hinata’s answer came quicker than he thought it would. “Yeah. Sure.”

Kageyama nodded once and went to brush his teeth. Hinata sat on the edge of the bed, gripping the fabric of his own shorts, willing his pulse to even out.

He didn’t know what they were, still. But he knew something had changed.

Two years ago, after everything had cracked between them, Hinata had spent years hating himself, quietly, thinking he’d ruined it all. Not just the partnership. Not just the rhythm.

But… them .

And yet, here he was. Sitting on the edge of a bed they’d shared. Watching the boy he’d once loved in secret offer to take him along like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He grabbed his shirt from the back of a chair and pulled it over his head, blinking against the morning light.

Maybe he didn’t have answers yet. Maybe Kageyama didn’t either.

But for the first time in two years, Hinata felt like they were headed somewhere worth finding out.

 

---

 

The gym was nearly empty when they arrived.

One of the assistant staff members let them in with a yawn and a swipe of their badge. Kageyama gave a small nod and peeled off toward the offices down the hall. Hinata lingered in the entrance for a moment, watching him go, his bag still slung over one shoulder.

When the door clicked shut behind Kageyama, the silence wrapped around him like a second skin.

It wasn’t empty empty. A few crates of balls were stacked near the wall. The lines on the court glowed faintly in the overhead lights. The distant sound of cleaning staff echoed somewhere off the rafters. But the space felt… still. Paused.

Hinata stepped out onto the court.

His sneakers squeaked once, sharp and clear. Familiar.

He walked without thinking, letting his body move on muscle memory alone, until he was standing near the net. He tossed his bag onto a bench, fished out one of the stray volleyballs, and began tossing it gently in his hands. The rhythm came back instantly.

Palm. Palm. Spin. Catch. Toss again.

His mind kept going back to the night before.

The alley. The warmth of Kageyama’s hand near his forehead. The way it had felt to press his lips against his forehead. The way the promise of a kiss was lingering in the air, silent but taking all of his attention.

He thought about the way they’d ended up in the same bed, side by side, knees brushing under the blankets. How, even with all the noise and mess of the night, the only thing that mattered had been that . The quiet. The closeness.

He didn’t know what would happen next.

But he knew, absolutely knew , that his heart hadn’t felt this calm in years.

He tossed the ball again. Caught it. Tossed it higher this time, letting it spin through the light.

A clean sound rang out as he jumped for a spike, letting his feet push off the floor in one smooth burst. The ball slammed off the wall with a satisfying thwack and bounced into the net.

Hinata landed light.

He smiled.

For years, this place had meant proof. That he belonged. That he could fly.

Now, it meant something else too.

The doors opened again, just as he picked the ball back up. Kageyama stepped inside, a slip of paper in one hand and something unreadable in his face.

Hinata turned, tossing the ball once between his palms. Just the sight of him making his stomach toss and turn. 

“Well?” he asked, softly.

Kageyama walked toward him, tucking the paper into his hoodie pocket.

“Just wanted to talk availability,” he said. “For Olympic preparation.”

Hinata blinked. “Wait. You—?”

Kageyama nodded. “It’s almost official.”

Hinata grinned. “Holy shit. Tobio. That’s huge .”

Kageyama shrugged, trying to be modest, but failing miserably as the corner of his mouth curved.

“Yeah.”

Hinata tossed the ball toward him without warning. Kageyama caught it one-handed.

“C’mon,” Hinata said, moving toward the far side of the court. “You can’t say something like that and not play a round.”

Kageyama followed, the biggest smile drawn across his face.

And just like that, the ball began to fly again. Between them, fast and clean, no signals, no instructions. Just the sound of skin on leather, shoes on wood, breath syncing like a tide. They didn’t speak much. They didn’t need to. 

They didn’t even keep score.

There were no points, no drills, no pressure. Just passes and sets and little bursts of laughter between volleys that should’ve been out of reach.

Hinata launched himself into the air for a spike, barely catching the ball before it skimmed the net. Kageyama caught the rebound and flung it back, quick and light. Hinata lunged, hands first, almost missed it, and landed with a graceless sprawl that made Kageyama snort.

“Shut up,” Hinata called, grinning as he rolled onto his back.

“You tripped on air.”

“You served a floater.”

“Your face is a floater.”

Hinata cackled, grabbing the ball and tossing it back underhand.

It was dumb, the way they moved. A little too wide, a little too fast, like they were trying to match each other and not quite succeeding but having fun anyway.

Hinata caught a particularly sharp pass, pivoted, and threw it back with a twist. It hit the ground between them and bounced once, then rolled gently to a stop.

Neither of them moved.

Kageyama looked at him.

And Hinata looked back.

Their smiles were still there, half-formed, pulled taut by breathlessness and the kind of ease that came only after years. Their cheeks were flushed. Their clothes damp. Hair clinging slightly to their foreheads.

And something hung between them now. Not a ball, not a score, but want .

Kageyama was the first to drop to the floor, lying flat on his back at the centerline, one arm thrown over his face, the other sprawled at his side. Hinata followed seconds later, collapsing with a satisfied grunt beside him, their shoulders barely brushing.

The gym was still. Warm and echoing.

Somewhere far above them, the ceiling lights buzzed. A distant hum of air conditioning blew through the vents. Their breaths, the only rhythmic sound between them, rose and fell in sync.

For some reason, Hinata felt like he was sixteen again. A first-year at Karasuno, spending every afternoon practicing in the school’s gym. He remembered how he and Kageyama were always the last to leave. The comfort and silence of just two people sharing the vastness of a gymnasium. The way they’d spent the rest of their high school years like that.

Maybe it was easier then, when they were young. When their feelings were more honest. Simpler. Easier.

But even now, years later, Hinata could still recognize that same quiet, heavy thing from back then. That stillness. That electricity. That closeness. Maybe the shape of it had changed—more fragile now, more careful—but the feeling was the same.

Maybe their relationship was more complicated now. Maybe it came with baggage, old wounds, and new fears. But it still felt like something that could be real.

It would take time. It would move slow. But Hinata wasn’t afraid of slow anymore.

They were still the last ones out.

Hinata stared at the ceiling for a long while. Then he turned his head.

Kageyama’s arm was still draped over his eyes, chest rising and falling, his lips parted slightly from the effort of cooling down. His hair was damp with sweat, curling against his forehead, neck flushed red. He looked peaceful. Beautiful, even. Almost unreal.

Hinata’s heart felt like it was moving closer to the surface.

He propped himself up on his elbows, chest tightening with the weight of the moment, and just looked.

Everything that had been burning inside him for weeks, for months, for years , rose up all at once.

“Hey,” he said softly.

Kageyama moved his arm slightly, just enough to glance sideways.

Their eyes met, and Hinata leaned in, steady and slow.

He pressed his lips to Kageyama’s. Gently. Thoughtfully. Not in a rush. Just… honest.

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t even deep. But it was real .

Hinata’s hand was pressed against Kageyama’s cheek, soft and reassuring. He pulled back just slightly after a second. Just enough to breathe.

Kageyama’s eyes had widened a little, but he hadn’t flinched. His expression was unreadable. Warm. Focused entirely on Hinata.

Hinata swallowed, still close enough to feel his breath. “I’m sober now.”

Kageyama blinked slowly. His voice came out low, almost dazed.

“Yeah. Me too.”

Hinata smiled. Shy. Dazzling. The kind he only let out when he didn’t think anyone was watching.

Then, without another word, he let himself fall gently back onto the gym floor, close enough that their arms touched from wrist to elbow.

They didn’t need to say anything else. The court held their silence.

And for the first time in a long time, it felt like home.

Notes:

it's my first time writing a slow burn, so it's kind of funny to have them kiss for the first time at chapter 62 and still wonder if i'm rushing it lmaooo

anyways, i hope you guys enjoyed this chapter<3

 

btw, someone please tell me they understood the title and mitski reference in the chapter

Chapter 64: Chapter LXIII

Notes:

pleased to announce we reached the 100k word count with this one. thank you all for reading<3 you inspire me to write everyday

btw apparently i can't reply to all comments bc of the new AO3 comment rate restriction but please know i read every single one of them and each time i smile like a FOOL

The room was already a mess, even messier than usual. Shirts hung off bedposts, bags sat gaping open, socks had mysteriously migrated to strange corners. A pair of knee pads lay on the desk, looking like they were trying to escape.

Hinata stood barefoot on his bed, holding up a shirt with a triumphant grin. “If we count the last game, we’re 28-27. I won more matches.”

Kageyama didn’t even look up from his suitcase. “Team wins don’t count as individual wins.”

Hinata scoffed, dropping the shirt into his duffel. “They totally do. I scored more points than you during the tournament. Ask literally anyone.”

“I’m not asking anyone. It’s embarrassing.”

“I was also MVP, Tobio.”

“According to who ?” Kageyama asked, calmly stuffing a towel into a side pocket that was clearly already full.

“Me. And my team. When were you MVP?” Hinata shot back, crossing his arms.

“I don’t care about MVPs.”

Hinata rolled his eyes. “Typical. Losing the argument, so you pretend not to care.”

“I’m not losing. I just value the team more than individual recognition.”

“Oh my god ,” Hinata muttered, flopping onto the bed like he’d just been mortally wounded. “You’re so full of it.”

Kageyama looked up then, a small smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth. “That’s rich, coming from the guy who made Hoshiumi record his speech after the game.”

“It was a good speech.”

“You almost cried. It was cringe.”

The energy softened after that, their banter fading into the background as the zippers started closing and the bags started filling. Hinata sat cross-legged now, surrounded by a haphazard pile of t-shirts that definitely wouldn’t all fit.

Kageyama was kneeling beside his own half-zipped suitcase, brow furrowed, clearly trying to remember what he’d forgotten.

“I swear I had two chargers,” he mumbled, patting his pockets for the third time.

Hinata peeked under his own pillow. “Found one. Mine now.”

“Hey—”

“You said you valued the team more than personal belongings,” Hinata teased, holding the charger hostage with a grin.

Kageyama didn’t rise to the bait this time. He just shook his head, amused, and went back to folding a pair of sweatpants for the fourth time.

The quiet between them stretched out, easier now, like slipping back into an old rhythm.

Hinata watched him for a moment. The slant of his shoulders. The way his hair still stuck out at odd angles from his shower earlier. There was something oddly intimate about this: two people folding up the remnants of something shared. Not just two weeks, but everything before it.

Kageyama glanced up, catching Hinata’s gaze. He didn’t look away.

“What?” Hinata asked, voice lighter than he felt.

Kageyama shrugged, but he didn’t stop looking.

“Just waiting for you to say you’re moving to the Bahamas or something.”

Hinata looked up, blinking.

There was a beat of silence. Then he snorted. “What, and traumatize you again?”

Kageyama’s mouth twitched. “You’ve done it once before.”

Hinata rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. My bad.”

Another pause. The kind that lingered just long enough to make something loosen in Hinata’s chest.

He straightened. The tone had shifted. Still playful. But quieter now.

“Well, no Brazil or Bahamas this time. I’m staying in Tokyo.”

Kageyama’s expression changed just slightly. “Oh?”

“Yeah. Jackals’ practice starts soon. Figured I should start looking for an apartment once this thing ends.”

Kageyama sat back a little. His voice was quieter now. “That’s… good.”

They both let the quiet settle again, like dust after a storm. The weight of everything not said hovered just above them.

“You know,” Hinata said, tossing a shirt into his bag, “we could talk about it. About… this .”

He didn’t look at Kageyama as he said it. Just fiddled with the zipper on his side pocket like it needed adjusting.

Kageyama looked at him. Really looked. “I know. And I think we should, but… I don’t want to rush it. I think we’re still catching up.”

Hinata nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

“To be honest, I don’t even know what I’m doing.”

“Yeah,” Hinata said once more, a smile drawn across his face. “I don’t think I know, either.”

That made Kageyama laugh. Genuinely. “We might be the worst adults ever.”

“We could always ask Suga, I guess,” Hinata added, throwing a balled-up sock at him, his tone light and sarcastic. “I think he’s good at ‘adulting’.”

“Oh, shit ,” Kageyama said as if he’d suddenly remembered about his friend’s existence. “Suga. I haven’t texted in days . He’s going to kill me.”

“What are you? His son ?” Hinata laughed at Tobio’s expression. He seemed truly mortified. 

“At this point, I might as well be.” Replied Kageyama, as he closed the last zipper of his bag.

 

---

 

The hotel lobby had quieted to a low murmur. No more frantic zipping of bags or last-minute room checks. Most of the players had already peeled away throughout the morning, drifting toward stations, airports, early flights, or the arms of people waiting back home.

Ushijima had left with his manager before sunrise. Hoshiumi vanished with a woman in power heels who barely gave the desk clerk a glance. Kiryu and Fukuda took a cab after exchanging sleepy back pats with whoever was still around. Even Bokuto, who had looked the most reluctant, had thrown his duffel over his shoulder and taken off with a too-loud “I’m fine!” that no one believed. His ears were still pink when he mentioned Akaashi hadn’t made it to Tokyo yet.

Now only Hinata and Kageyama remained.

They stood outside the hotel entrance, bags at their feet, breeze teasing at the hem of their hoodies. The morning sun was soft and warm, gleaming over the pavement. The sky stretched pale blue above them, as if the day itself had calmed just for their goodbye.

Kageyama adjusted the strap on his bag, his shoulder flexing as he stole a glance at Hinata.

“You’re sure they’re coming?”

Hinata smirked. “They said they’d be here before lunch. Don’t worry. I’m not sleeping on the sidewalk.”

Kageyama made a faint sound, half grunt, half breath. “Still, feels weird to leave like this.”

Hinata nudged him with his foot. “Why? You miss me already?”

Kageyama narrowed his eyes, but the corner of his mouth curved. “Don’t let that kiss get to your head, moron.”

They didn’t look at each other directly. Just hovered in the same space. Like magnets refusing to pull apart.

“Bet you’ll text first,” Hinata said.

“I’m not playing that game.”

“Because you know you’ll lose.”

“You have an unhealthy obsession with winning.”

Hinata smiled wider. “Only when it’s against you, I guess.”

Kageyama blinked once. His expression didn’t change much, but something in his shoulders slackened. His eyes softened.

Then he muttered, “Is Hinata Shoyo flirting?”

“Why? Are you gonna flirt back?”

“Oh, no . I don’t trust you at all. I bet you’re thinking about buying a ticket back to Brazil as we speak.”

“You don’t trust me? You literally slept next to me last night!”

“I was drunk.”

“You curled into me.”

“I—shut up.”

Hinata’s laughter tumbled out, bright and full.

Then, as the sound faded, a quiet settled between them. Something stretched tight with weight, but not heavy. Not uncomfortable. Just full.

Hinata shifted closer, gaze dipping to Kageyama’s mouth, then flicking up.

“What would you do if I kissed you right now?” he asked, voice low, teasing.

Kageyama’s ears flushed red. “I’d probably miss my train.”

“You’d definitely miss your train.”

Kageyama hesitated. Just for a second.

And then, he leaned in, slow. Let their foreheads touch. Not a kiss, but something so close it hummed in both their chests. His breath tickled against Hinata’s lips.

“You’re gonna be late too,” he murmured.

“I’m not going far.”

They stayed like that for another second, noses brushing faintly, like they both thought about it. Like the kiss was there, waiting, but didn’t need to happen to be real.

And then Kageyama stepped back.

He picked up his bag, turned on his heel.

“Text me when you find an apartment,” he said, not looking back.

“You’ll be the first to know.”

Kageyama raised one hand in a loose wave. Hinata watched until he turned the corner.

Just then, a car honked. Hinata turned just in time to see a very happy Kuroo leaning halfway out the window of a black sedan, sunglasses glinting under the sun.

“Took you long enough!” he called. “Did you make out in the bushes or something?”

Hinata slid into the backseat, still smiling, still pink in the cheeks. “We just said goodbye like adults.”

Kenma barely glanced up from his phone. “So, kissing.”

Hinata groaned and ducked his head. “You two are the worst.”

“Hey,” Kuroo said as he pulled into traffic, glancing at Hinata through the mirror. “Whatever that was— it looked good on you.”

Hinata didn’t answer. Just turned toward the window, lips still tugged into a grin he couldn’t seem to shake.

Chapter 65: Chapter LXIV

“So,” Kuroo said, looking at Hinata from the rearview mirror. “Japan’s golden boy. Fresh off his nationwide tour and his national training. Did they give you a crown at the end or just let you kiss Kageyama?”

“You’re not funny.”

Kenma glanced up from his phone in the passenger seat. “He’s kind of funny.”

“He’s the worst.”

Kuroo smirked. “You’re glowing . What happened at that camp? Was it all volleyball or just a lot of meaningful eye contact and barely concealed tension?”

Hinata let his head thunk against the window. “I hate you both.”

“Oh my god,” Kenma said, looking at Kuroo now. “He’s not denying it.”

“Right? That’s how you know it’s real.”

Hinata shut his eyes and let the teasing roll over him, but he couldn’t stop the smile twitching at the edge of his mouth. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk about it. He just didn’t know how yet. Not when everything still felt like it was buzzing just under his skin.

Kuroo and Kenma’s apartment was, as usual, a strange mix of clean and chaos. Kenma’s streaming setup was tucked neatly in one corner, monitors glowing faintly even though he hadn’t used them all day. There were snacks on the table, shoes by the door, and a sleepy cat sprawled across the couch like it owned the place.

“You still like fried chicken?” Kuroo called from the kitchen. “We ordered from our favorite place.”

Hinata’s stomach growled. “You guys are too good to me.”

“You’re a national treasure now, Shoyo. Gotta keep you well fed.”

They ate on the floor, cross-legged around the low table, Kuroo pouring beers and Kenma half-asleep against a pillow. Hinata told them about the training camp. About the drills, the coaches, the tension. Hoshiumi’s chaotic energy. Bokuto’s refusal to sit still. Ushijima’s dry sarcasm. And Kageyama, of course.

He didn’t mean to talk about him so much. But his name kept coming up. Always in the periphery. Always right there.

Kenma was the one who finally pointed it out.

“You and Kageyama,” he said, eyes flicking up from his phone. “I’m assuming it’s all back to normal between you two?”

Hinata froze halfway through picking up a piece of fried chicken.

Kuroo made a soft “ ohoho? ” sound from the kitchen.

Hinata dropped the chicken. “It’s... complicated.”

“It always is with him,” Kenma said simply. “But you seem happier. At least since last time I saw you.”

Hinata remembered the last time he’d seen Kenma was back at Suga’s house for the reunion party. Back then, he’d barely seen Kageyama a couple of times since he had come back from Brazil. Things were so… tense. He could feel a cold, tall wall between them every time he tried to approach him. It had seemed something permanent and unbreakable back then. Hinata could feel the goosebumps forming in his arms as he thought about how different things felt now. 

“I think I am.” He finally responded. 

Kuroo wandered back over, beer in hand. “You think you are? What’s holding you back? Aside from your combined inability to say what you actually feel?”

Hinata sighed, letting himself sink deeper into the cushions. “It’s not like we had a big talk. Things just kind of... happened. And then they didn’t. And then we were just... there.”

Kenma raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t talk at all?”

Hinata hesitated. “Not really.”

Kuroo gave a low whistle. “Damn.”

“I just don’t want to mess this up,” Hinata said quietly. “It’s actually kind of scary. I mean… I spent so long trying not to think about him. When I went to Brazil, I... I blocked him. From everything. I thought if I stopped seeing him, I’d stop missing him.”

Kenma didn’t say anything, but he sat a little closer. That was his version of comfort.

Hinata exhaled. “But I didn’t. And now it’s like—he’s in everything again. He’s in my head. My chest. In every game I play. In everything I do.”

Kuroo laughed. “Oh? Never expected to see you talk like that for anything other than volleyball.”

Hinata opened his mouth, but then closed it again immediately. “I was going to say the cheesiest thing ever. Please shoot me.”

Kenma pointed at him with his own piece of fried chicken. “You have to say it now. We’ll kick you out if you don’t.”

Hinata wanted to bury himself six feet under, so nobody would ever find him ever again.

“It’s just that… I don’t know. It’s so weird knowing that I fell in love with volleyball before I even met Kageyama, but now, I can’t think of one without the other. It’s like I’ll never be able to step in the court without his name being written across my brain the entire time. Kageyama, he… I think he makes me feel the same way playing volleyball does.”

By the end of his sentence, Hinata could feel the warmth in his cheeks, and he hated it. He hated it but at the same time, it made him feel inexplicably excited. 

“Well, shit.” Kuroo replied, finally. “I think our boy’s got it bad .”

 

---

 

By mid-morning, Kuroo had Hinata standing in a stranger’s living room, staring at a peeling windowsill and holding a clipboard like he was about to host a reality show.

“So?” Kuroo asked. “What do you think?”

Hinata squinted. “It smells like wet carpet and despair.”

“It’s charming ,” Kuroo corrected, nudging a door open with his foot. “Character. Guys your age are always asking for authenticity.”

The whole apartment hunt had been orchestrated like a covert operation. As soon as Hinata had signed with the Black Jackals, he’d called Kuroo and Kenma to help him out with the entire apartment hunting. Not only did they both already live in Tokyo, Shoyo had the feeling they would do a better job than he could ever have. Kuroo had surprised him with a spreadsheet, a clipboard, and too much enthusiasm. Kenma had already filtered twenty possible options down to three. It turned out Kuroo’s connections in the business world extended beyond volleyball. He was friends with half the real estate agents in Tokyo thanks to all the sponsorship, marketing, and relocation logistics he handled for the Japan Volleyball Association. Between the two of them, Hinata didn’t have to lift a finger. Just show up, try not to insult the wallpaper, and decide where he wanted to live.

Kenma, trailing behind them while checking the apartment layout on his phone, murmured, “I told you we should’ve started with Apartment Two.”

“We’re building suspense,” Kuroo said. “You can’t show him the good stuff first. You’ve got to lower expectations.”

Hinata wandered into the tiny kitchen. There were stains on the backsplash that looked vaguely like a continent.

“It’s like... someone died here,” he muttered.

Kuroo leaned in. “Only on the inside.”

The realtor, wisely standing near the door and pretending not to listen, cleared her throat. “Shall we move on?”

“Please,” Hinata said, already halfway out.

Apartment Two was a different beast. Modern. White walls. Natural light. The smell of new paint. The kind of place that came with a suspicious lack of personality but very good lighting for social media posts. 

Kenma moved through it like a ghost, cataloging specs, mumbling under his breath about fiber optic internet access and USB outlets in the wall sockets.

Hinata threw himself dramatically onto the couch. “This is the kind of place that looks like it belongs to someone who uses a standing desk and lies about watching foreign films.”

Kuroo leaned against the kitchen counter. “You do watch foreign films.”

“Yeah, but I don’t lie about liking them.”

Kenma didn’t look up from his phone. “You said the third Harry Potter film made you anxious for three days.”

“I said it was good because it made me anxious. That’s the point.”

Kuroo wandered toward the hallway. “There’s only one bedroom. If Kageyama ever visits, you’ll have to sleep head-to-foot.”

Hinata blinked. “Why would—?”

Kuroo didn’t turn around. “Just saying. Think ahead.”

Hinata flushed all the way to his ears. “I haven’t even picked an apartment yet and you’re planning sleepovers?”

Kenma smirked. “You’ve checked your phone six times.”

“I—what?”

“Since we got here.”

Hinata glared at him. “I’m allowed to check my messages.”

“No one said you weren’t.”

He checked again anyway. Nothing from Kageyama. Just Bokuto texting a picture of a homemade bento and the caption: do you think Akaashi would be proud??

Hinata sighed.

 

---

 

Apartment Three was the outlier.

It was older. Nothing fancy, no glossy finishes, but it had warmth. The floorboards creaked in a comforting way. The hallway had a weird curve. There were hooks by the door someone had installed by hand, uneven but thoughtful. The bedroom window faced west, and Hinata stood in the sunlight for a minute longer than necessary.

“This one,” he said, almost before he meant to. Almost to himself. 

Kenma looked up. “Really? We haven’t even seen the entire thing.”

“Yeah. I don’t know. It just… feels right.”

Kuroo narrowed his eyes. “I thought you liked standing desks and subtitles.”

“I do. But I think I’ve made up my mind.” Hinata muttered.

Kenma was silent for a beat too long, then nodded once.

Hinata didn’t say what he was actually thinking: that the light in this room reminded him of the gym at sunset. The way Kageyama’s face looked when he was focused but soft. That the window faced perfectly the side of the bed Tobio leaned toward, like it was meant to be there just for him.

He didn’t say any of that. But he felt it. He felt it, warm inside his chest. 

They signed the papers that afternoon, with Hinata bouncing his leg and spinning a pen in his fingers the entire time. 

“Congratulations,” the landlord said, sliding the final page across the desk.

Hinata beamed. “Thanks.”

He checked his phone once more.

Still nothing.

Chapter 66: Chapter LXV

The smell of coffee reached him before consciousness did. A sharp, bitter roast that clung to the air and cut through the faint hum of electronics. Hinata groaned softly, turned once in the warm cocoon of his borrowed blanket, and blinked up at the ceiling of Kenma’s apartment.

Tokyo sunlight streamed in through the slats of the window blinds, throwing pale lines across the floor and the rumpled cushions of the futon. Somewhere behind the half-open sliding door, he could hear soft tapping. Not typing, but a steady rhythm of thumb against buttons. Familiar. Comforting.

Kenma was gaming.

Hinata sat up slowly, blanket still tangled around his legs, and dragged himself into the kitchen area like a half-awake slug. His hair stuck out at every possible angle. His eyes stung from too little sleep.

“Coffee?” Kenma asked, without turning around.

Hinata yawned into his fist. “God, yes.”

“There are some mugs under the sink.”

Kenma was already cross-legged on the couch, a controller in his lap, a hoodie slung loosely around his shoulders. The kitchen table was covered in half-eaten convenience store snacks and what looked like a guide to property tax law.

Hinata took the mug, inhaled deeply, and let his body drop onto the floor with a thud.

“You’re up late,” he mumbled.

“I’m always up late,” Kenma said, eyes still on the screen. “That’s the only reason why I own a company in the first place.”

They sat in the kind of silence that only came from years of knowing each other. No pressure, no awkwardness, just the slow drip of caffeine and digital sound effects. Hinata sipped his coffee, wincing at the bite of it. Bitter. Probably Kuroo’s choice.

Kenma finally looked over at him, lazy and unreadable. “You looked happy when we came back home last night.”

Hinata blinked. “Did I?”

“You had a stupid grin on your face,” Kenma said, returning his eyes to the screen. “I thought maybe someone finally texted you. Or maybe you’re just happy about your new place.”

Hinata groaned. “Why are you like this?”

Kenma just shrugged. “I figured you’d tell me eventually.”

He didn’t say the name, but he didn’t have to. The air around them shifted slightly, a new kind of awareness creeping in.

Hinata sipped again, slower now. “You know… it’s weird. I thought it’d be more awkward.”

Kenma paused his game, setting the controller down. His full attention turned toward Hinata now, sharp and quiet. “The camp?”

“Yeah,” Hinata said. “And him.”

Kenma raised an eyebrow.

“I thought after everything… after how things ended before I left…” Hinata rubbed the back of his neck, fingers ghosting through his hair. “I wasn’t sure we’d even be able to talk like normal. But we did. I mean. Eventually.”

Kenma tilted his head. “And now?”

Hinata hesitated. Looked down into his coffee. “Now it feels like… like we’re both trying. Like we’re figuring it out. Slowly.”

Kenma made a thoughtful noise, neither encouragement nor skepticism.

Hinata continued, quieter. “I missed him. More than I let myself admit, sometimes.”

There was a long pause.

Then Kenma leaned back, picked up his controller again, and said, “So… you two are a thing now, or just emotionally codependent volleyball freaks?”

Hinata choked on his coffee.

Kenma didn’t even blink.

“I– We’re not–” Hinata sputtered, face flushing fast. “We haven’t even—! I mean—we kissed. Okay? Just once. But it’s not like—it’s not—”

Kenma paused his game again. Looked at him flatly. “So, freaks.”

Hinata slumped. “Yes.”

They sat there, the city noise bleeding in faintly from the window, the faint sound of boiling water from the kitchen as the automatic kettle reset.

Hinata rested his chin on his knees. “He makes me feel like I’m still sixteen sometimes. Like nothing’s changed.”

“But everything has,” Kenma said.

Hinata nodded. “Yeah. Everything.”

Silence again. The weight of it heavier, but not bad. Just honest.

Kenma reached over, picked a cookie from the table, and bit into it. “You’ll figure it out, eventually. You’re both dumb, but not that dumb.”

Hinata smiled softly. “Thanks.”

Kenma stared at him. “Kuroo said that. I’m just repeating it.”

Hinata laughed. And this time, it wasn’t awkward or nervous, it was warm and light and maybe a little grateful.

 

---

 

Hinata left Tokyo early that afternoon, his bag slung over one shoulder and a box of leftovers in his arms (courtesy of Kuroo, who’d insisted he needed “real food” for the train) Kenma waved from the kitchen but didn’t move from his gaming chair. Typical.

“Don’t forget to text me when you get home,” Kuroo said as he helped Hinata into his sneakers.

“I won’t,” Hinata promised, muffled through a mouthful of onigiri. “Thanks for letting me crash.”

“Please. You’re always welcome, Shoyo.”

Kuroo tugged the door open, then clapped a hand on Hinata’s shoulder before he left. “See you next week, yeah?”

Hinata just smiled at him, small and a little tired, but grateful. “Of course.”

The ride back to Miyagi passed in a blur of glassy windows and pale blue sky. Hinata stared out most of the time, earbuds in, though he wasn’t really listening to anything specific, just whatever song the shuffle mode played. His phone sat silent beside him. No new messages.

A part of him wanted to be annoyed. It had been almost two days since they’d said goodbye, but the truth was, he didn’t know what he wanted Kageyama to say. They hadn’t exactly defined anything. There had been a kiss. Long stares. A whole lifetime of things unspoken. But they had also parted with smiles, and maybe that was already more than what they’d had the first time.

Still, he checked his phone at every station.

When he stepped through the front gate of his house, the porch light was already on. His mom poked her head out the window as soon as she heard the gravel crunch.

“Shoyo?” she called, voice half-surprised, half-laughing. “You’re early!”

“Train got in a little faster than I thought,” he said as he kicked his shoes off at the door.

Natsu came running down the hallway in her socks, nearly skidding into him. She launched herself into his arms with an easy shriek of his name.

“I missed you,” she said, squeezing around his middle.

“You saw me two weeks ago.”

“Still missed you.”

“Okay, okay, I missed you too.”

Dinner was already warm on the stove and it felt like slipping back into something that had never gone cold. Natsu peppered him with questions as they ate, mostly about who from the camp was famous now, and whether Bokuto was still loud and if Ushijima was still scary. Their mom watched quietly, occasionally smiling at the two of them.

It wasn’t until after dinner, when he was helping his mom hang laundry in the back room, that she spoke again.

“I forgot to tell you,” she said, passing him a damp towel. “Tobio stopped by earlier this week.”

Hinata froze, his hand midair.

“What?” he said, voice too quick.

She didn’t look up. “Monday, the day he came back from the camp. He brought Natsu some of those melon gummies she likes. Said he was back in town for a day and wanted to check in.”

Hinata blinked.

“He also brought me some pastries,” she added, as if that detail somehow made things more normal. “And asked if you’d made it safely to your friends’ house.”

“Oh,” Hinata said.

He couldn’t stop the feeling that rose in his chest, like something was blooming too fast and too hot. He tried to imagine Kageyama on their porch, grocery bag in one hand, probably looking stiff and uncomfortable, but coming anyway.

His mom gave him a sideways glance, a soft look in her eyes. “You two are talking again, right?”

“Yeah,” Hinata said, quieter this time. “We are.”

She didn’t press.

Later that night, after Natsu had gone to bed and the house was dim, Hinata lay in his old bed, eyes on the ceiling. Everything smelled the same: his room, the summer air through the screen, the detergent his mom always used. But he felt different.

And it wasn’t just Tokyo. Or the camp. Or the looming Black Jackals season.

It was Kageyama.

They had finally begun something. Or at least picked up a thread they hadn’t dared touch before. But it was real. Quietly real. He thought back to all the sleepless nights he had spent in that same bed thinking about his feelings towards Kageyama. Wondering if he had a chance, if Tobio felt the same way.

He turned on his side and stared at the glowing screen of his phone for a long moment.

No message.

Still, he smiled to himself.

Then he opened his texts and typed:

made it home, found an apartment
natsu says thanks for the gummies, mom says thanks for the pastries
thanks for stopping by

He hovered for a second. Then hit send.

The reply came only five minutes later.

you’re welcome
you lost, btw. you texted first.

Hinata smashed his head against the pillow, trying hard not to smile like an idiot. Something in his stomach tingled. 

Chapter 67: Chapter LXVI

Hinata hadn’t expected to fall asleep. He actually meant to text Kageyama back. Maybe the camp, apartment hunting and travel back home had finally caught up to him. 

He was barely opening his eyes when his phone buzzed under his pillow, the vibration shook him from the half-dream he’d slipped into, not deep enough to forget, but far enough to feel startled when he sat up, heart stuttering in his chest.

He blinked at the screen, the pale blue glow illuminating the ceiling above.

JVA - Official Notice of National Team Selection

His thumb hovered for a second.

Then he opened it.

He scanned the subject line first, then the body of the message, his sleep-fogged brain trying to rearrange the words into something that made sense.

Congratulations. You have been officially selected to join the Japanese Men’s National Volleyball Team for the upcoming season.

Not as a preliminary roster. Not a maybe. Official .

He reread the line twice. Then a third time, just to be sure it wasn’t some weird post-camp dream. But no, it was real. The kind of real that made his chest fill up like it had just grown too fast for his ribs.

And then, like fate had a sense of timing, his phone lit up again.

Incoming call: Kageyama Tobio

For some reason, that was what made it all click. He laughed, sharp, surprised, and pressed the green button.

“Tobio.” He answered in one breath. “You saw it?”

“I saw it,” Kageyama responded, a little breathless. “You’re in. Hinata, you’re— fuck , you’re officially in.”

Hinata laughed, pure and sharp, heart pounding in his chest. “So are you.”

“I thought I was going to break my phone refreshing,” Kageyama said. “But there it was.”

“Did you see my name before yours?”

“Not really. My email came in a little earlier. The perks of being my second Olympics, I guess.”

“So I came second,” Hinata said dramatically.

“Stop whining, idiot.”

Hinata let his head fall back on his pillow. He couldn’t stop grinning. “Holy shit, Tobio.”

“I know.”

They were quiet for a moment, both overwhelmed in the best way. Just breathing through the chaos.

“You really made it,” Kageyama said at last. “You came back from Brazil and made it.”

Hinata smiled, voice suddenly softer. “So did you.”

They were in. Together.

Really, truly, together .

Hinata flushed, glad no one could see his face. His fingers curled in the sheets.

“So,” he said, pushing past the thudding in his chest, “I guess we’ll be teammates again.”

“Looks like it.”

“You gonna be nice this time?”

“I’m always nice.”

Hinata laughed, too loud for the silence of the night. “You literally made Ushijima cry once.”

“He didn’t cry.”

“He looked like he wanted to punch you.”

“He always looks like that.”

Hinata grinned. “Still. You better be nice. Or I’m exposing you to your fan club.”

“You are unbelievable.”

They fell into a pause then, the kind that didn’t feel like silence, just the space that happened when neither of them needed to fill the air with words.

After a moment, Kageyama spoke again, quieter this time.

“I’m glad,” he said.

“About what?”

“That it’s you,” Kageyama said. “That you made it. That you’re—there.”

Hinata’s smile softened. He let himself breathe into it.

“Me too,” he said.

Another pause.

“I missed talking to you,” Hinata added, barely above a whisper.

There was a beat of silence on the other end. Then:

“You could’ve called.”

“You could’ve texted.”

“I didn’t want to bother you.”

“I was waiting for you to bother me.”

Kageyama exhaled, something shaky in it. “You could’ve just said I wasn’t a bother at all.”

Hinata let his eyes slip closed. His heart felt like it was pulsing in places it shouldn’t.

“I would be lying,” he said.

The silence stretched, but neither of them moved to end the call. Hinata turned onto his back again, his hand resting over his chest, the other clutching his phone like it was something delicate.

“You still there?” he asked softly.

“Yeah.”

A beat.

“You sound tired,” Kageyama said.

“I am.” Hinata paused. “But I don’t want to hang up.”

There was a soft exhale on the other end, not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh. Just something warm.

“I was gonna ask how apartment hunting went,” Kageyama said. “Did you find one?”

“I did, actually,” Hinata said, brightening. “Kenma and Kuroo helped me. Well, mostly Kuroo. Apparently, he knows like twenty real estate agents. Rich people stuff.”

Kageyama grunted. “Figures.”

“It’s this third-floor walk-up near the train line. Tiny, but super bright in the morning. The windows creak, and the kitchen’s a joke, but I don’t know…” He smiled to himself. “It feels right. Like I could come home and just crash there, y’know? Like it’d still be mine.”

There was a pause on the other end, then:

“Is it close to the training center?”

“Yeah. Only ten minutes away. Five if I run.”

“I bet I’d make it in four.”

Hinata grinned. “I guess you’ll have to visit then,” Then, adding fastly, “So we can see who runs faster, I mean.”

“Yeah. Of course.”

His voice was quiet again, and Hinata’s smile flickered, softened.

“What about you?” he asked. “Back with the Adlers now?”

“Yeah,” Kageyama said. “We started training yesterday.”

“Does it feel weird?”

Kageyama thought for a second. “Kinda. Everything’s familiar, but also… different.”

“Because of the camp?”

“Yeah. And maybe because I’m different too.” He paused. “Or trying to be.”

Hinata rolled over onto his side, phone still pressed to his ear. “Trying how?”

“I’m trying not to let things get under my skin as much,” Kageyama said. “I think I used to waste too much time getting mad.”

“Wow,” Hinata said. “Look at you. Growth.”

Kageyama groaned. “Shut up.”

Hinata laughed. “No, seriously. That’s good. You were always too tightly wound.”

“You’re tightly wound.”

“I am a string of sunlight.”

“You’re a menace .”

Hinata heard the soft rustle of bedsheets on the other end, like Kageyama had turned over, and imagined him lying there, one arm tucked under his head, staring up at his own ceiling in a city hours away.

Hinata blinked, watching the soft pool of light from the hallway leak under his door.

“It’s nice. Talking like this.” he said suddenly, voice quieter than before.

There was no teasing in it. No punchline. Just honesty, plain and bare.

Kageyama didn’t speak right away.

Then, low and rough:

“I think so, too.”

“You should call more often, then.” Hinata teased. 

“Why me? I called you this time. You should call next time.”

Hinata smiled into his pillow. “I’ll think about it.”

And somehow, it didn’t feel like a promise hanging in the air, it felt like something they were already moving toward.

They didn’t say goodnight for another thirty minutes.

Neither of them wanted to be the first to hang up.

Chapter 68: Chapter LXVII

The quiet of home was different than the quiet of camp. It didn’t buzz with effort or sweat or tension; it was calm, still. Safe.

Hinata sat at the kitchen table in shorts and a threadbare t-shirt he’d had since high school (that used to be much more oversized and now seemed to fit just fine), poking at a slice of watermelon with his fork. Natsu was humming in the background, working on some glittery school project, and his mom stood at the stove making breakfast like she hadn’t just hugged him half to death when he got back two nights ago.

It was surreal.

He’d only been gone a couple of weeks, but somehow, it felt like he’d left a year ago. The version of him who left for training camp was still bouncing off the walls. The one sitting here now had grown quieter. Maybe not visibly. But something inside him had shifted. Hardened. Focused. Softened, too, in certain ways.

He picked up his phone to check the time, and then checked for a text from Kageyama, even though he’d already done that seven times that morning.

Nothing new. But that was okay. They’d talked late into the night before. About volleyball. About the national team. About… everything but them, exactly, and yet also only them.

“Shoyo, if you stare at your phone any harder, it’s gonna catch fire,” his mom said from the stove.

“I’m not—” he began, but Natsu beat him to it.

“He’s texting his boyfriend .”

“I am not!”

“Then why were you giggling at your screen last night?” Natsu shot back, not even looking up from her glitter glue.

“I wasn’t giggling, I was—” he paused. “Okay, fine. Maybe I giggled.”

“Busted,” Natsu chirped.

His mom turned, spatula in hand, her eyebrow arched. “Are we finally going to talk about what’s been going on with Tobio?”

Hinata groaned. “Why do you sound like you’re planning an intervention?”

She shrugged. “I’ve been waiting two years for you to bring it up. I thought if I said anything too early, you’d run off to South America again.”

“That’s not fair!”

Natsu smirked. “You did literally do that.”

Hinata shoved a piece of watermelon in his mouth and made a vague noise of protest. Deep down, though, he was grateful. He hadn’t realized just how much he’d missed this: being teased, being known, being home.

 

---

 

He met Suga at their usual spot, a tiny café wedged between a florist and a bookshop, with an absurd number of hanging plants and a barista who always remembered to top off Hinata’s drink with extra foam art.

Suga was already at a table by the window when Hinata walked in, waving with his usual easy grin. He wore a gray hoodie and thin black glasses, looking exactly like the adult Hinata still half-suspected was a sitcom character sent to mentor him into maturity.

“Look at you,” Suga said when Hinata sat down. “One week back and you already look like you’ve aged five years.”

“Huh? Rude.”

“It’s the ‘I almost kissed my longtime rival in a dark alley outside a bar’ glow,” Suga said, sipping his latte. “Or maybe the ‘I finally kissed my longtime high school crush at the National Team’s Training Center.’ ”

Hinata choked on his drink. “How do you even know that?!”

“Kageyama,” Suga replied. “He needed… guidance.”

Hinata gawked. “He told you?”

“More like grunted through half of it and then stared at his hands like they were holding state secrets.” Suga tilted his head. “But yeah. I got the idea.”

Hinata slumped back in his chair, face burning. “God.”

“I’m happy for you,” Suga said after a moment, voice gentler now. “You deserve something that makes you feel like this.”

Hinata looked up. “Like what?”

“Like you’re scared shitless but also happy. That’s how the good things feel. The ones that really get to you.”

Hinata stared at him. “I think I missed you the most.”

Suga grinned. “Of course you did. I’m everyone’s favorite.”

They laughed. Then, over cinnamon buns and warm mugs, Hinata told him everything. Not all at once. Not in a linear way. But piece by piece. The camp. The kiss. The bar and the arcade. The way Kageyama had looked at him like he meant something.

And Suga just listened. Occasionally teasing. Always listening.

By the end of it, Hinata felt lighter. Not entirely unburdened. But closer. It felt good, letting everything out without any kind of filter. He also wondered how Suga might be feeling, now knowing both sides of the story. 

They’d already gone through two cinnamon buns when Hinata finally fell quiet. Not awkward kind of silent. But that kind of quiet that filled in all the corners of a conversation.

Suga sipped his latte and watched him over the rim of his cup.

“You can just say it, Shoyo.” he said.

Hinata blinked. “Did he tell you about it?”

“About Atsumu?”

Hinata stared at the foam in his drink for a long moment.

Suga didn’t press. He just leaned back in his chair and let the silence do the work.

Finally, Hinata exhaled through his nose. “You already know something, don’t you?”

“Kageyama told me enough to make me want to stab Atsumu with a serving fork,” Suga said lightly. Then his expression softened. “But Tobio was clear. He said it wasn’t his place. That you should tell me—if you ever felt like it.”

Hinata didn’t speak for a while. Not because he didn’t know what to say. But because part of him still wanted to pretend it hadn’t happened.

“I didn’t know,” he said, voice quiet. “I didn’t realize I was part of a... of a game.”

Suga didn’t interrupt.

“He kissed me,” Hinata continued. “Just kissed me, but not because he wanted to. Because he wanted to get under Tobio’s skin. And the worst part is that I didn’t even see it coming. I thought maybe he was just… being Atsumu. Flirty, annoying and dumb. But it wasn’t about me. It was about Tobio.”

Suga tilted his head. “And that pissed you off.”

“Yeah.” Hinata’s hand curled slightly into the sleeve of his hoodie. “It made me feel like I was being moved around without my permission. Like I was the ball and not the player.”

Suga made a soft sound in the back of his throat. “That’s a good way of putting it.”

Hinata looked up at him. “Have you ever—has anyone ever made you feel like that?”

Suga laughed once, not without warmth. “Like I’m just a tool people use to get somewhere? I used to feel it all the time, back in Karasuno. Like I was a last resource strategy used to win a couple of points every now and then.”

Hinata received those words like a punch to the stomach. Back in high school, he’d always wondered how Suga never seemed to mind not spending as much time on the court as they did, especially as a third-year. But maybe, deep down, Hinata had always suspected Suga was just pretending. Just going along with the act so he wouldn’t be a burden. So no one would feel bad. Especially Kageyama, who had taken his place the moment he set foot in Karasuno.

Suga’s voice turned more serious. “But that feeling is long gone, Shoyo. Don’t worry about it. I’m sorry that happened to you, though. But I’m really glad you told me.”

Hinata nodded slowly.

“I think… it was a turning point,” he admitted. “For Kageyama. For myself. It also kind of made me realize everything's more complicated now. We're not just kids anymore.”

“No,” Suga agreed. “You’re not. You’re idiots with too many national team contracts and a habit of falling in love at inconvenient times. But you’re not kids.”

Hinata smiled again. This one smaller. A bit quieter but real.

“It feels good. Letting it off my chest.” he said.

“Yeah? I’m glad, Shoyo. Really.”

Hinata shrugged. “Thanks. For listening.”

Suga reached across the table and stole the last bite of his cinnamon bun.

“Of course, kid. That’s what I’m here for.”

Hinata’s phone buzzed, face-down on the table. He didn’t flip it over—he already knew it wasn’t from Kageyama. Their messages had slowed lately. Sparse, infrequent. They’d gotten used to texting every day, sometimes even calling. But now it was always late at night, after Kageyama finished training and Hinata had wrapped up packing. They weren’t talking as much as he wished they could. Distance and timing were hard.

“I feel like I’m walking on glass lately, when it comes to him,” he said finally. The words dropped with more weight than he’d expected. “It’s stupid. We talk. We text. But it’s not the same. I think too much about what to say, and I think he does, too. I kind of miss treating each other like we normally do. I miss him .”

Suga stirred what was left of his coffee. “Missing someone isn’t stupid, Shoyo.”

“I know. I just thought we’d be closer after the camp. Not further apart. Living so far away from each other isn’t helping either. It’s just too confusing.”

There was a pause, just long enough to make Hinata glance up.

Suga wasn’t looking at him, he was staring into his mug like it had started telling secrets.

“What?” Hinata asked, suspicious.

Suga blinked. “Nothing.”

“Liar.”

“I mean—” Suga hesitated, then sighed dramatically. “Okay, don’t tell Kageyama I told you this.”

Hinata straightened immediately. “What?”

“He’d kill me for saying anything, but...” Suga leaned forward, lowering his voice. “There’s a rumor that the Adlers are moving their training base to Tokyo.”

Hinata blinked. “Wait—what?”

“Nothing confirmed,” Suga added quickly. “But apparently they landed a huge corporate sponsor up here. One that wants them to build out a more visible base. It’s just... floating around. Kageyama hasn’t told you because he probably doesn’t want to jinx it.”

Hinata’s stomach flipped. Hope flared bright and wild in his chest, but he tamped it down.

“But it’s just a rumor?” he asked carefully.

“Yeah. For now.” Suga gave him a soft smile. 

Hinata looked away, down at his hands. “I just— I guess it’s weird, you know? We spent two years being away from each other and I was hoping things would be much different now.”

“They are,” Suga said gently. “They’re so much different.”

Hinata opened his mouth to argue, and couldn’t. His throat worked, but no words came.

“You’re not the only one checking your phone all day, you know,” Suga added with a smirk. “He’s pacing around like a child without his favorite blanket.”

Hinata laughed weakly. “You’re not supposed to tell me that either. Also, that was a shitty metaphor.”

“I know. I’m terrible.” Suga leaned back with a stretch. “But you deserve to know he’s trying. That he wants this. That’s what’s different this time around.”

Hinata let the words sink in. Not just the rumor or the phone calls, but the whole shape of things. That distance didn’t mean disinterest, and silence wasn’t avoidance. They were both learning, slowly, how to navigate something they had never dared talk about until recently. A feeling they had both buried for a long time.

“Thanks,” he said softly.

Suga just smiled. “Now go finish your cinnamon bun and stop being such a tragic anime protagonist.”

Hinata laughed through his nose, finally feeling the tightness in his chest ease. 

Maybe it would be okay. 

Maybe they were already on their way.

Notes:

can you tell who's my comfort haikyuu character? lol

hope you enjoyed this chapter! ALSO, i'm gonna quit my job soon so i'll have more time to write!!!!

Chapter 69: Chapter LXVIII

Notes:

hello beautiful people! sorry i wasn't able to post yesterday, too many things happening in my life (i think it's the ao3 author curse HAHAHA) buuuuut anyways, here we are.

we have finally caught up to what i had prewritten, so i'll try to write as many chapters as i can in the next few days, since i prefer to be a little ahead of what i'm posting (and also to make sure i can keep updating daily), but i hope you guys enjoy this! <3

The morning Hinata moved into his new apartment was a mess from the very first moment.

Not the emotional kind (though that would come later) but the kind involving overstuffed cardboard boxes, a suspiciously bent lamp, and a cab driver who almost refused to load Hinata’s suitcase because “that thing looks like it could crush my engine.”

Suga was the first to arrive, balancing a tray of iced coffees like some sort of seasoned waiter.

“Thought you’d need this,” he said cheerfully, already slipping into the kitchen to inspect the barely functional cabinets. “Wow. This place smells like... unpacked dreams.”

“It smells like fresh paint,” Hinata argued, wiping sweat off his brow. 

“Ah, yes. And crushed budget expectations,” Suga added, peeking into a closet. “Nice.”

Next came Kenma and Kuroo, the latter carrying three chairs on his shoulders and the former following behind him with a single roll of paper towels.

“This is all I’m contributing,” Kenma said flatly, setting the roll on the floor. “Emotionally and physically.”

“I had to bribe five different agents to get this apartment in your budget,” Kuroo said to Hinata, collapsing into a corner of the empty living room. “You could at least pretend to be grateful.”

“I’m so grateful,” Hinata said, grabbing Kuroo’s face between his palms. “You’re the real MVP.”

Kenma sighed and took a photo. “That’s going on your birthday cake this year.”

The front door buzzed again, and Hinata practically leapt to open it.

His mom came in with Natsu barreling past her, both of them carrying small bags and snacks. Natsu threw herself into the apartment like she owned it, already opening drawers and cabinets.

“This is it?” she said, hands on her hips. “It’s small.”

“But mine,” Hinata grinned. “And it’s much bigger than my dorm back in Brazil.”

“Were you living on a cardboard box back there?”

“Natsu,” their mother warned, but Hinata just laughed.

“A pretty hot cardboard box, yeah.”

Within an hour, the apartment was alive with the kind of chaos that only happens when five people try to build furniture with one screwdriver, a bent Allen key, and a playlist that kept switching between J-pop and Kenma’s lo-fi Animal Crossing tracks.

Boxes piled up like unstable fortresses. Someone had brought a welcome mat that unironically read "Hi! Welcome to Chili’s!". Suga got trapped in the bathroom for seven minutes when the door jammed, and Kuroo accidentally built the bookshelf backwards twice.

“I’m a promotional manager, not a carpenter,” he huffed.

“Tragic,” said Kenma, filming him.

In the middle of it all, Hinata stood in his new bedroom, staring out the window. The curtains weren’t up yet, and the city beyond was a little too bright, a little too loud. But it was his. His own space, his own start. It was true, what he had told Natsu. 

When he moved to Brazil, his mom helped him financially, and he had to get a part time job to maintain his lifestyle back there. He wasn’t able to afford an entire apartment, so he shared rooms with a guy named Pedro who barely spoke any english. Now, the entire apartment was his. He’d saved some money from his job in Brazil, and he was going to start getting paid (and no small sum by any means) by the Black Jackals that very month. He was finally able to get his own place. Small, and with the desperate need of some renovations, but undeniably his . 

His phone buzzed on the floor next to a half-empty duffel.

Oikawa:
I’m choosing to believe you moved into a place with less spiders than your last one. Don’t forget to buy plates this time. And not the microwave kind.

Hinata:
i have 2 mugs and half a cutting board. thriving.

“Who are you texting?” Suga asked, appearing at the doorway with a half-built coat rack under one arm.

“Oikawa.”

“Tell him to stop interrupting or come help.”

Hinata grinned. “He says hi.”

“I’ll burn this place down,” Suga muttered, and disappeared again.

Later, once the last box had been flattened and the last takeout container had been scraped clean, Hinata stood in the middle of his not-so-empty-anymore living room. His mom was wiping down the sink. Natsu had passed out on the new sofa, her legs impossibly tangled in a blanket Kuroo insisted was very “aesthetic.”

“Proud of you, Shoyo.” His mom said, coming to stand beside him. “I wish I could’ve helped you like this when you moved out over two years ago.”

His throat closed a little, but he smiled anyways. “Thanks, Mom.”

 

---

 

By the time evening rolled in and the last cabinet door stopped squeaking, the apartment had begun to feel almost real.

Hinata’s mom had insisted on cleaning the bathroom “properly” before letting anyone actually use it, and Natsu had raided a corner convenience store for snacks. Suga, naturally, had claimed the sofa and was scrolling through his phone, probably updating Daichi. Both Kuroo and Kenma had fled the scene after finishing their well-deserved snacks, looking more tired than they’d admit.

The bed, donated by Kuroo's mysterious furniture network, was claimed early by Hinata’s mom and Natsu, who both spread out like they were claiming new land. Suga flopped across the living room couch with a half-drunk can of lemonade and a smug smile.

“You know, I don’t remember volunteering to sleep on the couch,” he said, arms tucked behind his head.

“Can’t be less comfortable than sleeping on the floor,” Hinata called from where he was unfolding a futon by the floor.

“I carried your dumb vacuum up three flights of stairs.”

“You dragged it.”

“It still made it, didn’t it? And intact, no less.”

Across the place, Hinata’s mom called out from Hinata’s room, “Boys, inside voices please.”

Suga chuckled softly, the kind of laughter that comes from old affection.

Hinata flopped down onto the futon, face-first into the pillow. The exhaustion was finally catching up to him in waves: legs sore, arms a little shaky, neck stiff from carrying boxes at weird angles. But the emotional fatigue, of change, of newness, was heavier than any of that.

The apartment was quiet now. The kind of quiet that only existed after a day full of people, warm voices still echoing faintly in the walls, shoes kicked off at odd angles by the door, empty water bottles scattered across cardboard boxes like confetti. From the bedroom, Natsu mumbled something in her sleep and turned over. In the living room, Suga made a soft, unconscious sound on the couch. Their mom was snoring faintly, a familiar comfort beneath it all.

Hinata didn’t move at first. The futon crinkled underneath him, thin and a little lumpy, but not bad. A delivery truck rumbled below on the street. Tokyo never fully slept.

He reached for his phone without thinking, the screen lit up his face in the dark.

One unread message.

Tobio:
Did you end up using the cursed screwdriver to open your fridge box?

A grin tugged at his mouth before he could stop it. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, thumbs twitching with the instinct to type back something stupid, but before he could hit send, another thought crossed his mind. Before he could even regret it, he pressed the phone icon on his screen. 

As he did so, his chest did something unfamiliar. It twisted in a way that didn’t hurt, exactly, but wasn’t easy to name.

Kageyama picked up the call after two rings. 

“Hey,” Hinata whispered, voice catching a little in the back of his throat.

There was a pause on the other end before he heard a “Hey.”

Kageyama’s voice was low and soft. Just a little grainy from the connection, like he was talking through the edge of sleep or like he’d been lying in bed too, holding his phone the same way.

“You called,” Kageyama continued.

“Wow. You noticed? Genius.”

“Shut up,” Kageyama complained from the other side of the call. “It’s too late to be smart.”

There was a small pause. No awkwardness. Just the faint sound of fabric rustling. Kageyama shifting, maybe.

“So?” Kageyama continued. “Did you use the screwdriver?”

Hinata laughed under his breath. He’d told Kageyama about the old screwdriver he’d brought from home. Since Hinata had grown up without a father and his mom wasn’t particularly fond of fixing things around the house, they usually relied on neighbors whenever anything required actual tools. That’s why the tools they did have were few and most of them old. Somehow, they’d ended up with just one crooked screwdriver that looked a little too unstable to handle any real job.

“It broke.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. We used chopsticks instead.”

He could almost hear Kageyama blink. “…What?”

“Kenma got weirdly emotional about it. Said it was borderline offensive.”

A puff of air came through the speaker. Not quite a laugh. But close.

Hinata’s smile softened.

The blanket slipped down a little from where it had been tucked over his chin, and he pulled it back up automatically, voice lowering even more. Not because he had to. Just because the quiet felt good. Like if he spoke too loud, the moment might tip over and spill.

Kageyama spoke again, voice slower now. “I wanted to text earlier, but I figured you’d be busy. Didn’t want to bother.”

“You could’ve,” Hinata said. “It wouldn’t have been a bother.”

There was a beat. Then another.

“You learn fast, don’t you?” Kageyama said. It was tentative. Just a thread of something more in his tone, reaching past the distance between them and curling into the space between Hinata’s ribs.

It felt like something Hinata wasn’t sure how to hold.

He turned his head into the pillow. “I’m trying.”

He could almost hear the smile on Kageyama's face. “So, how’s the apartment?”

Hinata exhaled slowly. “Messy. Kinda small. But I’m digging it.”

Kageyama didn’t say anything for a while. For a moment, Hinata thought maybe the call had dropped.

“Wish I could see it.”

The blanket was suddenly too warm.

Hinata’s fingers tightened around the edge of it, pulling it back up near his nose. His heart beat against the side of his face, impossibly loud.

He didn’t think. Just said it.

“You will.”

More silence, but the kind that said everything.

He shifted again, curling toward the phone like it might disappear if he moved too far. “This feels kinda stupid,” he muttered.

“What does?”

“Talking like this. I feel like I’m gonna get in trouble.”

“For what?”

“I dunno. Staying up. Whispering on the phone.”

There was a pause. Then Kageyama said, “You used to do this before?”

Hinata nodded. “Yeah. Back in high school. I used to stay up playing videogames with Kenma over the phone. Usually after matches. Or, like, if we lost a tournament and couldn’t sleep.”

“You’ve always been so loud. You used to suck at whispering.”

“Still do.”

“That’s true. You’re not even trying.”

Hinata grinned again, small and involuntary. His voice dropped another octave. “Better?”

“No.”

He huffed out a laugh. Then the room was quiet again.

He thought about Suga’s words a few days ago, and he could feel the question rise in his throat. The one he hadn’t let himself ask. 

Are the Adlers really moving to Tokyo?

He wanted to ask. Wanted to hear it from him. He wanted to ask what it would mean if Kageyama moved to Tokyo. Moved close to him. 

But the moment felt too soft. Too close. He didn’t want to ruin it by making it real.

So instead, Hinata smiled faintly into the dark. “Did you ever do that? Like, whisper into the mic so your sister wouldn’t hear?”

“I didn’t really play videogames with people that much. Never over the phone, at least.”

Hinata nodded slowly, even though Kageyama couldn’t see it. “Right.”

A rustle of movement. Then Kageyama said, almost too quiet, “But this is… kind of nice.”

Hinata’s heart beat a little harder.

He didn’t respond. Just kept listening to the soft static, the sound of Kageyama breathing, the quiet weight of a phone call that had outlasted all the other noise in his day.

“You still there?” Kageyama asked.

“Yeah,” Hinata replied. “Still here.”

Hinata smiled to himself.

The line stayed open for a long time after that. Neither of them spoke again. But they didn’t really have to.

Chapter 70: Chapter LXIX

The apartment was quiet again by late morning, but this time, it was different. Not the soft hush of sleeping people, but the aftermath of departure.

The bed was neatly made again. Natsu’s duffel bag was gone. Suga had folded the blanket on the couch with military precision, even though he’d spilled half a bottle of water there in the middle of the night. His mom had left a note on the kitchen counter: “Buy real food. Not just instant curry. Text me when you get home safe from training. – Love, Mom”

Hinata stood in the middle of it all, barefoot and slightly dazed. The apartment suddenly felt twice as big. Not because it was large—because it wasn’t—but because all the noise had left with the people who made it.

They’d hugged him a little too tight, all three of them. Natsu tried to pretend she wasn’t sad but sniffled into her sleeve. His mom checked three times to make sure he had his key. Suga just clapped him on the back and said, “You’ve got this, sunshine,” in a voice that made Hinata want to cry for no reason at all.

He hadn’t. He didn’t cry.

But he did stare at the door for a while after it closed.

The silence pressed into him like altitude.

His phone buzzed. A new group chat.

Kenma:
let us know if the apartment collapses or catches fire.

Kuroo:
That was dramatic. What he means is: call if you need anything. We’re 20 mins away.

Hinata smiled, fingers typing without thinking.

Hinata:
i’m alive. so far.

Kenma:
...mid-tier survival instincts.

Kuroo:
He’s just mad you didn’t let him design your whole apartment.

Hinata:
he tried to buy LED strip lights.

Kenma:
it was IRONIC.

Hinata laughed under his breath, thumb hovering over the reply button. He didn’t send anything else. Just let the moment settle. It helped.

He moved slowly that morning, making eggs that came out half-burnt and barely edible, showering for too long, sitting on the floor to stretch while the sun shifted across the room. His mind kept drifting, forward, backward, into nothing. He kept hearing Kageyama’s voice from the night before, the way it had dropped low and warm across the phone line. It sent chills across his spine.

 

---

 

By the time he reached the Jackals’ gym, the sun had shifted to that early-afternoon haze that made everything too bright to look at directly. The building stood tall and glassy, tucked behind office towers in a tucked-away district of Tokyo that still smelled like concrete and printer ink.

He stepped inside and changed shoes in the entryway. The moment he crossed into the gym, his breath caught in his throat.

It was huge.

Not quite the scale of the national training center, since there were fewer courts, but the space felt taller somehow. More exposed. High ceilings, steel beams, afternoon light pouring in through long, rectangular skylights. The echo of each ball that hit the hardwood snapped through the air like punctuation.

He blinked. And for a second, he wasn’t in the Black Jackals gym anymore.

He was back at the national center. Gym lights blinding. His hands still stinging from a perfect set. Kageyama’s eyes bluer under the light that entered from the windows.

That kiss, soft and real.

Hinata shook his head quickly, blinking the thought away like water.

Not now.

He caught movement from the side of the court. Bokuto was waving, already grinning.

“You again,” Bokuto said, strolling over like they’d just left the camp five minutes ago.

Hinata let out a breath. “I was gonna say the same.”

“You ready to get destroyed?”

“Emotionally, or—”

“Yes.”

They bumped shoulders lightly, nothing dramatic. But it steadied him.

“It’s weird,” Hinata admitted. “Seeing you here.”

“Right? I keep expecting to hear Hoshiumi snoring on the other side of the room.”

Hinata made a face. “Don’t remind me.”

“Don’t worry. We’re stuck with Sakusa now.” Bokuto nodded toward the other end of the gym, where Kiyoomi Sakusa stood stretching with methodical precision, headphones tucked in, sleeves pushed up.

“Great,” Hinata said. “Now I get judged silently. ”

“He’s not so bad once you accept that he hates everything.”

Before Hinata could reply, a tall figure stepped into view. Broad-shouldered, serious-faced, a steady kind of presence that made the rest of the court shift slightly around him. Hinata didn’t have to wait for his presentation to know who he was. 

He knew every single member of the Black Jackals. He had known them since before he was selected to join. 

“Hinata Shoyo?”

Hinata straightened. “Yes!”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Shugo Meian,” the man said, offering a firm handshake. “Captain. Middle blocker.”

Hinata bowed, quickly. “It’s an honor. Thank you for having me.”

Meian didn’t smile, but his gaze was warm. “You’ve already earned your place here, Hinata. I watched your matches. I’m looking forward to seeing what new things you bring to this team.”

The words landed hard. In a good way.

He’s not like Daichi, Hinata thought, still holding his gaze. But he carries things the same way, somehow. 

“I’ll do my best,” Hinata said, the words coming out with more force than he meant. “I mean—I’ll work hard.”

Meian gave a small nod. “That’s all I ask.”

Sakusa wandered over a few minutes later and offered a very brief nod in Hinata’s direction. “Just don’t crash into me,” he said.

Hinata blinked. “I—wasn’t planning to?”

“We’ll see.”

“That’s his way of saying welcome,” Bokuto said, helpfully. “As if the three of us aren’t new to the team.”

One more player joined them. He seemed leaner, with tied-back hair and a dry expression. “Shion Inunaki,” he said. “Libero. I’m mostly here to break your spirits during receive drills.”

Hinata smiled. “Great. Looking forward to that.”

Inunaki smirked. “You won’t be.”

Meian clapped once. “Warm-up. On-court drills start in twenty.”

As the others moved off, Hinata lingered at the edge of the court.

New gym. New team.

The floor was familiar beneath his shoes, but everything else felt like a cliff.

He bounced the ball once. Twice. 

And stepped into it.

Chapter 71: Chapter LXX

Notes:

chapter 70? WHAT. crazy.

i know the last chapters have been a little slow, and i'm sorry about that! i needed some sort of transition to achieve what i'm looking for in the next chapters, but i promise it'll get interesting again!!!

also one of my favorite chapters<3 enjoy

The first two days blurred together.

By the time day two ended, Hinata couldn’t feel the arches of his feet or the tops of his shoulders. His forearms had gone through the familiar sting of overuse. He showered too long, drank too much protein, and fell asleep with his hand still half-curled around his phone.

But the rhythm of things came faster than he expected.

He knew all the names already (he had watched the Jackals in match footage for over a year back in Brazil) but seeing them in person was something else. Inunaki’s floor work was surgical. Ikejiri was sharper than he’d looked on tape, aggressive in short bursts. Thomas, their middle blocker from overseas, spoke in short, cheerful bursts of accented Japanese. 

Even still, all eyes kept circling back to the three new arrivals.

Bokuto was a storm on court. Not just loud, but magnetic . It was like watching a natural disaster with footwork. Every kill sent a jolt through the gym.

Sakusa barely spoke, but played like a machine built for dissection. His serves made people flinch. During receive drills, he called out positioning for teammates he barely knew, and he was somehow always right.

And then there was Hinata.

He moved like water, like fire, like something people weren’t used to watching. All of his training back in Brazil and at the training camp burning through his blood and dripping out on each of his moves. On the second day, he heard Inunaki mutter to Meian, “They’ve got something weird going on with that kid.”

By lunch, Thomas had already joked, “Poor Adlers are gonna have it rough this season.”

It was half-serious. Half-not. 

The rivalry between the Adlers and the Jackals wasn’t just a rivalry, apparently.

It was blood.

Adlers vs Jackals was every finals poster, every highlight reel, every dramatic sports documentary voiceover about legacy and pride. It was one of the biggest games of the season.

Someone asked once, during a break, “Didn’t you play with the Adlers guy? That setter, Tobio Kageyama?”

Hinata stiffened.

He looked up from his water bottle. “Yeah.”

“The freak quick guys,” Thomas added, snapping his fingers. “That was you ?”

Hinata felt the words catch in his throat like a swallowed breath.

“Yeah,” he said after a beat, forcing it casual. “We played together in high school.”

“Still got the quick? Think he’s teaching it to his new middle?”

Hinata laughed. Loud. Too loud, too fast. “I doubt it. He’s kinda picky.”

“You two still talk?”

“Uh, yeah. Sometimes,” Hinata muttered, drinking water he didn’t need.

Bokuto leaned in from behind the bench, grinning. “Sometimes? I bet there’s a text notification on your phone with his name on it right now as we speak.”

Hinata turned so red he thought his ears might fall off.

“I mean, we’re friends with all the Karasuno guys—”

Bokuto gasped, hands to his chest. “Are you blushing? ”

“I’m leaving this team.”

“They’ve been here, like, 48 hours and I’ve already seen a confession scene,” Thomas said, clapping once.

More laughter. It wasn’t cruel, not necessarily. But it was definitely loud, and maybe not in a way that felt comfortable.

Hinata laughed, too. He smiled. He even made a joke.

But his heart was beating too hard.

They didn’t know. Of course they didn’t know.

They didn’t know how his heart would beat faster at the slightest mention of Tobio’s name. They didn’t know he had been watching old replays of Kageyama’s first Olympics and his first years at the Adlers for the sake of watching him in his favorite place. They didn’t know his skin burned to be close to Tobio’s. They didn’t know he actually felt like that towards a man . 

They were joking now, but really, Hinata couldn’t stop thinking what they’d say if they found out it wasn’t really a joke.

They didn’t know what it was like, wondering, always wondering, if people would stop smiling if they knew. If the room would shift.

He wasn’t ashamed.

But he didn’t know how to explain that not being ashamed still didn’t make it easy.

It had been easier before. He never really had to come out to his friends back in Karasuno. Most of them just kind of… knew . And Hinata was certain they would never turn their backs on him. Not only were most of his friends queer, too, he also knew that even if they weren’t, his sexuality would’ve never been a problem.

But every time he met new people, he always wondered if it’d be the same.

 

---

 

The next morning, Bokuto found him stretching by the doorway.

“You went kinda quiet yesterday,” he said, casual. Not accusatory. “After the teasing.”

Hinata hesitated. “It’s fine.”

Bokuto didn’t move.

Hinata sighed and leaned back against the wall, arms over his knees. “I just—sometimes I get in my head about that stuff.”

“What stuff?”

“They don’t know. About me.” His voice dropped. “And I don’t—usually tell people. Unless I have to.”

Bokuto didn’t answer right away.

Hinata kept going, slow and hesitant. “I always feel like I’m intruding. Or making people uncomfortable. And I hate that feeling. So I just… I wait. I let them assume whatever.”

The gym felt very quiet for a second. The kind of quiet that comes when someone actually hears you.

Then Bokuto said, gently, “Akaashi used to feel like that.”

Hinata blinked. “Really?”

Bokuto nodded, leaning back beside him, shoulder to shoulder. “He’s not loud like me. He was always scared someone would say something when we were out. And when we first started dating, he’d flinch if I even touched his hand in public. Not because he didn’t want it, but because he didn’t know what it would cost.”

Hinata stayed quiet.

“I’m not saying it’s the same,” Bokuto added. “Just… it’s okay, you know? You don’t owe anyone an explanation. You don’t need to come out if you don’t feel like it. You don’t need to care about what people will think or not think. It was hard for Akaashi, but things got better. Eventually. Plus… I think these guys are pretty cool with all that.”

Something twisted in Hinata’s chest. Not pain, just that weird kind of warmth that comes from being seen.

Of course, he thought. Bokuto would know about that. 

He was publicly out and had been for a long time. He always wore his engagement ring in a chain during practice or matches, and everybody knew where the matching piece was: in the finger of the proudest person in the crowd. The one person who knew Bokuto more than himself.

He felt something in his chest settle. 

“Thanks,” he mumbled. “I mean it.”

Bokuto bumped his shoulder. “Anytime.”

There was a comfortable pause before his friend’s voice continued, “...Still blushing over Kageyama though?”

Hinata shoved him, a smile drawn across his face. “Shut the fuck up, dude."

 

---

 

That night, the call came just after ten.

Hinata was brushing his teeth when his phone buzzed across the floor.

He picked up with foam in his mouth. “’Lo?”

“Are you seriously answering while brushing your teeth,” Kageyama said flatly.

Hinata spat into the sink and grinned. “So what? At least I brush my teeth.”

Kageyama squinted. “I always brush my teeth, idiot!”

“Hi to you too,” Hinata grinned, finally looking towards the screen in his phone.

Kageyama was on a pillow with one arm behind his head, a t-shirt wrinkled up to his collarbone. Something about the sight made his chest press with something he couldn’t quite name. There was something thrilling about the thought of being able to see Kageyama like that. Casual. Careless. 

Hinata walked to his room and tucked his blanket around his shoulders, sitting cross-legged, phone braced against a stack of manga in his nightstand.

They talked like they always did, skipping from drills to food to teammate gossip, their voices soft enough not to wake neighbors but charged with something immediate , like the conversation might vanish if either of them blinked too long.

And then, in the lull between Sakusa complaints and a story about Inunaki falling off the bench, Hinata finally asked.

“Can I ask you something?”

Kageyama blinked at the screen. “About what?”

“About, uh...” Hinata pulled his knees up, resting his chin there. “The whole liking-boys thing.”

Kageyama didn’t react much. Just shifted a little, adjusting his pillow. “Sure?”

Hinata took a breath. “Did you ever, like, come out to people?”

Kageyama’s brows knit slightly, thoughtful. “Not really? I mean, I never really felt the need to, I guess.” 

Hinata tilted his head.

“I don’t tell people, but I also don’t hide anything. And, to be honest, I just… don’t really know what I could say.”

Hinata frowned. “What do you mean?”

Kageyama’s eyes flicked to the screen, then away. He looked uncomfortable, but not like he wanted to stop. Just like he was stepping somewhere new.

“I never really cared much about… who people like,” Kageyama said, eyes flicking offscreen for a moment. “I didn’t think about it. Not seriously. Not until it started feeling close to me.”

He exhaled, slow and careful. “I don’t think I’ve ever called myself anything. I’ve tried to think about it—if there’s, like, a word for it. For how I feel. But I don’t know. It never felt like I liked... a type. Or a label.” He paused, mouth twitching into something close to a grimace. “It’s not that I don’t care. It’s just that I only ever cared about how someone made me feel. And that’s not really something I can explain.” A quiet laugh escaped, awkward and dry. “I guess that makes it harder to come out, doesn’t it? When you don’t even know what you are. It feels... messy.”

Hinata froze.

Kageyama’s voice was low and slow, but steady. “When I realized I had… feelings for you, it didn’t freak me out the way I thought it would.” He rubbed the side of his jaw, eyes flicking somewhere just below the camera. “It wasn’t weird because you were a boy. It was weird because it was you. Because suddenly, it was like everything else made less sense than that.”

He looked down for a moment, his voice roughening slightly. “I know I’m not easy to get along with. I know I’m not the easiest pill to swallow, but somehow—you never made me feel like I had to explain any of it. You just stayed. Like it wasn’t work to be around me.”

There was silence.

“My whole life’s been volleyball. I’ve built everything around it. And you were the first person who understood that like it wasn’t a flaw. You didn’t just get the sport, you got the way it lives in me.”

He shifted again, like the words were still settling in his own chest.

“And yeah… I guess the fact that you were a boy was the least of my concerns, really. I don’t know what that makes me. I don’t really care either. I just know I’ve never felt this for anyone else. Not before. Not after.”

Hinata didn’t speak right away.

Not because he didn’t know what to say, but because something in his chest had gone oddly still. Like someone had taken a piece of him he didn’t know was loose and clicked it into place.

He stared at the screen, Kageyama’s face half-lit in the dark, the corner of his mouth drawn tight with tension he probably didn’t even realize he was holding.

“That was pretty cool. You’re kind of amazing at that,” Hinata said, a smile on his face.

Kageyama blinked. “At what.”

“At… saying how you feel. Even when you said it was messy, it wasn’t. It was clear. And honest. And not even weird.”

Kageyama looked suspicious. “You’re not messing with me?”

Hinata shook his head. “No. I mean it.”

There was a beat.

“Usually you just glare until people guess what you mean,” Hinata added. “This was different.”

Kageyama looked away, embarrassed now. “It’s not like I do this every day.”

“Well,” Hinata said, curling his fingers in the blanket, “maybe you should. You’re good at it.”

Kageyama made a low noise. “Don’t be nice to me.”

Hinata grinned. “Why not?”

“It’s confusing.”

“ You’re confusing.”

“And you’re loud.”

“I’m literally whispering.”

“You’re whispering loudly.”

Hinata rolled onto his side and let out a long breath. The teasing faded, but the softness lingered.

Kageyama’s voice came again, quieter this time. “Did you ever figure out a label? For yourself, I mean.”

Hinata blinked. “Oh. Uh…”

He pulled the blanket up over his chin, thinking.

“I mean, I always liked girls,” he said slowly. “I had a massive crush on Kyoko back in Karasuno, remember?”

Kageyama nodded.

“But then,” Hinata continued, “you came along and completely ruined my sense of reality.”

Kageyama frowned. “What does that mean?”

“It means I was minding my business , liking girls, and then suddenly I couldn’t stop thinking about how you scowl like an angry raccoon.”

“I do not —”

“You do . But also, like, in a way that made me want to kiss you. So that was confusing.”

Kageyama opened his mouth, closed it, and looked vaguely alarmed.

“I think it was kind of the same for me,” Hinata said, voice low but quick, like he was catching up to his thoughts. “Like, being close to you just felt as normal as breathing. And when we weren’t… it sucked. Everything felt off.”

He hesitated, then kept going. “You always pushed me to be better. Not just at volleyball, but, like— me , as a person.”

Hinata laughed under his breath, almost embarrassed. “Then I started noticing stupid stuff. Like how your eyes get really dark when you’re focused. Or how weirdly good it feels when you actually smile, which is rare, but when it happens it’s, like, so refreshing .”

He buried half his face in the blanket. “So yeah. I don’t really know what I am. Bi, pan, whatever. I think I just like people who are frustrating and intense and emotionally repressed and think yelling is communication.”

“You need therapy.”

“I have you.”

“Get therapy anyway.”

Hinata laughed, breath fogging up the edge of his screen.

“But seriously,” he said after a moment, quieter again, “I don’t think I need a label right now. I just… know I like you. And it doesn’t feel weird. It just feels like something I’ve been walking toward for a long time. And, to be honest… I thought I had really fucked up when I left. I thought I’d never get a chance to say these words to you, even less hear you say something like that about me . Ever. I’m just… really happy that I get to have the chance now. Even when things are messy and neither of us knows what we’re doing. I still feel very lucky.”

Kageyama looked at him like he was memorizing the screen.

Hinata shrugged. “Plus, if you think about it, it’s kind of hilarious that you’re the one who made me question everything.”

Kageyama groaned into his pillow. “I’m going to bed.”

“Coward.”

“Shut up.”

They both laughed, softly. They weren’t together in the same room, let alone the same province. There were hundreds of kilometers between them, but somehow, Hinata had never felt any closer to the boy on the other side of the screen.

Neither of them hung up.

Chapter 72: Chapter LXXI

The next few days at practice, Hinata felt strangely lighter.

His conversation with Kageyama stayed with him, fresh and burning in his mind, all day long. He couldn’t stop thinking about it. He didn’t really want to.

The morning after they talked, Hinata found himself wondering if what they’d said to each other had counted as a confession. It was kind of funny, how messy things still were.

It had been just a little over two months since he came back from Brazil. A little over two months since he’d seen Kageyama again, after two years of no contact and way too many tangled, unresolved feelings. Then, almost a month ago, the training camp had started. And somehow, like fate had a sense of humor, he and Kageyama had ended up as roommates.

Things had been awkward at first. Cold. Careful. But little by little, Kageyama had started dropping his guard. One piece at a time. Talking to him stopped feeling like stepping onto a battlefield.

By the end of those two weeks, Hinata felt like he had finally proven how much he wanted to fix things. How sorry he was for leaving without a word. How badly he wanted Kageyama to trust him again.

To get back to that strange, electric connection they’d shared in high school.

But the thing was... they’d never actually confessed anything. Not in the way Hinata had imagined.

Back in their third year, right before he left for Brazil, Kageyama had started to say something. Something important. But the moment had been interrupted by the news that he was leaving. Words that were supposed to bring them closer ended up tearing something apart.

And when they saw each other again, Hinata had finally said it. That his feelings had been the reason he hadn’t told Kageyama about Brazil. But still… they’d never had the space to really talk about it. Not with everything laid bare. Not the way they had the night before. Not without hurting each other immediately after. 

Maybe that’s why Hinata felt like he was stuck in some kind of limbo now.

They were friends again. Close. They talked. They joked. They existed around each other comfortably again. It was like stepping back into the best version of their third year, before the fight, before the fallout.

But even back then, they’d never taken it any further.

Now they could. They actually could. And Hinata had no idea what to do with that.

They knew how each other felt. They’d kissed.

So now what?

 

---

 

The gym smelled like floor polish and sweat. Sharp, familiar. The thud of shoes against hardwood echoed off the high walls, mixing with the low bark of Coach Samson’s voice calling out adjustments. Hinata’s shirt clung to his spine, damp with effort. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, but his brain kept skipping.

He wasn’t off . He was hitting every toss, reading every play, responding with practiced sharpness.

But inside, he felt like a knot tied too tightly.

Like every few seconds, his thoughts got pulled sideways, dragged back to the night before. Back to Kageyama’s voice coming from his phone, careful and vulnerable in a way Hinata had never heard before. Back to the way the call ended in silence, soft and open, as if something had begun that neither of them had names for.

He moved on instinct. Dove for a ball he barely registered. Came up grinning, slapped Bokuto’s hand, reset. And still, beneath it all, that quiet buzzing thought:

So what now?

They’d kissed. They’d talked. But they hadn’t defined anything. And Hinata, despite all his energy and boldness and heat, didn’t know what to do next. He didn’t want to break it. He didn’t want to assume .

“Break,” Meian’s voice called, cutting through the clatter of shoes. “Ten minutes.”

Hinata grabbed a towel, let it hang around his neck as he crouched beside the sideline. The gym air felt cooler near the wall, but his pulse hadn’t slowed.

He barely noticed Meian approaching until a water bottle landed with a soft thud beside him.

“You okay?” the captain asked, crouching into a half-squat. “Your head’s somewhere else.”

Hinata blinked at him. “Huh? Oh—yeah. I’m good.”

Meian raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t judgmental. Just curious. Quietly perceptive, the way captains had a habit of being.

“Doesn’t look like bad distraction,” he said after a beat. “Just… something that’s taking up space.”

Hinata rubbed the back of his neck with his towel. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be—”

“Relax,” Meian said, letting a small smile tug at the corner of his mouth. “You’re playing fine. Better than fine, honestly. I just know what it looks like when someone’s running drills with their body and sorting through something else in their head.”

That made Hinata pause.

He looked down at his water bottle, the ridges along the cap digging into his palm. “…Yeah. I guess I’ve just been thinking a lot lately.”

Meian nodded, not pressing. He picked at a loose thread on his kneepad, his voice thoughtful.

“Sometimes you get clarity by playing through it,” he said. “Sometimes by stepping back. Either way, you don’t have to rush it just because it’s uncomfortable. You can sit without knowing. Doesn’t mean you’re stuck. Doesn’t mean you’re lost.”

Hinata stared at the floor.

For some reason, those words hit harder than expected. They sank into his ribs with the weight of something he’d been needing to hear without realizing it.

Maybe it was okay that he didn’t know what this thing with Kageyama was yet. Maybe it didn’t mean he was failing. Or making it worse by waiting. Maybe it was allowed to just… be.

He let out a breath. “Thanks, Shugo.”

Meian stood, stretching his arms overhead until his shoulder popped. “Anytime. Just keep showing up.”

Hinata nodded, the knot in his chest loosening just slightly.

Practice resumed. This time, the court felt brighter. His steps felt easier, like they belonged to him again. Bokuto shouted across the net that the monster duo era was reborn, and someone groaned at the volume. Hinata laughed until his stomach hurt.

They were in the middle of their last cooldown set when Coach Samson clapped his hands sharply, signaling the end of practice.

“Alright, that’s it for today. Don’t slack on your recovery,” he said, his voice carrying easily across the court. “Before you head out, I’ve got some announcements.”

Players slowed their movements. Some dropped to the floor for stretches. Bokuto plopped down cross-legged and grabbed his water bottle like he was settling in for story time.

Samson continued. “Next week, the JVA is hosting an event here in Tokyo. Formal thing, cocktail-style. All pro league teams are invited. It’s a media opportunity, mostly. Sponsors, photos, a chance to shake hands and remind people we’re more than bodies on a court.”

A few players groaned. Someone muttered, “Do we have to wear suits?”

“Yes,” Samson deadpanned. “Try not to pass out.”

Hinata tilted his head, towel still looped around his shoulders. An event? With all pro teams?

His stomach fluttered slightly, though he wasn’t sure why. Well, he knew why.

His brain moved faster than it should’ve. If all teams were coming… would Kageyama be there?

They hadn’t talked about anything like that. Hinata knew the Adlers were based in Higashiosaka, hours away, but Tokyo was the center of everything. His heart flicked in his chest like a light turning on.

“You’ll get details by the end of the week,” Samson went on. “Formal invitation, press prep, the usual. Try to look like people, not walking concussions.”

A ripple of laughter passed through the team. Hinata forced a grin, already imagining Kageyama in a suit.

He nearly dropped his water bottle.

“And one more thing,” Samson added, more casually now, as he started collecting his clipboard. “Someone new will be joining us next week. Miya Atsumu. I believe some of you might know him already.”

That landed like a stone on tile.

Bokuto’s eyebrows shot up. Sakusa barely twitched. A few newer players exchanged glances.

Hinata’s fingers stilled around the edge of his towel.

It wasn’t a shock. He knew it was coming. But still, he felt the ground shift slightly beneath him, like his body had tensed before his brain caught up.

He didn’t say anything, just nodded along with the others, but something quiet and charged settled behind his ribs.

Chapter 73: Chapter LXXII

Notes:

good news: I QUIT MY JOB TODAY!!!!
bad news: i have to look for another job

buuutttt, today i had a lot of time to write (i'm writing the cocktail arc) and oh my god. i can't wait for you guys to read it. no spoilers but it's really making me want to throw my laptop to a wall because i've never written something quite like that it

anyways, please enjoy <3 we're slowly going back to the long chapters

The soft buzz of his phone dragged Hinata’s attention away from the tangled mess of his damp hair in the mirror. He blinked down at the screen, toothbrush still lodged in one cheek, toothpaste foam halfway sliding down his chin.

Tobio FaceTime Incoming...

Hinata grinned without thinking. He hit accept with his knuckle.

Kageyama’s face popped onto the screen, shadowed in low light, hair damp like he’d just showered. His shoulders were barely visible, propped against what looked like a bunk frame or maybe a window ledge. There was a towel slung over his neck. His expression was as blank as ever, but his eyes softened a little when he saw Hinata.

Hinata mumbled around his toothbrush, “M’ornin.”

Kageyama squinted. “You’re still in pajamas?”

Hinata panned the camera down to his sleep shorts, bright orange with tiny volleyballs printed on them, and then back up to his foamy mouth.

“Absolutely not appropriate for the national team,” Kageyama said, stone-faced. “Also, why are you always brushing your teeth every single time I call you?”

Hinata laughed through his nose and spat into the sink. “Dunno. Guess you have really good timing.”

Kageyama exhaled, somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. “You’re going out with Kuroo and Kenma today, right?”

“Yup. Apartment shopping. Again.” Hinata wiped his mouth with the towel around his neck, then leaned against the counter. “I need a real bathmat this time. And maybe a mirror that doesn’t scream student dorm horror movie . ”

Kageyama nodded, but something in his gaze shifted. It lingered. There was a pause.

“What?” Hinata asked.

Kageyama scratched his cheek. “I forgot to tell you yesterday. We had a late meeting.”

“With the Adlers?” Hinata asked, suddenly alert.

“Yeah. Team-wide. Some of the execs were there.” Kageyama hesitated for a breath. “I assume you already know about the JVA cocktail thing.”

Hinata sat up straighter. “The cocktail thing? The one with all the pro teams?”

Kageyama nodded once. “They said it’s mandatory. Adler staff, players, even the ones on injury leave. It’s media, sponsor stuff.”

Hinata’s brain fizzed with so many thoughts , none of which were helpful.

He had not actually been sure Kageyama would be there. He’d hoped , definitely, but there was still a part of him that believed some horrible scheduling fate would keep them apart.

Now there was no denying it.

“Right,” Hinata said, voice way too casual. “Guess I’ll see you there.”

“Guess so,” Kageyama echoed. And then, after a pause: “It’s formal.”

Hinata blinked. “Yeah, I figured.”

Another pause, this one heavier. And then, Hinata, with a sudden thought:

“Oh—Atsumu’s coming back next week.”

Kageyama’s brows pulled together. “He is?”

“Yeah,” Hinata said. He stepped back from the mirror, walking toward the edge of the room, phone still in hand. “Coach told us yesterday. The guys didn’t say much, but… yeah.”

Kageyama didn’t speak immediately. Hinata could feel the thoughts brewing on the other end. There was concern in his eyes, but he wasn’t asking questions. Just waiting.

So Hinata smiled. Wide. Stupid. Defiant.

“Hey,” he said. “I’ve kicked his ass before. And now that I actually know the full story, I’m fine.”

Kageyama didn’t look convinced.

Hinata raised his eyebrows. “I will survive, Tobio. You can stop doing that weird thing with your eyebrow.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“You’re absolutely doing it.”

Kageyama grumbled something under his breath. But his jaw unclenched. His eyes softened again, and this time, there was something else behind them, something closer to pride than worry.

Hinata dropped onto his bed, sprawling across it sideways. “We’re good, right?”

Kageyama tilted his head slightly. “Are you asking because you’re worried?”

Hinata paused. Then shook his head. “I’m asking because I don’t want to be.”

Kageyama looked straight at him through the screen. “Then yeah. We’re good.”

They stayed there for a beat too long, not saying anything. The soft hum of city traffic filtered in through Hinata’s cracked window.

“You’re going to wear mismatched socks to a formal event, aren’t you,” Kageyama said flatly.

Hinata gasped. “How dare you!”

“Show me your socks right now.”

Hinata lifted one foot into frame. One sock had a tiny cat pattern. The other said “I love Volley.”

Kageyama exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Hinata laughed and flopped backward. “What about you, huh? Bet you’ll wear a tie so tight you’ll pass out before dessert.”

Kageyama muttered, “You’ll probably need help tying yours.”

Hinata lifted the phone back to his face. His grin softened into something quieter, a little warm.

“Will you help me?” he asked, half-teasing.

Kageyama’s eyes flicked up to meet his.

“Yeah,” he said. “Of course I will.”

 

---

 

Tokyo shimmered in the sun, all glass and motion and overheated crosswalks. Hinata squinted as he crossed the street, clutching an iced matcha latte in one hand and holding a folded list in the other: the shopping trip agenda, scribbled by his own god-awful, scrawled handwriting.

He’d barely stepped onto the sidewalk when he heard someone whistle behind him.

“Shoyo~!” came Kuroo’s voice, stretched like bubblegum.

Hinata turned just in time to see him dodging a delivery bike, grinning with a paper bag slung over one shoulder. Kenma trailed behind, earbuds in, hood up despite the heat, as if sunlight itself was a personal insult.

“You’re late,” Hinata said, sipping his drink dramatically.

“We were on time. You were early,” Kuroo said, clapping him on the back hard enough to make him stumble.

Kenma gave a noncommittal grunt that might’ve been a greeting.

They started walking, slipping into the kind of casual rhythm that only existed between people who had already known each other through every version of themselves. Kuroo led the way toward a row of homeware stores, rattling off nonsense about color palettes and “feng shui energy flows,” while Kenma scrolled silently through something on his phone.

“So,” Kuroo said, wiggling his eyebrows, “how’s the new lair? Still sleeping on that tragic futon?”

Hinata groaned. “No. I upgraded to a marginally less tragic bed. Today’s mission is getting a real bathmat. Real mirror. Maybe, like, one framed picture so I don’t look like I live in witness protection.”

Kuroo gave him a smug nod. “Now you’re getting it.”

They were halfway to the store when it happened.

“Excuse me,” a woman’s voice said suddenly from behind them. “Sorry, are you—are you on the national team?”

Hinata turned.

A girl, maybe in her twenties, stood just off the crosswalk, phone clutched in her hands, eyes wide. She was really pretty, and her friend was already nudging her forward, whispering something excitedly.

Hinata blinked. “Uh… yeah? I mean. Kinda.”

“You’re Hinata, right? Shoyo Hinata? You were in the new photos the JVA posted. The national team!”

Hinata flushed instinctively. He rubbed the back of his neck, laughing a little too loud. “Oh. Yeah, that’s me.”

Her voice climbed half an octave. “Could I—sorry, would it be okay if I got a picture? Just one?”

Hinata hesitated, only for a second. This had happened to him before, only a couple of times, but mostly in Brazil. He’d never had this kind of experience in his own country, which was strange.

He smiled. Bright, a little awkward, but real. “Yeah, of course.”

She scrambled for her phone’s camera. Hinata stepped in beside her, tilted his head and held up a peace sign. The girl was beaming. The camera of he phone clicked twice.

“Thank you!” she said, bowing as she backed away. “I’m really cheering for you this season!”

“Thanks!” Hinata said, voice a little breathless.

He turned back to find Kuroo watching him closely, arms folded. Kenma was still half-hidden under his hoodie, unreadable.

They resumed walking, but something had shifted. The sidewalk felt narrower. Hinata’s hoodie stuck to the back of his neck. He could feel every glance, every reflection in the glass shopfronts as they passed.

“You okay?” Kenma asked.

“Yeah,” Hinata said. “Just not used to… being recognized like that. Not off the court.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Kuroo said. “You’ve got one of those faces. Very screencappable .”

“That’s can’t be a real word.”

Kenma didn’t look up from his phone. “You’re doing that thing.”

“What thing?”

“That quiet spiral thing. In your head.”

Hinata huffed. “No, I’m not.”

“You totally are,” Kuroo said. “What’s the problem? Is it the idea of your face being in public, or the idea of Kageyama seeing it?”

Hinata nearly walked into a trash can.

Kuroo grinned like a villain. “So, what’s the deal, anyway? You two keeping it chill and undefined forever, or are we gonna get a wedding invitation in the mail next spring?”

Hinata groaned. “Can I please just buy a bathmat without being emotionally interrogated?”

Kenma finally looked up. “You didn’t answer the question.”

Hinata sighed and leaned back against the side of a vending machine. “I don’t know. It’s… weird.”

“Weird how?” Kuroo asked, more gentle now.

“Like… I’m not waiting for anything bad to happen. Not anymore. But I’m still scared to call it what it is. Because what if we mess it up again? What if I want too much too fast?”

Kenma twirled his straw, thinking. “Do you want him to move to Tokyo?”

Hinata blinked. “What?”

Kenma didn’t repeat himself.

Hinata looked away, out toward the crowded street. “I… think I do. But I’m scared of what happens after he does.”

“You’re afraid that having him nearby makes it real,” Kuroo said quietly. “Makes it easier to lose.”

Hinata didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

They let it sit for a while.

Then Kenma, completely deadpan, said, “He’s gonna look ridiculous in a suit.”

Hinata laughed, too loudly, and then couldn’t stop.

 

---

 

By the time Hinata got home, Tokyo had slipped into its quieter rhythm. Buses hissing at the curb, store shutters rattling closed, voices softer and fewer along the sidewalks. The walk back from the station had felt longer than usual, weighed down by canvas bags, impulse purchases, and the low, pleasant hum of having spent the afternoon with people who knew him.

Kuroo had carried the bathroom mirror like it was a medieval shield. Kenma had threatened to leave them both if they didn’t pick a bathmat in the next ten minutes. Hinata, of course, had picked the expensive one, just to be annoying.

And somewhere between laughing too loud and being recognized by a fan for the first time ever, something had shifted.

It wasn’t bad. Just… real.

The girl had asked for a photo. Not because he was in uniform. Not because he was jumping. Just because she’d seen his face on the JVA’s site and now he was real, here, in a hoodie and mismatched socks.

It had made the world feel a little smaller. A little closer.

And it lingered in his mind as he unpacked.

He dropped his keys in the tray by the door. Kicked off his shoes. Dropped the bag of snacks onto the counter, still half-wrapped in its receipt. Then he went to the bathroom and unrolled the new bathmat with a kind of dramatic flourish, smoothing it flat with his foot like he was prepping a stage.

He stepped back and snapped a photo.

Hinata: behold. bathmat supremacy.

Then came the mirror.

He propped it up against the wall, angling it just right, the light from the overhead bulb catching along its edge. It took him some time to actually hang it correctly, but when the mirror finally held itself against the wall, he took a step back, smile on his face, contemplating his work. The frame was thin and matte black. Unobtrusive. Reliable. He liked that.

He opened his camera once more, ready to snap a picture of his new mirror, when he stopped in his tracks. He could see himself in the mirror.

Hair tousled from the walk, hoodie loose and slipping from one shoulder, cheeks still flushed slightly from the warmth. 

“This looks like a mirror selfie.”

He stared at the photo, already taken, thumb hovering. And then, without giving himself time to overthink it, he sent it.

Hinata: okay i didn’t mean for that to look like a mirror selfie

Hinata: it’s for the mirror. THE MIRROR, kageyama. do not be weird about it.

Kageyama replied in seconds.

Tobio: Too late.

Hinata groaned and collapsed onto his bed.

Tobio: You actually bought something that matches?

Hinata: i contain multitudes

Tobio: You’re just trying to impress me.

Hinata: is it working?

The screen went still. A beat passed. Then another.

He was already cringing, already tempted to snatch the message back and pretend it never happened, when Kageyama finally answered.

Tobio: You look fine.

Hinata made a face.

A second message arrived.

Tobio: Like. Good. You look good.

Tobio: Or whatever.

Hinata grinned.

Hinata: wow. swoon.

Tobio: Shut up

Hinata: never. especially not now that i have confirmation you think i’m HOT

Tobio: That is NOT what i said

Hinata: it’s what you meant

Tobio: I’m blocking you

Hinata: <3

They kept texting. Slowly. Randomly. Pieces of their days, links to dumb videos, quiet lulls where no one said anything but no one logged off, either.

Eventually, Hinata turned out the light. Rolled onto his side. Watched the city blink through the half-open curtain.

His phone buzzed again.

Tobio: Don’t forget to stretch your knee before bed

He hadn’t even mentioned the ache earlier, but Kageyama must’ve remembered from the training camp. 

Hinata stared at the message for a long second, then tucked the phone under his pillow and closed his eyes.

Maybe nothing was official. Maybe nothing was certain.

But this… this felt like something. And for tonight, that was enough.

Chapter 74: Chapter LXXIII

The Black Jackals gym always felt colder before the team filled it.

It wasn’t the temperature, exactly, it was the emptiness. The echo of shoes squeaking on polished floors, the quiet bounce of a single volleyball from somewhere near the wall. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, still waking up. Morning crept in through the narrow windows along the ceiling, streaking the hardwood in pale gray.

Hinata entered quietly, hoodie half-zipped, a convenience store protein bar sticking out of his mouth. His bag hit the floor with a dull thump as he clocked the only other body in the room: Bokuto, lying dramatically in the middle of the court, arms and legs spread like he’d been flattened by some emotional truck.

“You alive?” Hinata asked through a mouthful of oats.

“One with the court,” Bokuto mumbled without opening his eyes. “I’ve become… flooring.”

Hinata laughed, kicking lightly at Bokuto’s shin. “Didn’t take you for a morning philosopher.”

“I’m evolving,” Bokuto said, finally cracking one eye open. “Spiritual awakening through six a.m. suicides.”

Hinata sat down beside him, stretching out his legs with a long sigh. “Wow. Who are you?”

Bokuto raised both hands, palms up. “What can I say? You hang around smart people long enough—some of it sticks.”

“Ak—”

“Yep,” Bokuto said before Hinata could even finish. “Akaashi.”

Hinata grinned. “He’s turning you into a sage , man.”

“I know,” Bokuto said proudly. “I’ve started saying things like ‘that’s a pattern of behavior.’ Can you believe it?”

“I don’t know what’s more terrifying: Akaashi’s influence or the fact that it’s working.”

Bokuto laughed, then pushed himself up onto his elbows. His face shifted, just slightly. The way it always did when something real was about to follow the joke.

He looked over at Hinata, less performative now. “Hey.”

“Hmm?”

“I don’t know what happened at the training camp with Miya,” he said, quiet but direct. “And I’m not asking.”

Hinata went still for a second, breath pausing in his chest.

“But I know something happened,” Bokuto went on. “And I just wanted to say… if he makes things weird for you when he gets back… if you ever need to sit out or step off the court or just not deal, that’s okay. Nobody here’s gonna question it. Especially not me.”

It was the kind of thing Hinata didn’t realize he needed to hear until it was said. The kind of thing that didn’t need to be dramatic to leave an impact.

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he stared at the volleyball still slowly rolling along the far wall, like it might tell him what to feel.

“I’m fine. But thanks for noticing.”

Bokuto nodded, easy. “Yeah. Just making sure.”

A pause.

Then, with a grin, “Also, if he does anything dumb again, I’m drop-kicking him into the vending machine.”

Hinata snorted. “And there’s the wisdom.”

“I’m a man of balance,” Bokuto said solemnly. “Zen and violence.”

From across the court, Meian’s voice called out that warm-ups were starting.

Hinata stood, rolling his shoulders, already sliding into muscle memory as the gym lights hummed fully to life.

The sound of sneakers echoed in the hallway before the gym door even opened.

Practice had barely started. Their dynamic stretches had just given way to light setting drills, and Hinata was still in that floating headspace where his limbs moved on instinct and his brain hadn’t fully caught up.

Coach Samson raised his hand.

“Alright, pause for a sec. We’ve got our new guy joining us today.”

The gym door creaked open. The air caught.

Atsumu Miya stepped inside.

And even though Hinata knew he was coming today, something about seeing him in the doorway still knocked the wind out of his lungs.

He looked the same, b ut not really.

Hair still bleached and swept back. Black athletic mask tucked under his chin. Tall posture. Slight swagger. But there was something else, something quieter. Like the dial on his usual performance volume had been nudged just a few notches down. Still loud, but not as sharp . Still smiling, but less like a spotlight and more like a lamp with a dimmer switch.

“Everyone,” Coach Samson called, “this is Miya Atsumu. You’ve all seen his tape, but let me make it official. He’s joining the Black Jackals this season as our second setter.”

Atsumu lifted a hand in greeting, easy but reserved. “’Sup.”

It was strange. The voice was still there, the accent, the posture, but not the usual electric charge that came with him. No dramatic wink. No smug one-liner. No theatrics.

Just a short nod, like he was… shrinking into the introduction instead of expanding from it.

The team gave a few scattered acknowledgements. Meian took a step forward and introduced himself as the captain in the same way he had with Hinata barely a week ago.

Atsumu scanned the gym quickly, and when his eyes landed on Hinata, something flickered. Something quiet and unspoken.

He nodded. “Hinata.”

Hinata blinked. “Hey.”

Atsumu didn’t say anything else. He moved to the bench, dropped his bag by the others, and started taping his fingers like he’d been doing it every morning of his life.

But Hinata was still staring.

It wasn’t that Atsumu looked sad . He didn’t.

He just looked... like someone who was trying very hard not to be anything at all.

And Hinata, for all his fire and energy and noise, had always been good at reading what people weren’t saying.

Coach blew the whistle. The court began to move again. Bokuto tossed a ball lazily toward the net. Sakusa ducked under the divider rope with a scowl.

But Hinata stood there for another second, towel clenched in one hand, heart beating in a way that wasn’t quite nerves and wasn’t quite anger either.

It felt like something else.

 

---

 

The whistle echoed through the gym, sharp and final. Coach Samson clapped twice. “Positional rotations! Hitters and setters, you know the drill.”

The court began to rearrange like pieces on a board. Hinata jogged toward the outside line, wiping his forearm against the sweat at his temple, still hyper-aware of the figure standing just a few meters away.

Atsumu.

He hadn’t said much since arriving. No stories. No complaints. None of the usual flashy personality. Just a quiet, efficient return to the rhythm of team life.

And now he was stepping onto the court.

Hinata bounced on the balls of his feet, knees loose, trying not to look obvious about watching him.

Atsumu’s hands moved quickly as he adjusted the last strip of tape around his thumb. His shoulders rolled once, twice. Then he stepped into the setter’s mark without a word.

Bokuto stretched beside Hinata with a low groan, shaking out his arms. “Alright, sunshine,” he said, grin sharp, “let’s see what we have today.”

Hinata laughed, mostly out of habit. “Stay focused. I don’t want you to stay behind.”

“Me? Never.” Bokuto winked. “Worried about Miya more than myself.”

That made Hinata glance over again. Atsumu was squatting low, ready position already perfect. But even from here, Hinata could see it: the way his smile didn’t pull at his eyes. The slight delay before he called for the ball. Like his body knew what to do but his brain was watching from somewhere else.

The toss came in smooth. Hinata launched.

The timing was good. Not perfect. Not like with Kageyama’s kind of perfect, not like a second skin, but still solid. Familiar. His palm met the ball with a crisp crack and sent it slicing across the court.

“Nice one,” Atsumu said, but his voice was quiet, clipped. He turned before Hinata could answer.

Hinata landed, breath caught halfway in his throat.

They rotated.

Again. Again. Again.

Atsumu’s sets were consistent. Clean. Maybe even sharper than they’d been before. The ball always floated exactly where Hinata needed it, but every time he moved to thank him, or even just glance his way, Atsumu was already gone, already facing the next play. 

Hinata felt it like a pressure in his chest.

It wasn’t rejection. It wasn’t even anger.

Just... space . A wide, deliberate silence where there used to be a lot of noise.

On the sixth toss, Bokuto got too under the ball and sent it flying into the divider net.

Atsumu barked out a laugh. It was short, almost genuine. It startled Hinata more than the bad spike.

“Don’t say a word,” Bokuto said, pointing a warning finger at Atsumu mid-laugh.

Atsumu just raised both hands like a kid caught red-handed, but the moment passed too quickly, his expression neutral again before he even turned away.

They finished the drill. The team clapped water bottles against thighs and drifted off the court in pairs. Hinata lingered by the edge, towel draped over his shoulder, muscles buzzing.

He turned as Bokuto jogged over, still grinning.

“He’s still sharp, huh?” he said, knocking shoulders with him. “You okay?.”

Hinata nodded. “Yeah.”

He took a breath. Exhaled slowly. His fingers tightened against the towel in his hand.

“Yeah. I’m good.”

Notes:

he's baaackkkkk

two months since i started to publish this fic<3 can't believe much it's grown. thank you so much for reading every chapter, and special thanks to the beautiful people who always comment! i look forward to seeing your thoughts on each chapter.

hope you enjoyed<3

Chapter 75: Chapter LXXIV

The screen glowed faintly in the darkened room, illuminating the ceiling above Hinata’s bed. He lay sprawled on his futon, fingers hovering above Kageyama’s contact for a second before pressing Call .

The ring barely buzzed twice before it connected.

Kageyama’s face popped into frame, lit from the comforting lamp light from his nightstand. His hair was damp, forehead a little shiny, and his towel was thrown across his bed.

“Hey,” he said, like he’d been waiting.

Hinata grinned without meaning to. “Hey. What are you doing?”

Kageyama held up a navy-blue tie between two fingers, the tag still dangling from the side. “Trying to decide if this is ugly.”

Hinata laughed, flopping onto his stomach, pillow tucked under his chin. “Oh. Are you finally wearing something other than white or black?”

“It’s for the cocktail,” Kageyama said flatly. “Hoshiumi suggested I should try something colorful for once.”

“Bold words from someone who only wears white himself.”

Kageyama did laugh at his comment, which was actually true. Hoshiumi always did his best to dress as monochromatic as he could. Maybe so he could freak people out with his strange hair and round eyes. 

Kageyama started folding the tie in his hands with practiced ease.

Hinata squinted. “Wait… do you actually know how to tie that?”

Kageyama looked up, one brow raised. “Yeah. Of course I do. You thought I was lying?”

“You have to be lying.”

“I’m literally doing it right now.”

“Wait—are you doing, like, the actual loop-loop-cross thingy?”

Kageyama blinked. “What other kind is there?”

Hinata groaned. “That’s it. You’re officially an old man.”

“At least I don’t have to YouTube how to wear one.”

“That’s slander.”

Kageyama gave him a look that said ‘ you literally YouTubed how to fold a fitted sheet last week . Hinata buried his face into his blanket.

They talked like that for a few more minutes. About nothing. About ties and fancy snacks and how weird it felt to have to look polished when they were used to floor burns and loose knee pads.

A pause stretched out between them.

Then Kageyama asked, “So… how’s Miya?”

Hinata's smile faded just a little. Not gone, just quieter.

“Strange,” Hinata said honestly. “He’s not acting the way I thought he would. He’s quieter. I don’t know if he’s trying to give me space or if he just doesn’t know what to say. Either way, it’s kind of freaking me out.”

Kageyama didn’t respond right away. His expression was hard to read, but Hinata caught the subtle twitch of his fingers.

“Do you think it’s an act?” Kageyama asked finally.

Hinata shook his head. “No. I think he’s trying to change. Or maybe trying not to screw up again. He barely talked to me today. Kept as much distance as humanly possible.”

“He still makes you uncomfortable?”

Hinata hesitated. “...He used to. I think now I just feel sorry. A little. I don’t know if I’m ready to talk to him, though.”

Kageyama’s voice was low. “You don’t have to be.”

“I know.”

There was another pause. But this one didn’t feel heavy, just... suspended.

Hinata didn’t have anything clever to add, so he changed the subject.

“Hey… I’ve been thinking.”

Kageyama tilted his head. “About what?”

“The cocktail event’s near my place. Like, forty-minute walk. Short train ride. And my couch is better than a hotel bed, anyway.”

There was a short silence.

“You’re inviting me to crash at your apartment?”

Hinata shrugged. “Yeah. You could save your team some money. Skip the hotel. I have snacks.”

Kageyama didn’t blink. “That sounds weird. Also, there’s just one bed.”

“I said couch .”

“You did? Guess I skipped that part.”

Hinata smirked. “Of course you did.”

Kageyama didn’t answer right away. He looked at the tie in his hands, then back at the screen. His expression was unreadable, but something soft tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“I mean, sure. Why not? I’ll bring my own pillow,” he said finally.

Hinata laughed. “And toothpaste. And your old man tie.”

“It’s a normal tie.”

“Sure it is.”

They stayed like that for a while, the silence comfortable now, softened by light, by distance that didn’t feel so far anymore.

Once they finally hung up and Hinata was getting ready to finally go to bed, his phone buzzed quietly.

Tobio: [photo attachment]

 It was a picture of the tie, now perfectly knotted, laid flat on his bed.

Tobio: Just so you know I can do it without YouTube

Hinata grinned into the pillow, then sent a photo of his own: a blurry mirror pic from his bathroom, with a tie he’d tried to knot himself hanging messily, without any real shape, from his neck.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.

Kageyama’s next text came a second later.

Tobio: Your hair looks stupid

Hinata: thank you <3

 

---

 

Tuesday was the first full day Hinata and Atsumu spent on the same rotation.

Coach Samson assigned them to the same scrimmage squad: Bokuto on the right, Sakusa left, Hinata in the middle. Atsumu at setter.

It was the kind of lineup that made sports journalists drool. It was sharp, fast, borderline terrifying . And on paper, it worked . Atsumu set clean. Fast and hard like he always had. He still called out plays with that cocky lilt. Still rolled his sleeves up with theatrical flair like he was about to shoot a Gatorade commercial.

But he never once looked Hinata in the eye.

Not during drills. Not during water breaks. Not even when Hinata jumped for a set that came just a little too fast, landed it clumsy, and let out a soft “shit” as he skidded into the floor.

Atsumu called out a quick, “You good?”

 

But his eyes were already moving elsewhere.

---

 

By Wednesday, Hinata had started to mind his own business.

It wasn’t even intentional, not at first. But something about the rhythm of avoidance made it easy to follow. He found himself sitting across the table at lunch. Talking to Bokuto during warmups instead. Helping Sakusa re-tape his fingers when he could’ve asked Atsumu for an extra roll of wrap.

On Thursday, Coach had them drilling serve-and-receive rotations. It was grueling: high pressure, high speed, barely enough time to breathe between reps. Hinata’s legs ached. His shoulders burned. Sweat stuck his shirt to his chest like glue.

Atsumu was on fire.

His serves hit like cannonballs. His sets sharper than they'd been all week. He was loud again, shouting for faster transitions, yelling encouragement when Bokuto nailed a perfect angle.

But not with Hinata. Never with Hinata.

They were placed together again that day, on opposite ends of a drill meant to force reaction speed. Atsumu setting rapid-fire to alternating hitters, switching angles with every toss. It should’ve been second nature. Hinata’s body wanted to match his rhythm. His instincts pulled him forward, muscles tuned to chase the next ball.

But the cues didn’t come.

Atsumu didn’t call out like he used to. He didn’t throw a glance to Hinata before launching a set. There was no rhythm. No warmth. Only precision.

Cold, clean, robotic precision, and the tenth set was too fast. Too far .

Hinata pushed too hard off his right leg, barely grazed the ball with his fingertips, and landed awkwardly, knee thudding into the floor hard enough to knock the air out of him.

The court stilled.

Atsumu stood frozen mid-step, arms half-raised like he wasn’t sure whether to reach for him or not.

Hinata didn’t look up. Didn’t want to see pity or regret or indifference.

But from the corner of his eye, he caught it: Atsumu turned to Meian. Just for a second.

And Meian, still as a mountain near the net, met his eyes and held them.

Something passed between them. No words. Just the tight set of Meian’s jaw. The slight shake of his head.

Hinata’s chest tightened.

He pushed himself up before anyone could offer a hand.

“I’m good,” he said, too fast, brushing off his shorts. “Let’s go again.”

Atsumu didn’t say anything, and the drill continued.

But Hinata couldn’t stop thinking about the look on Meian’s face, or the way Atsumu had sought it, like he’d been waiting for it. Like he’d needed a sign to act and hadn’t gotten it.

 

---

 

It was already Friday.

The fluorescent lights buzzed softly above the hallway outside the locker rooms. Hinata stood by the vending machine, water bottle in one hand, towel looped around his neck. His hair was still damp from the post-practice rinse, sticking to his forehead in short, uneven clumps.

He’d almost made it out without being stopped.

“Hey.”

Hinata froze mid-step.

He turned.

Atsumu stood just a few meters down the hall, one hand shoved deep in the pocket of his joggers, the other gripping the strap of his bag. His shoulders were tense, like he was gearing up to spike a conversation straight into the floor.

“Hey,” Atsumu said again, softer this time. “Can we… talk? Real quick.”

Hinata hesitated. Everything in him itched to say no . To wave it off. To keep walking and pretend he hadn’t heard.

But instead, he nodded once and leaned back against the wall, arms crossed.

Atsumu stepped closer, slow like he was approaching a dog that might bite, but he stopped just far enough to keep a buffer of silence between them.

“I just wanted to say…” Atsumu started, then clicked his tongue. “Shit, this sounded better in my head.”

Hinata blinked at him. Said nothing.

Atsumu exhaled through his nose, glancing down at his shoes.

“I’m not good at this shit. I’m not tryna make excuses. I just—I wanted you to know I’m not gonna bother you. I’ll stay outta your way, and you won’t have to deal with any of it. Me.”

It wasn’t an apology. Not really. Hinata even wondered if Atsumu was even capable of doing so. 

He looked at him, watched the tension coiled in his hands, the way his jaw clenched like he was waiting to get hit.

“Why’d you look at Meian when I fell?”

Atsumu blinked, caught off guard. He might have been waiting for a lot of reactions, but definitely not this . “What?”

“You didn’t look at me. You looked at Meian.”

Atsumu stiffened. “I don’t—I wasn’t—”

Hinata tilted his head slightly, waiting.

Atsumu blew out a breath, eyes flicking toward the locker room door, then back. “He pulled me aside. Earlier this week.”

Hinata didn’t move.

“Said I was throwing off the team,” Atsumu muttered. “Not in those words, exactly, but… you know how he is. Like a disappointed dad.”

“And what did you say?”

“I said I wasn’t doing anything wrong.”

“Were you?”

Atsumu bristled. “I wasn’t—” He cut himself off, jaw tightening. “I didn’t think I was. I didn’t think it mattered.”

Hinata barked out a quiet, humorless laugh. “You think ignoring your teammates doesn’t matter?”

“It wasn’t like that!”

Hinata didn’t flinch, but his mouth pressed into a tight line.

Atsumu’s voice dropped, frustrated now. “I didn’t mean to make shit worse, okay? I just—I didn’t know what you wanted from me. I figured you hated me. And honestly? I wasn’t sure I didn’t deserve it.”

Hinata stared at him.

The hallway buzzed faintly overhead. A door slammed somewhere down the corridor. Neither moved.

Atsumu kicked lightly at the floor with the toe of his shoe. “Meian told me to get over myself. Said whatever’s going on between us, it’s bleeding into the team. And he’s right. I know he’s right. I just…” His voice trailed off, shoulders tight. “I don’t know how to talk to you anymore.”

“Try starting with not kissing people who don’t want it,” Hinata snapped.

Atsumu flinched.

“I never planned to get that far,” Atsumu said quietly. “I mean—yeah, I was pissed. I was trying to prove something. But it wasn’t…” He shook his head, struggling. “It was stupid. It wasn’t about you . It was about me and Kageya—”

“Shut the fuck up.” Hinata scoffed. “That’s supposed to make it better?”

“No. I’m just being honest.”

They stood there again, locked in silence.

And maybe if Hinata had been in a more generous mood, maybe if this had been a month ago, or two years ago, he would’ve taken that honesty and handed something back.

But tonight, all he had was truth.

“You left the camp without a word,” he said. “You kissed me, didn’t apologize, and left like a fucking coward.”

Atsumu’s mouth pressed tight. “Yeah. Well. It wasn’t exactly easy for me , either.”

Hinata’s eyebrows raised. “Are you trying to say it was hard for you?”

“I’m saying I didn’t have a fucking roadmap, okay?” Atsumu’s voice was rising now. “Back then, with Kageyama, I thought—I don’t know, man. I thought there was something, and I thought it was mutual, and I just… I didn’t know what to do with all that frustration. I wanted him to feel what I felt when he just… walked away. I know it was fucked up that I got you in the middle of all that. So now I’m just—I’m trying not to screw up worse. That’s what this is. Me trying .”

Hinata stared at him for a long moment.

“You’ve got a long way to go,” he said, voice low.

Atsumu nodded once. “I know.”

Neither of them moved.

Hinata finally stood upright and adjusted the towel on his shoulders.

“If you really want to fix things,” he said, “then stop pretending you’re the only one who got hurt.”

And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving Atsumu standing alone in the flickering hallway light.

Chapter 76: Chapter LXXV

The room was dim when Hinata cracked one eye open. Dust motes drifted lazily through the morning light leaking in from behind the curtain. His bedsheets were tangled around one ankle, and his pillow had gone missing somewhere in the night. He felt heavy. Not in a bad way. Just… soft. Unrushed, even.

It was Sunday. That meant no early drills, no whistles, no panic. No Atsumu.

He stretched once, grunted, and rolled over, grabbing his phone from where it had fallen near the wall.

Twelve notifications. Three from Bokuto. One from Kuroo. A few from the Jackals group chat. But most were social media alerts. His name tagged. Again and again.

Brows furrowing, Hinata tapped into the app and blinked as the screen loaded.

A photo.

Well. Several photos, actually.

He recognized the setting instantly. It was just outside that ramen place in Koenji, yesterday afternoon. He’d been out with Kenma and Kuroo. A few high schoolers in matching jerseys had shyly asked for a photo, and he’d crouched down, hoodie tugged up over his hair, fingers thrown up in a peace sign.

He’d barely thought about it after.

But now? It was everywhere. He opened the posts and read the comments. His cheeks were flushed as he read what the people were saying. 

“omg the hair. the tan. the SMILE??? hello??? WHO IS THIS MAN??????”
“how is he this pretty and this ripped. like. pick a struggle pls.”
“lowkey didn’t know he was hot until just now. good job jva.”
“new national team who?? it’s shoyo’s world and we’re just living in it.”

Hinata blinked at the screen.

They weren’t just likes. His face was starting to show up in moodboard collages, and aesthetic edits. They were reposting some of the pictures he’d taken back in Brazil, not only at practice but also at parties, with Oikawa and their other friends. 

He buried his face in the blanket and made a noise that couldn’t decide if it was a groan or a laugh.

This was new.

Not bad , exactly. But surreal.

Sure, he’d always gotten some attention. People liked his energy, his plays. But this was different. This was about his face . His hair . The way he looked. He’d spent years in Brazil being sweaty and sunburned, wearing mismatched shorts and cutting his own hair with kitchen scissors.

Now the internet was thirsting over his tan lines and collarbones.

Weird.

He threw the blanket off, sat up, and rubbed at his hair. It stuck up even worse than usual. In the mirror across the room, he looked like a walking static charge.

He opened his texts from Bokuto or Kuroo, wishing that, somehow, none of them had noticed what was happening on the internet. Of course, those were only false hopes.

Bokuto: “DID YOU SEE YOURSELF TRENDING”
Bokuto: “I CAN’T EVEN GET MY HAIR TO TREND AND IT’S BETTER THAN URS”
Kuroo: “Congrats on becoming a thirst trap, sunshine. Welcome to the real JVA experience lmao.”
Kuroo: “Remind me again, what you’re wearing to the cocktail?”
Kuroo: “Because. You know. People will be looking for you now.”

Hinata let his phone fall onto the floor with a dull thud.

His gaze drifted toward the laundry basket in the corner, overflowing. He had exactly one blazer. It barely fit his shoulders anymore.

And maybe he had even Googled some suit shops nearby the night before. Maybe . But he hadn’t told anyone. Not yet.

Especially not Kageyama.

He didn’t want to come off like he was trying too hard. Like this event meant something beyond standing awkwardly next to a tray of champagne glasses and shaking hands with rich people in weird shoes.

But Kuroo was kind of right. People were starting to notice him.

Kageyama had once told him about the first time he went viral, back during the Olympics, two years ago, when the official player selection was announced. People had noticed him instantly. Girls started asking questions, digging through old social media posts, and milking every single photo the JVA had ever released. People were crushing on him.

Hinata wondered if this was the start of something similar. 

It felt strange. He’d always wanted to be the star of the team. To be known, recognized, seen by millions. But now that it was actually happening, he couldn’t help feeling a little anxious about it.

No way was he admitting he was nervous. 

Nope. Absolutely fucking not.

Hinata stood up, stretched his arms overhead until his back cracked, walked into his bathroom and made a face at his reflection. 

He grabbed his bag, slung it over one shoulder, and texted back:

Hinata: “need a suit. you guys better help.”

 

---

 

The shop’s windows were too clean. That was Hinata’s first thought as they approached, the mid-morning sunlight bouncing off the glass so sharply he had to squint just to read the gold-lettered sign: “Nishiyama Gentlemen’s Formalwear”. 

He hesitated at the entrance, pulling his hoodie’s drawstrings a little tighter as Bokuto bounded ahead and yanked the door open with both hands like he was entering a theme park.

“Bro!” Bokuto called, grinning wide. “They have marble floors in there!”

“Hinata,” Kuroo said, raising a brow. “You look like you’re about to walk into your own funeral.”

“I’ve never been in a store where everything looks like it costs my entire rent,” Hinata muttered, eyeing a mannequin in a slate-gray three-piece suit. It had shinier hair than him.

Kuroo shoved his shoulder lightly. “Relax. You’re not buying the whole place. You just need one suit. One suit to end all suits. You can even wear it for the next twenty years!”

“You make it sound like I’m going to war.”

“You might be,” Bokuto said, now back at the door, beckoning them inside. “But at least you’ll look so good doing it.”

Hinata sighed, pushed his hands deep into his hoodie pocket, and followed them in.

 

---

 

The store smelled expensive. Not in an artificial way, like perfume samples or overly-polished leather, but like linen and warm lighting and quiet money. The air-conditioning hit immediately, cool and dry, and the moment Hinata stepped inside, a tall man in black slacks and wire-framed glasses offered a quiet bow.

“Welcome. Are you looking for anything specific today?”

Hinata almost choked. “I need a suit ,” he clarified, voice small. “Please?”

Kuroo, as usual, took over with frightening professionalism. “Formalwear, cocktail-ready, modern fit. He’s with the JVA.”

The attendant blinked once, then smiled politely. “Right this way.”

They passed endless racks of blazers, trousers, crisp shirts in muted tones, shoes lined like display pieces. Everything was elegant and sleek, nothing like the last time Hinata had needed something dressy (which, if he was being honest, had been his middle school graduation, when his mom had rented him a jacket that didn’t quite fit).

He trailed behind Bokuto and Kuroo, brushing his fingers over smooth fabric, eyeing the price tags discreetly.

Kuroo paused, arms crossed, then plucked a navy suit off a rack. “Try this one first.”

Hinata changed in the fitting room, boots clicking softly against the floor. The blazer sat snug around his shoulders, sharper than anything he’d ever worn, but the pants hugged his waist perfectly. He stepped out awkwardly, tugging at the sleeves.

Bokuto let out a low whistle. “ Damn. Look at you.”

Hinata glanced at the mirror on the far wall. He barely recognized himself. The navy brought out the warmth in his skin. His hair, brighter than anyone else’s in the store, suddenly didn’t look so out of place. Who would’ve guessed blue matched orange so well?

Kuroo tilted his head, looking him over. “You’re gonna cause problems.”

Hinata flushed. “Shut up. You guys are being cringe.”

Bokuto pulled two more suits from a nearby rack. “Try the dark green! And the burgundy! No wait—the tan one’s calling to me spiritually.”

“I’m not wearing tan,” Hinata muttered, but took the green one anyway.

 

---

 

An hour later, they had narrowed it down to the navy suit. No matter how many more styles and tones he tried, it always came back to the navy suit. It was clean, understated, not too flashy, and it looked good. Really good.

They stood in line at the register as Bokuto meandered toward the shoe wall. “Do you think these would go with my outfit?” he asked, holding up shiny black dress shoes with gold detailing.

“You don’t even know what you’re wearing yet,” Kuroo deadpanned.

“Can’t you just picture it?”

Hinata hovered behind them, card in hand, pretending not to feel the weight of attention on his back. The attendant had recognized him halfway through the fitting process, gently asking if he was “the new Black Jackals guy”, and after that, it was like the atmosphere shifted. One of the other employees had even asked for a photo after the sale was processed.

By the time they stepped out into the sun, suit bag in hand, Hinata felt lighter and heavier all at once.

“You good?” Kuroo asked.

Hinata adjusted the strap over his shoulder. “Yeah. Just… it’s a lot.”

“You’re kind of a big deal now.”

“I’m not Kageyama ,” he mumbled.

“No,” Bokuto said cheerfully, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. “But you’re the Ninja Shoyo. And apparently that’s enough to melt half of Volleyball Twitter.”

Hinata groaned. “I hate you guys.”

“No, you don’t!” they chorused.

He didn’t answer, but a smile was drawn across his face. 

Chapter 77: Chapter LXXVI

The zipper on the suit bag gave a satisfying hiss as Hinata slowly opened it and hung the navy jacket on the hook by his closet. The light in his apartment was soft and golden. The sky outside had started to dim. Tokyo in late summer, lazily settling into that hour where everything outside the window looked dipped in honey.

He sat on the edge of his futon and stared at the blazer.

It still didn’t feel real.

Not the suit. Not the attention. Not the fact that he was attending a formal cocktail in a few days surrounded by every pro league team in the country . Or that he'd be standing in the same room as Kageyama, probably within arm’s reach, wearing that .

His phone buzzed next to him.

Kuroo: “I totally forgot I wanted to talk to you about something lmao.”
Kuroo: “Just a piece of advice for Tuesday: be smart. Cameras are everywhere, and fans aren't dumb.”

Hinata stared at the message for a second. Then exhaled.

Kuroo was right. Of course he was, and it was getting a little annoying.

The picture he'd taken with that fan a few days ago was still floating around. Someone had found an old Karasuno photo: Hinata and Kageyama sitting a little too close, laughing over something stupid, and paired it with a still from their freak quick. The comment section had spiraled immediately.

“They have chemistry off AND on the court!!!!!”
“Opening ao3 after seeing this post, the world is healing<3”
“‘they’re canon’ i say as they drag me to the asylum”

And, well… Hinata wasn’t stupid. He’d seen the way fans treated Kageyama. They didn’t just admire his play. They projected . Hinata was starting to understand what it felt like to be on the receiving end of that. And what it meant when people started linking you with someone else.

Still, knowing it and feeling it were two different things.

He rolled over onto his back and reached for his phone. The call connected almost instantly.

Kageyama appeared on screen, the faint hum of his kitchen light behind him. His hair was wet, pushed back messily with a towel still draped around his neck. He looked… well, himself . Annoyingly clean. Stupidly good looking in low lighting.

“Hey” Hinata said, voice still half in his chest.

“Hey” Kageyama replied, squinting slightly. “You look tired.”

Hinata yawned exaggeratedly, shifting to lie sideways with his head on the pillow. “I just spent like three hours trying on suits with Bokuto and Kuroo.”

“Oh.” A pause. Then, carefully: “You, uh, find one?”

Hinata nodded. “Yeah.”

Kageyama’s gaze didn’t shift, but something in his expression did. “Good.”

There was a beat of silence.

Hinata kicked his foot under the blanket. “So… what about you? Are you going for the blue tie?”

Kageyama grunted. “Yeah. It looks fine. Plus, I already bought it, so…”

“Nice,” Hinata said, smirking. “I was wondering, did someone help you pick it, or did you just intimidate the tie rack until it gave up?”

“I know how to shop, dumbass.”

Hinata broke into quiet laughter, scrunching into his blanket. Kageyama huffed, but Hinata saw the edge of his mouth tilt, just slightly.

Their screens settled into silence again, the way they always did after a bout of bickering. But the silence wasn’t heavy. It felt comfortable, familiar.

Eventually, Hinata said, “Hey… do you think it’s weird?”

Kageyama raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“This. Us. Being at that event. Around all those people. With the press and cameras.”

A beat.

“Are you asking because of that post? About us?”

Hinata didn’t look away. “Yeah. You saw it?”

“Yeah. Hoshiumi showed it to me.” Kageyama paused again. “You worried?”

Hinata hesitated. “Only about doing something stupid.”

Kageyama blinked slowly. “You always do something stupid.”

Hinata made a face. “Gee, thanks.”

Kageyama’s tone dropped, just a little. “I don’t think we should worry that much. I mean… we’re not even dating yet, are we?”

That made Hinata pause.

“Yet?”

Kageyama sighed like a man accepting his fate. “Don’t make it weird, idiot.”

That made Hinata laugh. 

 

---

 

The Monday morning gym air felt heavier than usual. Maybe it was the humidity, or maybe Hinata was just overthinking again.

He rolled his shoulders as he stepped into the Black Jackals training facility, the sound of sneakers against polished wood echoing through the wide space. His hair was still damp from his shower, and a towel hung around his neck as he joined the rest of the team stretching near the far side of the court.

Atsumu was already there, tying his shoes with his head down.

He hadn’t said good morning. Not to Hinata, anyway. He’d fist-bumped Sakusa (who had surprisingly not shrunk in disgust) and nodded at Meian. When Hinata gave him a quick, polite “hey,” Atsumu just glanced over with a noncommittal hum and turned back to his water bottle.

So that was that. Back to square one.

Fine.

Practice started the usual way: light drills, then positioning, then rotations. Hinata focused like always. Focused on speed, on footwork, on placing his hands just right, on making sure no one, not even Atsumu, could say he wasn’t concentrating completely on his job.

Still, there were moments. Small ones.

During a short scrimmage near the end of practice, they ended up on the same team. Hinata found himself tensing slightly when Atsumu stepped up to serve. The ball flew, the rally started, and muscle memory took over.

Then, late in the rally, Atsumu glanced back, actually looked over his shoulder at Hinata, a quick flash of eye contact, and set. It was a decent toss, sharp but measured.

Hinata adjusted and jumped. Of course, he scored clean, but there was no celebration. No words. Just the thud of the ball and a short whistle from Meian.

And then, quietly, like it was nothing, Atsumu turned, walked past Hinata, and muttered, “Are the sets okay?”

Hinata blinked, thrown off by how neutral it sounded. Not cold. Not forced. Just… like he was asking because he wanted to know.

He didn’t answer right away. “They’re…” Hinata hesitated. “They feel a bit slow. But they’re okay.”

Atsumu nodded once, didn’t say anything else, and got back into position.

The next play, the set came just a little faster.

Hinata noticed.

He didn’t know what to do with that.

 

---

 

By the time practice ended, Hinata’s shirt clung to his back, and he’d long since stopped trying to process the strange quiet between him and Atsumu. He wasn’t sure what, but something was happening. He didn’t even know what.

That made it scarier, in a way.

He towel-dried his hair while chatting with Sakusa about the importance of cleaning your volleyball shoes regularly, when Coach Samson’s voice cut across the gym.

“Hinata. Bokuto. Stay a second.”

Bokuto’s eyes went wide like he was about to be scolded for something he didn’t remember doing. He jogged over, dragging Hinata along by the sleeve.

“Yes, sir?” Bokuto asked, already sweating again just from nervous energy.

Coach Samson, clipboard in hand, gave them both a long, considering look. Then he handed each of them a thick card envelope. Hinata glanced down. It was the entry pass for the cocktail event.

“You’ll both be attending the cocktail as representatives of the team,” he said. “That includes formal press presence.”

Hinata blinked. “Wait, like—talking? In front of people?”

“Yes,” Coach said flatly. “The JVA has requested a short moment to welcome the newest National Team members. You two, and a few others. So you’ll be asked to give statements.”

“Oh,” Bokuto said, eyes wide. “I need to be eloquent?”

Coach gave him a look. “Just don’t be weird . I don’t know if I’m asking for too much.”

“No promises,” Bokuto grinned.

Coach turned back to Hinata. “They’ll probably ask questions about your time in Brazil or your transition into the team, so you can start thinking of a response for that.”

Hinata nodded slowly, fingers curling tighter around the card. His name was printed in sharp, silver letters.

Shoyo Hinata. Black Jackals / Japan National Team.

He couldn’t help the small flutter in his chest.

Coach Samson walked off, muttering something to one of the staff about logistics. Hinata stayed rooted to the spot, the card still firm in his hands.

He read his name again and again, as if it might disappear if he blinked too hard.

Public speaking wasn’t exactly his thing.

But he’d spent his whole life trying to be seen. To be noticed. To prove, loudly and with impossible velocity, that he was someone worth watching on the court.

He just hadn’t expected the lights to come all at once .

First the National Team, then the Black Jackals, now the suit, the camera crews, the sudden wave of online posts with his name tagged in unfamiliar mouths. He’d been back in Japan barely a few months, and it already felt like the world had eyes on him.

That should’ve felt good.

And in some ways, it did. It really did.

But it also made something twist inside him. Something sharp and tight and hard to describe. Like the recognition came too fast for his body to catch up. Like he was still just a kid in his head, chasing the feeling of flying above the net, and now suddenly people were expecting him to be articulate, polished and perfect .

He glanced sideways.

Bokuto was turning his own card upside down and sniffing it for some reason.

Hinata let out a quiet laugh under his breath.

At least he wasn’t alone.

Notes:

WE'LL HAVE THE COCKTAIL TOMORROW OMG I'M NERVOUS

Chapter 78: Chapter LXXVII

Notes:

we're a kudo away from 500 kudos?? HELLO????? THANK YOU SO MUCH???????????????

The studio smelled like steam and hair product and nerves .

Hinata sat motionless in front of the long, lit-up mirror, the sharp tug of a comb working through his hair as a stylist quietly talked to someone behind him about wristbands and tie clips. His navy suit hung nearby, freshly pressed, the matching tie looped carefully over the hanger like a ribbon waiting for a medal.

They’d already patted his face with some kind of translucent powder, "just to reduce the shine,” they’d said, and gently smoothed his unruly hair into something neater, more polished. Less him , maybe. Or maybe just a different version of him. A professional one. A public one.

His reflection didn’t look uncomfortable, exactly. Just... weirdly still.

He tugged the cuff of the white shirt he wore under the suit jacket and cleared his throat. He was sweating a little, but he blamed the lights.

Someone offered him a bottle of water. He took it with both hands, unsure what else to do with them.

The stylist smiled at him. “Almost done. You’re going to look great out there.”

“Thanks,” Hinata said, voice a little too high. “I, uh—cool. Yeah. Thanks.”

The stylist walked away, and Hinata was alone with himself again.

His heart was racing for reasons that had nothing to do with stage fright.

This was the first time he was going to see Kageyama since the last night of the training camp.

The last night, when they’d shared a bed. When they'd slept so close together their legs intertwined at some point during the night. The last morning, where Hinata had finally mustered up his courage.and kissed him, briefly and softly in the lips.

And now?

Now they FaceTimed almost every night, like they’d slipped into a routine without ever saying the word for it. They talked about training. Shoes. Dumb shows Hinata started watching on Kenma’s recommendation. Kageyama didn’t laugh much, but he was getting better at smiling .

He was letting Hinata see him, and now he was going to see him again.

In a suit , no less.

Hinata took a shaky breath and looked back at his reflection. The tie was still undone. Kageyama had offered to do it for him at the venue, of course, but even thinking about that, about Kageyama’s hands brushing his collar, folding fabric over fabric with that annoyingly expert precision, was not helping the situation.

God , he missed him.

He shouldn’t miss him this much. It hadn’t even been that long. But FaceTime calls, no matter how late or warm or silly, couldn’t replace the quiet comfort of standing next to someone. Hearing their real laugh, not through speakers. Feeling their presence without needing to fill the silence.

He ran a hand over his face and shook his head.

It was just a stupid formal event. With cameras. And press. And all the professional players in Japan. Including Kageyama. In a suit. With that stupid serious face of his.

No big deal. Right?

He grabbed the suit jacket and stood slowly, letting the moment settle over him like the fabric itself. His reflection met his gaze again.

Okay, he thought. Let’s do this.

 

---

 

The van’s engine hummed quietly as it pulled away from the training center. Inside, Hinata sat in perfect stillness, even though everything in him was trembling. The city passed by in soft-focus rectangles of light and shadow: traffic lights, night cafes, pale street signs.

He tugged at the still-untied knot of his tie, chewing his lower lip. Meian was sitting across from him, coaching Thomas about his posture, when he caught Hinata’s hand holding on to his tie. 

The captain shifted and hummed gently, glass-dark eyes drifting to Hinata’s slack tie. Without a word, Meian lifted one gloved finger and carefully pulled the knot closed. A quiet intervention echoing the unspoken team dynamic that had been shifting all day.

Hinata’s breath caught.

He wanted, even half-wished, it had been Kageyama’s fingers, not Meian’s. But he also knew it was kind of naive. The cameras would swarm the moment they exited the van. Tactical decision-making wasn’t always romantic.

He let Meian adjust the folds, thanked him quietly, and straightened again.

 

---

 

The double doors to the ballroom opened with a soft pull, and the first thing Hinata noticed was the light: warm, golden, alive. It shimmered off crystal chandeliers and bounced against polished marble, settling like dust over the sea of dark suits and silver chairs.

He stepped inside with Bokuto right beside him, the two of them flanked by team staff and crew. A breeze of soft chatter moved through the crowd, and then came the moment he hadn’t expected: people were turning. Looking. Smiling.

There were cameras, and more than a few hands reaching out in greeting. Hinata did his best to smile without looking overwhelmed, nodding and bowing slightly when someone shook his hand, half hearing all the congratulations being aimed at him and Bokuto.

“Heard you made the national team—congrats, man!”

“Looking sharp, #21.”

He blinked. They weren’t wrong. He was in a perfectly fitted navy suit, his hair styled better than it had ever been (he could thank the JVA’s over-the-top stylists for that) and he supposed the tan he’d picked up in Brazil gave him a glow under these hotel lights. Still, every compliment felt slightly too loud in his ears. Like someone else had walked in wearing his body.

Just behind them, another figure entered.

Atsumu.

Hinata caught it from the corner of his eye, just a flicker of blonde and champagne fabric. Atsumu wore a sleek grey suit that caught the light like brushed metal, his hair styled with less lift than usual, more understated. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t even pretend to wave. Just stepped in behind them, silent, face unreadable.

Something about it made Hinata's stomach twist.

It wasn’t pity. Not exactly. It was something adjacent. Atsumu had been there at the training camp, same as them. Should’ve been here tonight, same as them. Should’ve stood beside him as one of the new faces of the national team. But he’d left. And now he walked like someone who finally knew what he missed out on. Shoulders tighter. Smile dulled.

Hinata glanced back at him one last time as a server gestured toward their table. Black Jackals, center floor.

Bokuto took the lead, booming thanks and greeting everyone like he was the mayor of volleyball. Hinata followed closely, his fingers brushing the back of his suit pants to make sure nothing had wrinkled in the car ride.

They sat just as the ballroom lights dimmed slightly and the host took the stage, microphone gleaming.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the voice echoed, rich and theatrical, “welcome to the 11th Annual JVA Professional Cocktail Gala.”

A soft swell of polite applause followed. Hinata shifted in his seat, the fabric of his suit tight across his chest. Someone slid a glass of sparkling water in front of him. He thanked them, then promptly forgot to take a sip.

The host kept talking. Something about national pride, about legacy and honor, about Japan’s ongoing presence in the world volleyball scene. A large screen came to life behind them, showing highlights from old Olympic footage, press conferences, televised matches. Years of history rendered in flashes of sound and color.

But Hinata wasn’t watching the screen.

He was watching the room.

It was unconscious, this quiet scanning. A steady rhythm in his chest told him who he was looking for before he even admitted it to himself.

And then he saw him.

Kageyama Tobio.

Hinata’s breath disappeared.

The Adlers must’ve arrived while the host opened with the introduction speech, because Kageyama was already seated at a nearby table, maybe ten meters away. The suit he wore was dark charcoal, tailored to perfection, every line clean and composed. But that wasn’t what did it.

His hair.

Kageyama’s hair was styled back off his forehead, neat and controlled in a way that made Hinata’s skin crawl and spark at the same time. It was the kind of thing that could make a whole room fall quiet. There was something so intimate, so jarring about seeing his full face like that. No fringe. No shadows.

His cheekbones were sharp under the ballroom lights, his jaw set just enough to draw the eye. Then he looked up.

Like he knew.

Like he’d been waiting for this exact moment.

Kageyama’s gaze locked on his. Dark and certain, and then he smirked.

It wasn’t a full smile. Wasn’t even really a grin. But it was his , and it curled like smoke at the corners of his mouth, filled with amusement, fondness, and knowing.

Hinata sat frozen, heat rising from somewhere under his collar.

God, he looked—he looked so good .

He wanted to say something. Wave. Shout across the room or throw a glass just to make it seem casual.

Instead, he looked down into his drink, heart drumming against the inside of his ribs.

So this was how the night would begin.

And if it had already hit him this hard, he couldn’t imagine what would happen when they were finally close enough to speak.

Chapter 79: Chapter LXXVIII

The applause faded gently into murmurs, glasses clinking as the lights in the ballroom settled back into their soft glow. The video had ended with images of gold medals and slow-motion spikes giving way to the shine of crystal, chatter, and the soft swish of silk dresses and tailored suits moving across the floor.

Across the tables, Kageyama still sat exactly where he’d been a moment ago, elbow resting on white linen, fingers curled around the stem of his glass. He was watching Hinata with that same unreadable expression: serious, quiet, but distinctly focused. Like he was studying him.

Hinata swallowed tightly, the tips of his ears burning.

Then a voice whispered just beside his shoulder.

“You’re staring,” Bokuto said. “Like— really staring.”

Hinata jolted. “I wasn’t—!”

Bokuto raised an eyebrow. “Dude. I could feel you staring, and I was sitting next to you.”

Hinata sank into his seat, face hot. “Shut up.”

“You’re blushing,” Bokuto added helpfully, sipping from his water glass like it wasn’t the most obvious thing in the room. “It’s kind of cute.”

Before Hinata could gather a comeback, Coach Samson approached the table. Even in a formal suit, the man moved with the composed presence of someone who’d rather be in a gym than a banquet hall.

“They’ll be calling you up soon,” he said quietly, eyes flicking between Bokuto and Hinata. “After the toast. Remember to bow, speak clearly, don’t ramble. Your answers, I want them just like we practiced.”

Hinata nodded fast, throat already tightening.

Samson gave him a short, encouraging clap to the shoulder and disappeared again into the crowd.

The host’s voice returned to the microphone, warm and polished.

“And now,” he said, smiling wide, “a toast—to all the teams, athletes, and staff who make Japan a force to be reckoned with in international volleyball. To the legacy behind us, and the next generation rising up!”

The room raised their glasses.

Hinata did the same.

He glanced back toward the Adlers’ table again, like a reflex, and there Kageyama was. Still watching. Still unreadable.

He raised his glass.

Hinata didn’t look away this time. Didn’t blink. He took a sip of his drink, eyes locked with Kageyama’s the entire time, and suddenly everything around him blurred. The chandeliers, the crowd, the plates being cleared… it all dimmed under the weight of that look. Heat prickled beneath his collar. His heartbeat skipped and then thudded, heavy.

Bokuto leaned in again, muttering with a grin, “So much for being casual about it.”

Hinata nearly choked on his drink.

Before he could retaliate, the host’s voice came again, this time louder.

“And now, we’d like to welcome five rising stars to the stage. Five names you’ve been hearing more and more of. The newest additions to the Japan National Team. Please join us in welcoming Gao Hakuba, Korai Hoshiumi, Wakatsu Kiryu, Kotaro Bokuto, and Shoyo Hinata!”

The room erupted in applause.

Hinata’s legs were moving before he realized it, following Bokuto’s steady stride toward the front stage. He passed by dozens of tables, dozens of players, his eyes carefully not drifting anywhere near the Adlers.

He could feel the gaze again. Right between his shoulder blades.

The light from the chandeliers shone hot under the stage lights. Hinata squinted slightly as he bowed with the others, flashes from cameras popping like popcorn across the room. Bokuto stood proud beside him, one hand already raised in a little wave.

They lined up neatly in front of five tall stools, each with a handheld mic clipped to the base. The host smiled warmly and launched into a brief introduction, asking about team transitions, favorite matches, and team dynamics.

First question went to Hakuba. Something about his role in back-row defense, which he answered with poise. Next was Kiryu, and then Hoshiumi, who grinned and joked with the press about his height, as always.

Then the mic turned toward Hinata.

“You’re one of the rare players in this lineup with professional beach volleyball experience,” the host said. “Tell us—how has the transition back to indoor volleyball been for you? What’s surprised you the most?”

Hinata’s grip tightened around the mic.

For a split second, his mind went blank. But then, he could hear coach Samson’s voice, slow and patient. The mirror in his apartment. Phone in his hand pretending it was the mic. He breathed in.

“Well,” Hinata said, smiling just a little, “for starters, I don’t have to clean tons of sand off my shower anymore.”

Laughter rippled gently through the crowd.

“Now, to be honest, beach volleyball is slower. There’s more space between plays. But indoor? It’s faster, sharper and more intense. I had to retrain myself to respond faster again. Timing’s different. But honestly—I missed the sounds. The squeak of shoes on the court, the echoes off the gym walls, the smack of a perfect set hitting your hand. That stuff stays with you.”

More nods. A few claps. Cameras clicked.

Hinata’s smile faded just a touch as he shifted back in his seat. He felt it again, that invisible pull to the right side of the room. A gravity.

He didn’t turn his head. Didn’t have to .

Kageyama’s eyes were on him. Burning steady.

Hinata kept his gaze forward, but something about the weight of that look made his pulse jump again.

He was being seen.

Not just by the cameras. Not just by sponsors or teammates. 

By him .

And that made it all feel real.

The last question went to Bokuto, of course. He answered with so much enthusiasm the host had to gently cut him off with a laugh, thanking all of them for their time.

And then they were done.

The applause rose politely as the new national team members bowed in unison. The screen behind them faded to black.

“Thank you to our new talents,” the host announced as they stepped off the stage. “Now, please, enjoy the evening. Mingle. Celebrate. Learn from one another. That’s what this night is for!”

People began to stand from their tables, conversations growing louder as music swelled in the background. It was soft jazz that matched the clink of glasses and distant laughter.

As they stepped down from the stage, Hoshiumi bumped shoulders with Hinata.

“Dude, that answer was good ,” he said, leaning in to be heard over the noise. “We were almost late getting here, by the way. Coach had to argue with the front desk to let us skip formal check-in.”

Hinata grinned. “I’m not surprised.”

They parted with a casual wave. Kiryu had already been pulled into a conversation with someone in a blazer that looked aggressively expensive.

Bokuto wandered off toward the refreshments table, promising to bring back a whole plate of shrimp.

Hinata, however, needed air. Or something like it.

He made his way to the far end of the salon, near one of the wide windowed alcoves dressed with sheer drapes. There, the light was softer. Diffused. He exhaled and touched the edge of the invitation card still tucked in his pocket, half out of habit, half out of disbelief that this was real.

He’d done it. The stage. The Q&A. The whole thing.

People kept stopping him. Men in elegant black suits, journalists in cocktail dresses, coaches from teams he barely remembered playing against.

“You’ve grown so much since high school,” someone said.

“Can’t wait to see your next match!”

He bowed, nodded and smiled. His mouth was starting to ache from it, but none of it registered. Because somewhere in the crowd, he felt it again.

That pull .

His eyes scanned the room, and there he was.

Kageyama was making his way through the room with quiet ease, head tilted slightly, one hand holding a glass of wine. His hair was still slicked back the way it had been during the presentation, but now, under the warmer lighting, it caught highlights of ink-blue and coal.

And those eyes.

Those same eyes that had watched him from across the court, from across a phone screen, from the edge of a shared bed, now locked with his again.

Something in Hinata’s chest settled. Just a little.

He’d been nervous all day, but suddenly the tightness melted into something warmer. Excited. Calmer, even.

He didn’t overthink it.

He simply reached up and, without breaking eye contact, began to tug loose the knot of his tie. The silk slid between his fingers, unspooling messily down his chest.

Kageyama’s brows furrowed as he slowed, just a few steps away now. “What are you—”

“You said you’d tie it for me,” Hinata said.

Kageyama blinked. But the confusion only lasted a brief moment. He smiled, just a little, one brow arched.

He stepped closer.

Hinata swallowed.

They were standing so close now. Kageyama’s hands reached up, brushing against the fabric at Hinata’s collar, pulling the tie gently back into place. His fingers worked fast, precise and practiced, but Hinata barely registered the movements.

All he could think about was how close his face was.

The smell of his cologne, sharp and clean, but not overpowering. Something woody underneath.

The slope of his cheekbones.

The way his mouth pressed together in quiet focus, and the brief, almost imperceptible tug of his tongue against the inside of his cheek when the knot wasn’t sitting quite right.

Hinata’s breath caught. His eyes dropped, just for a second, to Kageyama’s mouth.

Soft. Controlled. So close .

“Is this the way you usually greet people?” Kageyama muttered without looking up.

“Might be.”

“Stop staring at me.”

Hinata couldn't help but smile. “I’m not.”

Kageyama glanced up at that, really looked at him.

And the air between them snapped.

Hot. Charged.

Like the static right before a serve. Like the half-second between toss and jump. Everything inside Hinata buzzed, blood rushing to his fingertips, to his throat, to every place that remembered what it had felt like to fall asleep next to him, pressed close and warm and right.

“Yes, you were.” Kageyama finished the knot. Tight. Clean. His hands lingering. “You’re all set,” he said, voice lower now.

Hinata didn’t move, but neither did Kageyama.

Their hands were nearly touching.

“You look…” Kageyama started. He was looking as if he was trying to memorize something. He cleared his throat, Hinata could see the tip of his nose colored in red. “That color suits you.”

Hinata’s heart was pounding so loud, he was sure someone would hear it. “Thanks.”

Kageyama opened his mouth like he was about to say something else, but someone nearby called out a name, loud and cheerful, and the moment cracked, just slightly.

Kageyama looked away first.

Hinata exhaled, a slow rush of air past his lips. The tie sat perfectly against his collar.

But nothing else in him felt neat.

 

---

 

The ballroom lights kept glinting off the chandeliers, as if sparkling out of anticipation for every brewing heartbeat beneath. Cameras flashed with polite efficiency. But underneath, everything was magnetic.

Distance defined their dance. Whenever Hinata bumped into Kageyama, at the buffet or near the awards podium, they’d subtly peel away. His sleeve grazed Kageyama’s arm once; the eight steps to the corner felt like miles.

But even when they tried to keep their distance, their eyes kept meeting. Across the room, when Hinata was being interviewed for the sixth time that night and Kageyama was shaking hands with old rivals. When Hinata posed for photos with the other new members of the National Team, and Kageyama was standing somewhere nearby with his teammates, pretending not to watch. When Hinata was asked to record a video for a sports brand, and Kageyama was signing a volleyball across the hall.

No matter how far apart they stood, their eyes would always, always , find each other.

 

---

 

At some point during the night, Hoshiumi grabbed Hinata, smile huge, and dragged him toward a cluster of players: Ushijima, Bokuto, Hoshiumi, Kageyama and Atsumu, who was standing off to one side. Hoshiumi grinned obliviously, yelling: “Group photo, the OG’s from training camp!”

They clung close for the photo, shoulder to shoulder. Bokuto and Hinata in the center, Ushijima flanked them. Hoshiumi shoved them tight together, and somehow, as destiny’s cruel joke, Atsumu ended up between Kageyama and Hinata. 

In the instant before the shutter clicked, Hinata saw it . He watched as Kageyama’s jaw tightened. Just a fraction. Atsumu's posture sagged a little. Their faces didn’t change, but tension thickened in the small space between them. Then the flash, and the image was gone.

 

---

 

Later, a reporter with a handheld mic approached. Both Hinata and Kageyama were back at the dessert table. The lights shifted. The murmurs softened.

“Hinata Shoyo and Kageyama Tobio. A pair many of us remember as teammates back on the Karasuno court. You're now on opposing pro teams, but reunited on the national team stage. What’s that like?”

Hinata leaned forward, heart pounding like it was a match point. He glanced at Kageyama. His jaw was tight, his expression serious, even as he adjusted his cuff.

Hinata answered first, voice steady under the spotlight: “Karasuno shaped us. Both of us, I think. But it was always meant to be this way. Facing each other at opposite sides of the court. I did promise this man I was going to defeat him one day, and that’s kind of hard to do when you play at the same team all the time.”

He was stunned to hear Kageyama’s soft chuckle, right next to him. He turned to look at the man standing besides him, amazed. “I couldn’t have worded it any better. I’m still waiting for that day to happen, though.”

They exchanged smiles when the microphones dropped. Something unspoken but clearly present. 

And somewhere among the crowd, Atsumu watched, still. Silent.

Later, amid renewed applause and champagne clinks, Hinata found a quiet corner by the drapes, feeling the hum of conversation all around. He sipped his drink, brain buzzing. It wasn’t the relief of answering every question correctly, it was the thrill that nobody else knew how tangled everything beneath it all had become.

He’d spent years wanting to be seen . But tonight felt different. Not showy. Not selfish.

He was hiding something. A truth only he and Kageyama sensed.

They weren’t just standing beside each other again.

They were standing in sync. They were reckless over crumbs of words, over half-glanced eye contact. They were daring the world to look and not see.

Hinata let that thought settle over him, sipping slowly.

Because he had a secret. And it was beautiful.

Notes:

the way i was smiling and kicking my feet while writing this lmao

hope you guys enjoyed it<33 thank you for all the love you've been giving to this fic!!!

Chapter 80: Chapter LXXIX

Notes:

soooo, i'm pretty nervous about this one

The last notes of jazz dripped from the ballroom speakers as Coach Samson exited into the hallway, side by side with Coach Suzaku of the Schweiden Adlers. An interesting due, to say the least. Their greeting was warm but measured, like two countries' co-leaders in polite rivalry.

“How long until an official scrimmage, Samson?” Coach Suzaku asked.

“Soon,” Samson replied, sliding behind his own team. “We’ll get something on the calendar. It’s about time, don’t you think?”

Suzaku nodded. “Always happy to test ourselves.”

The cameras clicked politely as they parted, friendly and respectful, but with every flick of their jackets, the tension of competition hung in the air.

Hinata gathered his suit bag, looking for familiar faces. He saw Kageyama strolling toward him, but his bag was nowhere to be seen.

“Kageyama…?” Hinata said softly.

“Hey. I have one more thing to do. I promise it won’t take that long. Wait for me, okay?” he said, voice rushed and nervous, and disappeared after his team, who was already following their coach close behind.

The night air wrapped around Hinata like a breath he hadn’t meant to take.

The hotel’s lobby buzzed behind him, subdued laughter, the soft clinking of glassware, and the rustle of formal wear as the last of the guests slowly trickled out. He stepped through the sliding doors and let them close behind him, muting the chaos he’d just walked away from.

Outside, the street was quiet. A few taxis glided past, headlights brushing over the brick sidewalk. The trees along the avenue swayed gently, full and dark against the glowing skyline of Tokyo.

Hinata sank onto a low bench outside the hotel entrance, clutching the dark fabric of his suit pants just above the knees. His tie was still in place, but loose now, like the tension in his shoulders had started to slip but hadn’t quite let go.

He glanced at the time. No message yet.

From the corner of his eye, he saw a sleek black car pull up to the curb. Akaashi stepped out of the driver seat, wearing a black coat that swayed neatly at his knees, and rounded to the sidewalk. He greeted Bokuto with a kiss and leaned against the car, noticing Hinata and waiving with a smile on his face. “Hey, kid. Long time no see. You’re looking sharp.”

“Akaashi,” Hinata greeted. It had indeed been a long time since he had last seen him. Maybe at Suga’s reunion party, if his memory didn’t fail. He was a very busy man nowadays, working with the magazine. Even Bokuto complained about how little time they’d manage to spend together. 

Bokuto turned to Hinata, already halfway in the passenger seat.

“Hey, you good?” he called.

Hinata blinked. “Yeah. I’m just… waiting for someone.”

Akaashi tilted his head a little. Bokuto raised his eyebrows, then broke into a grin.

“Oh,” he said. “ That someone.”

Hinata didn’t answer, but a smile drew across his face. Bokuto winked as Akaashi guided him into the car and shut the door. 

“Please text us when you get home!”

They called before the car peeled away into the night.

And then, Hinata was alone again.

He leaned back on the bench, head tipping toward the sky. The moon was bright tonight. Sharp edges. No clouds to soften it.

His hands fidgeted at the hem of his blazer. There was a part of him that still felt out of place in a suit like this. Like the boy from Miyagi who once played barefoot in a gravel court was just pretending to be this polished version of himself. But another part of him, the part that had sat through a Q&A with his name spoken next to Japan’s best players, the part that had stood calmly while cameras flashed, was beginning to believe it.

The lobby doors swished open again.

Hinata straightened.

Kageyama stepped out, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, his blazer jacket folded neatly over one arm. His shirt was wrinkled at the collar now, like he’d been tugging at it. His tie hung undone, the ends fluttering faintly in the breeze.

He looked around once, then locked eyes with Hinata.

Right there, under the moonlight, Kageyama looked unearthly. He had looked polished and composed the entire night. His hair perfectly combed back, his suit neat and clean. But right now, with his shirt one button down, his sleeves rolled up his arms, his tie loose around his neck, his hair still off his face but messier . 

Hinata’s knees felt weak.

They just stood there for a moment, tension tight between them, until Kageyama finally stepped forward.

“Sorry,” he said. “They… took longer than I thought.”

Hinata nodded. “It’s okay.”

Kageyama adjusted the strap on his shoulder, then tilted his chin toward the road. “Let’s go.”

They didn’t talk right away. Their footsteps fell in sync as they turned down a quieter street. The sidewalks were mostly empty now, a few people chatting softly outside cafes as chairs were stacked and signs flipped to closed .

The city was exhaling, winding down.

It was Hinata who finally broke the silence.

“So. What was that about?” he asked, voice low but steady.

“We were meeting a possible new sponsor,” he said. “It was already mostly confirmed before tonight, actually, but the cocktail was kind of the last step. Like a formality.”

Hinata’s brow furrowed. “So… it’s done?”

“It is. I… I shouldn’t be telling you this, but I think it’ll be on the news soon enough anyways.” He paused, turning to look at Hinata, as if examining him. He took a deep, dramatic breath before continuing. “The Adlers are officially moving to Tokyo.”

Hinata blinked. Kageyama’s expression was extremely serious, as if he was sharing top secret national-worthy secrets. He couldn’t help but laugh.

Kageyama blinked back at him. “You’re not surprised,” he said flatly.

Hinata shrugged, hands in his pockets now, fingers fidgeting with the fabric inside. “I was at first. Now… not so much.”

“Who told you?”

“Suga,” Hinata said, not even bothering to lie. “A while ago. And, well… rumors spread. Kuroo’s been teasing me about it for weeks.”

Kageyama’s mouth flattened. “I’m gonna kill Suga. And Kuroo.”

Hinata bumped his shoulder into Kageyama’s gently, more reflex than thought.

“Hey. You’re the one who kept it a secret.”

Kageyama huffed, gaze flicking away, but there was no real heat behind it. “I just didn’t want to get my hopes up, I guess. In case something went wrong.”

“I get it.” Hinata glanced at him again. “So, you're here for good?”

Kageyama nodded. “Seems like it.”

“Good.”

Kageyama’s head turned slightly, eyes narrowing, but Hinata didn’t look at him. His ears were a little red, though. Kageyama didn’t mention it.

They crossed the street in silence, walking under a row of warm lights that cast long shadows behind them. The night smelled faintly of rain and something grilled from a nearby food cart. Their steps echoed softly on the pavement.

Tokyo felt different tonight.

It wasn’t just because the cocktail was over. It wasn’t because of national teams or new contracts or flashing cameras.

It was because Kageyama was here.

And this time, he wasn’t going anywhere.

 

---

 

The apartment door clicked shut behind them, and Hinata flicked the light switch with his elbow.

“Welcome to my humble home,” he said, dropping his keys into the ceramic dish by the door with a clink. “Shoes off. We’re civilized here.”

Kageyama bent down to untie his laces, expression unreadable. “It’s not as small as I thought.”

“Don’t start criticizing,” Hinata called over his shoulder, already padding into the living room. “It’s Tokyo. It’s either this or sell a kidney.”

Kageyama stepped inside, dragging his bag behind him, eyes wandering across the room like he was memorizing it. The furniture was sparse but warm, mostly secondhand, a little too many greens and browns, the corners not quite symmetrical. There was a tiny shelf crammed with manga, and a single black cat keychain hung from a hook by the window.

His gaze paused there.

“You kept this?” he asked.

Hinata looked over his shoulder, already pulling out two mismatched wine glasses from the cupboard. 

“Of course I did. You picked it,” Hinata said, grinning as he rinsed the glasses. “It was a nice day.”

Kageyama didn’t answer. He just kept staring at the tiny plastic cat as if it had changed shape while he wasn’t looking.

“Hey,” Hinata said suddenly, wiping his hands on a towel and moving to a speaker on the shelf. “Is there anything you’d like to hear?”

Kageyama narrowed his eyes. “If it’s that playlist with the rain sounds and weird jazz—”

“It’s not my fault you don’t know what white noise is,” Hinata warned, already turning the volume up.

A soft beat filled the room, slow and warm and just a little too romantic.

Hinata walked past Kageyama toward the table, where the wine bottle waited beside a corkscrew. He uncorked it with more force than finesse and poured slowly into the glasses.

Kageyama followed after a beat, watching as Hinata moved. He didn’t sit. He stayed standing, one hand resting on the back of the chair.

“You bought wine?”

Hinata nodded. “Yesterday. Got the glasses too. I didn’t have any.”

“Just for tonight?”

Hinata paused. Then shrugged. “What else was I supposed to serve you? Protein shakes?”

Kageyama smirked and they finally sat.

Hinata took a sip first, watching him from across the table, elbows on the wood, one hand lazily spinning the base of his glass.

“You’re not going to say anything like, smart, about the wine, right?” Kageyama asked.

Hinata snorted. “‘Smart?’ Please . I picked it because the bottle had a nice label.”

They sat there a moment, the silence dipping low between them.

Then Hinata stood, wandered to the fridge, and started pulling together snacks. Sliced avocado, leftover gyoza, cold chicken, stuff that didn’t need much work.

Kageyama stayed seated, but his eyes never left him.

“Smells good,” he muttered.

“I hope so. It’s literally just stuff I didn’t want to expire.”

Hinata’s back was to him, but Kageyama stood up quietly.

He approached slow, steps padded. Hinata didn’t hear him until he felt breath close to the back of his neck.

“Are you drunk?”

“No. Why would you—?”

Hinata froze.

Kageyama didn’t answer, but he stepped forward and slipped his hands around Hinata’s waist, careful, slow, fingers spreading wide across the curve of his back instead as he turned Hinata around to face him.

“I just wanted to be sure,” Kageyama murmured, eyes locked onto his.

Hinata’s breath caught.

Kageyama leaned in.

Their lips met slow at first. Tentative, curious. But something in the tension of the night, in the way Hinata smelled like olive oil and tiled floors and distant tang of wine, something in that collision made Kageyama deepen the kiss just a little.

Their heads tipped, cheeks brushed, breath mingled. Hinata’s lips parted, breath fluttering. Kageyama’s hand tightened slightly at the small of Hinata’s back.

When they pulled away, barely a breath between them, Kageyama’s eyes darkened to moonlight.

“I’ve… been waiting—”

“I know,” Hinata whispered, voice catching.

Before Kageyama could say more, Hinata reached up and captured the soft curve of Kageyama’s jaw and pulled him back in.

The second kiss came easier, but stronger. It carried weeks of longing. Of missed opportunities and daylight hours spent rehearsing words, surging through. 

The kiss deepened. Kageyama's hands, still resting on Hinata's waist, applied just enough pressure to lift him slightly, guiding him to sit on the kitchen counter, careful not to disturb the half-prepared food beside them.

Hinata let out a soft, surprised breath, his eyes fluttering open for a moment to meet Kageyama’s.

Kageyama paused. Pulled back. His face was flushed, lips parted, voice slightly unsteady.

“Was that too much?” he asked, tone low, but laced with concern.

Something shifted in Hinata’s chest, tight and hot. He couldn’t believe what was happening. The same Kageyama who’d stood on an Olympic podium now stood in his kitchen, eyes locked on his lips, hands warm and grounding on his hips, like he wanted to stay there forever.

Hinata shook his head. Then, without saying anything, he threaded his fingers into Kageyama’s hair and tugged him back in.

Their lips collided again, slower now, exploratory, as if both of them were afraid of moving too fast and waking from a dream. The music played faintly behind them, some looping synth beat with soft guitar strings, but all Hinata could hear was Kageyama’s breathing, shallow and uneven.

Kageyama's hands slid up from his waist, down the arch of his back, tracing the shape of him over his clothes. His fingertips pressed gently along Hinata’s spine, trailing upward, like he was trying to memorize every line, every curve, every place his hands could fit.

Even through the fabric, Hinata felt the heat of his touch, like the static before a storm.

Then, with the softest pull of breath, Hinata let his hands slip from Kageyama’s hair to the top button of his shirt.

He hesitated.

His fingers hovered, uncertain,  not from shame, but from the weight of the moment. It wasn’t lust or curiosity driving him; it was something quieter, deeper. A need for closeness. For proof that this was real.

Kageyama watched him, unreadable.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. His voice was still rough, but gentle now. He lifted his own hand to the button and slowly began to undo it. Then the next. Then the one below that.

Hinata swallowed, breath caught in his throat.

He had seen Kageyama shirtless countless times. During training, after matches, on locker room benches. But not like this. Not in this light. Not in this silence . Not with this kind of vulnerability laid bare between them.

Kageyama pushed the fabric back slightly, exposing the slope of his collarbone, the definition of his chest, the subtle rise and fall of breath beneath warm skin.

Hinata reached out, his fingertips brushing lightly against his skin.

It wasn’t possessive. It wasn’t even urgent.

It was reverent.

His hand flattened against Kageyama’s chest, moving slowly down over his sternum. Kageyama didn’t move, didn’t speak. He just stood there, breathing, watching him.

And then, he noticed it. Just beneath his ribs, at the dip of his waist. The ink.

Hinata’s breath caught.

He reached out instinctively, fingertips brushing just along the edge of the first wing. The skin was warm and smooth, the ink a little raised, familiar and unfamiliar all at once.

“I’ve always wanted to touch it,” Hinata whispered. “Ever since I first saw it. That day at the hotel room. I pretended I didn’t care much, but…” His fingers traced the curve of a feather. “It’s you. So you.”

Kageyama’s eyes fluttered half-closed, a slow breath pulling his chest inward. “You can,” he said, barely audible. “As long as you want.”

There was no teasing in it. No arrogance.

Just surrender.

Hinata didn’t say anything. He just moved his hand again, slower this time, following the dip of Kageyama’s waist, the ink trailing into the fabric of his slacks. The tattoo disappeared beneath the waistband, but Hinata didn’t push further. He just rested his hand there, warm and steady, and looked up at him.

The silence stretched.

Then Kageyama stepped in again, impossibly close, and reached for the hem of Hinata’s shirt.

His fingers hesitated, almost politely. A silent question.

Hinata nodded, and Kageyama started to unbutton his shirt. Each button off sent a thrill up his spine, until the shirt rustled quietly before hitting the floor.

Tobio stared and kept staring.

Hinata had always been fit, sure. But Brazil had changed him. Toned his body in a new way. His shoulders broader, his chest firmer, his waist tight, tapering into the sharp lines of his hips. His skin was golden brown, tan from the endless sun, and it made everything about him glow .

Kageyama exhaled like he forgot how to breathe.

“You’re…” He looked dazed. “You’re… really tan.”

Hinata grinned, a little self-conscious. “You just noticed?”

“No,” Kageyama said quickly, like his brain had short-circuited. “I mean, yeah. I noticed. I just. Not like this .”

His hands lifted, tentative and reverent. He placed them gently on Hinata’s sides, thumbs brushing against his ribs. Then, slowly, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the space just below his collarbone.

Then another, lower.

Then another, against the slope of his shoulder.

Hinata sucked in a breath, eyes fluttering shut.

His hands lifted automatically, resting on Kageyama’s shoulders, fingers curling lightly against warm skin. Kageyama’s mouth was soft, curious, like he was learning something new with every inch he kissed. His touch wasn’t demanding. It was fascinated. Devoted.

He kissed along the curve of Hinata’s chest, then rested his cheek there for a moment, his arms wrapping slowly around his back.

“You feel like summer.”

Hinata huffed a laugh, brushing his fingers lightly through Kageyama’s hair.

“It seems to me like none of us is sleeping on the couch tonight.”

Kageyama smiled against his skin. “Are we even gonna sleep at all?”

Hinata pulled him up by the chin and kissed him again. This time, slower. More sure.

And nothing in the world, not the empty wine glasses, the music still playing low in the background, or the plates left forgotten on the counter, mattered more than the fact that they were both finally here . Bruised and rebuilt, cautious and still healing, but, finally, together .

Notes:

IT'S MY FIRST TIME WRITING SOMETHING LIKE THIS, idk why it made me feel so nervous lmao, anywayyysssssss, hope this chapter feels like a reward after almost 80 chapters of slow burn yearning<3

Chapter 81: Chapter LXXX

Kageyama didn’t pull away after the kiss.

His forehead stayed pressed against Hinata’s, their breaths mingling in the narrow space between them. One of his hands rested on Hinata’s hip, the other traced a slow line up the bare skin of his back, fingers grazing each ridge of muscle like he was still memorizing it, like it had been years but also seconds.

It was quiet. The kind of quiet that hummed in your ears and made your heart thud louder.

At least, it was quiet until a loud Grrrrrrrrowl broke through the tension.

Kageyama froze. Hinata blinked.

The second rumble echoed louder, like something monstrous rising from the depths of Kageyama’s stomach.

Hinata slapped a hand over his mouth, but the laugh burst out anyway. “Was that you?!”

Kageyama scowled and looked away, ears already turning red. “Shut up.”

“You’re literally starving, oh my god.” Hinata was laughing so hard now he had to clutch the counter for support. “I was making you food!”

“I forgot!” Kageyama barked, eyes narrowed. “You distracted me!”

Hinata gasped dramatically. “ I distracted you? You were the one who came at me like—like, all mysterious and hot.”

“Don’t say it like that.”

“I will say it like that. Now sit down before you pass out in my kitchen from hunger and horniness.”

Kageyama muttered something unintelligible as he stepped back, running a hand through his already-mussed hair. He looked wrecked in the best way: tie long abandoned on the floor, shirt right next to the tie, his skin flushed all the way to his collarbone.

Hinata blinked. Then blinked again.

“Wait,” he said, voice still a little breathless. “Are you gonna stay shirtless for the rest of the night?”

Kageyama paused mid-breath. “…Do you want me to?”

Hinata snorted. “I mean, it’s not like I’m complaining, but—this is my kitchen , man. Not a boudoir photoshoot.”

Kageyama rolled his eyes, though his mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile. He reached down to grab his overnight bag from the floor near the door.

“I have a shirt, idiot.”

“And shorts?”

“Yes, Hinata.”

Hinata raised both hands like he was surrendering. “Just making sure this wasn’t your grand seduction strategy.”

“It wasn’t.”

“It’s working, though.”

“Shut up.”

Kageyama disappeared down the short hallway toward the bathroom, and Hinata exhaled, still standing where he’d been left, his whole body humming like a tuning fork. His cheeks were sore from smiling and his hands still trembled faintly, but beneath the heat, something steadier stirred. Something deeply, stupidly fond.

After finishing heating up the leftovers, he reached for the bottle of wine and topped off both glasses.

A few minutes later, Kageyama reappeared in a t-shirt, soft and slightly oversized and black athletic shorts hanging low on his hips. He looked more like himself now, a version of Kageyama Hinata knew best: clean, simple, comfortable.

“You gonna eat the rest of your food?” Kageyama asked, already heading for the table again.

“Help yourself,” Hinata said, walking past him toward the bathroom. “But if you touch the last piece of chicken, I’ll bite your fingers off.”

“Try me.”

By the time Hinata returned, he’d changed into a loose tank top and shorts. He padded barefoot across the room, tossed a kitchen towel over Kageyama’s head just to be annoying, and they bantered quietly while cleaning up. It felt... easy. Familiar.

And when they finally made it into the bedroom, when they settled into the bed, dim lamplight casting warm shadows across the room, it was quieter again.

Hinata lay on his side, facing Kageyama. Their legs tangled loosely beneath the sheets. His hand curled near the center of his chest, not quite touching, but close enough.

It had only been a few hours since they’d kissed in the kitchen.

Only a few days since they’d last FaceTimed.

Only a few years since everything had gone to shit and then stitched itself back together with painful, crooked seams.

So when the silence stretched too long, Hinata didn’t let it win. He reached out, brushing the back of his fingers lightly over Kageyama’s wrist.

“So…” he started. “What is this?”

Kageyama looked at him, serious in the way he always was when it mattered. “Us?”

Hinata nodded. “Yeah. This. Tonight. Everything.”

Kageyama exhaled through his nose. “I don’t know.”

That could’ve stung, but it didn’t.

Hinata smiled, just a little. “Me neither.”

They were quiet again. Hinata could hear a car passing by in the street below, the distant hum of the city still awake. Somewhere in the building, a faucet dripped.

“Honestly?” Hinata whispered, voice softer now. “It’s kind of scary. I’ve never dated anyone. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say or do, and it makes me nervous thinking I won’t be good at it.”

Kageyama nodded, eyes on the ceiling. “I’ve never dated anyone either. Don’t even know what you’re supposed to do besides, like, kissing and all that.”

That made Hinata laugh. “Is there really a specific thing couples have to do?”

“…No idea.”

Hinata let out a slow breath. “I mean, I could spend the whole day watching or playing volleyball with you and I’d be the happiest guy alive. But I don’t think Kuroo and Kenma would do something like that.”

“Kenma would murder Kuroo if he even tried.”

“See?” Hinata smiled. “It’s different for everyone.”

Kageyama turned his head then, eyes finding Hinata’s in the dark. “So… we just figure it out?”

Hinata nodded. “Of course.”

There was a small silence, this time gentler, until Hinata’s voice broke through it as realization hit him.

“Wait. Aren’t we supposed to, like… ask ?”

“Ask what?”

“Ask each other out. Like—‘do you want to be my boyfriend’ kind of thing.”

Kageyama stared at him, clearly caught off-guard. “Isn’t that what we’re doing?”

“I don’t know!” Hinata whispered back, suddenly flustered. “I mean, technically we’ve kissed a few times and now you’re in my bed and I took your shirt off—but we haven’t actually said it!”

“Oh my god,” Kageyama groaned, flopping back on the pillow and covering his face with one arm. “I thought we were past this.”

“Well we’re not , obviously! We suck at normal.”

Kageyama exhaled like it physically hurt him. “Fine. Who should say it first?”

“Tobio,”

Kageyama turned toward him. “What?”

“Do you want to be my boyfriend?”

Kageyama turned five different shades of red as he blinked, slowly processing the words. “Oh.”

“Yes or no?”

“Yes, dumbass,” Kageyama grinned. “Was that supposed to be romantic?”

Hinata let out a small sound that might’ve been relief, frustration, or both. “What do you mean? I brought you home, cooked for you, poured some wine, kissed you in my kitchen… Can it get more romantic than that?”

“If you put it like that…” he muttered.

“Plus,” Hinata added, a wide smile drawn across his face. “I beat you to it.”

Kageyama made a low, incredulous sound. “You’re turning asking each other out into a competition? ”

Hinata grinned, squinting at him in the dark. “Well, yeah. And I won .”

“You’re such an idiot,” Kageyama muttered, sitting up just enough to look down at him, his mouth twitching. “Fine. But I’m taking you out first on a proper date. Then we’ll see who wins.”

“Oh my god ,” Hinata groaned, flopping dramatically onto his back, “What’s next? Who sleeps in a better position? Who—who kisses better? Who cooks better?”

Kageyama raised an eyebrow. “I do kiss better.”

“You do not.”

“I absolutely do.”

“For starters, today’s the first day we actually, like, french kissed and—” Hinata was mid-sentence when Kageyama leaned in, caught his face between his hands, and kissed him.

It wasn’t a long kiss. Just firm, decisive, and thoroughly effective. Hinata blinked up at him, stunned and breathless.

“Now that we’re dating,” Kageyama said matter-of-factly, his voice low and just a little smug, “I get to shut you up like this.”

Hinata stared at him, speechless.

“…If I’d known about this privilege before I would’ve asked you out much sooner,” Kageyama added, and smirked.

Hinata died. Quietly. Inside. He buried his face in Kageyama’s chest with a strangled sound that might’ve been a wheeze or a laugh.

“You’re such an asshole,” Hinata mumbled into his skin.

“And you just asked me to be your boyfriend, so whose fault is that?”

Hinata poked him in the ribs. Kageyama grunted, and the laughter that followed wasn’t polished or cinematic, but something better: real. Earnest. Stupid, stupid joy.

Hinata let himself fall into it. Into this . Into the soft, wild, terrifying, wonderful unknown of it all.

And somewhere between the kiss and the laughter, he realized: there was no one else on the planet he’d rather be learning how to love with.

 

---

 

The room was steeped in soft morning light.

Hinata blinked slowly, still cocooned in warmth and sleep. The windows hadn’t been covered the night before, so pale golden streaks poured in through the glass and dappled across the floor, stretching all the way to the edge of the bed where his bare toes peeked out from beneath the blanket. The air in the room was cool, but the heat beneath the covers was enough to make him flush.

Or maybe that was just Kageyama.

He turned his head slightly, careful not to move too much. Kageyama was still asleep, one arm heavy and possessive where it had somehow found its way under Hinata’s shirt, palm warm against the skin of his lower back. His fingers twitching occasionally like he was still setting a ball in a dream. Their legs were tangled together in a way that made it impossible to tell where one started and the other ended.

Hinata's face burned. He didn’t dare move. Didn’t want to.

Kageyama’s face, slack with sleep, looked almost boyish. The tension that usually lived in his brow had softened; his mouth, slightly parted, was relaxed. His hair stuck up in strange directions (Hinata's fault, probably) but his breathing was steady and peaceful.

Hinata stared. And stared.

And then it all came flooding back.

The kiss in the kitchen. The soft hush of Kageyama’s voice against his lips. The way they’d fallen asleep tangled together in the dark, limbs still buzzing with something electric and new.

But more than that. The history . Barely two months ago, Kageyama wouldn’t even look him in the eye. He’d been cold, distant, furious . Hinata had never seen him like that. Had never felt so far away from him, even when they were thousands of miles apart.

He’d been the one to walk away. The one who left with no explanation, no warning. And Kageyama had every right to hate him for it.

Hinata swallowed, emotion pressing against his throat.

What if he’d just said something back in high school? What if he hadn’t been so scared? If he hadn’t left for Brazil without telling anyone, without telling him ?

Maybe they could’ve had this sooner.

But maybe they weren’t ready back then.

He looked at the curve of Kageyama’s cheek, the slope of his shoulder, the rise and fall of his chest under the blanket.

They were still the same people from Karasuno: loud and stubborn and full of dreams. But now they were more . They had grown. Changed. Hurt. Fought and forgiven.

Hinata smiled, eyes prickling. He had earned this. Fought for this.

Kageyama stirred slightly, lashes fluttering. His mouth moved, dry and confused.

Hinata reached up to brush his bangs off his forehead and whispered, voice soft, “Thank you.”

Kageyama squinted at him, voice still rough with sleep. “Huh?”

“For giving me a second chance,” Hinata said quietly. “For forgiving me.”

Kageyama blinked at him for a long moment. Then, without a word, he slid his arm further around Hinata’s waist and pulled him into a crushing hug, burying his face in Hinata’s neck.

“You dumbass,” Kageyama mumbled. “If you ever disappear like that again, I’m following you. And killing you.”

Hinata laughed, his chest trembling. “Fair enough.”

They stayed like that for another few minutes, warmth and comfort pressing between them like a second blanket. Eventually, Hinata groaned and rolled onto his back, arms stretched above his head.

“I need to go to practice soon,” he muttered. “Coach’ll skin me if I’m late.”

Kageyama rolled over too, rubbing his eyes. “I’ve gotta go back to the hotel. Adler stuff. Sponsor follow-up meeting and moving details.”

Hinata sat up, scratching his head. “You heading back to Higashiosaka?”

Kageyama hesitated. “Not today. Might stay another night, if that’s okay.”

Hinata blinked at him like he’d just asked the dumbest question in the world.

“This is your apartment now too if you want,” he said, then immediately winced, cheeks going red. “I mean—not like—you know what I mean!”

Kageyama snorted. “Yeah, yeah. I got it.”

They both got up slowly, collecting clothes, brushing teeth, bumping shoulders on purpose. There were still things to figure out, still nerves and what-ifs and new, terrifying feelings, but Hinata knew this, at least: they’d come a long way.

And now they were walking forward, side by side.

Notes:

i wanted to thank everyone for their comments on the last chapter! it makes me feel so happy to read how rewarding it felt<3

i hope you also enjoy some domestic shobio!!

Chapter 82: Chapter LXXXI

It was strange, in a way, getting ready with Kageyama at his side.

It wasn’t the first time. They had shared a room back at the training camp for two weeks. They’d woken up next to each other, taken turns in the shower, and carved out a routine as the days passed.

But this— this —felt different.

Back then, there had been a constant thread of uncertainty, like a question mark hovering between them. Every morning had been a lesson in relearning how to exist around each other. How to tiptoe around things left unsaid. The weight of two years apart clung to them like static.

Now, getting ready next to Kageyama had a different gravity.

There were the stolen glances. The suppressed, involuntary smiles. The trembling hands that reached out for each other, brushing shoulders, fingertips grazing backs. There was an electricity that hadn’t been there before. The echo of kisses, of quiet embraces, of skin against skin from the night before. The weight was still there, but it had shifted into something lighter. Something certain.

He’s my boyfriend.

The thought crashed through Hinata’s chest like a volleyball spike, making him feel both giddy and on the verge of collapsing. He wanted to scream it out the window.

And when Kageyama, barefoot, hair still messy from sleep, offered to make breakfast, Hinata almost did scream. Instead, he pulled out his phone and snapped a photo while Kageyama’s back was turned.

Kageyama Tobio, his boyfriend, was in his apartment, in his kitchen, cooking breakfast for him and him alone.

It was so stupidly cliché it made Hinata want to kick himself. He thought of every teen drama he’d ever mocked, and cursed them all. No TV show had prepared him for the simple devastation of this sight : Kageyama, in his space, flipping eggs like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Hinata had been scared breakfast would be awkward. Neither of them really knew how to do this. Dating . There was a nagging fear that they'd overthink every single move, like they’d be tiptoeing through a minefield of their own history, pretending to be something they weren't.

For the first time, Hinata understood why people said not to date your best friend.

He was terrified that their dynamic, the raw, chaotic energy they’d built in Karasuno, would be replaced with something careful. Formal. That the stupid things like snide remarks and stolen snacks would be replaced with forced politeness and awkward silences.

But for once in his life, Hinata was so happy to be wrong.

The conversation over breakfast flowed effortlessly. Sure, there was a new tension in the air. Something exciting, something charged. But it wasn’t stifling. If anything, it was thrilling . Every small glance, every brush of their hands as they passed plates, felt like a secret they were both savoring.

When Kageyama offered to walk him to practice, Hinata had jumped at the chance. The Jackals’ training center wasn’t far, but he didn’t need an excuse.

They didn’t hold hands on the way, but they didn’t need to. Talking was enough.

The city moved around them in a blur of sound and color, but their small bubble of conversation was steady and light. They were ridiculously bickering about who made the better tamagoyaki, Hinata insisting it was him because Kageyama’s were “too militaristic,” Kageyama accusing Hinata of “culinary anarchy.”

As they neared the familiar sidewalk leading to the Jackals’ building, Kageyama suddenly grabbed Hinata’s arm, tugging him to a halt.

“Hey—what the—?” Hinata turned, frowning, but Kageyama’s hand was already shifting from his wrist to his elbow, grounding him.

“Sorry,” Kageyama muttered, eyes narrowed. He wasn’t looking at Hinata’s face, he was fixated on his forehead, of all places.

Before Hinata could question him, Kageyama did a quick glance around the street, scanning for people. When he was satisfied no one was watching, he took a step closer and, with a kind of surprising gentleness, pressed his lips to Hinata’s forehead.

It wasn’t long. It wasn’t loud. But it felt like everything.

Hinata froze, blinking up at him like his brain had temporarily blue-screened. “What—?”

“I figured it was better to do it here,” Kageyama said, matter-of-fact, though his ears were pink. “I wouldn’t have been able to if we were already at the gym.”

Hinata could only gape. Words didn’t really come to him after that .

They were nearing the gates of the Jackals’ training center when Hinata spotted someone stepping out.

Atsumu.

He wasn’t leaning casually like he usually did. He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t even pretending to scroll through his phone. He was holding it loosely, as if he’d been about to make a call and changed his mind at the last second. His posture was rigid, stiff. His gaze lifted slowly, catching them in his peripheral, but he didn’t speak.

Hinata’s pulse jumped.

The three of them came to a slow, unspoken halt a few feet apart. The air around them thinned. Atsumu's eyes flickered between them, noting their proximity, the faint flush on Hinata’s face, Kageyama’s hand casually resting by his side, close enough to brush Hinata’s.

And yet, Atsumu’s face didn’t shift. There was no grin. No joke. No arrogant comment.

“Hey,” Atsumu finally said, his voice low, clipped. He tucked his phone into his pocket. “Kageyama. Can I talk to you for a minute?”

The tone wasn’t mocking. It wasn’t light. It was careful and awfully calculated.

Kageyama’s expression didn’t change immediately. He just stood there, shoulders straight, eyes flat and unreadable. For a moment, Hinata thought he wasn’t going to respond.

Then, Kageyama's gaze shifted to Hinata. Not a word passed, but the message was clear: I want to do this. 

Hinata’s heart climbed into his throat. 

“Tobio…” Hinata’s voice was quiet, a warning tucked in there. He searched Kageyama’s face, but Kageyama didn’t flinch.

“Fine,” Kageyama said, eyes steady on Atsumu now.

Hinata wanted to argue, wanted to remind them both that things were still raw, that a lot of shit had yet to be cleaned up, but Kageyama’s posture was final. He turned to Hinata, voice lower.

“Go on ahead. We’ll talk later.”

It wasn’t a dismissal, it wasn’t cold, but it sounded dead serious. 

Hinata’s hands balled into fists at his sides. He hated this. Hated how much he wanted to stay and fix something that wasn’t his to fix.

“…Okay.” His throat was tight, but he kept his voice even. He took a step back, gaze briefly flickering to Atsumu, who still hadn’t looked at him once.

The door to the training center loomed ahead. The weight of weeks worth of unresolved mess sat thick on Hinata’s shoulders as he walked toward it, his back prickling.

He didn’t look back.

 

---

 

The gym felt heavier than usual. Maybe it was the air, maybe it was his own damn head.

Hinata’s shoes squeaked lightly against the polished court as he jogged in lazy circles, warming up beside Bokuto, but his ears were tuned to every distant sound. Every laugh. Every footstep outside.

Kageyama was still out there, with Atsumu.

Hinata’s fingers flexed restlessly, his mind buzzing like it was pressed against a glass wall. He knew it was stupid. Kageyama could handle himself. Atsumu wasn’t going to throw punches in broad daylight. But the itch beneath his skin wouldn’t go away.

“Shoyo!” Bokuto’s voice cut through the fog, and Hinata blinked as a ball bounced against his thigh. “Wake up, man! You’re slow today.”

Hinata blinked. “Sorry.”

“Dude, you’re way too twitchy today.” Bokuto spun the ball on his finger, eyeing him. “What’s going on in that little head of yours?”

Hinata wanted to answer. He wanted to unload the knot of nerves that had been sitting in his chest since stepping into the gym. But his words stalled out.

Before Bokuto could push again, the gym door clicked open.

Hinata’s head snapped up.

Atsumu stepped inside.

There was no smirk. No obnoxious grin. Just a neutral line to his mouth, eyes sharp and distant. He didn’t look at Hinata. Not once. He made a beeline to the bench, grabbed his shoes, and slipped them on with mechanical precision.

Hinata’s stomach twisted.

The weight of Atsumu’s silence pressed down on him harder than any insult could have.

Hinata shook his head, like physically shaking the thoughts out would help. He glanced at his phone near his bag, but it was silent. No messages. No calls. No clue what had just gone down outside.

But there wasn’t time to spiral. Practice resumed as usual.

They went through drills, rotations, rally simulations. Hinata’s body was present. He was running, diving, reacting. His mind, however, kept veering off-course, glancing at the door like Kageyama might reappear at any moment.

Atsumu kept his distance. Their rotations barely overlapped. When Atsumu set for Hinata, the toss was precise, but the communication was nonexistent. No glances. No gestures. Just an unspoken understanding of where the ball needed to be.

Hinata’s teeth ached from how hard he was grinding them.

Coach called for a water break. His phone sat inside his bag by the wall, but his feet were already moving toward it before he realized.

He crouched by the bench, flipping his bag open. His fingers curled around his phone, flipping the screen over.

Tobio: Already at the hotel with the Adlers. I’ll pick you up from practice.

Hinata exhaled, his body deflating with the message.

Kageyama was gone. Back with the Adlers. He hadn’t seemed upset. The words were simple, calm. And there was a promise. Picking up Hinata from practice. Walking home together. 

Hinata stared at the screen for a moment longer before tucking the phone back into his bag and standing up. His muscles felt looser, his chest not as tight. He could function now.

But the tension wasn’t gone.

By the time Coach Samson blew the final whistle, dismissing them for the day, Hinata’s shirt was plastered to his skin, his pulse thrumming with more adrenaline than usual.

He made a beeline to his bag again, his phone like a magnet.

Tobio: Outside. Let me know when you’re done.

Hinata huffed a breath, the edges of his mouth curling.

On my way.

He shoved his phone into his pocket, grabbed his bag, and made for the exit, his mind still swirling with unanswered questions, but his steps steady.

Chapter 83: Chapter LXXXII

Notes:

hi beautiful people! i'd like to apologize for not posting yesterday. to be honest with you, i was too drunk and not even at home lmao but i bring this chapter as a peace offering.

i hope you enjoy it!!!<3

The soft sunlight of the afternoon that was starting to fade hit Kageyama’s hair just right.

Hinata spotted him as soon as he stepped out of the gym. Kageyama was leaning against the fence near the sidewalk, arms crossed casually, his mouth tugged into a rare, relaxed smile. Meian stood next to him, laughing about something that Hinata couldn’t catch, his broad shoulders shaking.

Kageyama looked comfortable, and Hinata wasn’t used to seeing that. Not out in public, not in the middle of conversation. 

For a moment, Hinata wondered if Kageyama was thinking about Daichi, just as he did when he first met Meian. Daichi had left such an impact in their lives, they were unconsciously looking for him in every other captain they met along the way. He wondered if Daichi ever realized that.

He slowed his steps, watching them.

Kageyama noticed him before Meian did. His head turned, gaze locking onto Hinata’s with such familiarity that it made Hinata’s stomach flip. For a second, Hinata thought Kageyama might start walking toward him. For a second, he wanted to .

But Meian followed Kageyama’s line of sight and grinned when he saw Hinata.

“Well, well,” Meian drawled, slapping Kageyama’s shoulder with the ease of someone who knew how to handle him. “Didn’t know you two were still this tight. Gotta say, we’ll have to keep a close eye on you, Kageyama. Can’t have our rival team’s setter acting like a double agent.”

Kageyama didn’t respond. He just blinked, deadpan. Hinata bit his lip, unsure if he should laugh or play it cool. His feet itched to close the distance, his hands twitched to touch. But they were out here, in broad daylight, in front of people. People who watched. Who talked.

“Anyway,” Meian continued, stepping back with a grin. “I’ll leave you two. Don’t scheme too hard. We’ve got a match to plan for.”

He saluted lazily and turned to leave, his laughter fading into the afternoon air.

Hinata stood awkwardly a few steps away, suddenly hyper-aware of how stupidly obvious they probably looked. His fingers curled and uncurled at his sides, unsure how to greet Kageyama now that Meian had left. A handshake? A punch on the shoulder? A nod? None of them felt right. All of them felt too formal or too forced.

Kageyama seemed to be thinking the same thing. His arms were crossed again, but his fingers tapped restlessly against his biceps. Their eyes met and, for a fraction of a second, Hinata saw it. The impulse . That dumb, fleeting urge to just grab his shirt and kiss him.

But they both knew better.

“Let’s go,” Kageyama said, turning on his heel without waiting.

Hinata caught up easily, falling into step beside him. The tension was there, simmering, but so was the comfort.

“So,” Hinata spoke, because he needed to say something . “How was your day?”

Kageyama shrugged, staring straight ahead. “Coach Suzaku signed the contract with the new sponsor today. It’s more than official now.”

Hinata’s ears perked up. “So you’re moving here.”

“Yeah. By the end of the month. The new training center’s already set up. It’s not that far from here.” Kageyama’s pace was steady, but his tone had a faint, reluctant excitement. “We’ll be based in Tokyo full-time.”

Hinata smiled, his chest tight in a good way. “That’s good.”

They walked in silence for a bit. The city hummed around them, but their little bubble felt quiet.

Kageyama glanced sideways. “You’re dying to ask about Miya, aren’t you?”

Hinata sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. But it’s fine. You can tell me later. I’m not gonna push.”

Kageyama huffed. “No. You should know. You got dragged into it.”

Hinata looked at him, frowning, but Kageyama didn’t stop.

“He wanted to tell me he’s gonna stay out of our way.” Kageyama’s voice was clipped, like he was repeating it from a script. “Didn’t really apologize. Just said he regrets pulling you into his shit. Which is rich, considering.”

Hinata’s fists clenched in his pockets.

“I told him to fuck off. Said things I’m not repeating.”

Hinata’s eyes widened, but he didn’t interrupt.

“He asked if I ever cared about him. If I gave a shit.” Kageyama’s jaw tightened. “I told him I used to. As a setter. As a player. That’s it. I think he confused our rivalry for something that never happened.”

Hinata’s heart twisted. He could picture it vividly: Atsumu, standing there, all bravado stripped away, grasping for something that didn’t exist. He couldn't help but feel a little bad. 

Kageyama exhaled through his nose, his steps heavy. “I think things should be settled now. He knows where I stand, and he knows to keep his distance. I expect him to do it.”

Hinata nodded, though the weight in his chest hadn’t fully lifted. There was a pause, a lingering silence filled with steps on pavement and words left unsaid.

Then, Kageyama turned toward him, his expression quieter.

“I’m sorry you got dragged into that mess.”

Before Hinata could even respond, Kageyama’s hand reached out, his fingers threading into Hinata’s hair with a familiarity that made his breath catch. His palm rested gently on the crown of Hinata’s head, fingers curling slightly, pressing a soft weight there.

It wasn’t like the old times. Those rough, exasperated bonks he used to deliver during their Karasuno years. No, this was different. His touch was slow, deliberate. Affectionate.

Hinata’s chest tightened. His throat felt thick. The tension from earlier melting into his touch.

“Don’t be,” Hinata said, voice soft as his head tipped slightly into Kageyama’s hand. “As long as it’s over, it’s fine.”

Kageyama didn’t answer, but his hand stayed there a moment longer, grounding him. It was such a small gesture, but it spoke louder than anything else Kageyama could’ve said.

And just like that, their steps found rhythm again as they reached the entrance to Hinata’s apartment building. The city hummed in the background, but all Hinata could really feel was the lingering warmth of Kageyama’s fingers against his scalp.

 

---

 

The fridge was depressingly empty.

Hinata stared into it like something might magically materialize if he glared hard enough. A bottle of soy sauce, half a lemon, and an almost-sad head of lettuce. That was it. All of his left-overs had been used for yesterday’s dinner, and Hinata had been expecting Kageyama to stay for just one day.

“I knew this would happen,” Kageyama muttered from where he stood by the kitchen doorway, arms crossed. “You can’t live off onigiri and protein bars.”

“I could if you didn’t show up demanding a full meal,” Hinata shot back, grinning as he shut the fridge with his foot. “You’re a guest, you should bring food.”

“I cooked you breakfast.”

“That was hours ago. I’ve burned through that already.”

Kageyama sighed like Hinata was the biggest chore in the world, but he grabbed his wallet from the counter without another word. “Let’s go.”

The grocery store wasn’t far, just a few blocks away. They walked side by side, quiet in the cool evening air, not needing to fill the silence with anything. When they reached the store, it was business as usual: Hinata made a beeline for the snack aisle, and Kageyama physically steered him away, grumbling about empty carbs. Hinata retaliated by tossing a box of cereal into the basket when Kageyama wasn’t looking.

Back at the apartment, they set to work in the kitchen.

“You don’t have to hover,” Hinata said, glancing sideways as Kageyama stood entirely too close, arms folded, supervising.

“You’re going to screw up the water-to-rice ratio,” Kageyama said, peering into the pot.

“ You screwed up my water-to-rice ratio by talking.”

Eventually, Kageyama relented, moving to set up the plates while Hinata finished up. It wasn’t elaborate, just simple curry, but by the time they sat down on the couch, the apartment felt a little warmer.

Kageyama plopped down onto the floor, back resting against the sofa where Hinata sat cross-legged. 

“Do you always eat here?” Kageyama asked, taking a bite.

“It’s comfier,” Hinata shrugged. “Feels less lonely.”

Kageyama didn’t reply, but he didn’t need to. His presence there already shifted the space.

They ate in a rhythm, exchanging comments about the food, the upcoming matches, the dumb mistakes players were making in the latest national highlight reel. It was so natural, so easy, it almost made Hinata forget that Kageyama would be gone the next day.

Almost.

At some point, Hinata leaned back against the couch, resting his bowl against his knee, while Kageyama sat below, scrolling through his phone. Their conversation dipped into casual nonsense, arguing about the correct way to cut green onions, bickering over who’s better at receiving.

“So,” Hinata said, poking his foot against Kageyama’s shoulder. “Do you miss me already?”

“I survived two years without you,” Kageyama said flatly, but the small smirk betraying him.

“Yeah, but you were miserable .”

“You give yourself too much credit.” Kageyama’s head tilted up, his dark blue eyes locking with Hinata’s. The look was supposed to be a glare, but it lacked any real bite. It lingered. Too long. Too deliberate.

Neither of them moved.

“Stop staring,” Kageyama muttered.

“You’re the one who’s—” Hinata started, but his voice wobbled as Kageyama shifted slightly, propping an arm onto the sofa, bringing their faces closer without fully realizing it.

Now their breaths mingled. Now there was barely a few inches between them.

“You’re really bad at pretending you’re not going to miss me,” Hinata murmured, his grin lazy and cocky.

“Fuck off,” Kageyama retorted.

“Damn. You kiss your sister with that mouth?”

“I’ll kiss you with this mouth.”

For a heartbeat, they both held their ground, faces close enough that every word brushed against lips.

Then the tension snapped.

Kageyama’s hand curled into the edge of the sofa, pulling himself up just enough to close the gap, lips crashing into Hinata’s with a force that felt inevitable.

It wasn’t graceful. Their teeth knocked. Hinata nearly dropped his empty bowl to the floor. But none of it mattered. The kiss was charged, needy, built from all the moments they’d tried to play it cool and failed miserably.

Hinata’s hands flew to Kageyama’s shoulders, anchoring himself as Kageyama pressed closer, awkwardly half-kneeling on the floor, one hand braced against the sofa.

“Wait, wait—” Hinata broke the kiss with a breathless laugh. “You’re going to break your knees, dumbass. Get up here.”

Kageyama grumbled something incoherent, but his hands were already braced against the sofa, shifting his weight as he clambered up. The transition was far from smooth. His knee nearly knocked into Hinata’s bowl, his elbow brushing the back of Hinata’s head.

“Careful—!” Hinata yelped, scooting backward until his shoulders hit the armrest.

“You move too much,” Kageyama muttered, scowling as he adjusted his position.

“You move too slow,” Hinata shot back, but his grin softened as Kageyama finally settled.

Except, Kageyama didn’t just sit next to him. He leaned in as one hand found the cushion beside Hinata’s waist, the other braced near his shoulder, and just like that, Kageyama was over him, between Hinata’s thighs, their faces mere inches apart again.

“Wha—Tobio—”

Hinata’s words fizzled out as Kageyama dipped in, capturing his mouth in a kiss that left no room for further commentary. This time, there was no fumbling. No half-laughs.

Kageyama’s weight settled against him, grounding him into the cushions. Hinata felt the line of his chest and the warmth that seeped into his skin even through their clothes.

His hands found Kageyama’s shoulders first, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, then slipping up into his hair, tugging lightly. That earned him a low grunt from Kageyama, and Hinata’s heart stuttered.

The kiss deepened, mouths moving in a rhythm that was chaotic, yet perfectly in sync, like the way they played on the court. It wasn’t delicate, but it wasn’t rushed either. It was full. Present. Like they’d been waiting for this exact moment without even knowing it.

Hinata’s back pressed against the armrest, one leg shifting slightly to hook around Kageyama’s hip, as if his body refused to let any space remain between them.

Kageyama’s hands, initially planted firm and guarded, softened. One slid to the side of Hinata’s waist, thumb brushing just beneath the hem of his shirt. 

They kept moving, kept kissing, until their breathing turned ragged. At some point, Hinata pulled back, his lips tingling and his cheeks flushed.

The weight of Kageyama between his legs, the way his hand pressed against Hinata’s waist, was overwhelming in the best way. And that’s when Hinata noticed it.

Kageyama was getting better.

His kisses weren’t as rigid, no longer powered by sheer determination alone. His mouth was softer now, more patient. He wasn’t rushing to win, wasn’t aiming for control. He was listening, paying attention to the way Hinata leaned in, the subtle gasps, the quiet hums of approval when he tilted his head just right .

Kageyama was learning his rhythm. Matching it. Meeting him where he was.

Each time their lips met again, Kageyama adjusted, not in a calculated, mechanical way, but naturally, as if his body was catching on faster than his brain. His mouth softened in all the right places, his teeth grazing with a feather-light touch that sent a sharp shiver down Hinata’s spine.

It was infuriating, honestly.

Hinata could feel his pulse in his fingertips, in the hollow of his throat, in the way Kageyama’s thumb brushed slow, circling strokes into the bare skin at his waist like he wasn’t even aware of doing it.

The gap between them was gone. No more hesitation. No more waiting.

Hinata’s breath hitched as Kageyama’s lips dragged a fraction slower over his, less like a play for dominance and more like a silent promise. A tremble ran through Hinata’s chest, one he couldn’t suppress.

“Tobio,” he mumbled against his mouth, the syllables blurred and breathless, “you’re actually starting to understand what you’re doing, huh?”

Kageyama’s answer was immediate. He pressed closer, his grin smug against Hinata’s lips, and Hinata felt it more than he saw it.

“Of course I am,” Kageyama murmured, infuriatingly calm. “I learn fast.”

Hinata’s breath caught in his throat. He hated how that stupid cockiness turned his insides to mush.

“You’re so annoying,” Hinata whispered, pulling him back into another kiss anyway.

 

---

 

The sound of toothbrushes scraping against their teeth filled the small bathroom, the mirror fogged up from the warm water running minutes earlier. They stood side by side, heads bowed slightly, sharing the same sink like they’d been doing it forever.

Hinata’s bare shoulder bumped Kageyama’s arm as he leaned in to spit, earning a quiet grunt from the taller boy.

“Hey, stop hogging the sink,” Kageyama muttered, though his hand was already reaching out, fingers finding their usual place atop Hinata’s head, ruffling through his damp hair absentmindedly as they brushed.

Hinata squinted at him through the mirror, mouth foamy. “I’m not hogging anything. You just take up too much space.”

Kageyama’s lips twitched, his own very scary version of a smirk.

They finished up in a rhythm, bumping shoulders, trading elbow jabs, Kageyama still keeping his hand lazily resting on Hinata’s head until they flicked off the light and headed to the bedroom.

Hinata tossed himself onto the bed, face-first, muffling a dramatic groan into the pillow. He peeked out just in time to see Kageyama moving toward the corner of the room where Hinata had hung up his suit from the cocktail.

“You looked good in this,” Kageyama said, tone blunt as always, like he was commenting on the weather.

Hinata blinked, face heating up. “What?”

Kageyama turned back toward him, nonchalant, his hand holding the suit’s sleeve. “At the cocktail. You looked… really good. In the suit.” He sounded like he was being forced to read a statement aloud. “It fit you. A lot.”

Hinata’s lips stretched into a slow grin as he sat up, leaning back on his palms. “You looked really good too, you know. Especially with your hair out of your face. You probably gave half the people in that room a heart attack.”

Kageyama furrowed his brows. “Should I wear it like that more often?”

“No!” Hinata shot back immediately, pointing a dramatic finger at him. “Absolutely not. That’s dangerous.”

Kageyama’s brow arched. “‘Dangerous?’”

“Yeah. If you start going around with your forehead out, more people will fall in love with you. It’ll be a public hazard. The country’s infrastructure isn’t built to handle that, Tobio.”

Kageyama stared at him, unimpressed. “You’re an idiot.”

Hinata grinned wider. “Maybe. But I’m right.”

Kageyama shook his head, but the faintest hint of a smile betrayed him as he padded over to the bed. He flopped down next to Hinata with a quiet sigh, rolling onto his side to face him.

“You’re so dramatic,” Kageyama muttered.

“And so are you,” Hinata retorted, poking a finger into his chest.

Kageyama didn’t argue. He just grabbed Hinata’s wrist, pulling it down until their hands rested between them on the mattress, fingers brushing.

The room dimmed around them, the city’s distant hum barely bleeding in through the window. They didn’t need to say anything more. The weight of the day, the comfort of proximity, and the quiet hum of shared breaths filled the space just fine.

Eventually, their bodies shifted closer, legs tangling, breaths syncing. Sleep crept in slowly, not rushed, not hesitant, just a natural slide into the comfort of the night.

Chapter 84: Chapter LXXXIII

It was ridiculous. Hinata knew it was ridiculous.

Kageyama wasn’t moving across the world. He wasn’t flying to Brazil. He wasn’t disappearing for months without a trace. They’d see each other soon. In days, maybe a week at most. But as he leaned against the doorframe of his apartment, watching Kageyama shove his last bag over his shoulder, Hinata felt like his chest was caving in.

Because it had been easy. Maybe too easy.

These past days, with Kageyama in his space—sprawled on his couch, cooking in his kitchen, brushing his teeth next to him like they’d been doing it forever—it had been a kind of comfort Hinata hadn’t even known he’d been craving. The simplicity of it. The quiet.

Now, the idea of coming back tonight to a silent apartment, to a bed that didn’t have Kageyama’s stupidly big frame crowding him for space, felt… wrong.

He felt pathetic for how much it hurt.

Kageyama turned toward him, bag slung over his shoulder, face as unreadable as ever. But his eyes were soft. They always softened around Hinata now.

“I’m leaving, dumbass,” Kageyama said, voice flat, like stating the obvious.

“No shit, Sherlock,” Hinata shot back, but the grin he tried to plaster on felt shaky.

Kageyama didn’t move at first. Just stood there, like maybe he wasn’t quite ready to cross the threshold. Then, slowly, he took the few steps back toward Hinata, until their shoes were almost touching.

There wasn’t any ceremony to it. No buildup. Kageyama just leaned in and kissed him. It was slow and grounding, nothing flashy. The kind of kiss that said I’ll see you soon and I don’t want to go all at once. Hinata’s hands found their way to Kageyama’s jacket, gripping the fabric as if that might change the fact that Kageyama was going back to Higashiosaka.

And there it was: that awful, bittersweet pull in his chest.

He was so stupidly happy in this moment, with Kageyama’s mouth against his, with the weight of his hand settling against Hinata’s hip like it belonged there. But at the same time, his heart ached.

Because Kageyama was leaving. Even if it was just for now, even if it was just for a little while.

They pulled apart, but only slightly, foreheads brushing.

“You’re making this feel like a bigger deal than it is,” Kageyama muttered, though his thumb was rubbing soft, mindless circles against Hinata’s side.

Hinata laughed quietly, breathless. “I know. Still sucks, though.”

Kageyama’s eyes flickered, his mouth quirked slightly, but he didn’t argue. He leaned in again, pressing a brief, firmer kiss to Hinata’s lips before pulling back fully this time.

“I’ll text you when I get there,” he said.

“I’ll kill you if you don’t.”

Kageyama shouldered his bag again and stepped out, the door clicking shut behind him.

And just like that, the apartment felt too quiet. Too empty.

Hinata leaned back against the wall, letting out a breath that felt far too heavy for such a short goodbye.

 

---

 

Later that night, after practice, Hinata couldn’t stop fidgeting.

He was stretched out on his futon, one leg kicked up against the wall, phone hovering above his face as his thumbs flew across the screen. He’d spent the entire day thinking about Kageyama in a way that felt borderline ridiculous. Like a teenager with zero sense of independence, obsessing over their partner all the damn time. And in a way, that’s exactly what he was.

But now, back home, his heart was hammering for other reasons.

Oikawa’s message had dropped like a bomb in their group chat.

Oikawa: “Guess who’s invading Tokyo in a couple of weeks? Pablo is coming back from the dead!!”
Pablo: “I expect first-class treatment, Hinata. Don’t disappoint me.”

Hinata grinned so hard his cheeks hurt.

It wasn’t just that Pablo was coming. It was that Pablo was coming to Tokyo. To his Tokyo. The version of Tokyo where Hinata had a place of his own, a team, a life that was still shaky but finally taking shape.

He wanted to show Pablo everything. The streets that felt foreign when he first arrived, but now felt like home. The courts he was now allowed to call his own. The version of himself that had grown beyond the sand of Brazil.

Without thinking, his thumb hovered over the call button.

He hit it. It didn’t even ring twice.

“Yeah?” Kageyama’s voice cut through, rough and clipped. It was late, so of course he sounded tired, but Hinata knew that tone. He’d probably just finished a late practice session.

“Did I wake you?” Hinata asked, already knowing the answer.

“No. Just finished.”

A small smile pulled at Hinata’s lips. Of course.

He rolled onto his back, the ceiling of his apartment a soft blur overhead. “So, uh, I have news.”

A pause. He could feel Kageyama’s brow furrowing through the call. “What?”

“Pablo’s visiting. From Brazil. He’s gonna be here for a couple weeks.”

There was a long stretch of silence.

“Who’s Pablo ?” Kageyama asked.

Hinata blinked. “What?”

“You’ve never mentioned him before.”

It struck him like a rock.

Of course he hadn’t mentioned Pablo.

He’d barely mentioned anything about his life in Brazil. Every single thing he’d told Kageyama about those two years had been about volleyball. About training sessions, matches, how much he missed playing by the beach. But never about his personal life. Never about the friends he’d made, the parties he went to, the language he had to wrestle into his brain.

The memories were there, vivid and bright, but none of them had been shared.

He remembered their conversation back at the hotel during the Training Camp. How Kageyama had quietly said he wanted to know more about Hinata’s life in Brazil, but how much it still stung in a way that made Hinata squirm, made him feel like he didn’t deserve to share those memories yet.

“Oh.” The syllable slipped out, softer than intended. “He’s, uh, a friend. Owns a bar in São Paulo. Oikawa introduced us.”

Kageyama was quiet on the other end.

“He’s cool,” Hinata added, too quick, trying to fill the silence. “Helped me with Portuguese. Helped me feel more at home, in a way. He’s a good friend.”

The memory hit him then: standing behind the bar, cheeks flushed red, tripping over clumsy Portuguese as Pablo laughed and made him repeat the words again and again until he got them right.

There was a soft shuffle. Kageyama, sitting down. His tone wasn’t sharp when he spoke next, but it had that familiar edge, the one that always slipped in when Hinata talked about people who could keep up with him.

“Sounds like a nice guy.” A pause. “Where’s he staying?”

“Oikawa says with me.” Hinata curled his toes into the blanket, the words coming out more casual than he felt. “Apparently, I’m the official host now.”

“Of course he did.” Kageyama sounded resigned, but his voice softened into something Hinata couldn’t quite name. “You sure you can survive hosting another friend at your apartment?”

Hinata laughed. “Barely. But you know me.”

“Yeah,” Kageyama said. Simple. Heavy. Like there was more packed into those three letters than either of them wanted to admit.

Hinata shifted, phone still tilted above him, but his gaze drifted past the screen. He realized then: Kageyama didn’t know Pablo. He didn’t know about the tiny, cramped apartment Hinata first lived in. About the warped beach nets. About the nights of frustration when Portuguese refused to stick. About how Pablo had yanked him out of his own self-doubt, dragged him into parties, introduced him to new friends, made him feel like he wasn’t alone.

Kageyama didn’t know, because Hinata hadn’t told him.

The silence stretched, but it wasn’t suffocating. It was just there.

“I think I—” Kageyama’s voice broke through, softer now. “I think I’d like to know more about Brazil.”

Hinata’s chest tightened. The words sat heavy, curling in his ribs.

Maybe things were getting better.

 

---

 

It wasn’t his alarm that woke him. It was the buzzing.

A relentless, vibrating pulse from somewhere in the dark. Hinata stirred, sluggish and disoriented, peeling his face from the pillow as the sound clawed its way into his half-conscious mind. His arm flailed out, groping along the edge of the futon until his fingers closed around the cold, slim shape of his phone.

He squinted against the glow as the screen came to life.

Notifications. Mentions. Tags. Dozens of them, stacking faster than his tired brain could process. Messages from people he hadn’t spoken to in weeks. Alerts from accounts he didn’t even remember following. 

He sat up, heartbeat quickening, a dull twist curling low in his stomach.

Kuroo’s message was pinned at the top.

Kuroo “You should see this.”

There was an image attached.

Hinata’s thumb hovered over it for a moment longer than necessary, suspended in hesitation, before he tapped.

The JVA’s official post filled the screen. A neat carousel of images from the cocktail event. Clean, professional, curated. Safe.

The first photo wasn’t bad. A group shot, the rookies of the National Team, caught mid-laugh. Bokuto’s mouth open wide, Hoshiumi smirking like he owned the place, Hakuba standing tall and composed at the back. And in the middle, Hinata. Head tilted back, eyes squinted from smiling too hard, his body angled slightly toward Bokuto, as if pulled into his orbit.

It was a good photo. It felt normal, even natural. For a fleeting second, he let himself breathe.

But then he swiped to the next, and his stomach folded in on itself.

It was him and Kageyama.

They were standing side by side, mics in hand. Kageyama was staring straight ahead, posture rigid, his face its usual stoic blank slate. But Hinata—Hinata was caught mid-glance, his eyes turned towards Kageyama in a way that felt… exposed. His smile wasn’t the wide, exuberant grin people were used to. It was softer. More private. Completely focused. Like, in that moment, Kageyama had been the only thing in the room worth looking at.

Hinata’s throat tightened.

He hadn’t realized he looked at him like that.

It was different from how they’d been in high school. Back then, when cameras had caught them together, the photos had always been electric. Full of energy, challenge and movement. This wasn’t that. Not even the slightest. This was stillness, and the stillness made it louder.

He scrolled down, thumb dragging, and the comments poured in like an avalanche.

Most of them were harmless. Funny, even.

“the new members or the national team are so hot”
“@_owlhead reject me so i can move on”
“Hinata’s smile is a national treasure”

He wanted to smile at that one, and he almost did.

But then his eyes snagged on a comment. Short and plain. It didn’t even stand out visually.

"Wait, is Hinata Shoyo gay?"

He didn’t move.

The words sat there, nestled casually between laughing emojis and endless threads of playful banter. Not accusatory. Not even hateful. Just… curious. Curious in a way that made Hinata’s skin feel too tight.

It was just a question, one out of thousands, but it stuck in his chest like a needle, sharp and thin and precise.

He wasn’t ashamed. He knew that. His mom knew. Natsu knew. Kageyama knew. His friends, his team… they knew. The people who mattered had always known, and they’d never made him feel like it was something he had to explain.

But seeing it there, dragged out into the open, phrased like a piece of trivia for public consumption, made something inside him recoil.

It wasn’t a conversation. It wasn’t even his choice.

It was just a comment. A casual, public curiosity. One that had no business existing in a space he hadn’t invited it into.

Hinata locked his phone. The silence that followed was deafening.

The walls of his apartment, so warm and lived-in just hours before, now felt like they were inching closer. Pressing in. Thinning the air around him.

He sat there, unmoving, the question still echoing inside his ribs. It had always been inevitable, he’d known that. It was just a matter of time. But knowing didn’t make it easier.

Not like this. Not yet.

 

---

 

Hinata wasn’t sure how long he’d been staring at the ceiling.

The apartment was dead silent, save for the distant hum of city life filtering through the closed window. His phone sat face-down on the futon beside him, a barrier he had deliberately placed there to keep himself from doom-scrolling. It hadn’t worked. Every few minutes, his eyes would dart toward it, fingers twitching with the urge to check.

For the first few hours, Hinata had managed to laugh it off. The endless stream of comments about his smile, the Karasuno nostalgia, even the edits people were already making… they were distracting in a good way. He was used to that kind of attention in the volleyball world. He’d wanted to be seen. He’d spent his entire career chasing that spotlight.

But now that it was here, now that eyes were on him in ways he couldn’t control, it felt… suffocating. It wasn’t that he was ashamed. He wasn’t. But there was a difference between being proud of who you are and having that identity dissected by strangers before you’re ready to offer it.

His phone buzzed again, this time not a flood of notifications but a singular, persistent vibration.

An incoming call. Kageyama’s.

Hinata’s heart kicked against his ribs as he sat up, snatching the phone from where it lay, and he answered before the second ring.

Kageyama’s face filled the screen, sharp and grainy through the dim light of his apartment. His hair was damp, clinging in uneven strands against his forehead. He looked tired. He also looked pissed.

“You ignored my messages,” Kageyama said bluntly. No greeting.

Hinata winced. “I didn’t ignore them. I just… didn’t check.”

Kageyama squinted at him, unimpressed. “That’s the same thing.”

Hinata flopped back onto his bed, the phone angled above his face, but his eyes couldn’t meet Kageyama’s through the screen. “I just needed a minute.”

Kageyama’s expression didn’t change, but there was a brief pause. A hesitation. “Hoshiumi said you’re trending. I didn’t check.”

Of course he didn’t. Kageyama had never cared about that stuff.

“Yeah. It’s stupid.” Hinata tried to make it sound light, but the words came out heavier than he intended.

“What are they saying?” Kageyama asked, tone neutral. But neutral for him wasn’t exactly comforting.

Hinata’s fingers tightened around his phone. He could lie. Could say it was just the usual fan stuff. But Kageyama would know. He always knew.

“Someone asked if I was gay,” Hinata said, forcing the words out like pulling out a splinter.

There was no dramatic reaction. Kageyama’s expression remained steady, but his jaw tightened, just enough for Hinata to notice.

“And that’s bothering you?” Kageyama asked.

Hinata sat up again, restless. “It’s not that. It’s not even the question itself. It’s just… I didn’t get to decide when that conversation happened, you know? It’s different when it’s on my terms. I’m not ashamed of being, you know, queer. I just feel like things like this are no longer under my control.”

Kageyama was silent for a moment. His eyes stayed on Hinata, sharp but not unkind. He wasn’t always the best at talking about feelings, but when he listened, he did it in full.

“Do you want to tell them?” Kageyama asked, voice low.

Hinata’s chest squeezed. “I don’t know.”

He wasn’t lying. Part of him wanted to stand on the nearest rooftop and scream it. But another part, the part that still wondered if that specific thing about him made people uncomfortable, wanted to keep this part of his life close. Private and safe.

Kageyama exhaled through his nose, a quiet sound that wasn’t quite a sigh. “Then don’t. Not until you’re ready.”

“It’s not that easy,” Hinata muttered, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “They’re gonna keep asking. And when they do, I’ll either have to lie or— or explain myself. And I hate that. I hate that I have to explain myself like it’s anyone’s business.”

Kageyama’s brow furrowed. He wasn’t good at words, but Hinata could see the frustration bubbling beneath his calm surface. Not directed at him, but at the situation. At the world.

“I don’t care if people know,” Kageyama said. His honesty was blunt, unpolished. “But I care if it’s hurting you.”

Hinata smiled, small and tired. “It’s not hurting me. It’s just… tiring. I don’t want to keep looking over my shoulder, waiting for someone to drag it into the open, and— I don’t know. I think I’m also scared of people starting to define me by just that, you know? Like, I’m no longer going to be Hinata, the opposite hitter. The beach volleyball guy. The Black Jackals guy. I’m gonna be the volleyball player who likes men.”

Kageyama was quiet for a moment.

Not because he didn’t have an answer. Hinata knew that look. Kageyama wasn’t struggling to find words, he was searching for the right ones, the ones that didn’t sound like filler. And when he finally spoke, his voice was steady. Uncomplicated but firm.

“You’re not just one thing, Shoyo.”

His eyes stayed on Hinata’s face, unwavering.

“Yeah, you like men. That’s important. But it’s not the only thing. You’re not going to stop being the guy who chases every ball like it’s life or death. You’re not going to stop being the pain in the ass who never knows when to quit. You’re still the idiot who talks too much, and the player who never lets the ball touch the floor. You’re still you. People don’t get to decide which part of you matters most. They don’t get to shrink you down to just one thing.”

It was such a simple thing to say. It wasn’t a plan, wasn’t a solution. But the way Kageyama said it, like it was the most obvious fact in the world, made Hinata’s chest feel a little less tight.

His mouth opened before his brain could catch up. “Well, that was a lot of words for you. You okay there, King?”

The tease came out shaky. Not because he didn’t mean it, but because his throat was tight, and the usual sharp edge of his banter had softened without permission.

Kageyama didn’t react the way Hinata expected. He didn’t roll his eyes. Didn’t fire back. He just looked at him, steady, his mouth tugging into the smallest of smiles. It was barely there, but somehow, it felt louder than anything else.

“Don’t make me say it again,” Kageyama muttered.

Hinata’s grin faltered, but he let it settle into something smaller and honest.

“Yeah,” he said, voice quiet. “I heard you.”

His hands fidgeted with the corner of his blanket, but his chest didn’t feel so compressed now. He wasn’t fixed. Far from it, actually, but there was something anchoring about hearing Kageyama say those things. 

“Thanks, Tobio,” Hinata added, soft, but with all the weight it carried.

Kageyama huffed through his nose, but his gaze didn’t waver. He never looked away when it mattered.

“You know,” Hinata continued, a grin creeping up despite himself, “you’re actually kinda good at this boyfriend thing.”

Kageyama’s brow furrowed immediately. “Yeah? Can’t say the same for you.”

Hinata’s jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

“You don’t even text back,” Kageyama said, deadpan. “You left me on read for like, eight hours today.”

Hinata flailed, scrambling for a defense. “That wasn’t on purpose! I was—I got distracted! It’s not my fault the entire internet is trying to make me come out!”

“You had time to scroll through the comments, but not answer me?”

“I didn’t think it was urgent!” Hinata squawked.

Kageyama’s mouth twitched. “It’s fine. I just forgot my boyfriend likes to ghost me. At least this time it was just eight hours and not two years.”

Hinata groaned, collapsing dramatically into his futon. “God, you’re the worst. I try to be nice and this is what I get?”

“That’s exactly what you get,” Kageyama said, and Hinata could hear the smile now, even if he couldn’t see it fully.

“You’re insufferable,” Hinata muttered, but the warmth in his chest was impossible to ignore.

“Yeah. So are you.”

There wasn’t much else after that. Neither of them made a move to hang up, but the conversation didn’t need more words. They stayed there, lingering in the quiet, phones still connected, like neither wanted to be the first to let go.

Notes:

hey guys! remember pablo? kinda regret naming him like that, since it's my ex bf's name and he broke up with me after i published this fic but WELL he's coming back so i just gotta laugh. hope you guys enjoyed this chapter<3

Chapter 85: Chapter LXXXIV

The call came just as Hinata was flinging his sweaty jersey onto the futon, fresh out of the shower and still half-damp.

Suga’s name lit up his screen.

He blinked, surprised. It wasn’t unusual for Suga to check in, but calls were rare. Suga was more of a texting kind of guy. Hinata thumbed the answer button, pressing the phone to his ear as he used his other hand to scrub a towel through his hair.

“Hey,” he said, breathless.

“Am I catching you at a bad time?” Suga’s voice, as familiar and warm as ever, filled the quiet apartment.

“Nah, just finished practice,” Hinata replied, flopping backwards onto the bed. The ceiling stared back at him. “What’s up?”

“I’m in Tokyo today,” Suga said. “Had to run some errands. Thought maybe I could stop by, if you’re not busy?”

Hinata sat up, a smile already tugging at his lips. “You know my schedule by heart, man. You knew I’d be free.”

Suga chuckled. “Guilty.”

 

---

 

An hour later, Hinata found himself opening his front door, grinning as Suga stepped inside, carrying a small paper bag that was unmistakably from his favorite bakery.

“I come bearing peace offerings,” Suga announced, holding up the bag.

Hinata practically snatched it from his hands. “You might officially be my favorite person.”

“I thought Kageyama was your favorite person,” Suga teased, toeing off his shoes and stepping inside like it was still his own home.

“Different rankings,” Hinata said, mouth already full of bread. “You’re top tier in a completely different category.”

Suga laughed, settling onto the couch like muscle memory.

For a while, they kept it light, talking about the Jackals’ training, about how Bokuto had nearly broken the locker room mirror trying to pose in front of it. Suga shared snippets of small-town gossip from back home, leaning back against the cushions, but there was something… off.

He was smiling, but it wasn’t the bright, teasing grin Hinata remembered from his high school days. It was quieter, subdued. Like he was trying to stay present, but kept getting pulled somewhere else.

Hinata watched him for a moment, then tilted his head. “Hey… are you okay?”

Suga blinked, like he hadn’t expected the question.

Hinata poured the tea carefully, the steam curling upward in delicate wisps as he set the mugs down between them. The apartment was quiet, save for the faint hum of the AC and the occasional distant horn from the street below.

“What? Yeah. I mean… yeah.” He laughed, but it came out a little awkward. “You know me. I’m fine.”

Hinata squinted. “That’s literally what people say when they’re not fine.”

“Right,” Suga said, dragging the word out with a self-deprecating smile. He looked down at his tea. Still untouched.

A silence stretched between them. Not tense, exactly, just uncertain. Then Suga leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. He was still smiling, but his eyes weren’t.

“It’s funny,” he said softly. “I’ve spent most of my life being the person people talk to. It’s kind of my thing, I guess. But I don’t… I don’t really do this part. Talking. About me.”

Hinata blinked, caught off guard. “I mean… you can, if you want to. With me.”

Suga huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah. I guess I know that.”

He was quiet again, the fingers on his mug tapping lightly now.

“I was walking here earlier,” he said finally, “and I kept thinking about how fast everything’s moving around me. Like—Daichi’s doing great at his job. Everyone from Karasuno’s either coaching or playing or working some dream job. You’re on the national team. Kageyama’s moving to Tokyo. Even Tanaka is—well, Tanaka.”

Hinata smiled faintly. “A pretty much married Tanaka, you mean?”

“Exactly,” Suga’s smile faltered a little. “And I’m still teaching at the same school. Still grading essays in the teacher’s lounge. Still watching Daichi fall asleep ten minutes into every show we start.”

“That sounds… kind of nice, though.”

“It is,” Suga said quickly. “I love my life. I do. I love my students. I love coming home to Daichi. I love our quiet routine. It’s just—” He stopped, brows furrowing like he was trying to find the right words.

Hinata waited.

“I don’t know,” Suga said finally, voice quieter. “Lately it feels like everyone else is doing something. Changing. Building new parts of their lives. And I’m just… where I was. And I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but…”

He trailed off again, then shook his head, almost like he regretted starting.

“Sorry. That probably sounds stupid.”

“It doesn’t,” Hinata said immediately. “I get it.”

Suga looked up, silent. 

“Does Daichi know?”

Suga gave a small shake of his head. “Not all of it. I think I’m afraid he’ll hear it as me saying he’s not enough. And that’s not what I mean at all. I just… I want to keep moving too, you know? I just don’t know what that looks like for me anymore.”

Hinata swallowed the knot rising in his throat. It was strange, in a way, seeing someone he’d looked up to for so long be so raw, so uncertain. But it didn’t make Suga feel smaller. Quite the opposite, actually. It was nice seeing Suga that way. The Suga who always listened but was never listened to. 

“I think it’s okay to want more,” Hinata said, quietly. “Even when you’re happy. I don’t think those two things have to cancel each other out. You’re allowed to want more. So much more. I think Daichi would think the same thing.”

Suga looked at him then, and the weight in his gaze was softer now, like a window cracked open just enough to let fresh air in.

“Thanks, Hinata,” he said. “You’ve grown up a lot.”

Hinata grinned. “I’m almost twenty two. I’m practically ancient.”

“You’re still a brat,” Suga shot back automatically, but his smile lingered.

The silence that followed was easier. Companionable.

They'd been sitting in quiet comfort for a while. The sunlight that had once spilled brightly across the floor was softening now, dipping behind the buildings outside Hinata’s window. The cups of tea on the table between them had long gone cold, but neither had gotten up to fix that.

Hinata had his legs tucked up against his chest on the couch, head tilted slightly as he stared at nothing in particular. He wasn’t fidgeting, exactly, but he wasn’t still, either. Suga noticed. He always noticed.

He let a few more moments pass in silence before speaking, voice gentle.

“You okay?”

Hinata blinked, like he was just coming back to the room. “Yeah,” he said quickly. “Yeah, of course.”

Suga gave him a look. That soft, kind, impossibly knowing look that he’d been perfecting since high school. “Shoyo.”

Hinata shifted, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s nothing. You’ve got enough on your plate already.”

Suga tilted his head. “And you think I’d be here if I didn’t want to be?”

Hinata hesitated, guilt flickering behind his eyes. “You just… looked like you needed someone to talk to. I didn’t want to dump my stuff on top of that.”

“I came to see you because I missed you. Not because I needed help,” Suga said softly. “But even if I did, don’t you think I’d still want to know if something’s going on with you?”

Hinata didn’t answer right away. His shoulders dropped a little.

“I mean,” Suga added with a crooked smile, “you’re not exactly subtle either, you know.”

That got a quiet laugh out of Hinata, who let his legs slide down and tucked one beneath the other. “Is it that obvious?”

“Only to someone who’s known you since you were like, fifteen.”

Hinata leaned forward, elbows on his knees, face folded into his hands for a second before he dropped them. “I don’t even know how to explain it.”

“Try me,” Suga said, settling back into the couch.

Hinata was quiet again. But this time, Suga didn’t push. He waited.

Eventually, Hinata started. “It’s weird. Like… things are good. Objectively. National team. Black Jackals. Tobio.” His voice faltered on the last word, but the smile that followed it was soft, warm.

Suga smiled too. “I can’t believe you’re calling him Tobio now.”

“I know. It’s weird. But it fits.” He paused. “It feels right.”

The silence stretched again, but it wasn’t heavy. Hinata was building something, stacking the words in his head before letting them go.

“But lately I feel like… things are happening so fast, and I haven’t caught up yet. I’m still figuring stuff out about myself and now the internet’s already talking like they know everything about me.”

Suga’s brow furrowed, concerned now.

Hinata reached for his phone on the table, swiped quickly, then passed it over. “This comment.”

Suga read the screen, then looked up. “‘Is Hinata Shoyo gay?’” he read aloud.

“That’s it. Just that.”

He handed the phone back and leaned his head against the couch.

“I know it’s not a big deal. And I’m not ashamed. It’s not like I’ve been hiding anything on purpose. But it felt… invasive. Like I don’t get to choose when or how I share that part of myself anymore.”

Suga nodded slowly. “Yeah. That makes sense.”

“I don’t want to be someone people dissect. I’m proud of who I am, I’ve worked really hard to be okay with it. But that doesn’t mean I’m ready for strangers to start building theories about it on social media.”

Suga’s eyes softened. His fingers tapped gently against the side of his cup.

“And I keep thinking,” Hinata continued, “what if this changes the way people see me? What if they stop seeing me as an athlete and just start seeing me as—” He cut himself off, mouth twisting.

“As a headline,” Suga said, gently.

Hinata nodded, a little too fast. “Yeah. That.”

There was a pause. The kind that wasn’t awkward, just thoughtful.

“You know,” Suga said after a moment, “when I was younger, I used to think being out in the open was this huge, scary thing. Like stepping into the sun and waiting to be burned. But eventually, I realized… it’s only scary when you think you’re standing there alone.”

Hinata looked over, surprised.

Suga offered a faint smile. “You’re not. Not even close.”

Hinata blinked. His throat felt tight.

“And,” Suga added, eyes narrowing slightly with mock scolding, “you’ve got a boyfriend now. He might not be the brightest when it comes to understanding feelings, but he does his best.”

Hinata snorted. “I know. He has his moments.”

They both laughed, and this time, the tension in Hinata’s chest loosened just a little. 

Suga picked up his tea again, taking a long sip. “When you’re ready, you’ll handle it your way. And if you’re never ready, that’s fine too. That’s your right. You don’t owe anyone an explanation, Shoyo.”

Hinata looked at him, truly looked, and something in him eased.

“Thanks, Suga,” he said quietly. “For coming over and saying all this.”

Suga leaned back, stretching his legs out with a groan. “Honestly, I just came for your mediocre tea and a break from Daichi’s adulting agenda. But glad I could help.”

Hinata grinned, eyes bright. “You really suck at compliments.”

Suga shrugged. “I’ve had years of practice.”

They stayed like that for a while, the sun outside sliding down past the skyline, softening the apartment with gold. Two people, not so different after all, learning that even when life moves at different speeds—or not at all—there’s always someone to sit beside you.

Notes:

i love being a fanfic writer because i get to heal my own traumas (suga being asked to speak about his feelings for the first time ever)

Chapter 86: Chapter LXXXV

The air in the gym was thick with the sharp scent of resin and sweat, the familiar thud of volleyballs echoing off the hardwood like steady heartbeats. Hinata wiped the sleeve of his jersey across his forehead, damp curls sticking to his skin. He gulped down half his water bottle in three desperate sips before letting himself slump against the padded wall near the bench.

It was only supposed to be a second.

A breath. A glance at his phone while Bokuto was still showing off the new float serve he’d been working on. Hinata unlocked the screen with muscle memory, thumb flicking up to check his notifications, expecting a meme from Kenma, or maybe a one-word “food?” text from Kageyama, now that it was almost noon.

Instead, he blinked.

His heart hiccupped mid-beat.

A post, already climbing in likes, filled the top of his feed. The username didn’t register, but the caption hit him like a slap.

“Found this on my camera roll from the night I saw Kageyama in Tokyo! I didn’t know who Hinata was back then, can’t believe how lucky I was to catch them both. I'm DYING.”

He tapped it. Stupid. Instinctive.

The photo loaded slowly, like it knew it was a bad idea. Grainy and low-lit, but the image was unmistakable.

Kageyama and him with a girl, early twenties with sharp eyeliner and long braids swinging over her shoulder at the bar booth. 

Kageyama looking at the camera, collar a little open, his jawline catching the amber light, and Hinata, right there beside him, smiling at the camera. Shoulders tilted toward him like magnets.

But it wasn’t the pose that made his stomach flip. It was Kageyama’s hand.

Resting casually, confidently, against the waistband of Hinata’s jeans. Thumb tucked under the hem of his shirt like it belonged there. The memory came back like lightning. The end of Training Camp, at the bar. Kageyama had placed his hand there to stop him from leaving. To make him pose for the picture with him. 

He hadn’t even remembered it being that obvious. Not until now, with half the internet already in the comments screaming about it.

“HELLO???? THE HAND PLACEMENT??????”
“no cause he’s basically holding him by the HIP”
“I KNEW IT I KNEW IT I KNEWWWWW ITTTTTT”
“yall this is boyfriend behavior idc idc”
“me when”

Hinata’s throat tightened. He felt suddenly too warm in his skin, like the collar of his shirt was choking him.

He wasn’t embarrassed. Not exactly.

He just hadn’t expected this . A private, unguarded moment dragged back into the spotlight weeks later. Reframed. Reposted. Dissected by strangers who didn’t know what that night had been. How important it had felt. How safe. How steady.

Someone passed behind him, jostling his shoulder.

“Hey,” Bokuto said, appearing beside him with his usual post-spike grin, “you good? You look like you forgot how to breathe.”

Hinata locked his phone quickly and shoved it in his pocket. “I—yeah. Just thirsty.”

Bokuto raised a brow, clearly unconvinced. But instead of pressing, he bumped Hinata’s arm with his own and said, “Well, drink faster. Coach’s about to make the big announcement.”

“What big announcement?”

Bokuto smirked. “Guess.”

Before Hinata could ask again, Coach Samson stepped onto the court, blowing his whistle with two sharp tweets that pulled every Jackal into attention. Bokuto jogged back without waiting, already calling out to Atsumu to stop hogging the spare balls.

Hinata followed, chest still humming from the chaos in his phone. He lined up with the others, barely hearing the start of Samson’s speech.

“…and as of this morning, we’ve officially confirmed our next match.”

That got everyone’s attention.

“It’s locked. You’ll be playing the Schweiden Adlers again. National broadcast. One month from now. We’ll use Friday’s match against the Sendai Frogs to test some lineups.”

Hinata’s breath caught.

He didn’t need to glance at anyone to feel the shift in the room. Adlers meant Kageyama. It meant press. Spotlight. Cameras. It meant eyes .

And now, it meant people watching the court not just for volleyball, but for them .

 

---

 

On Friday, there was a knock at the door.

Hinata cracked one eye open, bleary and confused, staring at the ceiling in the darkness. For a second, he thought he’d dreamt it. No one sane would be knocking on his door before sunrise.

But then it came again, soft and rhythmic. Three gentle taps.

He blinked at the glowing digits on his phone. 4:07 a.m.

“Holy shit,” he whispered to no one, stumbling out of bed with one sock on and hair sticking up in all directions.

The hallway was freezing, and he wrapped his arms around himself as he shuffled to the front door. He didn’t need to ask who it was. He just knew. Kageyama stood there, hoodie up, suitcase by his feet, blinking in the glow of the hallway light like he’d been waiting a few minutes.

“You’re insane,” Hinata mumbled, voice hoarse from sleep.

“You said your warm-up starts at 8:30.”

Hinata stared at him, eyes heavy-lidded. “That doesn’t mean show up in the middle of the night.”

“I know you left a key for me but I figured it would be kind of weird if I just showed up in your bed and—”

Hinata leaned up on tiptoe and kissed him. Just a small, sleepy press of lips. Then another. Kageyama blinked, startled into silence, but kissed him back, slower this time, arms curling automatically around Hinata’s waist.

“Hi,” Hinata whispered.

“…Hi,” Kageyama said, voice low.

“Come inside. You're freezing.”

The suitcase thunked inside. Shoes were toed off. The hallway light clicked off again. Everything felt muted in the stillness of the early morning. The kind of hour when the city was hushed and the world felt like it belonged only to them.

Back in the bedroom, the moment their bodies hit the bed, the exhaustion caught up with them both. Hinata curled up against Kageyama’s side, burying his nose into his shoulder with a happy sigh. Kageyama draped a lazy arm over his waist.

They didn’t even talk.

They just sank into sleep again, warmth bleeding between them.

 

---

 

The soft sound of something sizzling woke him.

Hinata groaned into the pillow, the early light beginning to slip through the curtains. He blinked, confused by the empty space beside him.

Then the smell hit him. Eggs and toast. 

He sat up, blanket slipping off his shoulders.

The kitchen light was on, and through the open doorway he caught the silhouette of Kageyama, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows, standing over the stove with exaggerated focus.

Hinata padded out quietly, leaning against the wall, watching. Kageyama hadn’t noticed him yet. He was stirring eggs in a pan like it was a life-or-death task, frowning at the toaster as if daring it to screw up his timing.

It was the least smooth, least graceful, and most adorable thing Hinata had ever seen. His heart swelled so hard it almost hurt.

“Don’t say anything,” Kageyama mumbled without turning, clearly hearing Hinata’s breathy chuckle from the doorway.

Hinata padded closer and kissed his shoulder. “I wasn’t gonna. You just looked kinda hot in the kitchen.”

Kageyama muttered something incomprehensible and dumped the eggs onto two plates, avoiding eye contact.

They sat on the couch, eating side-by-side in silence, knees knocking, warm plates in their hands. Hinata devoured the toast in record time and stole one of Kageyama’s eggs while pretending not to.

“I think your toasts might actually be better than mine,” Hinata said flatly.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Kageyama replied with his mouth full.

Hinata kicked him off the couch.

 

---

 

While Kageyama dozed off again on the bed, stretched across it in his sweatpants, hoodie finally off, Hinata stood at the foot of the mattress, towel over his damp hair, just… staring.

His suitcase was still open in the corner. The plates from breakfast were still on the coffee table. But none of it mattered.

What mattered was this image: Kageyama, asleep in his bed, his clothes soft against his skin, face relaxed, one hand curled near the pillow like he was holding something in his dreams. He looked like he belonged there.

And for a moment, Hinata thought— maybe he does.

His heart ached with how much he wanted this to be normal. Permanent. To wake up to this every match day, every day.

He climbed into bed beside him for a few more minutes of warmth before they had to leave.

At 8:00 a.m., they stepped out the door together.

The city was awake now. Noise, people, traffic.

But Hinata felt lighter with Kageyama beside him. Like no matter what the match threw at him, he’d already won something that mattered.

 

---

 

The subway car rocked gently, fluorescent lights flickering above them as the train cut through the early morning hush of Tokyo. It wasn’t crowded, not yet. A few commuters dotted the car, business suits, earbuds, vacant eyes glued to screens. The city hadn’t fully woken up. The world still felt soft around the edges.

Kageyama sat beside Hinata, their knees touching in a way neither of them moved to correct. Hinata’s gym bag was on the floor between them. His hands were in his lap, fingers curled and fidgeting as he watched the blur of tunnels race past the window.

They hadn’t spoken much since leaving the apartment. Hinata had been unusually quiet.

Kageyama shifted slightly beside him. “We didn’t talk about the photo.”

Hinata blinked, pulled out of his thoughts.

Kageyama wasn’t looking at him. His gaze was fixed ahead, at the opposite wall of the train car. His voice had been low, like he wasn’t entirely sure if he should’ve said anything at all.

Hinata’s heart skipped.

He swallowed. “I… I didn’t bring it up because I didn’t want to keep pressing you about the whole thing.”

Kageyama turned to him now, his expression unreadable but steady. “You didn’t. But I still want to talk about it.”

Hinata drew in a breath, shoulders rising. He felt the weight of his words building in his chest like pressure behind his ribs.

“I don’t feel ready,” he said, softly.

Kageyama didn’t flinch. He didn’t get defensive. He just nodded.

Hinata continued, his voice quieter. “Not because I’m ashamed. Not of us. Just… I don’t like how people are acting like it’s their right to know. Like the second someone sees something, they get to demand a name for it. Like they’re owed an answer.”

He looked down at his hands.

“I want to be able to tell people on my terms. In my own way. At my own time. Not because someone zoomed in on your hand on my jeans.”

There was silence for a moment. The train slowed, jerking slightly. Somewhere behind them, someone yawned.

“I get it,” Kageyama said finally. “It’s not about us. It’s about being pushed into it.”

Hinata nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

He dared a glance at Kageyama, who was watching him now with that same careful calm he wore during tense games. Like he was measuring every word, every breath, making sure he didn’t say the wrong thing.

“I’m not asking you to hide,” Hinata said, his voice strained. “It’s not about that either. I just… I hate that it feels like I’m being backed into a corner.”

“You don’t have to explain it,” Kageyama said.

“I know. But I still feel guilty. I hate how nervous I get about people knowing. Not because it’s you. Just because—” He stopped himself. “I’m scared I’ll lose the parts of me I worked so hard to build. That people will stop seeing me, and just see the guy who dates you.”

Kageyama’s jaw tightened. Not in anger, in understanding. He didn’t reach out. Not in public. But Hinata felt the press of his knee again, firm this time.

“They’re still going to see you,” Kageyama said. “You’re… kind of impossible to miss.”

Hinata let out a short breath that was almost a laugh. His shoulder slumped just a little.

“Thanks.”

They sat in silence for a few more minutes. Not tense, not even heavy. Just quiet.

When the train slowed again, this time nearing their stop, Kageyama stood first and picked up their bags.

“You’ll figure out when you’re ready,” he said, like it was just fact. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Hinata looked at him, warmth blooming in his chest despite the nerves still lodged there.

“Thanks,” he whispered again.

They stepped off the train side by side. Still not holding hands. Still glancing at each other from the corners of their eyes. Still them. And that, for now, was enough.

 

---

 

By the time they reached the gym, the sun had clawed its way fully over the Tokyo skyline, painting the pavement in long gold streaks. The streets near the stadium were already humming with activity. There were vendors setting up, staff hauling equipment, fans trickling toward the entrance gates in small and eager clusters.

Hinata and Kageyama turned the corner, Hinata bouncing a little with each step. He was dressed in his warmups already, hair slightly damp from his shower, and Kageyama, as usual, was in civilian clothes: black joggers, black hoodie, and that impossible-to-hide look on his face that said if you ask me to take a picture right now I will run.

“There,” Hinata said suddenly, eyes locking onto two figures leaning against a side railing. “Oh my god.”

Tsukishima was dressed in a crisp Sendai Frogs tracksuit, his jacket unzipped enough to reveal the white t-shirt underneath. He looked exactly the same and completely different. Older, broader, with that same unimpressed expression like he’d aged ten years in disdain alone.

Yamaguchi, next to him, wore jeans and a soft-looking green hoodie, smiling when he saw them approach. His hair was longer than Hinata remembered.

“Well, well,” Tsukishima said flatly. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

“I knew you were gonna say something lame,” Hinata groaned, grinning as he jogged up. “You’ve had years to get better at greetings, Tsukki.”

“I have, actually. I just didn’t feel the need to try harder with you. ”

“Rude,” Hinata said, rolling his eyes.

Kageyama followed behind more slowly, hands in his pockets.

“Kageyama. You’ve grown,” Yamaguchi said warmly, looking between the two of them. “Like, physically. But also… not physically.”

Kageyama blinked. “That a compliment?”

“It is, I think,” Hinata laughed.

“It’s weird seeing you here,” Yamaguchi said. “Both of you. On opposite teams.”

“Well, I’m not playing today, ” Kageyama said. “Just watching.”

Tsukishima crossed his arms. “So, what—just happened to be in Tokyo? Or couldn’t resist seeing Hinata again before you moved?”

Kageyama narrowed his eyes. “You want me to answer honestly?”

“No,” Tsukishima deadpanned.

Yamaguchi coughed into his fist, clearly trying not to laugh.

“Anyway,” Hinata said, nudging Kageyama lightly with his elbow, “Kuroo found him a place. He’s signing the lease today.”

Yamaguchi’s eyebrows rose. “So you're moving here officially?”

“Yeah. Next week.”

“Huh.” Tsukishima’s tone was unreadable. “Tokyo’s getting even more annoying. I don't think we'll be coming as often.”

“You’re just mad I’m closer to national training than you are.”

“I'm closer to peace of mind. ”

“Boo,” Hinata said.

They lingered outside a little longer, chatting, the four of them half-reenacting what it might’ve been like if they’d all ended up on the same team again. Something about the air around Tsukishima always grounded them in reality: his dry remarks, Yamaguchi’s quiet calm, the way they both made you feel like high school hadn’t been that long ago.

Eventually, a Jackals staff member came calling from the gates.

“Hinata! Warm-ups are starting!”

Hinata flinched. “Shit.”

“Go,” Kageyama said. “I’ll find a seat.”

Hinata gave him a look, nervous, grateful, reluctant to leave all at once, and then broke into a jog toward the gym entrance. As he reached the door, he turned back for a second. Kageyama was still there. Tsukishima had already started heckling him again. Yamaguchi was trying to play peacekeeper.

And it hit him like a wave, how full his life felt right now. Because as much as the public was trying to take from him, there were still a lot of things, things like this, that remained his and his alone. 

He disappeared into the gym with a smile.

 

---

 

The gym was already buzzing when Hinata stepped onto the court, but the second he caught sight of the Sendai Frogs warming up, something sharp twisted in his gut.

Tsukishima was already at the net, stretching with lazy precision, his expression blank except for the faintest curl of his lip. Yamaguchi waved enthusiastically from the bench, mouthing something absurd like kill them dead which made Hinata nearly trip over his own shoelaces.

He grinned, but the feeling didn’t last.

Meian’s voice cut through the air just behind him.

“Focus, Hinata. First serve’s on us.”

Hinata nodded, catching the ball tossed his way. But as he turned toward the baseline, his eyes flicked, just once, up toward the stands.

There. Kageyama.

Front row of the second tier, arms crossed. He wasn’t moving. He barely blinked. But Hinata could feel it. That focus. Like gravity narrowing in on him, one person in a sea of thousands, and it was him that Kageyama was watching.

And he wasn’t the only one who noticed.

Atsumu followed his gaze, then looked away. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. The air around him tightened like a rubber band stretched between his fingers.

Hinata swallowed hard, and tossed the ball once, twice. When he served, it screamed over the net just perfectly.

The first few points were messy. Nerves. Bokuto overextending on a block and muttering dammit under his breath. But then the rhythm found them. Or maybe Hinata forced it into place.

Because when Atsumu's hands found the ball and sent it toward him, a sharp, clean set that rose just above the blockers, Hinata flew.

The spike cracked through the air like a whip, and the ball hit the floor before the Frogs’ libero could react. Point. And just like that, they clicked.

Hinata wasn’t sure when it happened, but suddenly Atsumu was anticipating his cuts, shortening his sets when he noticed Hinata’s approach would be tight, lifting them higher when he needed air.

He didn’t look at him. Barely even nodded when Hinata scored. But he was there. Reliable. Skilled and silent.

And Hinata knew, acutely, that Kageyama was watching this. Watching him move in perfect sync with another setter. Someone who used to be a rival in more ways than one.

The tension wrapped around Hinata like heat, like something close to shame and closer to pride.

The second set hit like a punch from the Frogs. Tsukishima’s blocks became sharper, his reads quicker, and Hinata found himself stuffed at the net more than once.

Tsukki didn’t gloat. Not openly. But once, after a particularly clean read, he leaned across the net just enough to murmur, “You’re jumping late, dumbass.”

“You're setting a little too far forward. Your arms are gonna regret that by the third set.”

Tsukki actually smiled— smiled, for god’s sake—then turned to call the next play.

Later, mid-rally, Yamaguchi hollered from the audience, “TSUKISHIMA, WRAP THAT POINT WITH A LOVELY RIBBON, WHY DON’T YOU?” just as Hinata dove for a backrow recovery.

He snorted, almost fell on his face, and Tsukki had the audacity to laugh.

It made the court feel lighter.

The match stretched into four grueling sets. The Frogs were no Division 2 pushover: Tsukki’s timing was impeccable, their middle blocker had hands like iron gates, and their libero kept Atsumu on edge with his perfect pickups.

But the Jackals had their momentum. They were Division 1, after all.

The final set turned into a showcase of everything Hinata had become. His stamina, his precision, his speed. The crowd gasped every time he took flight. Every approach felt like slicing through the air, every landing more assured.

The last set turned into chaos. Bokuto overshot a spike, Atsumu scrambled for coverage, and Hinata had to set from the backline, flipping it with awkward fingers.

“Don’t you dare mess this up!” he shouted.

Atsumu smacked it down with a single hand. The bench screamed.

When the final whistle blew, the Jackals were up 25-18.

Hinata’s jersey clung to his back, sweat dripping from his hairline. He bent forward, hands on his knees, panting, and then he looked up. Kageyama hadn’t moved. But he was smiling. Just barely. Just enough.

Hinata’s chest swelled with something deep and warm and endless. He’d played well with another setter. Under pressure. He’d been Hinata Shoyo. And Kageyama had seen him, every step of the way.

 

---

 

The gym still buzzed with leftover energy, the floor dotted with clusters of athletes, some in full cooldown mode, others still high on adrenaline. The scent of sweat, resin, and floor polish hung in the air.

Hinata sat on the bench, half-listening as Coach Samson gave feedback to a few players near the sideline. His body was warm, not yet sore, his mind still half in the game. It had gone well. Better than well. And the crowd had felt alive in a way that charged his blood.

Bokuto trotted back from the hallway where the media corner had been set up, Thomas at his side.

“You’re up,” Bokuto said, waving a hand. “With Atsumu.”

Hinata blinked. “Wait, Atsumu?”

Bokuto shrugged. “Guess they want the golden duo, huh?”

Hinata let out a quiet groan and stood, towel still around his neck. He caught a glimpse of the reporter: a man with neat hair and a pressed blazer, clutching a tablet and mic, standing under a light ring with a practiced smile.

Atsumu was already walking toward him, hair damp, his jaw tight but not unreadable.

They were directed to the far corner of the court, where a camera was positioned in front of a sponsor-draped backdrop. Hinata pulled in a breath, trying to look neutral, upbeat. Nothing new. He could do this.

“Great match, both of you,” the reporter said with the kind of enthusiasm that always felt a bit too sharp. “Congratulations on the win.”

“Thank you,” Atsumu said smoothly.

Hinata gave a quick nod. “Yeah, thank you.”

“We’ll keep this quick. Just a few questions for the fans at home.” The reporter tapped at his tablet, scanning it with a flick of his thumb. “Let’s start with the match—your second set was brutal. What was going through your heads when the Frogs tied it up midway?”

Hinata adjusted the towel on his shoulders, heart still thumping from the match. “I think we knew it was gonna be tough. They’ve got amazing blockers, and their setter’s timing is hard to read. We had to reset our rhythm.”

Atsumu added, “Once we slowed things down, started forcing their rotation, it got easier to pull their middle out. It gave us the space we needed.”

The reporter nodded. “That cross shot at the end of set three—was that planned or instinct?”

Hinata grinned despite himself. “Little of both.”

The reporter chuckled. “Chaos clearly works for you two. Any pre-game routines you swear by? Lucky charms? Songs that get you in the zone?”

There was silence. Like both of them were thinking of an answer, but Hinata could feel the anticipation of Atsumu answering first. 

“Hinata has this weird playlist,” He finally said.

Hinata narrowed his eyes. “What—”

“He plays Brazilian music.”

“It’s motivational!” Hinata chuckled, slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “And it’s not weird.”

The comment caught Hinata off guard. The tone in Atsumu’s voice had been lighter. Teasing, but not cutting. Friendly, even. Like something from before. It reminded Hinata of how things used to feel between them, back when they’d first met, before the mess, before the weight of everything that had come between them. Just for a second, it felt like the tension between them had thinned, like Atsumu had forgotten all the bitterness and just remembered what it was like to be friends.

It didn’t make Hinata forgive him. Not yet. But it eased something in his chest.

The interview kept its easy pace, gliding over familiar terrain, like training habits, mental focus, recovery routines. They even fielded a question about their early career days, referencing high school and their first nationals.

But then, the reporter glanced at the screen in front of him again, and the rhythm shifted.

“One last thing,” the reporter said, voice casual. “Hinata, there’s been some speculation online about your recent appearances with a certain fellow player—especially after the cocktail event photos. Some fans are wondering about the nature of your relationship with—”

Hinata’s brain blanked. Just emptied.

His spine stiffened before he could stop it, his breath catching mid-draw. He didn’t hear the name, maybe it hadn’t been said. Maybe the reporter had tried to be subtle.

But his mouth wouldn’t work. Not fast enough. He knew this was coming, one way or another. He knew it. But that didn’t stop his tongue from getting stuck. His vision sharpened strangely at the corners.

Atsumu shifted beside him.

His voice came out cool and flat. “Didn’t you say this was a match interview?”

The reporter blinked. “I—well, yes, but with social media speculation—”

“So it’s about volleyball, right?” Atsumu’s tone didn’t waver. “Because that’s what we came here to talk about.”

The silence landed heavy.

The reporter hesitated, the smile flickering slightly. “Of course. My apologies. We’ll wrap here.”

He bowed, brisk and clipped, and turned to the crew behind the camera.

Atsumu didn’t move. Not until the mic was powered off and the backdrop was being folded down. Then he stood, muttering, “C’mon,” before walking off without waiting for Hinata to follow.

Hinata stood a moment longer. His hands trembled slightly where they’d been clenched over the towel.

From across the gym, he felt a shift in the air.

He looked up. Kageyama. Still near the exit, leaned half-casual against a column, arms folded. He’d seen everything. 

His gaze flicked to Atsumu first.

A beat passed between them, measured and still. Then Kageyama gave a short, firm nod. Not forgiveness, not even approval. Just acknowledgement.

Then his eyes moved to Hinata, and everything else in the room fell away.

Notes:

something's coming tomorrow hehehe

Chapter 87: Chapter LXXXVI

Notes:

content warning: implicit sexual content!!!

The locker room was still noisy when Hinata stepped out of the shower and into the sharp chill of the changing area. His muscles ached in the best way. He was exhausted but buzzing, the match still crackling in his limbs. The adrenaline hadn’t faded entirely, but something else had begun to settle in its place.

Unease.

His phone buzzed on the bench. A message from Kageyama: "I’m outside."

He pulled on fresh clothes. A loose green hoodie, warmup pants, and his team jacket thrown over his shoulder. He towel-dried his hair roughly and stepped into his sneakers before slipping out the side hallway toward the gym’s rear exit.

He hadn’t expected to run into anyone else.

But just before the door that led to the parking lot, he heard familiar voices echoing through the stairwell. He slowed at the sight of them: Tsukishima leaning casually against the railing, arms crossed, Yamaguchi sitting on the steps just below him, scrolling through his phone. And between them, standing with his hands in his pockets, was Kageyama.

They all looked up when Hinata approached.

“Well, if it isn’t the star of the match,” Tsukishima said, smirking as he pushed his glasses up. “Took you long enough.”

“Hey,” Hinata said, still tugging at the sleeve of his hoodie. “You guys still here?”

“Waiting on you, apparently,” Yamaguchi smiled, bright as ever. “Kageyama was telling us about some real estate horror story.”

“It wasn’t a horror story,” Kageyama muttered. “The agent just tried to show me a place with mint wallpaper and a broken shower.”

“It had frilly curtains,” Tsukishima added. “Or so the legend says.”

Hinata snorted, shoulders relaxing. “So you’re just roasting him while he tries to become a responsible adult.”

“Someone has to,” Tsukishima said flatly. “You’re both way too impressed with each other.”

Hinata opened his mouth to argue but caught Kageyama watching him. There was a softness there, quiet and grounding, and even if it only lasted a second, it was enough to warm Hinata down to his chest.

“Your set with Atsumu was clean today,” Yamaguchi offered suddenly, the compliment honest and easy. “I mean, I’m obviously rooting for Tsukki, but... it’s always fun watching you play.”

“Thanks,” Hinata said, rubbing the back of his neck. “It felt... good. I forgot how much fun matches could be when you’re not being crushed by everything else.”

Tsukishima raised an eyebrow. “That a dig at your own brain, or at the internet?”

Hinata gave a sheepish shrug. “Bit of both.”

“Tell them all to fuck off,” Tsukishima said with the kind of detached cool that made Hinata laugh.

Yamaguchi nudged him. “Ignore him. He’s just jealous no one’s shipping him on social media.”

“God forbid,” Tsukishima muttered under his breath.

Kageyama let out the smallest huff of amusement. “Let’s go,” he said to Hinata, jerking his chin toward the parking lot.

They said goodbye, Tsukishima waving him off like he was shooing a cat, Yamaguchi beaming.

Once they were outside, the early evening air greeted them with a soft breeze. The sky was peach-hued, fading toward gold. 

“You okay?” Kageyama asked, cautiously, as they made their way to the station. 

Hinata hesitated. “Yeah. I think I’m still coming down from everything. The game helped. It really helped.”

Kageyama nodded once, then added, “That reporter—he had no business asking that.”

“I know.” Hinata looked down at his shoes for a moment. “I wasn’t expecting it to throw me off that much. Atsumu stepped in, though.”

“I saw.”

Hinata turned slightly, searching his expression. “You didn’t say anything.”

“There wasn’t anything to say,” Kageyama said simply. “He said the right thing. Doesn’t mean I forgot everything else.”

Hinata pressed his lips together. “I don’t think I’m ready to forgive him yet. But… it didn’t feel bad, what he did. I think that’s the first time in weeks something didn’t feel like it had weight.”

Kageyama didn’t respond right away. He just took Hinata’s bag off his shoulders and placed it on his instead. 

“I don’t want you to carry all that alone,” he said eventually. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

Hinata’s chest tightened, but it wasn’t a bad feeling.

“I know,” he said softly. “And I think today helped me remember that I’m still the same player. Still me. Just... not only me, anymore.”

Kageyama’s hand reached over, brushing the back of Hinata’s head, as a response.

He seems to really like doing that, Hinata thought.

They didn’t need to say anything else for a while.

 

---

 

The walk from the station to the building took less than ten minutes, but Hinata was already piecing together a map in his head, counting the turns, measuring the distance in strides and streetlights until he realized this place was only about a fifteen-minute walk from his own apartment.

“You didn’t tell me it was this close,” Hinata said as they stopped in front of a clean, cream-colored building with wide windows and a metal-framed entrance.

Kageyama shrugged. “It seemed like a good area. Fits my budget.”

It was too casual. The same way he’d once said ‘I guess I’ll toss to you’ back in high school, like it was just convenience, when they both knew it was something else entirely. Hinata didn’t push, but the thought settled in his chest. Maybe Kageyama had wanted to be closer. Maybe more than he wanted to admit.

The building wasn’t flashy, but there were pale stone walls, clean glass doors, a narrow strip of potted plants leading up to the entrance. The moment they stepped into the lobby, Hinata could tell it was newer than his. The air smelled faintly of floor polish, the tiles gleamed, and even the elevator buttons looked untouched.

Kageyama greeted the agent with a short bow, exchanging polite greetings while Hinata trailed after them into the unit.

The apartment was… bigger than his. Not by a lot, but enough that Hinata noticed it immediately. The living room opened right into the kitchen, bright and white-tiled, with sliding glass doors that led to a narrow balcony. The walls were bare, the floorboards light, and sunlight poured in from the east-facing windows.

While Kageyama stood near the counter flipping through a stack of papers with the agent, Hinata wandered further inside, peeking into the bedroom. It was roomy, enough space for a desk along with a queen bed, and then the bathroom, which looked like it had never been used.

It was nice. Really nice.

He caught himself wondering how much Kageyama made now. The guy had been to the Olympics, played for one of the top teams in Japan, and had the kind of name that filled arenas. Hinata had a hard time picturing him worrying about rent at all. Which made “fits my budget” sound less like a fact and more like an excuse.

When he circled back, Kageyama was signing the last few pages. His handwriting was deliberate, clean, the way he did everything.

“Would you like another moment to look around?” the agent asked.

Kageyama hesitated, then glanced up. “Yeah. Just a minute.”

The agent stepped out into the hall, and the door clicked shut behind him.

Kageyama didn’t walk toward the kitchen or the bedroom. Instead, he came straight to Hinata, stopping right in front of him before wrapping both arms around him in a solid, unyielding hug.

It wasn’t a quick thing. He didn’t just pull him in and let go. He pressed Hinata to his chest, chin brushing his hair, holding him like he had no intention of letting go anytime soon.

Hinata blinked, taken off guard. Only now did he realize how tense his shoulders had been since they’d left the gym. Since the reporter. Since the way his head had blanked and his pulse had gone tight in his ears. He felt the weight of all that tension disappear as he melted into his boyfriend’s arms.

Kageyama’s hand came up to the back of his head, and then a light kiss landed against his forehead.

“I thought you might need a hug,” Kageyama said, voice low, almost casual. “I’m sorry you had to go through that. But it’ll get better. I know it will.”

The words hit deeper than Hinata expected. He melted into the hug without thinking, arms sliding around Kageyama’s waist, pressing his cheek against the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

The agent returned a few minutes later, and the rest of the signing went quickly. Keys exchanged, polite bows, a final handshake.

When they stepped out into the street, the air was cool, the late afternoon light casting everything in shades of gold. They didn’t talk much at first. Not out of awkwardness, but because it felt… easy. Quiet, in a good way.

Kageyama slung the strap of Hinata’s bag higher on his shoulder, glancing sideways as they turned a corner. “Fifteen minutes,” he said, almost to himself.

Hinata raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“The walk to yours.”

“Oh.” Hinata stuffed his hands in his pockets, pretending to focus on the cracked sidewalk. “Yeah. Pretty close.”

He didn’t say what he was thinking: that it was really close. Close enough to show up without warning. Close enough to bump into each other at the convenience store. 

They passed a small bakery, the smell of fresh bread spilling into the street. The warmth from earlier, that hug in the empty apartment, hadn’t faded. Not in the slightest. It clung to him, in the slow pace of their steps, in the way their shoulders brushed every so often.

Kageyama didn’t fill the air with conversation, but his presence was steady, grounding. Every time Hinata’s mind tried to replay the reporter’s question, the way it had made his chest tighten, he’d glance over and see Kageyama walking beside him, hands loose at his sides, expression calm. And it quieted.

By the time they reached Hinata’s building, Hinata realized he hadn’t felt that kind of calm in weeks.

They stepped into Hinata’s building, the echo of their shoes on the tile faint in the narrow hall. Kageyama followed him up the stairs, still carrying that same quiet steadiness, like whatever had been wrong back at the gym had been left blocks behind.

Inside, Hinata toed off his sneakers and reached for his phone, more out of habit than anything. A new notification lit up the screen, it was a message from Oikawa.

Oikawa: Pablo’s flights are confirmed! He lands next Friday.

Another message came in almost immediately after:

Oikawa: Already made an itinerary. Pablo insisted on clubbing like the good old days, whatever that means lmao.

Hinata frowned, standing frozen in the middle of the room. 

The next few seconds ticked by before the memory hit. The neon lights, the press of a crowd, Oikawa’s laugh too close to his ear, and Pablo cheering like it was a match point. His face warmed instantly.

Oh.

He turned his head to look at Kageyama.

Oh.

Hinata wanted to curse himself. Back then, making out with Oikawa hadn’t felt like a big deal. They’d both been heartbroken, it had only ever happened when they were drunk at parties, and they both knew it didn’t mean anything.

Of course, he hadn’t been dating Kageyama at the time. They hadn’t even been talking at all, and he didn’t know if that made it better or worse. Somehow, it still felt like cheating. Maybe because, out of all the people in the world, he’d chosen Oikawa.

Things between Kageyama and Oikawa weren’t as bad as they’d been back in High School. The sharp edge of their rivalry had dulled over the years, but Hinata knew there was still something there. Something complicated. A mix of jealousy and admiration he would never be able to untangle. A relationship he’d never fully understand.

And one he should never have gotten himself tangled up in to begin with.

He shoved his phone into his pocket like the message might burn through it if he kept looking. In the kitchen, Kageyama was setting his bag down, glancing around like he was already mentally cataloging all the groceries Hinata didn’t have.

That pinch of guilt settled under Hinata’s ribs again. He should tell Kageyama. No matter how ashamed, no matter how crazy it would sound. No matter how much his legs started to shake out of anticipation. 

“Kage—”

“You should take a shower,” Kageyama said suddenly, looking up at him.

Hinata blinked. “I was—”

“You’ll feel better,” Kageyama said, voice softer this time. “You’ve been tense since the match. Go. I’ll make dinner.”

It wasn’t pushy, but it was… gentle. Like he was offering him a moment to relax, to breathe, without asking for explanations.

Hinata hesitated, then sighed, disappearing into the bathroom. The steam loosened his muscles, and for a few minutes, he let the water wash away the noise in his head. 

He was halfway through pulling on a clean t-shirt when he realized his deodorant was empty. “Crap,” he muttered under his breath. He was about to put on his shirt and run to the convenience store downstairs, when he remembered there was a new bottle in his gym bag, which was, of course, sitting in the living room.

Still damp and in nothing but his boxers, Hinata stepped out, toweling his hair as he padded across the apartment. He was so caught up in his own head, thinking about Pablo, about Oikawa, about whether now was the right time to say anything, that he didn’t even register the situation until he glanced up.

Kageyama, who seemed to be finishing up their dinner, was staring from the kitchen. Not in a subtle way, either. His gaze lingered for a beat too long before snapping back to the food in front of him, his ears already red.

It hit Hinata then, all at once, exactly how little he was wearing. His own face heated. “Uh— deodorant. In my bag,” he said quickly, pointing vaguely at the couch before grabbing it and practically darting back toward the bathroom.

Behind him, he swore he heard Kageyama clear his throat.

 

---

 

They ate in near-silence, the clink of chopsticks against bowls the only real sound between them. Every time Hinata glanced up, he found Kageyama looking away too quickly, like they’d been caught doing something wrong. And Hinata was no better; his mind kept flashing back to the moment in the living room, the warm damp air from the shower still clinging to his skin, Kageyama’s gaze lingering for a fraction too long.

They were both bad at hiding things, and even worse at pretending nothing had happened.

When the last of the rice was gone, Hinata set his chopsticks down and leaned back in his chair. “Hey, Tobio—”

Kageyama was already standing, stacking their bowls. “Let’s do something,” he said quickly.

Hinata blinked. “Do… something?”

“Yeah. To clear your head. Movie or something.”

Hinata frowned. “I was gonna—”

“Later,” Kageyama cut in, but it wasn’t sharp. Just… decisive. He didn’t meet Hinata’s eyes as he rinsed the dishes. “For now, just—sit. Pick something.”

So Hinata did. He sprawled on the couch with the remote while Kageyama dried his hands and joined him, dropping onto the opposite end like the extra space might help keep whatever tension was in the air from catching fire.

The opening credits rolled, some action movie Hinata barely paid attention to, because the real show was sitting two feet away. Kageyama was stiff in a way he rarely was at home. His hands were clasped too tightly in his lap, posture too straight, eyes fixed on the screen but unfocused.

Hinata noticed the way his ears still burned faintly red. The way he shifted, like even he wasn’t sure where to put his body. And maybe Kageyama thought he was hiding it well, but Hinata could tell.

He wasn’t the only one still thinking about earlier.

The way Kageyama’s gaze had lingered too long. The way Hinata could tell Kageyama was behaving like that was because of what must have gone through his mind as he saw him. Hinata’s own body felt warm in a way that didn’t feel exactly calm. 

The movie was halfway through when Hinata realized he’d completely stopped paying attention. His brain wasn’t following the plot, just… the way Kageyama’s thigh was stretched out along the couch. The way his knee bounced in that impatient way it did when he was thinking too much. The quiet, steady sound of his breathing in the darkened room.

It was ridiculous. They’d shared couches a hundred times before. But now? Now it felt like there was a cord stretched tight between them.

At some point, Hinata shifted a little closer, pretending he was reaching for the blanket draped over the backrest. Kageyama didn’t move away, but Hinata caught the twitch of his jaw, the way he inhaled like he was bracing for something.

“Movie’s boring,” Hinata muttered, dropping the pretense entirely.

Kageyama turned his head, slow. “Then why’d you pick it?”

“Dunno. You said to.”

“That’s not an excuse.”

Hinata grinned faintly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Maybe I wasn’t trying to watch the movie.”

Kageyama’s lips parted like he had a reply ready, but whatever it was got lost somewhere between his brain and his mouth. Hinata could see it. The stutter in his breathing, the way his gaze flicked down for a second, just a second, before snapping back up.

They were close enough now that Hinata could feel the heat radiating off him. Not touching, not yet. But he could feel the gravity of it pulling them in.

Kageyama shifted first, leaning that fraction of an inch forward, and suddenly Hinata wasn’t thinking about earlier, or the reporter, or Oikawa, or anything except the fact that Kageyama’s breath was warm against his lips.

The movie’s volume was low enough that the sound of their breathing felt louder in Hinata’s ears than anything on screen. He was too aware of every inch between them. Too aware that Kageyama wasn’t fidgeting anymore. He was sitting unnaturally still, like moving might break something delicate.

And maybe it would.

Hinata’s eyes dropped to his mouth before he could stop himself. Kageyama noticed —Hinata could tell he noticed—because his lips parted slightly, just enough to make Hinata’s pulse spike.

Kageyama’s hand moved first, brushing against Hinata’s thigh like it had wandered there by accident. But it stayed. His fingers curled slightly, the barest pressure, like a question.

Hinata swallowed. “You’re… really bad at this whole ‘movie distraction’ thing.”

“Maybe I wasn’t trying to watch the movie either,” Kageyama said, voice low enough that it vibrated in Hinata’s chest.

Hinata almost laughed, but it came out more like a shaky exhale. He leaned in, their knees touching now, his hand finding its way to Kageyama’s wrist. Kageyama’s eyes flicked down once more, and then he closed the distance.

The first kiss wasn’t desperate. It was slow and almost testing. The kind of kiss that made Hinata’s skin prickle with heat just from the closeness. He felt Kageyama’s breath against his cheek, the way his thumb stroked over Hinata’s leg absentmindedly, grounding him and setting him on fire at the same time.

Then, like something in both of them finally snapped, Kageyama pulled him closer by the waist, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. Hinata’s fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, tugging until Kageyama shifted, one knee sliding up on the couch so they could get closer.

It was messy after that. Kageyama’s hand slipping under the hem of Hinata’s shirt, warm against the skin of his back; Hinata pressing him against the couch cushions, grinning into the kiss when Kageyama made a quiet, frustrated sound.

“Thought this was supposed to clear my mind,” Hinata murmured against his mouth.

Kageyama didn’t even try to hide the faint flush climbing his neck. “Is it working?”

Hinata kissed him again, harder this time, deciding he didn’t care if the movie kept playing in the background forever. “Maybe it is.”

Hinata pulled back, just far enough to see Kageyama’s face. His lips were flushed, a little swollen, and his breathing wasn’t as steady as he probably thought it was.

For a second, Hinata almost forgot how to speak. 

 “Are we… ready for this?” Kageyama spoke, finally. 

Hinata wanted to laugh. The reason why Kageyama had been so tense earlier might have been because he was scared of this exact moment. Of them ending up like this. What it meant to be this close. To want each other so bad.

“I know we barely started dating like, a week ago,” Kageyama’s voice dipped, the weight of reality suddenly pressing on his shoulders again. “I don’t want you to feel rushed or pressured—”

Hinata’s hand moved from Kageyama’s shoulders to the back of his neck, thumb brushing there in a way that was both calming and distracting. 

“So if you don’t want this right now,” Kageyama finished quietly, “we stop.”

Hinata searched his face. Kageyama’s tone wasn’t defensive or disappointed, just steady. The kind of steady that made Hinata’s chest ache.

“I want it,” Hinata said, almost whispering. “I really do. Do you?”

Kageyama’s mouth twitched, almost like he was fighting a smirk. “Since you came out of the bathroom, looking like that, I—Yes. Yes I want this.”

Hinata’s ears burned, and he let out a shaky laugh. “Okay. That’s… unfairly smooth for you.”

“Shut up,” Kageyama muttered, and kissed him again, and this time, there was no hesitation.

Hinata melted into it, letting himself be guided back against the couch. Kageyama followed, bracing one hand on the cushion beside Hinata’s head, the other slipping under his shirt again like he couldn’t keep his hands off him.

Hinata’s own fingers slid up into Kageyama’s hair, tugging just enough to make him gasp softly into the kiss. The sound went straight to Hinata’s stomach, pulling him in deeper, until the movie’s light flicker was the only reminder that the rest of the world still existed.

Kageyama’s hand slid from under Hinata’s shirt to his waist, pulling him closer until their legs bumped awkwardly. Neither of them moved to fix it.

Hinata shifted positions, pushing back Tobio, making him sit back against the couch, and in doing so, he ended up on top of Kageyama’s lap. The position made Kageyama’s breath catch, and Hinata froze for a split second before smirking down just enough for Kageyama to notice.

“Not fair,” Kageyama muttered, his hands tightening instinctively.

“Who’s being smooth now?” Hinata shot back, voice teasing but already softer at the edges.

Kageyama kissed him again, hungrier this time, enough that Hinata lost track of where his own arms were, one wrapping around Kageyama’s neck while the other slid down his back. Kageyama shifted too, leaning forward so much that they nearly fell off the couch.

It was messy in the best way.

By the time they stopped to breathe, Hinata was lying back, one of his legs hooked around Kageyama’s hip without him even realizing how it got there. Kageyama braced himself over him, their knees and ankles tangled so tightly it felt impossible to separate without deliberate effort.

Hinata’s fingers curled into the fabric of Kageyama’s shirt, pulling him closer until there wasn’t a single gap between them. Kageyama responded by sliding one hand up Hinata’s side, palm warm against his bare skin, tracing the line of his ribs like he was memorizing it.

Hinata’s heart hammered so hard he was sure Kageyama could feel it. The thought should’ve made him embarrassed, but instead, it grounded him. This was real, not just adrenaline or distraction.

Their kissing had lost any trace of hesitation; now it was all breathless pulls and quiet, muffled sounds against each other’s mouths. Kageyama’s fingers found the hem of Hinata’s shirt again, but this time, instead of stopping, he pushed it up, slow enough to give Hinata a chance to pull back if he wanted.

He didn’t.

Hinata raised his arms, the shirt tugging over his head before being tossed somewhere unseen. Kageyama’s eyes flickered down for only a moment, like he was trying to commit every line, every freckle, every mark to memory.

“You’re staring,” Hinata teased, though his voice was a little unsteady.

“Yeah,” Kageyama admitted, blunt as ever, before leaning in to kiss just under Hinata’s jaw.

That simple shift in attention made Hinata’s whole body jolt, his legs tightening instinctively at the sides of Kageyama’s thighs. The motion earned him a low sound from Kageyama, one Hinata had never heard before, but instantly wanted to hear again.

The couch wasn’t big enough for the way they were moving now. Between half-kneeling and tugging each other closer, it felt like every second brought a new tangle of limbs.

It was Kageyama who murmured, “Bed,” against Hinata’s neck, the word barely a breath.

Hinata didn’t trust himself to answer, so he just nodded, pulling Kageyama’s shirt halfway up before they even stood. They stumbled through the short walk to Hinata’s bedroom, their lips only breaking when they bumped into the doorway and laughed, breathless and still clinging to each other.

By the time they reached the bed, Kageyama had lost his shirt too, and Hinata was already working on the knot of his shorts.

“You’re fast,” Kageyama muttered, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Try to keep up,” Hinata shot back, kicking his own pants off in the process.

Once they were on the bed, there wasn’t a single moment of distance. Kageyama’s hand splayed over Hinata’s hip, sliding down, his touch careful but deliberate. Hinata hooked a leg higher over him, pulling until there was nothing left between them but heat.

Clothes became an afterthought, discarded in a trail across the floor. The rhythm of their breathing shifted again, less laughter now, more deep, quiet sounds, the kind that came from somewhere they didn’t need to put into words.

The moment Kageyama’s underwear hit the floor, it hit him. 

The tattoo. Complete. Bare. Right in front of him.

Hinata shifted so he was straddling Kageyama, careful, instinctively avoiding certain places he wasn’t sure he could face just yet. Instead, he fixed his gaze on the ink.

The moonlight spilled through the window in a clean, silver line, striking Kageyama’s skin just so. His pale skin glowed, soft and unreal, like something carved out of light itself. Hinata’s breath caught.

His hands trembled as he reached out. Slowly, reverently, he traced the tattoo, following each feather, each sharp edge of a wing, each curl of a letter. And before hesitation could creep in, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss against the corner of one of the black crows.

Kageyama shivered beneath him. A small, involuntary reaction, but one that made something deep in Hinata’s chest unfurl.

He kissed the crow’s head next, softer still. Another shiver. Still, Kageyama made no move to stop him. Hinata kept going, tracing the design with his mouth now, letting each press of his lips linger. He moved slowly, taking his time, memorizing the way the ink met the skin, the heat beneath it, and the way Kageyama’s breathing shifted under his touch. Every inch felt deliberate. Every inch felt like a confession neither of them had put into words.

Hinata’s lips lingered on the last feather, and when he finally lifted his head, their eyes met. Kageyama’s gaze was dark and steady, but there was something else there too. Something raw and unguarded.

It pulled at Hinata like gravity.

Neither of them moved for a breath, two heartbeats, three. Then Kageyama’s hand found the back of his neck, not urgent, but certain, guiding him down. Their mouths met, slow at first, like they were still testing the edges of this new territory. But then Hinata pressed his body down, their bodies crushing against each other, and the restraint cracked.

The kiss deepened, and Hinata could feel the warmth beneath his palms, the quiet tension in Kageyama’s shoulders melting away with each second. The world outside—questions, matches, cameras—slipped from his mind until it was just this. Just them.

Closeness blurred into something more. Skin on skin, breath mingling, fingers searching for each other in the dark. They moved with a kind of wordless understanding, tentative but unstoppable, as if they’d been building toward this for years. Every shift and touch felt heightened, not just because of the newness, but because it was them.

Hinata had never imagined two people could fit together like this. Not just in the way their bodies aligned, but in the way they belonged. The way every inch of contact felt like a sentence he’d been trying to finish for years. Kageyama’s breath on his skin, the steady strength in his hands, the rise and fall of their chests. It all fused into something that felt infinite.

It was as if their bodies were learning each other, memorizing shapes and lines until the space between them ceased to exist. And with every movement, every unspoken answer in the dark, Hinata understood something he hadn’t before: closeness could be this deep. This complete.

He couldn’t tell when the hesitation vanished, only that at some point they stopped thinking altogether. Everything that had been pressing on his chest seemed to dissolve into the space between their bodies.

The moonlight stayed with them, painting the room silver, catching on every curve of movement, until even time seemed to lose its meaning.

And when they finally stilled, breathless and tangled, neither spoke. They didn’t need to.

The air in the room felt different now. It was thicker, warmer, like it had been changed by what had just passed between them.

Hinata lay still for a moment, chest rising and falling in quick, uneven breaths. His skin felt oversensitive, like every nerve was still tuned to Kageyama’s touch. When Tobio shifted beside him, the mattress dipping, Hinata’s gaze followed lazily, half-lidded, still lost in the haze of it all.

Kageyama didn’t say anything. He just reached for him with steady hands, guiding Hinata upright with a kind of tenderness that felt almost out of place for someone so blunt. Without a word, he disappeared for a moment, the faint sound of running water filling the silence, then returned with a small, damp towel.

He knelt in front of Hinata, spreading his legs apart, movements unhurried, careful. Hinata’s cheeks burned, though not from embarrassment alone. There was something about it. Maybe it was the quiet focus, the way Kageyama’s hands were so gentle now, as if the rough edges of the world couldn’t touch him here, that made his chest ache.

“I can—” Hinata started, voice still scratchy.

“I’ve got it,” Kageyama interrupted softly, not looking up.

The words were simple, but they settled deep in Hinata’s chest. He let him work, let him take care of him in this small, almost mundane way that felt heavier than anything they’d just done.

When Kageyama was done, he tossed the towel aside and sat next to him again, their shoulders brushing. Hinata leaned into him without thinking, feeling the steady rhythm of his breathing. For a while, they stayed like that, the silence filled with something solid and certain.

Eventually, Kageyama pulled the blanket over both of them, guiding Hinata down until his head rested against his chest.

“Better?” Kageyama murmured.

Hinata nodded, eyes closing, the last of his tension slipping away. And as sleep pulled at him, he realized something: he didn’t feel exposed. He didn’t feel unsure. He felt safe.

They shifted under the blanket, legs tangling until it was impossible to tell whose ankle belonged to who.

Kageyama’s arm stayed firm around Hinata’s waist, holding him close as if letting go wasn’t an option. Hinata’s cheek rested against his chest, the slow, steady thud of his heartbeat still a little faster than usual.

Hinata’s voice came, quiet but with a smile buried in it. “So… that just happened.”

Kageyama let out a faint snort. “Yeah. It did.”

Hinata tilted his head just enough to glance at him. “That was… kinda different from what I had imagined. In a good way, I mean.”

“Same here,” Kageyama said simply, though his hand tightened ever so slightly on Hinata’s back. “Just… glad it was you.”

Hinata blinked at that, warmth blooming in his chest in a way that had nothing to do with body heat. “Me too.”

They settled again, silence wrapping around them.

“Guess we can’t really pretend we don’t know what we’re doing anymore,” Hinata added after a beat, trying to sound casual.

“ You didn’t know what you were doing,” Kageyama replied, his voice just dry enough to make Hinata elbow him lightly in the ribs.

Kageyama’s small, breathy laugh in response made something in Hinata relax completely. And when they finally drifted off, it was with that same warmth still lingering between them.

Notes:

well, i am really nervous about this one. remember how i told you guys i'd never written a makeout session before?

yeah.

it took me DAYS to figure out how to write this in a way that made me feel comfortable. i'm happy with how it turned out, though.

hope you guys enjoyed it!!

p.s: thank you SO much for +600 kudos!!!! i'm beyond grateful

Chapter 88: Chapter LXXXVII

Hinata woke to warmth. Not just from the sun spilling into the room, but from the solid weight pressed against his side. Kageyama’s arm was draped over him, steady and heavy, fingers curled against his hip like they’d been molded there overnight.

For a few seconds, Hinata just lay there, eyes half-lidded, letting the quiet sink in. It was strange, in a good way, to feel this close to someone. Close enough that he could feel the slow rise and fall of Kageyama’s chest against his back.

He shifted slightly, meaning only to adjust the blanket, but the movement made Kageyama stir. His voice came out low, still laced with sleep. “Stop moving.”

Hinata turned over, blinking at the mess of black hair sticking out at every angle. He bit back a laugh. “Your hair looks like it lost a fight.”

Kageyama opened one eye, gave him a flat look. “…Yours lost worse.”

It was stupid. And familiar. And it made Hinata’s chest feel weirdly light.

Before he could think of a comeback, a sharp knock rattled the front door.

They froze. The knock came again, louder this time.

Hinata scrambled upright, clutching the blanket around himself. In his half-awake haze, he didn’t think to check the living room before cracking the door open, and came face-to-face with Hoshiumi.

“Finally,” Hoshiumi said, leaning on the doorframe. “I thought you’d fallen into a coma or something.” His eyes flicked past Hinata into the apartment.

They landed on the scene: two shirts tossed carelessly across the floor, Hinata wrapped in a blanket that clearly wasn’t covering much, and Kageyama, who had peeked out to see who was at the door, in nothing but his underwear, running a hand through his hair like this was just another Saturday. He went back to the bedroom without a word. 

Hoshiumi’s brows rose. His grin spread slow. “You know,” he said, stepping back slightly, “I was gonna ask if I could come in, but I think I’ll stay out here. Don’t wanna bump into any… unpleasant surprises. There a place around here where I can grab a coffee?”

Hinata’s brain scrambled for dignity. “…There’s a cafeteria two blocks away. Not even five minutes.”

“Perfect.” Hoshiumi’s grin widened as he backed down the hall. “See you in a bit. Try not to mess up your hair again.”

Hinata shut the door a little too quickly and leaned against it with a groan.

“Smooth,” Kageyama called from the bedroom, shoving a few shirts into his bag.

“Shut up,” Hinata shot back, but padded over to help anyway. 

Before Hinata could even step past the doorway, Kageyama turned, reached over, and yanked the blanket right off his shoulders in one swift motion.

“Hey!” Hinata yelped, spinning around instinctively, arms coming up to cover himself.

Kageyama didn’t even try to hide the smug grin tugging at his mouth. “It’s dirty,” he said matter-of-factly, folding the blanket over his arm like this was a perfectly reasonable explanation. “From last night.”

Hinata’s ears burned. “You could’ve just asked—”

But Kageyama was already moving past him toward the laundry basket, leaning just close enough for his shoulder to brush Hinata’s. His voice dropped low, not teasing so much as infuriatingly calm. “Why are you hiding? It’s not like I haven’t seen everything already.”

Hinata’s jaw dropped, and then he kicked him, hard, right in the butt.

Kageyama stumbled forward with a grunt. “Ow—what the hell was that for?”

“You know exactly what that was for!” Hinata shot back.

Kageyama straightened, rubbing the spot, then glanced back with a frown that was almost hesitant. “So… uh. Are you sore?”

Hinata blinked, almost laughing. “Why would I be sore?”

Kageyama looked even more confused. “Because—uh—one time I asked Suga about… you know. And he said sometimes the other person gets sore… down there.”

There was a beat of silence before Hinata’s face cracked, laughter spilling out before he could stop it. “Oh my god. He was messing with you. I’m fine.”

Kageyama’s ears went red. “You’re sure?”

Hinata was still grinning, but something in his chest tightened, because the way Kageyama had been with him last night flashed uninvited through his mind. The care in his touch. The pauses, like he was afraid of hurting him. The way his hands had trembled in moments, as if he wasn’t just focused on what they were doing, but on making sure Hinata felt safe the entire time.

The warmth that crept up his neck now wasn’t just embarrassment.

Kageyama was still watching him like he was trying to read his expression, but Hinata just shook his head with a small smile, putting on some clothes before hopping onto the bed to help him pack.

Hinata sat cross-legged on the bed, idly folding one of Kageyama’s shirts while Kageyama moved around the room in his usual efficient, slightly frantic way. Like packing was a competitive sport.

“You don’t have to fold it like that,” Kageyama muttered, snatching the shirt back and refolding it into an impossibly neat rectangle.

Hinata flopped backward on the mattress with an exaggerated sigh. “Do you want help or do you want to boss me around?”

Kageyama didn’t even look up. “Both.”

Hinata grinned and lobbed a balled-up pair of socks at him. Kageyama caught them without missing a beat, shoved them into his bag, and kept going.

“You’re kinda scary when you pack,” Hinata teased.

“You’re annoying when you try to help,” Kageyama shot back, but there was no bite to it, only that faint upward twitch of his mouth he got when he was trying not to smile too obviously.

By the time the last zipper was pulled shut, Hinata had migrated to leaning against the wall, watching him. It was stupidly domestic: the sound of zippers and rustling fabric, the faint smell of laundry detergent, the early sunlight spilling through the curtains. Too normal for a morning that had started with Hoshiumi walking into… well. That.

“C’mon,” Hinata finally said, grabbing his own bag. “If we make Hoshiumi wait too long, he’ll start yelling in the street.”

They headed out, walking side by side, their hands brushing now and then without meaning to. The cool morning air helped wash away some of the awkwardness still clinging to them, but Hinata could still feel the softness of last night lingering between the jokes, like something precious neither of them had quite named yet.

When they reached the café, Hoshiumi was exactly where Hinata expected: leaning against the wall, scrolling through his phone, coffee in his other hand, with the most unimpressed expression imaginable.

“Took you long enough,” he said, pocketing his phone. His eyes darted between them, but for once, he didn’t comment. “Let’s go, I’ve got a train to catch.”

The walk to the station started quiet, but not in an awkward way. More like the kind of quiet where the air still hummed with leftover warmth from the morning.

Kageyama’s bag bounced against his hip as he adjusted the strap, then reached out to rest his palm against the back of Hinata’s head, fingers ruffling through his hair in that familiar, slow way that had somehow become his signature move.

“Hey,” Hinata ducked slightly, trying to swat him away, though there was no real force behind it.

“What?” Kageyama said, as if the answer wasn’t obvious. “Your hair’s all weird.”

“It’s your fault it’s weird!” Hinata shot back, but his grin gave him away.

“You two make me sick,” Hoshiumi muttered from ahead, though Hinata caught the small smirk he tried to hide.

They kept bickering. Harmless, lazy jabs about who had to run more drills at practice, about how Hinata’s stride was too short to keep up, about how Kageyama was walking too slow on purpose. It felt… normal. Easy, even.

And then, just as the station came into view, Hoshiumi tossed the grenade over his shoulder without so much as slowing his pace.

“By the way, next time, maybe try picking up your shirts before I show up. Or at least put some clothes on before opening the door.”

Hinata’s brain short-circuited. “Wh—?!” His voice cracked halfway through.

Kageyama’s ears went red instantly, but his expression barely changed, which only made it worse.

“Train’s this way,” Hoshiumi added casually, like nothing had happened.

At the ticket gates, Hinata hesitated, not really wanting the moment to end. Kageyama noticed, he always did, and reached out again, resting his hand on the back of Hinata’s head, giving it one last, gentle push forward. This time, though, Hinata didn’t complain. 

“I’ll text you later,” Kageyama said, steady and certain.

Hinata nodded, watching as Kageyama and Hoshiumi disappeared into the rush of morning commuters. Only when he turned toward the gym did he realize his cheeks still felt hot, and not just because of Hoshiumi’s stupid comment.

Saturday practices with the Jackals were technically optional. Coach Samson didn’t even bother showing up, leaving Meian in full charge of the session. But “optional” didn’t mean empty. Most of the team still came in. Some wanted the extra touches on the ball, others didn’t want to lose rhythm before the next match.

By the time Hinata got to the Jackals’ gym, the team was just beginning warmups. The echo of sneakers on polished wood and the low thud of balls being bounced filled the air. Meian stood at the center, clipboard in hand, already rattling off the plan for the day.

Hinata jogged over to join the stretching circle, offering quick nods and a half-smile to his teammates. His eyes flicked toward the far end of the court, where Atsumu was rolling his shoulders, chatting idly with Sakusa about something. Sakusa looked mildly unamused, as always, but less tense than usual. Hinata was surprised to notice his face mask was already off. 

As they went through hamstring stretches and shoulder rotations, Hinata kept catching himself thinking, I should say it now. The words sat heavy in his chest. Just a quick thanks, nothing complicated. But every time he glanced at Atsumu, the moment felt too abrupt and too public.

Warmups moved into passing drills, then into a light serve-and-receive rotation. Hinata’s focus was on the ball, but his thoughts still hovered elsewhere.

Finally, after they finished warmups and Meian called for a quick water break, Hinata grabbed his chance. He walked over to where Atsumu was filling his bottle at the sideline.

“Hey,” Hinata said, voice steady but not loud enough for anyone else to hear.

Atsumu didn’t look up right away. “Yeah?”

“About yesterday's interview…” Hinata hesitated for just a second before pushing through. “Thanks. For stepping in.”

Atsumu’s hand stilled on the water bottle cap. For a moment, he looked almost confused. “That’s what you came over here for?”

Hinata nodded. “Yeah. It meant a lot.”

Atsumu let out a short huff, like he didn’t know what to do with that. “It’s no big deal. The interview was about volleyball, not that.”

“Still,” Hinata said with a small smile, “thanks.”

The setter didn’t respond, just went back to twisting his bottle shut and heading toward the net. But Hinata caught something in the shift of his shoulders. Not quite guarded, but lighter somehow.

Practice that day flowed in a way it hadn’t in weeks. Atsumu’s sets were clean, sharp, and perfectly in sync with Hinata’s approaches. The timing was seamless, the kind they used to have without thinking. Hinata barely had to adjust his run; the ball was just there .

From across the court, Meian noticed too. During a water break, he gave Atsumu a firm pat on the shoulder and muttered something that made the setter grin faintly. Hinata caught the exchange from where he stood and felt an odd mix of relief and curiosity settle in his chest.

Atsumu had kept his distance from him ever since Hinata, just as he said he would. No unnecessary words. No lingering glances. The only interactions they’d had were strictly about volleyball. Hinata had wondered if that was deliberate.

And now, seeing how Atsumu seemed closer to Sakusa than ever—the two often paired off in drills, their quiet communication efficient in a way Hinata wouldn’t have imagined a year ago—he realized something. Sakusa’s presence seemed to have toned Atsumu down even more, not in the sense of dimming his personality, but sharpening it. Making him more deliberate. More mature. 

When Atsumu had first come back to join the Jackals, his personality wasn’t as flashy or loud as it had been during the training camp, but it still felt messy and fragile, as if keeping it down wouldn’t last long, like he was just pretending. Now, though, he seemed much more stable. More secure. More natural. Like he’d finally found comfort in this new phase.

Hinata wasn’t sure how to feel with this new Atsumu, but what he did know, was that practice felt easier today. And for the first time in a while, so did breathing.

 

---

 

By the time Hinata got back to his apartment, the sun was already beginning to dip behind the buildings, casting the living room in soft gold. He dropped his gym bag beside the door and let out a long breath, stretching his arms above his head. His body felt the good kind of sore, the kind that told him practice had been worth it.

He padded over to the kitchen, poured himself a glass of water, and leaned against the counter. That’s when his phone buzzed.

It was from Kageyama: Went out to get dinner with Miwa.

Hinata smiled faintly at the text, thumb hovering over the screen as he thought of a reply. Tobio was staying in Miyagi for a couple days with Miwa, just to spend some time together before Kageyama went back to pack everything up from his apartment in Higashiosaka. 

He didn’t even get the chance to type before the phone lit up again, this time with an incoming FaceTime call.

Oikawa’s name. And beside it, Pablo’s.

He accepted, and immediately the camera was filled with Oikawa’s too-perfect grin and Pablo’s wide, excited eyes.

“ Shoyoooo! ” Pablo practically yelled, as if Hinata couldn’t hear him perfectly fine through the phone. “We just finished planning my Tokyo debut!”

Oikawa tilted his head with a smug look. “Correction — I finished planning it. Pablo just sat there looking at pictures of nightclubs and food.”

“That’s not true,” Pablo shot back, pointing dramatically at Oikawa, almost knocking the phone out of his hand. “I was also looking at parks . We’re cultured.”

Hinata chuckled, leaning back against the counter. “You two sound like a married couple already.”

It had been over two months since he’d last spoken Portuguese, and the words felt unfamiliar, heavier on his tongue. His accent was stronger too, rusty from disuse, making every sentence sound clumsier than he remembered. Still, the familiar rhythm of the language wrapped around him like a hug, stirring up memories of warm nights and crowded kitchens back in Brazil. 

They both groaned in unison, which only made Hinata laugh harder.

The call quickly turned into a rapid-fire mess of chatter. Pablo was convinced he needed to try every kind of Japanese street food in one day, and Oikawa insisted they pace themselves unless Pablo wanted to spend his trip with a stomachache. Then came the “official itinerary,” which Oikawa read out loud like a dramatic tour guide.

“Day one: Lunch in Shibuya, shopping in Harajuku, photos at Tokyo Tower, dinner in Ebisu, then—” Oikawa stopped to sigh in disapproval. “Pablo insists we go clubbing until sunrise. Day two: recover from Pablo’s bad choices.”

Pablo grinned into the camera. “You’re coming with us, Shoyo. No excuses.”

Hinata raised his hands. “I never said I wasn’t! But I’m not staying until sunrise.”

“That’s what they all say,” Pablo teased. “And then, boom, you’re dancing on a table at 4 a.m.”

Oikawa smirked. “Oh, don’t act like you wouldn’t. You’re very easy to convince, Shoyo. It’s happened before.”

It took Hinata a couple of seconds longer than it should have to realize what Oikawa meant. When it hit him, his ears went warm, and he ducked his head with an awkward little laugh. “You two are impossible,” he muttered.

They only grinned wider.

By the time the call wound down, they had locked in Tuesday as Pablo’s arrival, finalized train stations and meeting points, and laughed themselves into hiccups. When Hinata finally hung up, the apartment felt too quiet again, as if all that noise and energy had been sucked back into the phone.

He tossed it onto the couch, sank into the cushions, and exhaled slowly. Tuesday suddenly felt both way too far away, and dangerously close.

Chapter 89: Chapter LXXXVIII

Sunday was blissfully quiet.

No alarm, no clattering pans from the neighbors upstairs, no rushing to get to the gym on time. Just the soft hum of the refrigerator and the late morning sunlight spilling across his floor. Hinata spent most of the day doing nothing. Stretching lazily on the couch, scrolling through his phone, half-watching some mindless variety show. His legs still felt heavy from yesterday’s practice, but it was the good kind of ache.

By mid-afternoon, the boredom got to him, and without thinking too much, he called Kageyama. The sound of the ring tone made his chest warm in a way that was still new, still strange, but welcome.

The line clicked. “What?”

Hinata rolled his eyes. “Nice hello, dumbass.”

“You called me,” Kageyama said flatly, but Hinata could hear the faint echo of a TV in the background, like Kageyama had been half-asleep before picking up.

“Yeah, because I was bored and you’re supposed to entertain me.”

“That’s not my job.”

“You’re my boyfriend now. It quite literally is your job now.”

“According to who?.”

“Me. According to me.”

Kageyama exhaled through his nose, the closest thing he got to a laugh, and muttered something about Hinata being annoying. But he didn’t hang up.

They fell into easy talk. How Hoshiumi had already nailed down his apartment in Tokyo, how Meian had nearly pulled a muscle yelling at Saturday’s optional practice, how Miwa had made curry for breakfast.

It was only when the conversation hit a lull that Hinata noticed it. The slight shift in Kageyama’s tone. The way he got quieter, like he was turning something over in his head.

Hinata frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“I’m not—”

“ Kageyama. ”

The other end went silent, save for the faint sound of fabric rustling, probably Kageyama rubbing at the back of his neck. When he finally spoke, it was hesitant. “I was just… wondering if I should tell Miwa about us.”

“Oh.” Hinata sat up a little. “Yeah. I mean… I guess that’s up to you. Do you… want to?”

“I think so.” But it didn’t sound like he was sure.

Hinata narrowed his eyes at the phone, like Kageyama could feel it through the line. “You’re acting weird.”

“I’m not—” Kageyama stopped, his voice catching in his throat. “…It’s just—she’s not… really happy with you right now. Hasn’t been, actually. For some time.”

The words landed heavy, but there was something about the way Kageyama said them, like he was trying to soften every edge, hold the truth in both hands so it wouldn’t cut too deep.

Hinata’s pulse picked up. “Why?”

Kageyama hesitated again, and Hinata could almost hear him searching for a version that wouldn’t sting. “She’s been pissed since you left for Brazil without telling anyone. Not even me. She thought it was—” he stopped, and then, quieter, “—selfish. And that it hurt me.”

Hinata’s stomach twisted. He could picture Miwa perfectly: the sharp look in her eyes, the cold tone. She’d always been kind to him, but she’d never been one to sugarcoat. 

“ Oh, ” Hinata said quietly.

“She’s not… a bad person about it. She just—”

“No, I get it,” Hinata cut in quickly, guilt spreading through him like ink in water. “She’s right. I didn’t even think about how it might’ve felt for her. She’s known me since high school, and I just… vanished.”

Kageyama didn’t reply right away, and Hinata found himself gripping the edge of the couch cushion. “I should’ve visited,” Hinata said at last. “When I came back.”

“Well,” Kageyama spoke reluctantly. “I don’t know about that. You and I were not on good terms either, so….”

There was another pause, longer this time, the weight of the conversation hanging between them.

“What if—” Hinata started, “what if I try to talk to her when you’re back in Tokyo? You said you’re moving in on Wednesday, right?”

“Yeah. She’s coming to help unpack.”

“Okay. Then… I’ll talk to her then. Or at least… try.”

Kageyama made a small sound, something between a grunt and a hum. “Are you sure about that? I could just tell her that we’re dating. She’d have to put her anger aside anyways. For me.”

“No,” Hinata replied, immediately. “She deserves an apology. She was always so nice to me. I betrayed her trust, too.”

Kageyama let out a sigh of relief. Like Hinata’s words had somehow eased the tension from his shoulders. “Okay. We’ll try, then.”

The tension didn’t completely leave his voice, but it was enough for Hinata to picture him loosening his grip on the phone, maybe letting his head fall back against a pillow.

Hinata shifted on the couch, the soft hum of the fridge in the background the only sound besides Kageyama’s steady breathing on the line. He had his phone propped between his shoulder and cheek, knees pulled up, toes wiggling against the cushions.

“Are you… gonna tell your mom? And Natsu?”

Hinata tilted his head. “About us?”

“Yeah.”

Hinata thought about it, scratching absently at his ankle. “I… hadn’t really thought about it. But yeah, I will.” He narrowed his eyes at the roof, as if Kageyama could see him. “Why? You scared of my mom?”

Kageyama’s voice came in fast. Maybe too fast. “No.”

“You totally are.”

“I’m not,” Kageyama shot back, his voice quick and flat. The kind of denial that made it obvious it was true.

Hinata grinned. “My mom loves you. She’d probably start feeding you before you even took your shoes off. And Natsu…” His grin widened into a downright wicked smile. “She’ll never let us live it down. She’ll tease us until we’re old and wrinkly.”

“Great.”

“What? You scared of a middle schooler now?”

“She’s scary,” Kageyama said, matter-of-factly.

Hinata burst out laughing, almost dropping his phone. “Oh my god. Olympic medalist setter, terrified of my little sister. I’m definitely telling her that.”

“Don’t,” Kageyama said sharply. Hinata could picture Tobio’s ears going red.

“She’s gonna find out anyway!”

They fell into that easy laughter, the kind that made Hinata’s chest feel like someone had thrown open a window. The knot that had been sitting under his ribs all day loosened without him even realizing it.

When the laughter faded, Hinata let himself sink deeper into the cushions, phone balanced in his palm. “They’ll be happy for us, you know. My family. They already love you. And they’ve always wanted me to…” He hesitated, thumb brushing over the edge of the phone case. “To find someone who makes me happy.”

On the other end, Kageyama’s voice softened in a way Hinata had heard more and more, lately. There was a quiet beat before he said, “Yeah. I want them to like me.”

Hinata’s lips tugged upward, warm in a way that wasn’t just from the heater running. “They already do, idiot. You’re kind of hard not to like, you know.”

“That’s not true.” But his voice had that faint, awkward edge that told Hinata he didn’t quite know how to take the compliment.

“It’s true for me.”

Kageyama didn’t answer right away. Finally, he said, low and deliberate, “Now we just have to make Miwa like you again.”

The words hit heavier than Hinata expected. “I’ll make it up to her,” he replied, his voice quiet but steady. “I promise.”

“I know you will. I really do.”

 

---

 

Monday mornings were supposed to feel heavier, slower, especially after a weekend. But the Jackals’ gym was already buzzing with energy when Hinata walked in, sneakers slung over his shoulder, hair still damp from his shower. The thud of volleyballs echoing like heartbeats and the voices bouncing across the gym in sharp bursts welcomed him once more. The Jackals didn’t need Samson to push them on days like these. They all knew the drills, and Meian’s calm authority kept everything in motion.

He dropped his bag by the bench, crouching down to untie his shoes, when something on the periphery of his vision stopped him cold.

No way.

He blinked, leaned forward a little, and then had to slap a hand over his mouth.

Atsumu was sitting just a couple feet away, tugging on his volleyball shoes like nothing was out of the ordinary. Except he wasn’t wearing normal socks. Not even close.

They were… chicken legs. Long black socks with bright yellow stripes running down the front, ending in clawed feet at the toes. From Hinata’s angle, they looked alarmingly realistic.

Hinata made a strangled noise in his throat. “What the fuck is that?!”

Atsumu stiffened like he’d been caught in a crime. “What?” He looked down at his legs, then immediately yanked his shorts lower as if that could hide anything. “Dude, don’t look at me there!”

Hinata’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “I’m not— your socks! They look like—you— chicken legs! ” His voice cracked into hysterics at the end, and before he knew it, he was doubled over, laughing so hard tears were forming.

“They’re not mine!” Atsumu shot back, his whole face going red. “They’re Osamu’s, okay?! I ran outta clean socks this morning.”

Hinata wheezed, barely able to breathe. “So you stole your brother’s chicken feet socks—?!”

“I borrowed them!” Atsumu barked, defensive as ever. “You’d rather I showed up barefoot?!”

That did it. Hinata fell back onto the bench, clutching his stomach as laughter rolled out of him in helpless waves. Every time he looked up and caught another glimpse of those ridiculous yellow claws, he broke down all over again.

“Shut up! It’s not funny!” Atsumu groaned, tying his laces with way too much force. His ears were red all the way to the tips.

Hinata wiped his eyes, hiccuping through his grin. “You look like a giant roasted chicken. Matches your hair.”

“Say one more word and I’m setting the ball into orbit,” Atsumu warned, glaring at him from under his bangs.

Hinata snorted, still grinning ear to ear. “Go ahead. I’ll still spike it.”

And for a second, it wasn’t awkward anymore. No tension, no bitterness. Just two guys at practice, bickering like usual. The kind of stupid banter Hinata had missed. The kind that made everything else fade into the background.

Warm-ups that day felt lighter. Easier. Hinata didn’t feel the need to glance over his shoulder every time Atsumu moved. He just… existed next to him, without the weight of what had happened pressing down on his chest.

And when Atsumu sent him a perfect set during the first drill, Hinata soared into the air, spiking the ball so hard it smacked the far wall.

“Nice,” Meian called, clapping once as the ball bounced.

Hinata landed, chest heaving, a grin spreading across his face. For the first time in a while, practice actually felt like practice again.

By the time Hinata got back to his apartment that night, he felt lighter than he had in weeks. Every now and then, Atsumu’s stupid chicken socks replayed in his head, making him chuckle under his breath while he unlocked the door.

But as soon as he stepped inside, the lightness gave way to something else: responsibility. His apartment looked… fine for him , but with Pablo arriving tomorrow, it suddenly felt messy and cramped, like everything was out of place.

He kicked off his shoes and surveyed the living room. The couch looked small and lopsided, the coffee table had water rings he hadn’t scrubbed off, and his spare futon cover was still in the laundry basket, unfolded. Hinata groaned.

“Okay,” he muttered, rolling up his sleeves like he was about to step into battle. 

The rest of the evening was spent in a whirlwind as he dragged the laundry out of the machine and wrestled the futon cover onto the spare bedding, rearranged the couch cushions three different ways before finally throwing a blanket over it and called it “good enough,” and stood in front of his fridge with a frown because, aside from leftover curry and sports drinks, there was nothing remotely guest-worthy.

“Maybe I bake pão de queijo or something,” Hinata mumbled to himself, scratching his head. The thought of having Brazilian snacks for Pablo felt right. Like a little taste of home for him. But then Hinata remembered he wasn’t exactly a skilled baker. “...Convenience store it is.”

Still, even through the cleaning and prepping, Hinata couldn’t stop glancing at his phone.

Kageyama hadn’t called all day. The last text had been quick and painfully short. Something about boxing up his sports magazines with Miwa and running out of tape. Since Saturday, most of their exchanges had been like that: brief, functional, little updates here and there. It wasn’t like Kageyama was ignoring him. He was just busy, stuck in Higashiosaka packing up two whole years of life with Miwa at his side. But Hinata still felt that ache every time he set his phone down without a call coming through.

He’d wanted to tell him about Oikawa, but the timing never felt right. And the longer he waited, the more it weighed on him. He knew it wasn’t right. He knew that telling him was the right thing to do, and still, he couldn’t stop himself from shaking just from the thought of having that conversation. 

Now, as he stood in the middle of his living room, staring at the couch that was supposed to become Pablo’s temporary bed, Hinata let out a small sigh.

“It’s fine. I’ll tell him once he’s back in Tokyo,” he thought, even though his stomach twisted. “He’ll probably be too tired to care about Oikawa right now, anyways.”

He dropped onto the couch, letting his head fall back against the cushions. The apartment smelled faintly of detergent from all the frantic cleaning, and for the first time since morning, he let himself relax.

Tomorrow, Pablo would be here. Loud, teasing Pablo who somehow managed to feel like family the second he walked into a room. Hinata smiled faintly, imagining the chaos his apartment was about to endure.

And somewhere in Higashiosaka, Kageyama was probably still packing, frowning at a box that wouldn’t close right while Miwa scolded him for wasting tape.

Hinata closed his eyes, phone resting on his chest. He couldn’t wait to see him again.

Chapter 90: Chapter LXXXIX

Hinata had gotten permission for a late entry into Tuesday’s practice, something he never asked for unless it was important. He’d explained to Meian that he had to pick someone up from the airport, and though the captain had raised an eyebrow, he’d waved him off with a simple: “Fine. Just don’t come in dragging your feet later.”

That “someone” was Pablo.

It had been decided weeks ago between Hinata and Oikawa: Pablo would stay at Hinata’s place for the first few days, just while he stayed in Tokyo. Oikawa had offered, of course, but his Tokyo base was actually Iwaizumi’s apartment, and with Iwaizumi away in the States for a coaching workshop until the end of the week, Oikawa had barely been in Tokyo himself. He’d been floating between Miyagi, where he was still sorting his life and practice schedule, and little detours back and forth. Hinata’s apartment, on the other hand, was central, his alone, and spacious enough to host Pablo comfortably.

So when Hinata hopped into the passenger seat of Oikawa’s car outside the station, rubbing his hands together from the morning chill, it felt oddly official, like they were a welcome committee.

“Shrimp! I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages, ” Oikawa smirked, pulling into traffic. “You've forgotten your old friends since you became a Tokyo guy.”

“I tried calling a few times,” Hinata shot back, already bracing himself for an entire day of Oikawa’s teasing. But he couldn’t keep the grin off his face. “You’re too busy being all over Iwaizumi to respond, I presume.”

“You’re one to talk. Which reminds me! I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were finally dating your man. I had to find out through fucking Twitter.”

By the time they made it to the international terminal, Hinata was jittering on his toes. He hadn’t seen Pablo in months. Since Brazil, since those hard, sunny days that now felt like a lifetime ago. And then there he was. Emerging through the sliding doors, a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, waving at them with that unmistakable energy that seemed to fill entire rooms.

“Shoyo! Tooru!” Pablo’s grin was wide enough to split his face in two.

Hinata shot forward first, nearly barreling into him with the force of his hug. Pablo stumbled, laughed, and hugged him back just as fiercely.

“You’re really here!” Hinata beamed, pulling back only to punch Pablo lightly in the chest. “Finally!”

“About time,” Oikawa chimed in, stepping in for his own hug. “You almost missed your chance to see me in peak form.”

“Didn’t you say Brazil was your peak?” Pablo teased, already slipping into the rhythm of their banter like he’d never left.

“I’m always at my peak.”

They started walking toward the parking lot, Hinata taking one of Pablo’s bags without hesitation. They were finally reaching Oikawa’s car when, out of nowhere, Pablo said in careful, accented but surprisingly smooth Japanese: “It’s… very good to see you both. Thank you for coming.”

Hinata almost tripped over his own feet. He blinked at Pablo, mouth half open. Oikawa actually stopped walking, head whipping around.

“Wait—what?” Oikawa demanded. “Since when do you…?”

Pablo grinned sheepishly, scratching his neck. “I started learning before you left. Little by little. Thought it would help… you know. I knew I wanted to come one day. Learn more about your culture, I guess.”

Hinata’s eyes sparkled. “You sound… good! Like, really good!”

“It’s weird, though!” Oikawa protested, narrowing his eyes like Pablo had betrayed him. “You didn’t tell me!”

“Surprise,” Pablo said proudly, switching back to Portuguese to stick his tongue out at him.

Hinata burst out laughing, bouncing a little on his heels as they opened the trunk of the car.

“This is gonna be amazing,” he said, tugging Pablo toward the back seat. “You’re gonna fit right in.”

Hinata felt that buzzing excitement in his chest, the kind of anticipation that made the city around him feel brighter, faster, alive.

The car ride from the airport was noisy in the best way. Hinata could barely sit still, bouncing between Portuguese and Japanese as he tried to keep up with Oikawa and Pablo’s chatter. Oikawa was still sulking, in his dramatic way, about Pablo’s secret Japanese skills.

“I cannot believe you kept this from me,” Oikawa groaned, one hand on the wheel, the other pressed theatrically to his chest. “After everything we went through together in Brazil? Traitor.”

“I wanted to surprise you guys,” Pablo shot back in Japanese, carefully but confidently. His accent was there, sure, but his rhythm was natural enough that it floored Hinata all over again. “You learned my mother tongue. Why wouldn’t I learn yours?”

Hinata doubled over laughing. “Oh my god, are you using formal speech?! You sound so cool!”

“See?!” Pablo looked smug.

 “No, don’t encourage him, Chibi-chan,” Oikawa hissed.

By the time they parked outside Hinata’s building, Pablo was glowing with triumph, and Oikawa looked like he was reconsidering his entire life.

Hinata all but dragged them upstairs, juggling Pablo’s extra bag against his hip while fumbling with his keys. The door swung open, and suddenly they were standing inside Hinata’s space.

Oikawa stepped in slowly, taking a long, exaggerated look around the living room. “Well, well, well. So this is where the little Chibi-chan roosts.”

“‘Roosts?’ Who taught you to say that? It’s cringe,” Hinata shot back immediately, but there was no bite in it. 

Pablo was more direct. He dropped his duffel by the couch and spun in a slow circle, eyes bright. “This is great, Shoyo. Cozy. Clean. Central, too?”

Hinata puffed his chest a little. “Yeah! Like fifteen or twenty minutes from the station. And couch’s ready for you.”

Pablo flopped onto it dramatically, stretching out. “Perfect! I was never going to share a bed with you anyway. You fart.”

Hinata threw a cushion at his head. “Shut up!”

Meanwhile, Oikawa had wandered toward the kitchen area, opening a cupboard, uninvited. “Hmm. Instant ramen. Energy drinks. Some sad-looking bananas. You live like a college freshman.”

“I don’t!” Hinata stormed over to snatch the cupboard shut. “I cook sometimes!”

“Sure you do.” Oikawa smirked, ruffling Hinata’s hair just to watch him squawk.

But even through the teasing, there was warmth. The kind that filled the air like sunlight. Pablo stretched again, peeking toward the hallway. “Bathroom’s over there?”

“Yep,” Hinata nodded, tugging his bag closer to the couch. “Towels are in the closet. Make yourself at home.”

Oikawa leaned against the counter, arms crossed, smirking like he knew exactly what Hinata was feeling. “Look at you, Shrimp. Playing host. Very adult.”

“Shut up,” Hinata repeated, face red but smiling too hard to mean it.

It hit him then. This was it. Pablo was here, in Tokyo, about to start everything. Oikawa was here too, cracking jokes in his kitchen like it was normal. And though Hinata’s chest buzzed with nerves about practice and about Kageyama and about everything waiting for him later, for this moment he felt nothing but joy.

 

---

 

Hinata barely had time to breathe after giving Pablo the apartment tour before Oikawa jingled his car keys at him like a threat.

“C’mon, Chibi-chan, time to drop you off. You’ve got responsibilities .”

Hinata groaned but grabbed his gym bag anyway. “Stop saying it like that! You sound like my mom.”

“Do I? Then listen to me more,” Oikawa shot back, ushering both of them out the door like he owned the place.

The ride to the gym was just as noisy as before. Pablo leaned forward from the back seat, pointing out every single new thing through the window like a tourist. Hinata kept leaning sideways to answer, laughing, until Oikawa snapped, “Sit back! I don’t want to explain to Ms. Hinata why her favorite golden son broke his nose on my dashboard!”

When they pulled up outside the arena, Hinata grabbed his bag and hopped out. Pablo now leaned over the passenger seat with a grin. “We’ll pick you up for lunch, yeah? Be ready.”

They had originally planned to have lunch in Shibuya, somewhere trendy Oikawa had circled three times on his map app, but the plan fell apart the moment Hinata reminded them he only had an hour before practice resumed.

“An hour?” Oikawa groaned dramatically from the driver’s seat, slamming one hand on the steering wheel. “Hinata Shoyo, how can I be expected to savor a meal in only an hour? That’s inhumane.”

Hinata, already out of the car, leaned back in through the passenger’s window. “Then don’t savor it, just eat it. You can savor another time.”

Pablo chuckled from his seat, shaking his head. “I think what he’s saying is: if you try dragging him into Shibuya for some fancy café, he’s gonna ditch you halfway through and sprint back to the gym.”

Hinata pointed at him like he’d just won a prize. “Exactly!”

Oikawa let out a long, dramatic sigh, tapping his temple as though calculating the weight of the universe. “Fine. New plan. We snack in Shibuya while we wait for you to be done and then, when you’re free, we actually eat somewhere civilized. Somewhere worthy of me.”

Hinata rolled his eyes, grinning despite himself. “Yeah, yeah, don’t starve without me.”

“Don’t worry,” Pablo said, winking. “I’ll keep him from eating the entire street.”

“Don’t make me wait, Shrimp!” Oikawa added, wagging a finger at him.

Hinata rolled his eyes, grinning as he jogged toward the entrance. “I won’t. Have fun!”

 

---

 

Inside, the Jackals were already finishing warm ups. Hinata changed quickly and slipped into line, shoulders loosening as he fell into the rhythm of stretches and drills. Tuesday practices weren’t usually his favorite, but today he felt strangely buoyant. Maybe it was Pablo finally being in Tokyo, maybe it was the way the team’s energy felt steadier. Either way, he smiled more easily, laughed when Bokuto hollered across the court, and spiked like his body already knew the flow.

It wasn’t until water break that his steps slowed.

Across the gym, near the racks of extra balls, Atsumu and Sakusa stood slightly apart from the group. Not arguing loudly, but their posture, the quiet intensity between them, made Hinata pause. He hadn’t meant to stare, but curiosity tugged him closer. Almost without realizing it, he ducked behind a cart stacked with towels, peeking through the narrow space.

Sakusa’s voice, low but cutting, carried. “You can’t just run from it, Miya.”

Hinata blinked. Run from what ?

Atsumu’s jaw flexed, his hand tightening around his water bottle. “I’m not running. I just—” He cut himself off, shook his head. “I just know you could do better than me. That’s all.”

The words hung heavy in the air.

Sakusa didn’t flinch, didn’t soften. His reply was quiet, deliberate. “That’s not your decision to make.”

Hinata’s breath hitched. His brain scrambled to put the pieces together. The way Atsumu avoided Sakusa’s eyes, the way Sakusa refused to look away… it felt different. Not teammates clashing. Not even friends disagreeing. Something else lived in that silence, a thread too taut to ignore.

The thought struck Hinata before he could stop it. His chest tightened, face heating as he crouched lower behind the cart: he shouldn’t be there. He shouldn’t be listening.

Hinata backed away as quietly as he could, then darted toward the group before either of them could notice. His heart pounded like he’d just been caught committing a crime.

During drills, his mind kept wandering back to that moment. Atsumu’s voice, quiet but raw. Sakusa’s gaze, unwavering. Hinata chewed the inside of his cheek.

Atsumu had always seemed untouchable. Loud, cocky and sharp-edged. But now Hinata realized he’d been keeping his distance in a different way: deliberate, restrained, like he was holding something in check.

And Sakusa, who barely let anyone close, was close .

Hinata swallowed hard, his serve nearly wobbling as he thought about it again. He wasn’t supposed to know. Maybe no one was. But it was impossible to unsee the look on Atsumu’s face when he spoke.

 

---

 

Hinata jogged out of the training center, gym bag bouncing against his back, and immediately spotted Oikawa’s car parked at the curb. Oikawa leaned casually against the driver’s door, sunglasses on despite the cloudy sky, while Pablo waved wildly from the passenger side.

“Shoyo!” Pablo’s voice boomed even from across the street. “You look alive!”

Hinata grinned and hurried over. “Barely. I think I sweat out half my body weight.”

“Good,” Oikawa smirked, opening the back door for him with a flourish. “Means you’ll eat properly. And lucky you—we already picked a place.”

Before climbing in, Hinata narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “How was Shibuya?”

Oikawa pushed his sunglasses up his nose with a smug little tilt. “It was okay, I guess.”

“You guess?” Hinata repeated flatly.

Pablo leaned over the seat, grinning so wide his dimples nearly cracked his face. “He made me try like five different bubble teas. Five! And then taiyaki. And then takoyaki. My stomach almost exploded.”

“It was research,” Oikawa said, dead serious. “He’s staying in Japan now, he needs to understand the essentials. Besides, it was a bonding experience.”

“Bonding, huh?” Hinata snorted as he slid into the back seat. “Sounds more like you just dragged him to eat all your favorite snacks.”

“That’s called culture,” Oikawa fired back smoothly, already starting the car.

Pablo turned halfway in his seat, eyes twinkling. “Don’t let him fool you, Shoyo. He was worse than me. He cried a little when the taiyaki came out too hot.”

“I did not cry,” Oikawa snapped, color rising to his cheeks. “It was steam in my eyes.”

Hinata laughed so hard he nearly dropped his bag on the car floor. Just like that, the exhaustion of practice melted a little.

The restaurant they finally chose was only a few blocks away, tucked into a side street filled with little cafés and bistros. It wasn’t fancy, but the warm smell of fried food and garlic greeted them as soon as they stepped inside. Hinata’s stomach growled so loudly that Oikawa and Pablo both burst out laughing.

They found a small corner table, and almost instantly, Pablo ordered for all three of them without hesitation, in Japanese that was surprisingly smooth. Hinata blinked at him, still not used to hearing Pablo speak it so confidently.

“You’re better at Japanese than I am at Portuguese.” Hinata muttered.

Pablo only shrugged, grinning like he’d just pulled off a magic trick. “Your Portuguese is not bad at all.”

The food came quickly. They ordered big plates of rice, chicken, noodles, and steaming bowls of miso soup. Hinata dug in with a ferocity that had Oikawa teasing, “Slow down, or you’ll choke and embarrass me in public.”

But despite the good food and the banter, Hinata’s thoughts kept sliding back to the gym. Back to Atsumu and Sakusa. To that heavy silence. To the raw edge in Atsumu’s voice. He stabbed at his rice a little too hard, chopsticks nearly snapping.

“Hey, Shrimp,” Oikawa said suddenly, tilting his head with a sly smile. “You’re eating like someone just confessed their love to you and you don’t know how to answer.”

Hinata nearly choked on his soup. “What?!”

Pablo burst out laughing, nearly spilling his noodles. “He looks like that, yes!”

“Shut up, I do not,” Hinata muttered, face burning.

Oikawa narrowed his eyes, clearly amused but also curious. “So? What’s on your mind, huh?”

Hinata froze for a second. The image of Atsumu’s clenched jaw, Sakusa’s steady voice, flashed again in his mind. He swallowed hard, shook his head quickly, and forced a grin. “Nothing! I’m just really hungry, that’s all.”

Oikawa didn’t look convinced, but he leaned back in his chair with a shrug, letting it go. At least for now. Pablo, thankfully, jumped in with a new story about almost missing his flight because of a mix-up at the luggage counter, and soon Hinata found himself laughing again.

The food warmed him from the inside out, and little by little, the tension in his chest loosened. Whatever he’d overheard at practice… it could wait. Right now, it was enough to sit with Oikawa and Pablo, to laugh until his stomach hurt, to feel like everything was just a little bit lighter.

 

---

 

Practice that afternoon had a different air. The drills were sharp, the pace fast, but beneath it Hinata felt something odd. Like there was a current moving under the surface that no one wanted to name.

It didn’t take long to figure it out.

Atsumu and Sakusa weren’t really fighting. That wasn’t it. But there was distance between them. A strange, careful sort of distance that felt just as loud. Normally, even if they bickered, their rhythm snapped together naturally, the push and pull almost comfortable. Now, Hinata noticed Atsumu avoided Sakusa’s eyes during serve receive. Sakusa, in turn, lingered just a fraction too long staring at the floor before tossing the ball back.

Hinata caught himself watching them too closely, reading into every glance, every pause. The weight of it sat in his stomach. It reminded him too much of himself and Kageyama years ago, when miscommunication felt like the end of the world. When every small thing carried double meaning.

He wondered—worry prickling—if anyone else had noticed.

A sharp whistle from Meian pulled him back to the moment. Hinata snapped upright, forcing himself to focus, legs pumping as he dove for the next ball. But every so often, his gaze drifted again, catching Sakusa’s jaw tighten or Atsumu’s hands flex nervously against his shorts.

Hinata’s phone buzzed in his bag as practice wound down. He didn’t even wait to change out of his shoes, pulling it out with sweaty fingers, heart thudding with something close to relief when he saw the name on the screen.

Kageyama: Almost done here. Just small stuff left to pack. How’s your friend?

Hinata grinned before he even realized it, shoulders slumping as tension he hadn’t noticed drained out of him.

Hinata: He’s great! Already speaking Japanese better than me. Oikawa’s been showing him around. 

He hesitated, thumbs hovering. For a second, he wanted to tell Kageyama everything. About the strange silence between Atsumu and Sakusa, the way it reminded him of their own messy beginnings, the ache in his chest when he thought about them. But then he bit his lip, shaking his head.

Not now. Not in a text.

The sound of the whistle snapped practice back into motion, and Hinata forced himself to focus. Still, the little ping of Kageyama’s message lingered with him, steady and grounding, like an anchor in the middle of everything else he didn’t understand.

Notes:

i love having oikawa around. he makes everything funnier.

100 bookmarks???? that's crazy. thank you so much for bearing so many chapters with me!!<33

Chapter 91: Chapter XC

Notes:

officially 90 chapters??? what the hell (and also 3 months since i started posting this fic)

thank you so much for everyone who is still reading at this point. i really, really appreciate it.

hope you enjoy this chapter<3

By the time they were back at Hinata’s apartment, the place looked nothing like it had that morning. Jackets, shirts, and belts were scattered across the couch, and Pablo was digging through his bag like he’d lost a treasure map inside it. Oikawa had already claimed the small head mirror by the living room, fixing his hair with practiced precision.

Hinata sat on the armrest, arms crossed, watching with a skeptical grin. “You guys are insane. A club. On a Tuesday. Do people even go out on Tuesdays?”

“Of course they do,” Oikawa said smoothly, not taking his eyes off his reflection. “Tokyo doesn’t sleep.” He flicked his bangs into place with a satisfied hum. “Besides, don’t tell me you’re worried about being recognized.”

Hinata blinked. “Recognized?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb,” Oikawa said, spinning around dramatically. “You’re practically famous now. I’ve seen the tweets. Ninja Shoyo. Japan’s Sunshine, Golden Boy, thirst trap extraordinaire.” He clasped his chest with mock despair. “Do you know how disturbing it is to scroll through my timeline and—bam! Hinata’s abs. Hinata in shorts. Hinata dripping sweat in slow-mo. It’s a nightmare.”

Hinata made a strangled noise. “It’s not like I post those! People just—people just take pictures, I can’t control that!” His face was bright red, and he waved his arms helplessly.

“What’s a thirst trap?” Pablo asked, eyes lighting up with pure curiosity.

“Don’t—don’t answer that!” Hinata yelped before Oikawa could open his mouth. He lunged for a cushion and threw it at him, which Oikawa caught one-handed with an infuriating smirk.

But Pablo wasn’t letting it go. He leaned forward across the couch, practically begging. “Wait, wait, wait—show me! I want to see the tweets! Hinata trending? Hinata fans posting thirst pictures? I need to see this.”

Oikawa, of course, was already unlocking his phone with a devilish grin. “Gladly.”

“Nooooo!” Hinata lunged at him, trying to snatch the phone away, but Oikawa danced backward, holding it out of reach. Pablo was laughing so hard he nearly tipped over the couch.

“It’s not even that serious!” Hinata groaned, defeated, burying his burning face in his hands. “It’s just—people exaggerate, okay? I’m not, like… famous-famous. It’s not like—like I’m a celebrity or something.”

“Sure, sure,” Oikawa said, scrolling with relish. “Tell that to the fifteen-thousand likes on this one tweet alone.”

Pablo cackled, already halfway off the couch to peek at Oikawa’s screen. “Hinataaa, you never told me you were such a star!”

Hinata groaned louder, collapsing backward into the cushions like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole. This was going to be the longest Tuesday night of his life.

Still grinning, Oikawa finally turned serious for a second, leaning back against the wall. “But hey, Pablo, my man—are you sure about this? Jet lag’s no joke. You’ve barely even unpacked. We can always go later this week.”

Pablo shook his head, still scrolling through Oikawa’s phone as he ran his fingers through his curls. “No way. I can sleep tomorrow. I came all the way to Japan—I want to feel Japan. I want to see how the clubs work here. See if I can steal some ideas for my own. If I go back without checking out Tokyo’s scene, I’ll never forgive myself.”

“See?” Oikawa said, gesturing at Pablo as if he’d just won an argument. “He understands the assignment.”

But then Pablo froze mid-scroll, eyes narrowing as he tilted the phone. “Wait. Hold on. What’s this?”

Hinata's stomach flipped.

There it was: the picture of him and Kageyama, at the bar, where Kageyama’s hand was resting at one of his belt loops. The caption underneath read: ‘Do they know it’s legal now?’ The comments section was a minefield of ship names and heart emojis.

Pablo looked up, completely serious. “Okay. I don’t get it. Why is everyone saying you’re in love with this boy? Is this like, some running joke?”

Hinata’s ears went hot. He sat up straighter, rubbing the back of his neck furiously. “Uh… actually… no. It’s not a joke.” He hesitated, the words tangling in his throat. Oikawa’s sharp eyes immediately snapped toward him, but Hinata forced himself to keep going. “I was gonna tell you guys anyway. Especially you, Pablo. Me and that boy, Kageyama… we’re, uh. Together. We just started dating.”

For a beat, the apartment went silent except for the hum of the fridge.

Then Pablo broke into a grin. “Ohhh. That makes sense.” He laughed, shaking his head. “Okay, okay. That actually makes so much sense.”

Hinata let out a nervous laugh, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. “It’s… still kind of private, though. We don’t want it public yet. I don’t want it public yet.” He looked Pablo square in the eyes. “So, like… please. Keep it between us?”

“Of course, man. You don’t even have to ask.” Pablo leaned back into the couch with an easy smile. “I just—” He suddenly paused, then tilted his head at Oikawa. “Wait. So you two aren’t together?”

“ What ?!” Hinata and Oikawa’s voices cracked at the same time. “ HELL NO!” they yelled in unison, springing apart so dramatically that Hinata nearly toppled off the couch and Oikawa banged his knee on the coffee table.

Pablo blinked, then burst out laughing. “I mean, come on! The way you two acted in Brazil? You idiots made out in front of me a couple times. I thought, like—okay, yeah, they’re dating. No big deal.”

Hinata covered his face with both hands. “It was platonic! Entirely platonic!”

Oikawa pointed an accusatory finger at Pablo, face twisted in outrage. “Don’t ever lump me in like that again. Absolutely not. I am taken. Very happily taken. And besides—” he gestured at Hinata, “—he is so not my type.”

“HEY!” Hinata snapped, but his ears were still glowing red.

Pablo only laughed harder, holding up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright! My bad! Guess I read the wrong signals.”

“Wrong signals?!” Oikawa scoffed, still rubbing his knee. “The only signal there ever was is that we fight like siblings. That’s it.”

Hinata groaned, collapsing backward into the couch cushions again. “This night is already a disaster and we haven’t even left the apartment yet.”

 

---

 

The bass thumped through the walls the moment they walked in, low and heavy, rattling through Hinata’s chest. Neon lights cut across the packed dance floor in flashes of blue, red and purple, and a misty haze clung to the air near the stage. It wasn’t even the weekend, but the place was buzzing.

Pablo’s grin stretched wide the second they stepped inside. “Now this is more like it.” Without hesitation, he grabbed Oikawa’s wrist and tugged him toward the bar.

Hinata followed, already rolling his shoulders to the beat. Clubs in Japan didn’t intimidate him. Not after the ones Pablo had dragged him to in Brazil. And sure, he knew there was always the possibility of being recognized, but so what? He wasn’t drinking, wasn’t causing trouble. If anything, fans would just see him having a good time with friends.

At the bar, Pablo ordered shots for himself and Oikawa, and a soda for Hinata. When the drinks arrived, Hinata clinked his glass against theirs anyway.

“To Tuesday,” Pablo declared dramatically.

“To ruining Shoyo’s good boy image,” Oikawa added with a smirk.

Hinata groaned. “Shut up, I’m not famous enough to even have an image.”

They laughed, then Pablo tugged them both onto the dance floor.

The music was pounding, heat rising off the crowd as people swayed and jumped to the rhythm. Pablo melted into it instantly, body sharp and fluid. Oikawa wasn’t half bad either, leaning into every beat like he was showing off. Hinata thrived. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t stumble. The rhythm caught him and he rode it effortlessly, bouncing, spinning, matching Pablo’s wild energy and even pulling Oikawa into it. The three of them laughed as they moved, feeding off the music, off each other.

It was easy. Familiar. The same chaos they’d lived through back in Brazil, only in a new setting.

Between songs, they retreated to the bar, grabbing drinks—water for Hinata, another round for Oikawa and Pablo—and catching their breath. Pablo launched into a story about his club back home, about the night the DJ bailed and he had to take over. He shoved his phone at them to prove it, a grainy video of him behind a booth, grinning ear-to-ear.

Hinata nearly spit out his drink laughing. “You look awful! ”

" Lies, ” Pablo protested, clutching his chest. “I was amazing.”

They were still laughing when Hinata felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to find a guy around their age, tall and sharp-looking, with a drink in his hand and a grin that looked just a little too smooth. His hair was dark and a little curly. 

“You’re Hinata Shoyo, right? The volleyball player?”

Hinata blinked. “Yeah, that’s me.”

The guy leaned in, raising his voice over the music. “Saw you in the news—your jump is insane. You’re with the Jackals, right? Must be tough, but… exciting. Must take a lot out of you.” His tone dipped, suggestive in a way Hinata completely missed.

Hinata nodded brightly. “Yeah, practice is hard, but it’s fun! I love it.”

The guy chuckled, leaning even closer. “Bet you could use someone to help you unwind after, huh?”

It took Hinata a second too long, but then the lightbulb went off. His eyes widened. “Oh. Ohhh, no—no, thank you. I’m good,” he said quickly, bowing his head slightly in polite dismissal. “I really just came here to hang out with my friends.”

The guy raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by the rejection, but shrugged and slipped back into the crowd. Hinata turned back toward the bar, only to find Pablo and Oikawa staring at him with identical, shit-eating grins.

“Oh, Shrimp,” Oikawa crooned. “You’ve still got it.”

“He didn’t even notice!” Pablo howled, clutching his stomach. “Man got hit with flirting like a truck and said, ‘Yeah, I like volleyball!’”

Hinata groaned, covering his face with his hands as his ears burned. “Oh my god, shut up.”

The two of them cackled the entire way out of the club, still teasing him as they spilled into the cool night air, arms linked and voices hoarse from shouting over the music.

Hinata tried to stay annoyed, but he couldn’t help laughing too, caught up in their energy.

Tokyo at night always felt alive, even on a Tuesday. The streets buzzed with neon, laughter spilling out of bars and karaoke joints, taxis weaving through traffic. The cool summer air was a relief, and Hinata’s hair stuck damp to his forehead from all the dancing.

Pablo, still grinning ear-to-ear, pointed down the street. “Food. Now. Preferably greasy. Is there a taco place around here?”

“You came all the way to Japan to eat tacos?” Oikawa sighed dramatically, fishing his phone out. “But yeah. This is Tokyo. You can find anything if you know where to look... And you’re a lucky man, there’s a place two blocks away.”

A few minutes later, they were huddled around a tiny stand tucked under a flickering sign, the smoky scent of grilled meat and onions filling the air. They leaned against the stand’s counter with paper plates in hand, tacos stacked high and dripping with salsa.

Hinata nearly burned his tongue on the first bite but didn’t care. “Oh my god. This is heaven.”

“See?” Pablo announced proudly, gesturing with his taco like it was proof of a personal victory. “Best food is always after the club. It’s a universal law.”

Oikawa chuckled, dabbing sauce from his lip with a napkin. “Universal law, huh? You should publish that.”

They kept eating, Pablo throwing in a few wild stories about afterparties in Brazil, catching them up in the gossip from their other friends back in Brazil. Oikawa rolling his eyes at the embellishments, Hinata laughing until his stomach hurt. But somewhere between the second and third taco, Pablo leaned against the counter and glanced at Hinata with a more curious look.

“So… tell me more about this Kageyama boy,” Pablo said. “You just dropped the boyfriend bomb on me earlier and then ran away from the subject. What’s the story?”

Hinata froze mid-bite, then swallowed quickly, licking salsa from his thumb. “Uh. Well… we met in middle school. On different teams, though. He was kinda… scary? Honestly, I hated him. He hated me, too.”

Pablo raised his brows. “Romantic.”

Hinata laughed, shaking his head. “No, really! We fought all the time. But then in high school… I don’t know. Something just clicked. We ended up on the same team, and suddenly we couldn’t stop… understanding each other. Somehow. On court, especially. It was like—we just got it, without even talking. And after that, we just… stayed together, I guess. Not dating until recently, but—we were always kind of inseparable.”

His voice softened a little at the end, the words almost shy.

Pablo chewed thoughtfully, eyes gleaming with amusement. “So it’s an enemies-to-best-friends-to-lovers kind of thing.”

“Don’t say it like that,” Hinata groaned, covering his face with his hand.

But Pablo only laughed, clapping him on the back hard enough to make Hinata choke on his taco.

Next to them, Oikawa was quieter. He still ate, still chuckled at Pablo’s jokes, but his gaze had shifted somewhere far off, the light of the streetlamps glinting in his eyes. He didn’t say anything, though. Didn’t ask questions. Just listened.

Hinata noticed, but he didn’t press.

Instead, once their plates were empty and Pablo was wiping salsa off his chin with his sleeve, Hinata said, “Hey, um… Tobio’s moving to Tokyo tomorrow. To his own apartment. He’ll be unpacking with his sister, but once he’s settled, it’d be nice if you guys could meet. Properly, I mean.”

Pablo’s whole face lit up. “Of course. I’d love to meet this mysterious Kageyama. Don’t worry, I’ll be nice.”

Hinata smiled, warmth curling in his chest despite the lingering smell of smoke and fried onions. “Yeah. He’ll like you.”

And for a moment, with Pablo’s easy grin beside him and Oikawa’s unreadable silence on the other side, Hinata felt the strange weight of his worlds starting to overlap. 

Brazil, Miyagi, Tokyo. 

Everything blending together.

 

---

 

By the time they made it back to Hinata’s apartment, Pablo was practically sleepwalking. He muttered something about brushing his teeth, then collapsed face-first onto the couch with his shoes still on. Within minutes, his soft snores filled the room.

Hinata tugged the blanket over him, shaking his head. “Guess the jetlag finally won.”

Oikawa chuckled from where he leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Called it. He should’ve listened to me when I told him he’d crash hard.”

They kept their voices low, moving carefully around the dim-lit apartment. After a few minutes, Oikawa stretched, grabbing his keys off the counter. “Well, I should head back. Iwa’s neighbors would probably riot if I stumble in at this hour and wake them up.”

Hinata laughed softly, but followed him out anyway, pulling on a hoodie against the cool night air. They stepped onto the quiet street, and Hinata walked Oikawa down to his car.

For a moment, they just stood there: Oikawa unlocking the door, Hinata fidgeting with the sleeves of his hoodie. The hum of the city was faint in the distance, but here, it felt strangely still.

Hinata drew in a breath. “Hey… So, there’s something I’ve been thinking about.”

Oikawa paused, half-leaning on the doorframe of his car, brow raised. “That sounds ominous.”

Hinata hesitated, then blurted out, “I want to tell Kageyama. About… you know. What happened in Brazil.”

For a second, Oikawa just stared, stunned. His usual easy smirk faltered. “Seriously?”

Hinata nodded, throat a little tight but gaze steady. “Yeah. I don’t… I don’t want to keep it from him. It wasn’t a big deal, I know, but—it happened. And if he found out in some other way, I’d feel like I was hiding it. I don’t want to make the same mistake again. Not after what happened two years ago.”

Oikawa leaned back against the car, arms crossing over his chest. His first reaction was defensive, almost sharp: “Hinata, it was nothing. You don’t have to make it into something it’s not. Why stir up drama when it’s—”

But then he stopped. Hinata didn’t back down, just looked at him with that same stubborn earnestness that had driven him crazy back in Brazil, too. Slowly, Oikawa’s expression softened.

“Sorry… You’re right,” he said finally, quieter this time. “I’ve actually been thinking about telling Iwa, too.”

Hinata blinked, surprised. “Really?”

Oikawa gave a short laugh, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah. I just… haven’t worked up the courage yet. We only got back together not that long ago, and I don’t want him to look at me like I’m unreliable. Like I’m some kind of manwhore who went out looking for a hookup as soon as he broke up with me,” He rubbed the back of his neck, jaw tightening. “But you’re right. If we’re adults now, we don’t run away from things like that. We just… deal with them.”

It was different from Oikawa’s usual theatrics. No teasing, no sarcastic edge. Just straightforward words, heavier than usual. Serious.

Hinata studied him, the glow of the streetlamp catching in Oikawa’s tired eyes. Every now and then, he had moments like this. Not the dramatic captain, not the mocking rival, but someone more grounded. Someone older, wiser, almost like an older brother who had already made his share of mistakes and knew better.

Hinata nodded slowly, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. You’re right. We’re grown-ups now.”

Oikawa huffed a soft laugh, unlocking his car door fully this time. “Don’t say it like that. Makes me feel ancient.”

Hinata grinned, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket. “You kinda are.”

“Brat.” Oikawa flicked his forehead lightly before sliding into the driver’s seat. He paused, glancing at Hinata one last time. “Tell him, then. And don’t chicken out. If you’re going to do this relationship thing, do it right.”

Hinata nodded firmly. “I will.”

“Yeah. And so will I.”

And as Oikawa’s car pulled away into the quiet Tokyo night, Hinata lingered on the sidewalk a little longer. The street was empty, the only sound was the faint buzz of the city in the distance. He thought of Kageyama, of the truth he still had to tell, of the promise he’d just made to Oikawa.

It felt heavy. But it also felt right.

Chapter 92: Chapter XCI

Notes:

had so much fun with this chapter! i'll love reading your opinions about it!!

hope you enjoy it<3

The apartment was hushed in the soft light of morning. Tokyo was just beginning to stir outside, but inside, it was the slow clink of mugs and the faint hum of the kettle that filled the air.

Hinata sat at the table in his sweats, hair sticking out in every direction, spooning steaming rice into his bowl. Across from him, Pablo looked only slightly more alive than the night before. There were dark circles under his eyes, his posture was slouched, and still, you could feel his stubborn determination to stay upright.

“You really didn’t have to drag yourself out of bed,” Hinata said, half a laugh in his voice. “I told you, you can sleep in. Jetlag sucks.”

Pablo waved a hand dismissively, though his yawn betrayed him. “Nah, man. Breakfast with you is worth it. Besides, I can go back to sleep after you leave.” He buttered a piece of toast with the sluggish care of someone who wasn’t fully awake.

For a while, they just ate in companionable silence, the kind that comes easy after years of friendship. But then Pablo set down his toast carefully, fingers tapping against his mug as if testing the weight of his words.

“Shoyo…” he began, slow, cautious. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you. Since yesterday, actually.”

Hinata looked up, chopsticks mid-air. “What is it?”

Pablo shifted, suddenly looking less like the confident club owner and more like the careful friend. “That… Kageyama boy. The one you’re dating.” He hesitated, eyes narrowing slightly as if double-checking his memory. “He’s the same guy that used to train with Oikawa, isn’t he?”

Hinata blinked, taken aback. “Huh? Yeah. That’s him. Tobio. How do you… know about that?”

Pablo scratched the back of his neck, clearly reluctant. “Oikawa used to mention him sometimes. Back in Brazil. Not a lot, but enough that I remembered the name. The way he talked about him…” He trailed off, lips pressing into a thin line.

Hinata tilted his head, curious but not pushing too hard. “The way he talked about him?”

Pablo exhaled, as though weighing what was fair to say. Finally, he shrugged. “Let’s just say… it sounded complicated. Like something unfinished. And you know Tooru—he doesn’t exactly talk about people unless they matter to him in some way.”

Hinata frowned slightly, setting down his chopsticks. “Complicated is… one way to put it.” He thought of the constant rivalry, of Oikawa’s sharp glares whenever Tobio’s name came up, of Tobio’s own clipped silence whenever Oikawa was mentioned. Yeah. Complicated was an understatement.

Pablo leaned forward, elbows on the table, his voice gentler now. “But maybe that’s not a bad thing. You being with Kageyama, and still being close to Oikawa… maybe it’s a chance for them to finally work through whatever’s been going on between them since forever. You could be that bridge, you know?”

Hinata blinked at him, not sure if he wanted to laugh or sigh. “Me? The bridge between those two? They’d probably just fight right on top of me until I broke in half.”

That got Pablo to chuckle, though he quickly sobered again. “I’m serious, Shoyo. They’re both important to you, right?”

Hinata hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Yeah. They are.” His chest tightened at the thought of it. Tobio, quiet and steady, Oikawa, sharp and vibrant. Both of them woven into his life in ways he couldn’t imagine cutting out. The idea of them actually… getting along? It felt impossible. And yet…

“…It would be nice,” Hinata admitted at last, a small smile pulling at his lips. “If they could… at least get along. If Tobio and Oikawa could, I don’t know, see each other like I see them.”

Pablo’s grin widened, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten. “Exactly. Who knows? Maybe it’ll happen.”

Hinata wasn’t sure. But he liked the thought.

The morning melted into a blur of routines. After breakfast, Pablo flopped back onto the couch with a blanket and didn’t move an inch, his body finally giving in to the jetlag. Hinata left him with a bottle of water by the coffee table and a note taped to the fridge that said Don’t die while I’m gone , before jogging out the door with his gym bag.

Practice was supposed to be grounding. The familiar squeak of sneakers on wood, the slap of the ball against palms, the shouts of teammates… it usually steadied him, reminded him that no matter what was happening in his personal life, here he was just Hinata the player. But today, even drills couldn’t drown out the buzzing in his head.

Pablo’s words from breakfast replayed over and over. You could be that bridge. It made his chest feel heavy, like he was carrying two magnets that refused to touch, no matter how hard he pushed them together.

Then there was Oikawa. His sharp, teasing grin had slipped last night into something else when Hinata told him he wanted to confess about Brazil. Oikawa’s own admission about Iwaizumi lingered, too, proof that even someone like him could hesitate. 

And then there was Miwa. The guilt about her pressed in sharper the closer the clock ticked toward evening. Tobio trusted him. Tobio believed in him. But Miwa had every reason not to, and Hinata knew he owed her something, too.

It was too much. His thoughts looped and tangled until even his feet started to feel heavier on the court.

He didn’t notice at first. The way Atsumu’s passes were a little too sharp, the way Sakusa’s eyes lingered a little too long between points. The silence between them was louder than the whistle. Hinata might have brushed past it entirely if not for Bokuto, who bounded over after a water break, sweat dripping down his temples.

“Man, what’s up with those two?” Bokuto blurted, jerking his thumb toward Atsumu and Sakusa, who were standing at opposite ends of the court like magnets flipped the wrong way. “It’s like they’re fighting, but also… not fighting? Like, weird fighting.”

Hinata followed Bokuto’s gaze. Atsumu had his arms crossed, jaw tight, while Sakusa methodically adjusted the tape on his fingers, refusing to look his way. There was a current between them, charged and stubborn, and once Hinata noticed it, it was impossible to unsee.

His chest gave a little jolt, flashbacks of the conversation he’d overheard the day before flooding his head on top of everything else. 

Bokuto was still staring, baffled. “Seriously, I don’t get it. Are they mad at each other or just in love?”

Hinata laughed a little too quickly, a little too nervously, waving it off. “Who knows?” He forced his eyes away, shaking the thought off before it could dig deeper.

Because tonight wasn’t about Sakusa or Atsumu. Tonight was about Tobio. About unpacking boxes in a too-small apartment. About facing Miwa with the apology she deserved. About keeping his promise to himself, and to Oikawa.

Practice wrapped up in a blur of drills and whistles. Hinata tugged off his kneepads with shaky hands, still trying to corral the mess of nerves tumbling around his chest. His phone buzzed on the bench beside him.

A notification from Oikawa and Pablo.

Hinata unlocked the screen to see a picture of the two of them grinning like maniacs in front of the Tokyo Skytree. Pablo had both arms stretched wide like he was presenting the tower itself, while Oikawa leaned half out of the frame with a bag of snacks in hand, clearly mid-bite. The caption read:

“You’re missing the greatest day of your life, chibi-chan!!”

Hinata snorted, covering his mouth with the back of his hand as he laughed under his breath. The tension in his shoulders eased just a little, warmth blooming in his chest at the thought of them clowning around together.

But the relief didn’t last long. Because a couple minutes later, he was standing in front of Tobio’s new apartment door, clutching a slightly crumpled bouquet of white roses like a lifeline. His palms were sweating through the paper wrapping, and he could feel his heart thudding somewhere near his throat.

He knocked, expecting Tobio’s heavy steps and flat voice on the other side. Instead, a woman’s voice, sharp and familiar, rang through the door.

“Tobio, I think the last boxes are here!”

Hinata froze. His stomach flipped violently. He barely had a second to register what that meant before the door swung open and Miwa stood there, framed in the doorway. Her eyes widened. She looked from Hinata’s bowed head to the flowers clutched in his fists, back to his face. For the first time in a long time, Hinata felt shorter than he already was.

“Uh, hello,” he stammered, immediately bowing so low his forehead nearly touched his knees. The flowers wobbled in his grip, nearly falling out of the wrapping. “I—I brought these. For you.”

The silence stretched. When Hinata dared to peek up, Miwa’s expression was unreadable. Shock, maybe. Disbelief. A touch of coldness. Without a word, she shut the door.

Hinata’s heart dropped straight to the floor.

From inside, voices rose almost immediately, muffled but loud enough that he caught every sharp edge.

“What the hell is Hinata doing here?” Miwa’s voice, firm and disbelieving.

“I told you a friend was coming to help—” Tobio’s, defensive, hurried.

“You didn’t say it was going to be him!”

After that, the words blurred into indistinct murmurs, tones climbing and falling in what sounded like an argument. Hinata sat down against the hallway wall, his legs suddenly too weak to hold him. The roses trembled in his grip, his pulse racing so hard it made his vision blur at the edges. He didn’t know if he was going to throw up, run, or cry. Maybe all three.

Ten minutes crawled by. Hinata counted each second like it was a punishment. Just when he thought his nerves might split him apart, the door creaked open again.

Tobio stood there, shoulders tight, face carefully blank until his eyes landed on Hinata. Then, just like that, they softened.

“Shoyo,” he breathed, like it was both a scolding and a relief. He crouched, closing the distance, and without hesitation pulled Hinata into a long, firm embrace. Hinata sagged against him instantly, clutching at the fabric of Tobio’s shirt, roses squished awkwardly between them.

For a moment, the world quieted. Just the steady beat of Tobio’s heart against his ear, the warmth of his arms.

When Tobio finally pulled back, his voice was low. “You still want to do this?”

Hinata met his eyes, throat tight, but nodded without hesitation. “Yeah. I do.”

Tobio’s hand lingered on his shoulder for a second before he stood and stepped aside, holding the door open.

Hinata drew in a shaky breath, wiped his sweaty palms on his shorts, and stepped inside.

The apartment was chaos. Boxes stacked haphazardly, half-opened cartons spilling bubble wrap and books, a couch shoved at an awkward angle that didn’t fit the room yet. The dining table was buried under a mess of plates, unopened appliances, and what looked like a pile of folded jerseys.

Miwa sat at the table amidst it all, posture rigid. Her arms were crossed, her legs too, eyes cold and fixed on Hinata the moment he stepped in.

“Tobio says you wanted to talk,” she said flatly. “I agreed. But with two conditions.”

Hinata’s throat tightened, but he nodded quickly.

Kageyama frowned, bristling already. “Miwa—”

“Number one,” she cut in sharply, pointing at him, “you’ll leave. I’ll speak only to Hinata.”

Kageyama’s eyes widened. “What? No way, I’m not—”

“Number two,” Miwa steamrolled on, “I’ll listen. But I won’t promise anything.”

“Number two’s fine,” Hinata said quickly, before Kageyama could explode again. “Number one too. Go, Tobio. It’s fine.”

“But if—”

Hinata turned to him, mustering a smile that shook at the corners. “I’ll be fine.” His voice trembled, but he forced it steady. “Really. Go.”

Kageyama stared, jaw tight, stubbornness etched into every line of his body. But he must have recognized that look in Hinata’s eyes—the one that meant nothing on earth could move him—because finally, with a heavy sigh, he muttered, “Thank you, Miwa.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” she shot back. “I said I’d listen. The rest is on him.”

Before leaving, Kageyama glanced once more at Hinata, the tiniest curve of a smile tugging at his lips. Please don’t fuck this up, his eyes said before he disappeared through the front door.

When Miwa was sure he was gone, she gestured sharply at the chair across from her. “Sit.”

Hinata obeyed immediately, hands pressed nervously to his knees, flowers trembling in his lap.

“So?” she said, voice hard. “Speak up, Hinata Shoyo.”

Hinata swallowed. The silence pressed in around him, suffocating. Finally, he drew in the deepest breath he could manage.

“I do not pretend to excuse my behaviour or my poor choices. I acted foolishly. I was… selfish. And immature. And a coward, back then. But if you’re willing to listen, I’ll be honest about what made me act that way,” he began, voice shaking. “The truth is, in high school, I liked Tobio. A lot. And it confused the hell out of me. He was my best friend, my rival—and on top of all that, the first… boy I’d ever liked. I didn’t know how to handle it. I didn’t know how to handle me .”

Miwa’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t interrupt.

“When I got the offer to go to Brazil, I didn’t think twice. It was my dream. And I don’t regret going. But I regret how I left.” He gripped the flowers tighter. “Because I didn’t tell him. I knew he was starting to like me back, and… God, I wanted that. I wanted him to like me more than anything in this world. I wanted us to happen. And I was scared that if I told him I was leaving, he’d stop himself. So I stayed quiet. I kept being selfish. I thought we’d have time. But then I left, and I realized how badly I’d hurt him. And I couldn’t face him. Not after that.”

Hinata’s breath hitched. “So I ran away. I blocked him, I ignored him, I did everything I could not to think about him. But no matter what I did, it didn’t matter. He was still there. Always. Nobody makes me feel more like myself than Tobio does.”

Miwa’s face remained unreadable, but her jaw clenched tighter.

“I know you probably think I don’t deserve him,” Hinata said softly. “And you’re right. I don’t. I thought he’d hate me forever, and I wouldn’t have blamed him. But… he forgave me. After everything that happened. He was willing to give me a second chance, and I don’t even know why. But I’ve sworn to myself—I’ll make myself worthy of that chance. I’ll do everything to make it up to him.”

He bowed his head, voice barely above a whisper. “Please, Miwa. I know I betrayed your trust. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness. But I’m asking for a chance. For Tobio. For us.”

The silence afterward was unbearable. Miwa didn’t move, didn’t even blink. Her stare was so sharp it felt like it could cut through bone. Hinata’s pulse roared in his ears, his lungs tight. Maybe she really meant it when she said she’d only listen. Maybe nothing he said really mattered.

Then, suddenly, Miwa exhaled through her nose, eyes closing. When she opened them again, her voice was firm but quieter.

“You know,” she said, “I always thought your head was full of volleyball and nothing else. Never thought I’d hear you say anything like that.”

Hinata’s head jerked up, startled. Was that… good? Bad? He couldn’t tell.

Miwa leaned forward, arms pressing tighter across her chest. “Listen, Hinata. Tobio’s been through enough. Our dad walked out. Our grandpa—his only father figure—passed away too soon. Kids in middle school hated him. He was miserable for years. Karasuno was the first time I ever saw him happy . And after you left—” Her voice cracked for the first time, but she pushed through, clearing her throat. “After you left, all of that came crashing down. He barely slept. Cried for months in his room. Wouldn’t even talk to me. You shattered him. So don’t stand here and pretend it was just a mistake. It wasn’t. It broke him.”

Hinata flinched like the words were a slap. He lowered his head, shame burning in his chest.

“But,” she continued, softer now, “the only person who ever chose to be patient with him… was you. The only one who brought out the best in him, who made him light up like that… was you. I’ve seen him these past weeks. I knew something was up. He’s been happier than I’ve seen him in years. So I’m grateful to you. But I’m also terrified. I know you didn’t mean to hurt him back then, but now, if you leave again…” She shook her head, eyes flashing. “I don’t know if he’d survive it.”

Hinata’s voice was hoarse. “I know. I—Miwa, I swear, I couldn’t survive it either. When I left, I locked myself in my room for days. It was stupid, but… I was trying to outrun missing him. And I couldn’t. I don’t want to. Not ever again.”

Miwa’s gaze wavered, just for a second. She leaned back in her chair, sighing hard. “I expected you to reach out sooner. Months— years went by, and you didn’t. That’s what made me angriest.” Her eyes flicked to him again. “But… I’ve always thought you two were meant for each other. Don’t even know in which way. I just do.”

Her voice lowered, gentled, tinged with something maternal. “I can’t take away the person he cares about most. He’d never forgive me. But I can beg you. Take care of my boy, Hinata. Please.”

Hinata nodded frantically, tears threatening. “I will. I promise. Whatever it takes.”

“And if you stop wanting to be with him,” Miwa pressed, voice sharp again, “you’ll tell him. No running. No disappearing. You’ll talk to him honestly.”

“That won’t ever happen,” Hinata said instantly.

“You don’t think it will,” Miwa corrected.

Hinata met her eyes, firm for the first time. “It won’t. I know it won’t.”

For the first time that evening, Miwa’s lips twitched, the faintest ghost of a smile breaking through. She exhaled, leaning back against the cluttered table.

“Fine. One last thing, then. What even are you two? Dating?”

Hinata swallowed hard at Miwa’s question. His ears burned. “...Yes,” he finally admitted. “We’re dating.”

The word felt strange in his mouth, like saying it out loud to her somehow made it heavier, more real. He rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish. “It feels kinda weird saying that to you, since… you’ve literally seen us grow up.”

Miwa raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Weird for you? Try being me, finding out my baby brother is kissing the loud orange brat who used to eat all our snacks.”

Hinata winced, cheeks blazing. “Yeah, sorry about that too.”

Wordlessly, he lifted the small bouquet of white roses he’d been clutching the whole time. His hands trembled slightly as he held them out. “These. They’re for you. I… I remember how you’d always bring white flowers to your grandma and grandpa’s altar at home. Tobio once told me they were your grandma’s favorite. So now when I see them, I think of you.”

Miwa froze, staring at the flowers, her jaw working silently. Then her eyes snapped back to him, narrowing with sudden heat. For the first time, Miwa’s lips twitched with the faintest smile. She shook her head, sighing. “Unbelievable. I was ready to stay mad at you forever, and then you pull this.”

Hinata let out a nervous laugh, shoulders sagging with relief. “Guess I’m glad?”

Rolling her eyes, Miwa finally stood, snatching the bouquet from his hands. “Great. Now I’ve gotta dig up a vase for these, too,” she grumbled, heading toward the sink. She set them down gently, though, fingertips lingering on the petals longer than necessary.

When she turned back, her expression had softened. She walked over, pausing in front of Hinata before lifting a hand to ruffle through his long orange strands. Her touch was surprisingly careful.

“You finally listened to me,” she said, almost grudgingly. “Grew your hair out. Took you long enough.”

Hinata ducked his head, grinning. “...You noticed.”

“Of course I noticed.” Her fingers brushed lightly against his temple before she pulled back, crossing her arms again. “Looks good on you. But those split ends are tragic. Fix them before I decide you’re hopeless.”

Hinata laughed, the tight knot in his chest loosening for the first time all day.

For the first time since the door opened, Miwa’s eyes didn’t look quite so hard.

Before Hinata could even say something else, Miwa raised her voice toward the door without looking back.

“I know you’re eavesdropping. You can come in now.”

The door creaked open immediately, and there was Kageyama, hand still on the knob like he’d been standing there the whole time, waiting for permission. His face was stiff, but his eyes darted straight to Hinata, as if to check he was still breathing.

Miwa didn’t miss a beat. She strode right over, grabbed her brother by the ear, and tugged hard. “Ow—owowow—! Miwa!”

“Don’t ‘Miwa’ me! You didn’t tell me any of this. First, that Hinata was coming over. Then, that you two idiots were dating. You think I wouldn’t find out?”

Kageyama fumbled, cheeks blazing. “I—I was going to! I just—!”

“And another thing.” Miwa bent down to glare into his eyes while keeping her grip tight. “Did you ask Mrs. Hinata for permission to date her son?”

Kageyama went rigid, the tips of his ears glowing red. “I—Not yet, but—”

“Unbelievable!” she snapped, twisting his ear again. “What kind of man doesn’t even go through the parents first?!”

Hinata, who had been desperately trying to keep a straight face, finally broke into a laugh. The sight of the great King of the Court getting chewed out like a little kid was too much.

Both Kageyamas turned in unison, identical piercing blue glares locking on him.

Hinata clamped his mouth shut instantly, shrinking in his seat. “...Sorry.”

Satisfied, Miwa released her brother’s ear at last. She sighed, rubbing her forehead. “Honestly… I knew Hinata was back from Brazil. And I knew it was only a matter of time before you two made up with each other.” Her eyes flicked between them, both blushing furiously. “Just didn’t think it would be this soon.”

The boys shifted uncomfortably, suddenly very interested in the floor.

Miwa finally exhaled, her voice softening a fraction. “Alright. I’ll go pick up something from the bakery for dinner. You two… talk.”

She walked out without waiting for a reply, pulling the door shut behind her.

On the other side, she paused. Leaned her back against the frame. Took a long, steady breath, chest rising and falling. Her eyes lifted toward the ceiling. Toward the sky above the cramped Tokyo apartment building.

And for the first time in a long time, Miwa’s expression eased into quiet relief.

Back inside the apartment, as the door clicked shut behind Miwa, the silence that followed was heavy but not suffocating. Kageyama didn’t say anything at first. He just stepped forward and pulled Hinata into his arms.

Hinata melted into the embrace immediately, clutching the back of Kageyama’s shirt in both fists. They stood like that for a long time, not rushing it, breathing each other in. The faint detergent on Kageyama’s hoodie, the hint of sweat from practice still clinging to Hinata.

It was grounding. Familiar. Home.

Hinata’s throat tightened before he could stop it, and a single tear slipped down his cheek, dampening the fabric between them. Miwa’s words had landed heavy on his chest, each memory of Kageyama’s loneliness like a knife Hinata hadn’t realized he was carrying until now.

“I’m so sorry,” Hinata whispered, voice cracking. He held tighter. “I’m so, so sorry, Tobio. I didn’t—I didn’t think about how much it would hurt you. I’ll never stop apologizing. Never. I’ll do whatever it takes to make it right. I’ll—”

Kageyama pressed a steady hand against Hinata’s back, firm, grounding. “I know,” he said simply. His voice was low, even, certain. “I know you’re sorry. And I’ve forgiven you.”

Hinata shook his head against his chest, still clinging. “But—”

“No ‘but.’” Kageyama’s tone was soft but unyielding, like his perfect tosses. “I don’t hold grudges. Not with you. Not anymore.”

Hinata let out a shaky laugh that was halfway between relief and disbelief. His eyes stung, but the tightness in his chest eased a little.

Kageyama leaned back just enough to look at him properly, eyebrows furrowed in his usual, half-permanent scowl. “Just what did that witch do to you?”

Hinata blinked, startled, before realizing who he meant. A startled laugh burst out of him, watery and helpless, the weight lifting all at once.

“Don’t call your sister a witch,” Hinata managed, still laughing as he reached up. And before he could think about it too much, he pressed a deep, lingering kiss to Kageyama’s cheek, holding it there like it could say all the things his words couldn’t.

Kageyama’s ears went red immediately, but he didn’t move away. He just let Hinata stay, his hand never leaving Hinata’s back.

When Hinata finally pulled back, Kageyama tilted his head, studying him closely. Without warning, Tobio lifted his hand and brushed his thumb against Hinata’s cheek, wiping away the damp streak that lingered there. His touch was clumsy but careful, like he was terrified of pressing too hard.

“Don’t cry,” Kageyama murmured, voice a little rough. “Or I’ll cry, too.”

Hinata froze at the words. Not because he doubted them, but because he could see it. The glassy sheen in Kageyama’s eyes, the way his jaw tightened like he was holding something back. His chest swelled and broke all at once, and Hinata let himself lean forward again, pressing his forehead against Kageyama’s shoulder.

They stayed like that for a moment, wrapped around each other. Hinata’s breathing finally steadied, until Kageyama asked softly, “How… how did it go? With Miwa.”

Hinata pulled in a breath. “She… she was mad. Really mad. But she listened. She said she’s still upset, but she’s willing to give me a chance. She even took the flowers.” He huffed a weak laugh, still pressed against him. “She said she hates how hard it is to stay mad at me.”

A small smile tugged at Kageyama’s lips. His hand slid up and down Hinata’s back in a slow, uneven rhythm. “I’m glad. She’s right, though. About me needing to… to ask your mom.”

Hinata leaned back just enough to meet his eyes, blinking. “Ask her?”

“Yeah,” Kageyama said, almost too quickly. His ears turned red. “For permission. To… to date you.”

Hinata stared at him for a moment before something warm spread through his chest, cutting through the heaviness. “If you do that,” Hinata said, voice soft but steady, “then I want to talk to your grandparents.”

Kageyama frowned. His first instinct was confusion. “But… they’re—” He cut himself short when realization hit. His eyes widened slightly, and something inside him seemed to falter. “You mean… at the cemetery?”

Hinata nodded once, gaze unwavering. “Yeah. I want to meet them, too, if—if you’re okay with it. It’s only fair.”

For a moment, Kageyama couldn’t speak. His throat closed up, and the faint smile that had been on his lips wavered. Then, wordlessly, he pulled Hinata into his arms again, tighter than before, like if he held him any less firmly, he’d break apart.

“Of course I’m okay with it. I’ll take you,” Kageyama whispered against his hair, his voice cracking just barely, enough that Hinata heard it but pretended not to. “I promise.”

Hinata just held on, pressing his eyes shut, letting that promise sink into him like sunlight after a storm. The weight of Kageyama’s promise lingered between them, warm and steady, until the silence settled into something almost too heavy. Kageyama sniffed once, quiet, then muttered into Hinata’s hair:

“Don’t leave your boogers all over my hoodie. I just washed it.”

Hinata blinked, pulling back like he hadn’t heard him right. “What?!”

Kageyama looked dead serious. “You were crying all over it. Don’t make it gross.”

Hinata gaped at him before smacking him in the leg with the side of his fist. “What the fuck, dude?” He laughed, his chest finally unclenching, the heaviness of before dissolving into something lighter, more familiar.

Kageyama winced, rubbing at his thigh. “Auch? Don’t hit me just because I’m telling the truth.”

Hinata rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop smiling. “Shut up. I’ll smack you again.” Then, with a small shake of his head, he looked around at the chaos of the apartment. The boxes stacked haphazardly, papers spilling across the table, bags half-opened on the floor. “C’mon. You should get back to work.”

“Work?” Kageyama repeated, still frowning.

“Yeah, genius. Miwa’s gonna kill us if she comes back and nothing’s changed.”

For a second, Kageyama hesitated, then gave a little grunt of agreement. “...Right.”

Hinata grinned, already moving toward the nearest box. “Let’s go, setter. We’ve got a whole apartment to fix.”

Kageyama followed, muttering under his breath about how Hinata was still bossy, but his lips twitched into the faintest smile as he reached down to grab a stack of books.

Notes:

fun fact: miwa's scene—or at least the first draft—was written over four years ago when i started writing this fic. this story is now so different from the original idea, but it's still fun to be able to use some of the scenes and dialogue from the first draft<3

Chapter 93: Chapter XCII

The boxes didn’t stand a chance against them. At least, that was what Hinata claimed as he tore one open dramatically.

“See? Easy!” he said, holding up a stack of towels like he’d just uncovered treasure.

Kageyama frowned. “That’s not even hard. You’re just taking stuff out.”

“Better than you glaring at the boxes like you expect them to unpack themselves.”

Kageyama rolled his eyes, muttered something under his breath, then moved closer. So close that Hinata almost bumped into him when he turned. Before Hinata could say anything, Kageyama dipped down and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

“Hey!” Hinata yelped, his face immediately going red.

Kageyama’s lips twitched in the smallest smile. “Motivation.”

Hinata smacked him lightly with a dish towel, laughing. “That’s not motivation, that’s cheating.”

“Worked, though,” Kageyama mumbled, stealing another quick kiss, this time brushing Hinata’s jaw.

Hinata froze, his heart stuttering, before pushing him away with both hands on his chest. “Stop! We’re supposed to be working!”

Kageyama only shrugged, deadpan but with that rare gleam in his eyes. “I am. I’m working very hard.”

The unpacking turned into more of a playful battle than actual progress. Hinata darting around with armfuls of stuff, Kageyama trying to catch him with sneak-attack kisses, Hinata laughing too hard to stay mad at him for long.

By the time the front door opened again, the apartment was still an absolute mess.

Miwa walked in with two bags from the bakery, stopped dead, and surveyed the chaos. Her eyebrow arched slowly. “...Are you kidding me?”

Hinata froze mid-step, holding a frying pan in one hand and a stack of magazines in the other. Kageyama, flushed and sweaty, straightened like he’d just been caught committing a crime.

“You’ve been here for over an hour ,” Miwa said flatly. “And this is all you’ve done?” She dropped the bags on the counter and crossed her arms. “You two are no longer allowed to be alone.”

“Wha—what?!” Kageyama sputtered.

“Because clearly, the second I leave, you get distracted doing—” she made dramatic air quotes with her fingers—“horny shit. And I will not tolerate that in my presence.”

Kageyama went bright red from his ears to his neck. “W-we weren’t—!!”

Hinata burst out laughing, nearly dropping the pan as he doubled over. “Oh, my god.” he wheezed.

“Shut up, Hinata!” Kageyama barked, mortified, but the harder he scowled the more Hinata laughed.

Miwa just smirked, completely unbothered, and started unpacking the bakery bags. “I’ll supervise from now on. Otherwise you’ll never get this place in order.”

A couple of minutes later, dinner was spread across the low table, but the room was still pure chaos. There were half-eaten pastries, stacks of plates balanced on unopened boxes and cushions scattered like battlefield debris.

Hinata, cheeks puffed with bread, suddenly narrowed his eyes at Kageyama. He chewed, swallowed, then, in one sharp motion, he snatched a couch cushion and lobbed it across the room.

“Think fast!”

It smacked Kageyama square in the shoulder, making him jolt and nearly spill his drink.

“What the—” Kageyama’s voice cracked, glaring murderously.

Hinata was already wheezing with laughter. “You’re so slow.”

“You—” Kageyama’s scowl deepened, but Hinata was already grabbing another cushion. This time, though, instead of throwing, he carefully placed it flat on top of his head, stood stiff and straight, and grinned.

“There,” he said smugly. “You can spike this one. Fair and square.”

Kageyama’s brows furrowed. His body shifted automatically, feet planting wide as if he were back on court, eyes locked on the target. For a second, Hinata thought maybe this had been a mistake. Kageyama never half-assed a spike.

Hinata gulped but stood his ground.

Kageyama tossed a cushion high, tracking its descent with the intense focus of a predator. His arm cocked back—perfect form, elbow high, jump fluid—then slammed forward with textbook precision. The cushion should have knocked the one balanced neatly off Hinata’s head.

Instead, it smacked him directly in the face.

“Ups,” Kageyama deadpanned, landing lightly on his feet. “My bad.”

Hinata flailed backward with a muffled squawk, legs giving out as he tumbled onto his butt. Pulling the cushion off his face, he gaped up at Kageyama. “What the fuck? You’re literally a national-level player! That was intentional!”

Kageyama shrugged, lips twitching. “Guess my aim slipped.”

Hinata pointed furiously at him, torn between rage and laughter. “Liar!”

The absurdity cracked Miwa first. She tried, she really tried, to stifle it, pressing her hand over her mouth. But soon, a sharp laugh burst out, followed by another until she was doubled over, actually laughing.

Hinata whipped his head toward her, scandalized. “Don’t laugh!! He tried to kill me!”

Miwa wheezed, waving a dismissive hand. “That was the most pathetic fall I’ve ever seen.”

Even Kageyama was struggling to keep his grin hidden, his ears burning red. Hinata groaned, collapsing backward onto the floor in defeat.

“Traitors. Both of you.”

Much later, when dinner had dwindled to crumbs and the laughter had finally quieted, Miwa opened a box labeled in her own handwriting: Photos .

“Careful with those,” Kageyama muttered, leaning over.

Miwa ignored him, flipping the cover of a heavy album. The boys instantly crowded in, curiosity bright in their faces.

The first pages were full of Karasuno. Of practice shots, match highlights, grainy team selfies with arms barely long enough to fit everyone. Hinata and Kageyama kept snorting at their own faces, pointing and nudging each other.

But then, as Miwa turned another page, Hinata’s breath caught.

The picture seemed to be set back in summer. Their third year. At Kageyama’s house.

There they were, sprawled on the wooden porch in the thick heat, shirts sticking to their skin. Watermelon slices in hand, seeds scattered on plates. One photo showed Hinata laughing wide, juice dripping down his chin. Another had Kageyama half-turned, pointing at something, expression loose in a way Hinata rarely saw in photos.

And then, one that stopped him cold. The two of them sitting side by side, mid-conversation. Hinata’s mouth was open like he’d been speaking, but his eyes weren’t on the camera. They were locked on Kageyama. Focused. Warm. Wanting.

And Kageyama, bit of watermelon still in his mouth, caught mid-bite, was staring right back. Not with his usual sharp, competitive edge, but softer. Like the heat and the moment had stripped all his walls away.

Hinata’s chest squeezed tight.

“… Oh,” he whispered, almost involuntary. His voice shook. “We… we really…”

Miwa’s eyes flicked up from the photo. Sharp, assessing. When Hinata finally dared to glance at her, she raised her brows ever so slightly, as if saying: I already knew. I’ve always known.

Hinata’s whole body went hot. He slapped a hand over his face. “Oh my god.”

“What?” Kageyama asked, baffled. He leaned closer, squinting at the photo. “It’s just watermelon.”

“Just watermelon?” Hinata practically yelped, but immediately regretted it. His ears burned hotter.

Miwa smirked faintly, tucking the picture carefully back into its sleeve. “Sure. Just watermelon.”

Hinata groaned and buried his face in his hands, muttering into his palms, “I want to die.”

Miwa tilted her head, feigning innocence, though her eyes gleamed. “Really, Shoyo, you think you two were subtle?”

Hinata wanted to throw himself into the nearest box. Kageyama was still confused, staring between them. “What are you even talking about?”

Hinata peeked through his fingers, scarlet from ears to collarbone. “Nothing! Absolutely nothing!”

But Miwa just closed the album with deliberate care, her smirk softening at the edges. Not quite approval, not quite forgiveness, but something that made Hinata’s chest ache all the same.

 

---

 

The night had stretched on in little bursts of laughter, old photos, and more boxes than any of them cared to count. By the time the clock crept past 9:30, the apartment was only halfway transformed from a maze of cardboard to something that resembled a home. The kitchen looked a little more alive, the living room slightly less chaotic, but there were still towers of boxes in the hallway waiting for attention.

Hinata was crouched on the floor, folding up one of the empty boxes when Kageyama spoke up, glancing at the time on his phone.

“Hey, Shoyo. You should head home. It’s late.”

Hinata blinked, surprised. “Eh? Already?”

“You’ve been here all afternoon.” Kageyama shifted uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. “And… you probably need sleep.”

Before Hinata could respond, Miwa piped up from where she was rearranging shelves. “He could just stay over.” She said it flatly, like it was the most obvious solution. “We’ve got space. You’d just crash on the other side of the room.”

Hinata smiled sheepishly, scratching his cheek. “Thanks, but… I really should go back. Pablo’s at my place right now. He’s still jetlagged, but I don’t wanna leave him alone all night.”

At that, Kageyama froze. “Ah—crap. I forgot. I didn’t even ask how things were going with him.”

Hinata waved his hands quickly. “It’s fine, don’t worry. We’ve just been catching up a lot. He’s… it’s been really nice, actually. I told him about us too.”

Kageyama’s head snapped up. “You did?”

Hinata grinned, a little shy but proud. “Yeah. He was really cool about it. Said he wants to meet you.”

Something softened instantly in Kageyama’s expression. He nodded, determination clear in his tone. “Then let’s do dinner. Tomorrow night.”

Hinata’s face lit up so brightly it nearly rivaled the warm glow of the kitchen light. “Yes! That sounds perfect.”

The decision made, Hinata got to his feet, brushing dust from his sweatpants. He said goodbye to Miwa, who gave him the faintest smirk and a wave before turning back to her reorganizing, pretending she wasn’t listening in.

Kageyama walked him to the door, but when he offered, “I’ll walk you back,” Hinata shook his head firmly.

“Nope. You’re exhausted. And you still have a mountain of boxes to unpack. Don’t worry—I’ll be fine.”

Kageyama frowned, reluctant, but didn’t argue further. Instead, they stepped out together into the cool Tokyo night, the apartment building’s fluorescent lights buzzing faintly above. The air smelled faintly of asphalt and summer.

Hinata shifted on his feet, suddenly restless, not wanting to leave just yet. Kageyama looked the same, hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders tense.

And then, without words, they leaned in.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t stolen. It was theirs . A proper kiss after the long, messy, emotional day. A kiss that spoke about the week where they hadn’t seen each other. Where they barely spoke. Hinata felt his pulse skyrocket, but instead of draining him, it was like someone plugged him into an electric outlet. His whole body buzzed, charged with warmth, joy, life .

When they pulled apart, Hinata was grinning so hard his cheeks hurt. Kageyama wasn’t any better. His lips curved, eyes soft, looking like someone had just handed him the world.

“Goodnight,” Hinata said, still breathless, still glowing.

“’Night,” Kageyama answered, low and rough, like his voice hadn’t caught up with his heart.

Hinata turned, jogging off down the street, every step light as air. Kageyama lingered where he was, watching him disappear into the night. His chest felt so full it might burst. He was still standing there when a voice called down from above.

“I saw that!”

Kageyama stiffened, head snapping up. Miwa was leaning casually on the balcony railing, smirk sharp in the glow of the hallway light. “Cute. Very cute. But you’re terrible at hiding things.”

Kageyama groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re such a witch.”

Miwa only tilted her head, mock-innocent. “Mhm. And stop looking so lovesick in public, you’re embarrassing.”

“Stop stalking me!!” he barked up at her, ears crimson.

She only laughed, the sound echoing down the street, before turning back into the apartment.

Kageyama muttered to himself, still red as a beet, before finally retreating inside.

 

---

 

By the time Hinata pushed open the door to his apartment, the day’s weight had started to finally settle on his shoulders. He slipped off his sneakers, padding quietly into the living room, only to find Pablo half-sprawled on the couch, the TV humming faintly in the background.

The man had clearly been fighting a losing battle with jet lag. His eyes were half-lidded, posture sinking deeper into the cushions, but he perked up the moment he noticed Hinata.

“Hey, you’re back,” Pablo said with a lazy smile, voice hoarse from sleep. “How was practice?”

Hinata grinned, dropping his bag by the door. “Tiring. But good. What about you? Did Oikawa run you ragged?”

That earned a snort from Pablo, who sat up a little straighter. “We went everywhere, man. Sky Tree, Shibuya Scramble, even some stupid tourist shops he insisted were essential experiences . I think he’s enjoying dragging me around more than I am. But—” He gestured to a takeout bag resting on the coffee table. “I brought you food, just in case you hadn’t eaten.”

Hinata blinked, warmth blooming in his chest. “Oh, thanks! I actually had dinner already but I could definitely eat some more.”

He darted into the kitchen, reheated the food quickly, and came back with the steaming container. The smell made his stomach growl, and he dug in gratefully while Pablo kept talking. His friend's voice was steady, easy, filling the apartment in the same way it always had back in Brazil.

“—and Oikawa kept teasing me about how I still get lost on the train system, even though I was following him . Like he knows any better.” Pablo rolled his eyes, but there was fondness underneath.

Hinata chuckled around a mouthful of rice. “Sounds about right. He loves pretending he’s some Tokyo expert.”

The TV flickered softly in the background, some variety show Hinata barely noticed. It felt strangely domestic. Quiet, comfortable, like they’d done this a thousand times before. Hinata scraped up the last bite, setting the empty container aside. He hesitated for a moment, then leaned back against the couch with a grin that betrayed his nerves.

“So, uh… Tobio wants to have dinner tomorrow night. With you.”

That woke Pablo right up. His face brightened instantly, eyes widening with excitement. “Really? That’s great, I’d love that!” He paused, tilting his head. “Is Oikawa coming too?”

Hinata blinked. “Uh…” His stomach dropped. He hadn’t thought about that. In his head, it had just been him, Kageyama, and Pablo. But of course, Oikawa was in the mix too. The realization made his cheeks heat.

Pablo caught the hesitation immediately. His tone softened, but he didn’t let Hinata squirm away. “Shoyo, remember what we talked about this morning? About you being the bridge between them? This is kind of your chance, isn’t it?”

Hinata bit his lip, fiddling with the hem of his hoodie. “Yeah, but… I don’t know. Wouldn’t it be kinda weird? Like… inviting Oikawa to a dinner that’s supposed to be Tobio introducing himself to you?”

Pablo shook his head with a small smile. “What would be weirder is asking him to cancel the plans he already had with us, just so we can go out with Kageyama instead. That’s not fair to anyone.” He leaned back into the cushions, voice thoughtful now. “And besides… it’s not like this has to be a big reconciliation or anything. Just dinner. Just people who care about you, spending time together.”

Hinata groaned, burying his face in his hands. “You always make it sound so simple.”

“That’s because it is ,” Pablo teased. “Stop overthinking. Trust yourself.”

Hinata peeked through his fingers, lips tugging into a reluctant smile. “…Fine. You’re right. We’ll invite Oikawa.”

“Good.” Pablo stretched, his yawn practically splitting his face in two. “Now, let me crash before I fall over. You should sleep too. Big day tomorrow.”

Hinata laughed softly, standing to grab their empty dishes. But as he glanced at Pablo already sinking deeper into the couch, he couldn’t help the flutter of nerves in his chest. Dinner tomorrow… it was really happening.

Chapter 94: Chapter XCIII

The next morning came gently, sunlight slipping in through the thin curtains of Hinata’s living room. He rubbed his eyes as he padded into the kitchen, hair a mess and hoodie hanging loose from his shoulders. Pablo was already there at the table, halfway through a cup of coffee, looking much more awake than the night before but still carrying that faint heaviness of jet lag in his posture.

“Morning,” Hinata mumbled, reaching for a glass of water.

“Morning,” Pablo answered easily, setting his mug down. He gave Hinata a small grin. “So… dinner tonight?”

Hinata straightened at the reminder, excitement immediately buzzing through him. “Yeah. I’ll call Tobio after breakfast, set the details. I also need to tell him that Oikawa’s coming too.” He said it like he was bracing himself for a reaction, but Pablo only hummed with approval.

“Good. I’ll talk to Oikawa about it too, make sure he’s on board,” Pablo replied, calm and collected as always. “That way, no one feels blindsided.”

Hinata nodded, already a little more at ease. “Thanks. You’re way better at this stuff than me.”

“That’s because you panic before anything even goes wrong,” Pablo teased, lifting his coffee again. “Relax. You’ll see, it’ll be fine.”

Hinata wrinkled his nose, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he carried their plates and mugs to the sink once they finished breakfast. The clink of dishes and running water filled the room as Pablo leaned back in his chair, humming to himself.

When Hinata dried his hands on a towel, he felt a spark of determination settle inside him. This was it. Time to start pulling things together.

“I’ll head to practice now,” Hinata said as he grabbed his backpack from the couch. “I’ll call Tobio on the way.”

Pablo gave him a lazy wave. “Good luck. Tell him I’m looking forward to meeting him.”

Hinata grinned, the weight of nervousness and excitement mixed evenly in his chest. “I will.”

He stepped out into the morning air, crisp and bright, the city buzzing awake around him. As he walked down the familiar streets toward the gym, he fished his phone out of his pocket. His thumb hovered over Kageyama’s name for only a second before pressing call .

The dial tone rang in his ear as he walked, heart beating a little faster with every step.

Kageyama answered on the third ring. Hinata could hear the rustle of cardboard and something heavy scraping against the floor.

“Hello?” Kageyama’s voice was distracted, like his attention was split in three places at once.

Hinata brightened, balancing his phone between his ear and shoulder as he adjusted the strap of his bag. “Morning! How’s the unpacking going?”

There was a grunt on the other end, followed by tape ripping. “It’s definitely looking much more like a livable place. Miwa’s… been helping a lot.”

Hinata smiled to himself as he crossed a street. “That’s good. Is she… uh… less mad at me today?” He asked it lightly, but the memory of last night’s encounter still prickled at the back of his neck.

Kageyama made a small sound, like a half sigh, half chuckle. “She’s fine. She said thanks for the flowers. She put them in the living room.”

Hinata’s chest loosened, just a little. “That’s… good. I’m glad.”

The line filled with small noises again, boxes shifting, footsteps across the floor. Hinata hesitated, his throat suddenly dry. He knew he should say it, get it out before the nerves grew worse.

“So, um…” He kicked a pebble on the sidewalk as he walked toward the gym. “I told Pablo about dinner tonight.”

“Yeah?” Kageyama’s voice was still half-occupied.

“He’s really excited to meet you,” Hinata continued quickly, smiling even though his stomach was tight. “Like, really excited. He keeps asking about you.”

There was the faint sound of something being dropped.

Hinata pressed on, words tumbling over each other now. “The thing is—he and Oikawa already had plans for today, so if I asked him to just… not bring Oikawa, it’d be kinda weird, right? So I thought—um, would it be okay if he came along?”

On the other end, the background noise stopped completely.

Hinata slowed his steps, clutching the strap of his bag tighter. “Tobio?”

When Kageyama finally spoke, his voice had changed. It was still calm, but sharper in focus, like he was no longer paying attention to anything except Hinata’s words. “You mean Oikawa. At dinner.”

Hinata winced. Even without looking at him, he could imagine the furrow in Kageyama’s brow, the way his jaw set. He scrambled to fill the silence. “I—I just don’t want Pablo to feel like he has to ditch him, you know? It's dinner, and we’re all friends, so… I wanted to check with you first. If it’s too weird, I can tell him no.”

The pause stretched. Hinata’s chest thudded with every second.

Finally, Kageyama exhaled. “It’s fine.”

Hinata stopped walking, blinking. “…Really?”

“Yeah,” Kageyama said again, steady but a little too even, like he was holding something down. “Really. It’s fine.”

Hinata bit back the urge to over-apologize, his throat burning with words he knew Kageyama didn’t want to hear right now. Instead, he let his voice soften. “Thank you, Tobio. I mean it. Pablo’s really excited to meet you.”

There was a quiet hum on the line, almost like a laugh, but it ended awkwardly, cut short. “He sounds a little intense.”

Hinata grinned despite the tightness in his chest. “Maybe. But you’ll like him. I know it.”

“…We’ll see,” Kageyama muttered, and Hinata could practically picture the embarrassed flush creeping up his ears.

By the time Hinata reached the gym doors, his own smile had returned in full. “It’ll be good. I promise.”

“Yeah,” Kageyama replied simply, though the weight of everything unsaid lingered in his tone long after Hinata ended the call.

 

---

 

Practice felt like it passed in a blur. Hinata ran, jumped, spiked, and laughed when everyone else laughed, but it was all automatic, like his body was playing while his head was still stuck in that phone call. He remembered Oikawa’s name on Kageyama’s lips, the strange pause that had followed, and the way Tobio had said It’s fine with that tone he used whenever something was absolutely not fine.

By the time they were wrapping up, Hinata couldn’t have said what drills they’d run or how many points they’d scored in scrimmages. He was stuffing his kneepads into his bag, shaking out his damp hair, when a hand clapped down on his shoulder.

“Hey, Sho-chan,” Bokuto said in his usual booming cheer, though his eyes narrowed slightly like he was holding something back.

Hinata blinked up at him. “Yeah?”

Bokuto leaned down, lowering his voice just enough to make it feel like a secret. “So, uh. Meian asked me about Atsumu and Sakusa.”

Hinata froze, bag strap half-looped over his arm. “…He did?”

“Mm-hm.” Bokuto nodded, arms crossed, his tone suddenly serious but still colored with curiosity. “I didn’t really know what to tell him. I mean, you’ve noticed, right? Something’s off between them.”

Hinata hesitated, then gave a small nod. “Yeah. I noticed.”

Bokuto sighed and ruffled his hair, sending the spikes flying every which way. “I already tried talking to both of them, but nothing’s working. I know it’s kinda dumb to ask you of all people, but none of them have told you what's going on, have they?”

Hinata shook his head quickly. “No. They haven’t told me anything.” Which wasn’t really a lie.

Bokuto’s face scrunched in frustration for a moment, then softened back into a grin. “Figures. It’s probably nothing big. Still—super weird, huh?”

Hinata let out a short laugh, agreeing. “Yeah. Really weird.”

“Alright!” Bokuto clapped him hard on the back, nearly knocking him forward. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll ask around, see what I can dig up.” His grin sharpened like he’d just promised to investigate a great mystery. “Leave it to me!”

Hinata couldn’t help but smile, even if the unease didn’t leave his chest. “Okay. Thanks, man.”

With that, Bokuto jogged off toward the locker room, still muttering to himself about clues and getting to the bottom of this, and Hinata slung his bag over his shoulder and stepped out into the evening air. His head was already turning toward dinner, toward Tobio, toward Pablo and Oikawa waiting at the table together.

 

---

 

By the time Hinata got home, the apartment was humming with the sound of the TV. Pablo was curled on the couch already dressed for dinner, the glow of the screen painting faint shadows across his tired face. He looked like he’d just barely woken from a nap, hair sticking up in uneven tufts, but his eyes lit up the second Hinata stepped in.

“There you are!” Pablo stretched like a cat, groaning dramatically. “I was about to file a missing person report.”

Hinata grinned, tossing his bag by the door. “Yeah, I could see you were really worried.”

“Stress is bad for the skin,” Pablo shot back, waving his hand. “Anyway—you missed the best day. Oikawa took me to the Asakusa temple. It was packed, but so beautiful. I even bought one of those little fortune papers.”

“Omikuji?” Hinata asked, kicking his shoes off and padding toward the kitchen.

“That’s the one!” Pablo snapped his fingers. “Mine said I’d meet someone tall, dark, and handsome.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Guess who I thought of.”

Hinata groaned, pulling a clean shirt from the laundry basket as he passed. “Don’t say it.”

“Oikawa!” Pablo announced proudly. “He was glowing like a model in front of those lanterns, it was unreal.”

Hinata laughed despite himself, shaking his head as he ducked into his room to change. By the time he came back, Pablo had switched the TV off and was scrolling through photos on his phone. “Look, look.” He shoved the screen in Hinata’s face. Pictures of the temple, a skewered snack he couldn’t name, the Tokyo Skytree looming in the background. “We also went to Ueno Park—saw the lotus pond. And then Oikawa insisted I try melon bread.”

Hinata’s eyes widened. “Did you like it?”

“Loved it. I bought three more. None left,” Pablo said solemnly, as if confessing a crime.

Hinata snorted, shoving him lightly on the shoulder. “You’re unbelievable.”

They laughed together, the kind of easy rhythm that came from years of friendship. But as Hinata started fixing his hair in the mirror by the door, the thought that had been nagging him all day pushed its way out.

“So, uh…” Hinata scratched the back of his neck. “How’d Oikawa take it? About… you know. Dinner tonight.”

Pablo glanced up from tying his shoes, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “At first? Like a cat being dragged into a bath. But after a little convincing, he agreed.”

Hinata’s stomach twisted. “Convincing?”

Pablo shrugged. “He was worried it might be awkward. Which—fair. But I reminded him that if he and Kageyama keep orbiting each other without ever talking, it’ll stay awkward forever. This way at least you’re all at the same table.” He tugged his laces tighter, then looked at Hinata more carefully. “Does your boy know?”

Hinata blinked. “Know what?”

“About you two,” Pablo said, lowering his voice like it was a state secret. “You and Oikawa. Brazil.”

The tips of Hinata’s ears went hot. He turned away, fumbling with his jacket. “…No. Not yet. I’m planning to tell him this weekend, once he’s done unpacking and actually has space to breathe.”

Pablo hummed thoughtfully, nodding. “Good. I think you’re right. Better to be honest now than let it hang between you.”

Hinata glanced back at him, sheepish but grateful. “Thanks. For… saying that.”

“Of course.” Pablo grinned, then leaned back with a stretch. “Besides, I’ve seen how much you care about that boy. You wouldn’t risk it if it wasn’t important.”

Hinata’s throat tightened, and before he could say anything more, his phone buzzed. Oikawa’s name flashed across the screen.

He answered quickly. “Hello?”

“Chibi-chan~” Oikawa’s voice sang down the line, full of cheer. “Your chauffeur has arrived. Come downstairs before I charge you a late fee.”

Hinata laughed nervously. “We’ll be right there.”

Pablo grabbed his coat, and the two of them headed down together. Hinata braced himself, half-expecting to find Oikawa leaning against his car with his arms crossed, scowling, already radiating irritation.

But when they stepped outside, Oikawa was leaning casually against the hood, phone in hand, waving as if nothing in the world was wrong. His smile was bright, the kind he always wore like armor, and his voice carried just the right amount of teasing when he called out, “Finally! I was about to leave without you two.”

Hinata blinked, almost startled by how normal it felt. No edge, no visible tension, just Oikawa, the same as always. And though a part of him knew it was probably Oikawa’s way of keeping him from feeling even more wound up, Hinata felt a wave of relief rush through him.

He didn’t say anything, just smiled back, silently grateful for the gift of normalcy.

 

---

 

The restaurant was warmly lit, the kind of place where the low chatter of other customers faded into the background and the scent of grilled food wrapped itself around you like a blanket. The hostess led them to a private booth near the back, sliding the door open with a soft clack.

Kageyama was already there.

He stood the moment he saw Hinata, awkward but eager, and Hinata’s heart clenched. The nerves he’d been carrying since that phone call rose in his throat, but the second Kageyama stepped forward, Hinata didn’t hesitate. He closed the distance and threw his arms around him.

It wasn’t one of those quick, polite hugs. It was deep, tight and lingering, the kind where you could feel the other’s heartbeat pressed against your own. Hinata noticed it immediately, the rapid thrum of Kageyama’s chest against his. Quick. Uneven. And something inside him loosened. He wasn’t the only one terrified.

When he pulled back, his smile was softer. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Kageyama murmured, his voice a little hoarse.

Hinata turned quickly, introducing the next in line. “This is Pablo—my friend from Brazil.”

Pablo grinned wide, stepping forward without hesitation. And before Hinata could warn him, he pulled Kageyama into a hug just as deep.

Kageyama froze. His arms stiffened at his sides, eyes widening like someone had just dumped a bucket of ice water over his head. He craned his neck to look at Hinata over Pablo’s shoulder, face practically screaming, what is happening to me right now?

Hinata burst out laughing, clutching his stomach. “Sorry, sorry—hugging is like… the standard hello in Brazil. He’s not attacking you, I swear.”

Pablo let go with an amused chuckle, patting Kageyama’s shoulder. Awkwardly, Kageyama cleared his throat and returned the hug—if it could even be called that. His arms hovered for a second before finally landing stiffly around Pablo’s back, like he was following a set of instructions he didn’t quite trust.

When they separated, Kageyama seemed determined to recover. He straightened, then spoke carefully, in halting English. “Uh… nice to meet you. My name is Kageyama Tobio.”

Pablo blinked, then broke into laughter. Not unkind, but warm. “Your English is good! But…” He switched to Japanese smoothly, his accent crisp, though flavored with a faint melody that wasn’t native. “It’s also a pleasure to meet you.”

Kageyama’s eyebrows shot up. He turned sharply toward Hinata, as if betrayed. “You said he speaks Japanese—I didn’t know he was this good.”

Hinata lifted his hands innocently, still grinning. “I told you he could speak it. You didn’t ask how much.”

“His accent’s… actually pretty good,” Kageyama muttered, still watching Pablo like he’d just pulled a rabbit out of a hat.

Pablo beamed. “Thank you. I’ve been studying for a while.”

Before Hinata could joke about Pablo showing off, another presence slid into the space. Oikawa, who had been lingering a step behind, finally approached. He didn’t open his arms. He didn’t force a smile bigger than it had to be. Instead, he bowed, his tone light but just controlled enough that Hinata felt the tightness under it.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Oikawa said, eyes fixed on Kageyama.

Hinata’s throat tightened. He thought back, realizing with a start that the last time these two had stood face to face was at Sugawara’s house a few months ago, when him, Suga and Oikawa had planned some sort of a reunion party as an excuse to get closer to Iwaizumi and Kageyama. Back then, there were plenty of people to act as a buffer. They’d danced around each other, Oikawa pouring his charm on everyone else while Kageyama buried himself in conversations about volleyball. They hadn’t exchanged more than a stiff hello.

There was no crowd here. No excuses. No way to run.

“…Yeah,” Kageyama replied, finally bowing as well. “It has.”

For a beat, the tension hung thick as smoke.

Then, mercifully, Pablo clapped his hands together. “Okay! Food? I’m starving.”

They all slid into the booth, Hinata taking the seat closest to Kageyama without even thinking about it. Oikawa settled opposite, Pablo next to him, and as the menus landed on the table, Hinata exhaled slowly. His pulse still beat a little fast, but something about having them all seated at the same table, no running, no pretending, felt like the first step into something new.

Notes:

hello beautiful people! i hope you enjoyed this chapter!

i have bad news :( i might not be able to post tomorrow. unfortunately, i haven't been able to finish writing tomorrow's chapter, and since it's very important, i would hate to rush it just to upload on time. i'm sorry about this! i know some of you are really nervous about this dinner, hahaha. i promise i will upload next chapter as soon as i feel comfortable enough with the results <3

thank you so much for your patience and support!

Chapter 95: Chapter XCIV

Notes:

hello beautiful people! i'm back with the dinner chapter. i'm really sorry for making you wait! it's a long chapter as an apology for not posting for two days hehehe. hope you enjoy it!

p.s: +700 kudos, +900 comments and +100 bookmarks? that's crazyyyy, thank you so so much!!

They sat, menus opening and closing, waiters flitting in and out until finally drinks and appetizers filled the table. The first wave of silence was broken, predictably, by Pablo.

“So, Tobio,” he started, leaning forward with his elbows on the table, “Hinata told me you’ve had a really great career here. Tell me—what’s the highlight so far?”

Kageyama blinked at the bluntness but answered seriously. “The Olympics.”

Pablo’s eyes lit up immediately. “You were in Brazil!” He slapped the table, delighted. “Why didn’t you tell me that, Shoyo?”

Hinata froze mid-bite. “Uh—I don’t know. You were there too, right?”

Pablo laughed. “Yes, but in the stands! Man, we could’ve met then. Imagine that.”

“Didn’t really have time for… much,” Kageyama admitted, voice steady but a little quieter. He looked down at his glass. “Matches, practice, media. It was… busy. But the little I saw—” his eyes flicked up briefly, “—Brazil is beautiful.”

Pablo softened, the enthusiasm still there but edged with something gentler. “I’m glad. Next time, you’ll see it properly. You’ll have to. I’ll make sure of it.”

For a moment, the table hummed with that warmth, until Pablo tilted his head and asked, casually but with honest curiosity, “But why didn’t we all meet back then? You, me, Shoyo, Oikawa… we were all there.”

The air thinned. Hinata felt it press against his chest, heavy. He set down his chopsticks, rubbing the back of his neck. “We… weren’t really on the best terms back then.” His voice was small but honest. “It just wasn’t possible.”

Pablo blinked, taken aback, then his expression folded into regret. “Ah. Sorry. I didn’t know.”

“It’s fine,” Hinata rushed, waving his hands. “Really. We cleared things up. We’re good now.”

Across the table, Oikawa sipped his drink with infuriating calm, eyes glinting. Kageyama didn’t look at him, but the sharp set of his jaw said enough.

Kageyama cleared his throat after a beat, turning toward Pablo. “So… how did you and Hinata meet?”

The question landed like a dropped plate. Pablo smiled instantly, happy to answer, but Hinata’s stomach dropped because he knew where this was going. There was no way to tell that story without weaving Oikawa into it. Without brushing against the knot neither he nor Kageyama had dared to untangle yet.

Pablo didn’t hesitate. His grin was bright, like he’d been waiting to be asked. “That’s an easy one. We met through Oikawa.”

The words dropped between them, almost harmless, but Hinata felt his pulse trip. He darted a glance at Kageyama, then at Oikawa, who was, of course, smiling that calm, practiced smile.

Pablo continued, oblivious. “Oikawa had already been in Brazil a while before Shoyo came. We met at my bar—he used to come often, especially in those early months when he didn’t know many people. We became close friends. So, when he said another Japanese friend was coming, I was curious. He introduced us the first week Hinata landed.”

Hinata nodded, scratching his cheek, eyes flicking nervously toward Kageyama. “Yeah… I didn’t know what the hell I was doing back then.”

“You barely knew how to ask for water,” Pablo teased, eyes crinkling. “Your Portuguese was—” he broke off, laughing, “—well, let’s just say it needed some work.”

Hinata groaned. “Needed some work? Dude, I was a disaster. Half the time I was just… nodding, hoping no one realized I had no clue what they were saying.”

“And then Shoyo would get himself into situations where he had to talk. Ordering food, asking for directions… it was comedy.” Pablo shook his head fondly. “But he didn’t quit. That’s what impressed me. He kept stumbling through, and before long, he was making jokes, bantering with locals. Still with that thick accent, though.”

Hinata shot a look at Pablo, but there was no edge to it. “Accent or not, at least I tried!”

“You did,” Pablo said warmly. “And Oikawa and I helped, too. Between his Portuguese, my Japanese, and your stubbornness, you picked it up fast.”

Kageyama was listening, his chopsticks resting untouched against the edge of his plate. He didn’t interrupt, but his eyes lingered on Oikawa for a second too long. On the casual tilt of his smile, the way he stirred his drink without looking down.

“So,” Pablo went on, either not noticing or choosing not to, “the three of us started hanging out at the bar a lot. Watching matches, talking volleyball, drinking—well, they drank, I served. We even played volleyball sometimes. They will never admit it, but they kind of held back because of me,” He touched his shoulder lightly, almost unconsciously. “Old injury.”

Hinata’s face softened, nodding. “But you love volleyball anyway. He’d come to all our matches whenever he could. Cheering like crazy, even when it was just some random local league game.”

“Of course,” Pablo said. “It’s hard not to when you see guys like you playing. The speed, the energy. It hooked me. That’s why we got close. Volleyball was always the glue.”

Hinata leaned back in his seat, smiling at the memory. “Yeah. That’s true.” His eyes drifted to Kageyama, an unspoken thought sparking behind them— just like it was for us .

But if Kageyama caught it, he didn’t show it. He gave a small nod instead, slow and measured. “I see.”

For a moment, the table was quiet again, though it wasn’t empty. It was full of the things none of them said. The way Oikawa’s smirk was just a little too sharp, too practiced, the way Kageyama’s jaw flexed when he picked up his chopsticks again, the way Hinata’s laugh came a beat late, as if trying to paper over cracks.

Pablo, still smiling, glanced between them all, finally chuckling to himself. “What? Did I say something wrong?”

Hinata waved him off quickly, “No, no, not at all.” He forced a grin, feeling the tension curl low in his stomach. “You just… explained it perfectly. That’s all.”

Kageyama hadn’t said much after Pablo’s story, but Hinata could feel his eyes on him. Not sharp, not cold, but searching. Like Kageyama was trying to catch something behind his twitchy smile and restless hands. Hinata kept fiddling with his chopsticks, and it was only when Kageyama finally leaned forward slightly, tilting his head, that he broke the silence.

“I’ve never heard you speak Portuguese,” Kageyama said, voice calm but laced with something Hinata recognized as an attempt to steer the conversation somewhere else. “You should say something.”

Hinata froze, eyes wide, like Kageyama had just asked him to juggle flaming torches in the middle of the restaurant. “Wha—no way! I’m not gonna—”

“Come on,” Kageyama pressed, and there was the faintest ghost of a smirk on his face now, a spark of playfulness peeking out beneath his usual seriousness. “You lived there for years. Say something . Anything.”

Pablo jumped in instantly, eyes bright. “Yes, yes, do it! He’s being shy, but he speaks just fine.”

Hinata’s face went crimson. “You guys are ganging up on me!”

Oikawa leaned back against the booth, arms crossed, smile smooth and entertained. “We’re just curious, Chibi-chan. Show us your Brazilian charm.”

Hinata groaned into his hands, muffling his voice. “Please don’t say it like that.”

Kageyama’s lips twitched, and Hinata could tell he was fighting not to grin. “If you don’t, I’ll make Pablo teach me something, and then I’ll be better than you at it.”

That did it. Hinata shot up straighter, glaring at him. “No way! That’s impossible!”

“Then prove it,” Kageyama said, leaning back with a tiny shrug, like he’d already won.

Hinata puffed out his cheeks, hating how easy it was for Kageyama to bait him. Finally, he sighed and muttered, “Tá bom… mas só uma coisa.”

Pablo’s grin grew. “There it is! Perfect accent.”

Hinata buried his face in his hands again. “Don’t say that, you’re making it worse.”

Kageyama blinked, impressed despite himself. “What does that mean?”

“It means… ‘fine, but just one thing,’” Hinata admitted, peeking out from behind his fingers.

Kageyama gave a short nod. “Not bad.”

And just like that, the heaviness at the table cracked a little, replaced with laughter. Pablo chuckling proudly, Oikawa smiling faintly into his glass, and Hinata groaning in embarrassment while Kageyama watched him with a kind of quiet amusement that only Hinata noticed.

For a moment, the knots in Hinata’s stomach loosened. He was still nervous, still aware of Oikawa across the table, still thinking too much, but Kageyama’s little nudge had shifted the air. It felt lighter now, easier to breathe.

More food arrived just as Pablo leaned forward, chopsticks still hovering over the steaming bowls. He wasn’t eating yet, he was watching Kageyama with the same curiosity he’d been wearing all night.

“So, Kageyama,” Pablo started, his Japanese careful but smooth, “what’s your version of Hinata? How did you two meet?”

Hinata nearly choked on his tea. “Hey,” he spluttered, cheeks red. “What do you mean, my version ?!”

Pablo grinned, undeterred. “I’ve heard your stories. Now I want his. From the beginning.” He turned to Kageyama with a little shrug, like he was letting him in on a secret. “I want to know what it was like, meeting this one when he was a kid.”

Kageyama froze mid-reach for the rice bowl. His brows drew together, as though the request had landed heavier than expected. He glanced at Hinata, then back at Pablo. “...We met in middle school.”

Hinata groaned. “Oh no.”

Kageyama’s voice, however, was steady, even if a little quiet. “It was at a tournament. In the bathroom.”

Pablo blinked, startled. “...The bathroom?”

Oikawa, across the table, coughed into his tea, shoulders shaking with a muffled laugh.

“Yes,” Kageyama continued flatly, ignoring them. His gaze was faraway, as if he were pulling the memory up piece by piece. “He was… loud. Really annoying. I thought he was just a weird kid. But then—” He paused, setting his chopsticks down. His eyes flicked briefly toward Hinata, softening. “—I saw him on the court. Jumping. And suddenly… I realized he had a lot of potential. More than I expected.”

The table went quiet for a moment, only the faint clatter of dishes around them filling the air. Hinata ducked his head, flustered, because he could hear it. The honesty tucked in Kageyama’s voice, something that wasn’t just admiration, not even back then.

Pablo broke into a wide smile. “So even then, you noticed. That’s amazing.”

Kageyama shrugged, reaching for the rice again. “Maybe I did, but I was never able to recognize it, though. I was kind of an asshole back then, so I just made his life impossible for some time instead.”

That earned a snort from Oikawa, who finally set his cup down. “Can’t say I’m surprised. You never had the best example growing up, did you?” He tipped his head toward himself with a self-deprecating grin. “If I was your role model, no wonder you were a jerk to your teammates.”

Hinata braced himself, but instead of snapping, Kageyama gave a small, almost reluctant smile. “...Yeah. Maybe.”

It was quiet, but it was there. Genuine, if a little shy. Oikawa blinked at him, then let out a small huff of laughter, easing back in his seat. The tension slipped just slightly, replaced by the warmth of food and the clink of chopsticks as everyone finally began to eat.

The food was good. Better than good, honestly. But the real noise at the table came from Hinata and Pablo.

Hinata had barely finished shoveling rice into his mouth before Pablo leaned across the table, gesturing with his chopsticks. “You know, this one—” he jabbed the air at Hinata “—used to get so mad when people corrected his Portuguese. He’d sulk like a kid.”

“I did not sulk!” Hinata said, his cheeks full, pointing right back. “I was just frustrated! Everyone speaks so fast—like, how was I supposed to keep up?”

Oikawa was already laughing, leaning his chin into his palm. “You did sulk, Shrimp. Don’t even try to deny it. Half the time at the bar you’d sit there with your arms crossed like someone stole your snacks.”

Pablo slapped the table. “Yes! Exactly! Like this.” He puffed out his cheeks, crossing his arms in an exaggerated pout.

Hinata practically slid down in his seat. “You guys suck.”

That set both Pablo and Oikawa laughing, voices bouncing off each other like they’d done it a thousand times before. Hinata tried to glare at them, but his own laugh broke through in gasps, making the whole scene even louder.

Across the table, Kageyama stayed quieter. He focused on his food, on the steam curling off the miso soup, but every now and then his eyes flicked up. Hinata was bright. His whole body in motion, hands flying as he tried to defend himself against Pablo’s and Oikawa’s teasing. His laughter spilled out unrestrained, his shoulders loose, his smile wide.

And Kageyama… he felt the tug in his chest. Not exactly jealousy, not anymore, though it was close. More like watching something he didn’t always get to see. Hinata so comfortable . So free. He caught himself smiling, just a little, before looking back down at his bowl.

Hinata noticed eventually, leaning sideways toward him. “Hey, what are you smirking about over there?”

Kageyama blinked, chopsticks hovering mid-air. “Nothing.”

“Uh-huh.” Hinata narrowed his eyes, suspicious.

Across the table, Pablo wiggled his eyebrows at Hinata in mock seriousness. “He’s probably laughing at your Portuguese too.”

“That’s okay. I’ll just laugh at his English, then.”

Kageyama almost choked on his rice. “What does my English have to do with all this?”

The whole table burst into laughter again, and the warmth of it rolled over him like heat from the food itself.

Dinner turned out to be exactly what Hinata had braced himself for: a roller coaster.

There were moments where the table seemed to buzz, all of them laughing over something dumb, like Pablo’s dramatic impersonation of Hinata’s customer service voice back when he was working as a delivery guy in Brazil, Oikawa rolling his eyes so hard it looked painful, or Kageyama getting caught off guard by a joke and nearly spitting out his drink. Those were the easy parts, the parts where Hinata’s cheeks hurt from smiling and it almost felt like everything was normal.

But then, just as easily, the air would shift. Someone would say something, maybe Oikawa making a sly remark, or Pablo asking a question that touched too close to the rivalry’s old scar, and the table would dip into silence. Forks on plates, the clink of ice in glasses, the hum of conversations from other booths leaking in. Those silences stretched, sometimes only a few seconds, but they felt like they might never end. Hinata would find himself chewing slower, looking down, desperate for someone to break it.

And more often than not, that someone was Kageyama.

He tried. Hinata could see it. Every time the quiet threatened to settle, Kageyama would lean slightly forward, ask Pablo another question about Brazil, about the food, the music, the beaches, even about his club. And Pablo, easygoing as ever, would pick it up and run with it, filling the space again with chatter.

Whenever Oikawa spoke, though, it was different. Kageyama would nod politely, acknowledge whatever was said, and nothing more. It wasn’t dismissive, at least not intentionally, but it was clipped, cautious. 

Still, Hinata noticed. He noticed the effort. And each time, warmth bloomed in his chest, the kind that made him want to reach under the table and grab Kageyama’s hand just to say thank you.

By the time plates were pushed aside and the last of the tea was poured, Hinata felt wrung out. Like he’d been laughing and holding his breath at the same time for the last two hours.

That was when the bill arrived.

The waiter placed the small black folder at the edge of the table, bowing before retreating. Oikawa was the first to reach for it. He flipped it open, eyes flicking over the total. His mouth curved, the kind of polite smile that wasn’t really a smile.

“So,” he said lightly, “we can split it four ways, or just pay for what we each had. Doesn’t matter to me.”

But Kageyama shook his head almost immediately. “No. I’ll pay.”

The words dropped like a stone in water. Hinata glanced between them, a prickle of tension already creeping up his spine.

Oikawa blinked. “Eh? This place is expensive. You don’t need to—”

“It’s fine.” Kageyama’s tone was blunt, final. “I picked the place. And tonight is about Pablo. I want to treat Hinata’s friend.”

Hinata froze.

Across the table, Oikawa’s brow ticked upward, his smile fixed in place but sharper now. “Still… it’s not really necessary, is it? We’re adults, we can pay for ourselves.”

“I said it’s fine.” Kageyama’s voice was steady, but Hinata could hear the steel underneath. He kept his eyes down, not looking directly at Oikawa, not looking at anyone.

The silence that followed pressed against the booth like a weight.

And then Pablo clapped his hands once, bright as ever. “Well, if he insists, who are we to argue?” he said, leaning back in his seat. His grin was easy, but Hinata caught the way his eyes darted between the two men, gauging. “Besides, I don’t mind letting a famous volleyball player treat me. I’ll have a story to tell back home.”

Oikawa exhaled through his nose, and after a beat, laughed softly. “Guess that settles it.”

The air eased just enough for everyone to breathe again.

But Hinata, sitting there with his chopsticks idle in his hand, knew that moment, like the rest of the evening, would sit with him long after they left.

When the bill was finally settled, the night wound down into that strange post-dinner haze, the kind where no one really knew what to do with their hands. Plates had been cleared, drinks finished, the low buzz of the restaurant growing quieter as the dinner rush gave way to stragglers. The four of them slid out of the booth, gathering jackets and bags, and Hinata felt his body unclench just a little, like stepping outside after holding your breath for hours.

The cool night air met them at the door. Tokyo’s streets hummed with life even at this hour. Neon signs blinking, the distant whir of bikes, laughter spilling from another izakaya across the way. Hinata pulled his hoodie tighter, his stomach warm from food but his chest still buzzing with nerves.

“Alright,” Oikawa said, cheerful as ever, keys jingling in his hand. “Let’s go, then.” He flashed Hinata and Pablo a smile, too smooth, like it had been polished just for the occasion. 

Hinata turned to Kageyama just in time to see him speak out. “I can drive them.”

The words landed heavy, sharper than they should have. Hinata blinked, confused. “Wait. You drove here?”

Kageyama nodded once. “Yeah. Borrowed Miwa’s car.” His hands were shoved deep in his pockets, his posture stiff, like he was bracing himself. Then, with a quick glance at Oikawa, he added, “It’s closer to my place anyway.”

Oikawa stilled, the keys in his hand suddenly too loud as they clinked against his palm. The smile didn’t slip, not really, but Hinata could see the tension in it now, the strain at the corners of his mouth. For a beat, he didn’t answer.

Hinata’s heart thudded nervously. He knew—he just knew —they were one sharp word away from replaying the bill scene all over again.

But Oikawa, perhaps reading the room as well as Hinata was, only gave a small laugh, light, airy. “Oh? Well, if you insist.” He twirled the keys once before pocketing them. “Less work for me, I suppose.”

The words were easy, but the stiffness lingered in his shoulders.

Pablo, oblivious or maybe just choosing not to see the undercurrent, stretched his arms over his head with a yawn. “Perfect. I’m ready to crash anyway. Thanks, Tobio.”

Kageyama’s eyes flicked briefly to him, then back to Hinata, who caught the smallest twitch of tension in his jaw before it smoothed away.

Hinata exhaled quietly, half-relieved, half still on edge. It hadn’t blown up, not this time. But as they all started walking toward the parking lot, the weight of that unspoken discomfort trailed after them, clinging like the city’s humid night air.

The ride started quiet, the kind of silence that carried the leftovers of the dinner’s ups and downs. The hum of the engine filled the space as Kageyama pulled out of the parking lot, his hands steady on the wheel. Then, just as they reached the main road, Hinata noticed it—Kageyama exhaling, long and heavy, his shoulders dropping an inch as though he was finally letting himself unclench.

It was so small, so quick, but Hinata caught it. And it made him smile, soft and fond, a little warmth flickering in his chest. He didn’t comment, didn’t need to, because Pablo, from the backseat, was already chatting away like nothing at all had been tense moments ago.

“Man, that place was incredible. Definitely in my top Tokyo restaurants now. The udon—wow. The texture, the flavor, perfect. And don’t even get me started on the tonkatsu.”

Kageyama, to Hinata’s surprise, actually responded with ease. “Yeah. That place’s known for it. My sister’s friend recommended it.”

“Your sister’s got good taste,” Pablo grinned.

“Don’t tell her that,” Kageyama muttered, and Hinata caught the quick flicker of a grin in his profile, the way his voice lightened like it always did when he was relaxed.

Hinata leaned forward slightly, curiosity tugging at him. “When did you even learn how to drive? I didn’t even know you could.”

“A while back,” Kageyama replied, eyes flicking to the side mirror. “After I moved to Higashiosaka. Miwa wanted me to know, in case of emergencies.”

“Oh.” Hinata sat back, studying him again, watching the way Kageyama’s hands wrapped around the wheel, the way he leaned slightly forward when he checked his mirrors, the soft glow of the streetlights passing over his face. Something about it… damn. Hinata cursed himself silently, because what kind of thought was “he looks hot driving” ? What was he, a teenage girl in some shoujo manga? He tore his gaze away, cheeks warming, and stared stubbornly out the window.

“...Shoyo?” Pablo’s voice carried a teasing lilt, and when Hinata turned, Pablo was grinning wide, eyes flicking knowingly between him and Kageyama.

“I—I wasn’t looking!” Hinata blurted defensively before he could even stop himself.

“Looking at what?” Kageyama asked, glancing over with a raised brow.

Hinata’s ears went red. “Nothing!”

Pablo just snorted, laughing under his breath. “Unbelievable.”

Kageyama kept his eyes on the road, but a smirk tugged at his mouth now, slow and deliberate. “You want me to hold your hand while I drive? Get the full experience?”

Hinata’s jaw dropped. “Wh—! You—shut up!” He punched Kageyama’s shoulder with a flustered little growl, his entire face on fire. Pablo burst out laughing in the backseat, enjoying every second of it.

But even as Hinata tried to glare, his hand drifted over, fingers brushing Kageyama’s until he caught hold of them, small and sure.

Kageyama glanced down briefly, the smirk softening into something else. Something quiet, something just for Hinata. He didn’t say anything this time, just adjusted his grip on the wheel with his free hand and kept driving, their joined hands resting between them.

And Hinata… well, Hinata cursed himself again, because his heart felt like it was about to burst.

Chapter 96: Chapter XCV

When they finally pulled into the small lot outside Hinata’s building, the car went quiet again, but this time it wasn’t heavy. Just a comfortable lull, the kind that came after laughter and teasing and all the strange push-and-pull of the evening.

Pablo unbuckled his seatbelt first. “Well, that was fun,” he said brightly, leaning forward between the front seats. “Thanks for the ride, Tobio.”

Kageyama glanced back at him and gave a small nod. “Yeah. No problem.”

There was a pause before Pablo added, with a grin, “So… can I hug you goodbye? That’s how we do it in Brazil.”

Hinata immediately started laughing. The look on Kageyama’s face was priceless. Caught between suspicion and sheer panic, his posture stiffened like someone had just asked him to recite poetry in front of a stadium. “I, uh…”

“C’mon,” Pablo encouraged, already halfway leaning across the console. “It’s not that bad.”

Kageyama looked at Hinata for help, but Hinata was doubled over, clutching his stomach. “Dude, just—just let him. It’s not gonna kill you.”

Groaning under his breath, Kageyama unbuckled, leaned across awkwardly, and allowed Pablo to wrap him in a quick, firm hug. His arms twitched before coming up stiffly around Pablo’s back.

When they pulled apart, Pablo clapped his shoulder. “See? Easy. You survived.”

Hinata was still laughing as Pablo got out of the car. Before shutting the door, Pablo leaned down to grin at him. “I’ll head up. You can take your time.”

“Shut up,” Hinata muttered, rolling his eyes, but his ears burned all the same.

The door closed, Pablo’s footsteps fading toward the stairs, and suddenly it was just Hinata and Kageyama in the parked car, the engine idling low.

For a beat, they said nothing. Then Hinata nudged him lightly with his elbow. “You looked like you were being tortured just now.”

Kageyama huffed. “It was weird.”

Hinata smirked. “You’re weird. That was the most harmless hug in the world.”

“You were laughing too much,” Kageyama accused, side-eyeing him.

“I couldn’t help it! You’re just—ugh, you’re so bad at this sometimes.”

“Shut up,” Kageyama muttered again, but there was no bite to it.

The banter slipped into silence, but not the uncomfortable kind. Hinata leaned back in his seat, exhaling softly, the laughter still lingering in his chest. He glanced at Kageyama, who was tapping his fingers absently against the steering wheel. Something in him tightened, not with nerves this time, but with gratitude.

“Hey,” Hinata said quietly.

Kageyama turned his head. “What?”

Hinata scratched at the back of his neck, suddenly feeling a little shy. “I just… wanted to say thanks. For tonight. For suggesting dinner, and finding that place, and…” he hesitated, then smiled a little, earnest. “For paying, for driving us home. For putting up with my friends.”

Kageyama blinked at him, caught off guard. His mouth opened like he was about to say something, then shut again. He shifted in his seat, ears turning faintly pink under the glow of the dashboard. “…It’s fine.”

Hinata laughed under his breath. “You always say that. But it’s not nothing. I mean it. Thanks.”

Kageyama gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, staring straight ahead, the tips of his ears definitely red now. “…You’re annoying.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Hinata’s grin widened, warm and teasing all at once. “Of course I am.”

Hinata sat there, fiddling with the strap of his bag for a while, listening to the low purr of the car engine. He didn’t want to get out yet. Didn’t want this night to end with just a polite goodbye and him trudging up the stairs. So he glanced sideways at Kageyama, who still hadn’t moved to leave either. His fingers drummed the steering wheel once, then stilled. His jaw was tight, like he was thinking something he didn’t quite know how to say.

Hinata took a breath. “You know… sometimes I feel like we haven’t been able to be as close lately.”

Kageyama’s head turned immediately, sharp eyes flicking to him. “What do you mean?”

Hinata shrugged, trying to keep it light. “Just… you moving and all. Since you’re unpacking, busy with a million things. I don’t see you as much. It’s kind of weird.”

Kageyama frowned. “It hasn’t even been that long. Plus, I’m not far from your place.”

Hinata let out a small laugh. “Yeah, but still. You should’ve just moved in with me instead. Would’ve saved us all this trouble.”

For a split second, Kageyama just blinked at him. Then he groaned, dropping his forehead briefly against the steering wheel. “You should’ve said that earlier, dumbass! I could’ve saved months of rent.”

Hinata burst out laughing, his voice carrying into the quiet parking lot. “Idiot! You can’t just decide that after you’ve already signed everything!”

They laughed together, the sound warm and filling up the small car. When it finally quieted, Hinata’s smile softened, his chest tight. He looked down at his hands. “I know we’re joking now, but… I really would like it. If someday we could find a place together.”

Kageyama didn’t answer right away. His eyes were on Hinata, serious in a way that made Hinata’s heart pound.

“I know we’ve only been dating for, like, two weeks?” Hinata continued, his voice quieter now. “But every time you slept over at my place… it just felt so natural. Like it was supposed to be that way.”

The silence stretched, but it wasn’t heavy. Just careful. Tender. Then Kageyama nodded slowly. “Yeah. I feel the same.” His mouth tugged into a faint, crooked smile. “I’d… really like to do that. In the future.”

Hinata’s throat tightened, his eyes prickling with something warm.

But then Kageyama added, deadpan, “I’ll have to ask your mom’s permission first, though. To be your boyfriend properly.”

Hinata choked on a laugh, smacking his arm. “Oh, god. You’re really going to do it, aren’t you?”

Kageyama smirked, not denying it.

Hinata leaned closer, his laughter bubbling down into something quieter, breathier. Their eyes caught, and suddenly all the joking fell away, leaving only the steady, charged silence between them.

He didn’t even remember who moved first. All he knew was that Kageyama’s mouth found his, and it was like being pulled under a wave he’d been waiting for all day.

This wasn’t the quick, giddy peck outside the apartment building from yesterday. This kiss was heavier. Hungrier. The kind of kiss that carried everything they hadn’t been able to say for days. How long they’d been circling each other, the ache of missing out, the relief of finally being here, now.

Hinata felt himself leaning in hard enough that the console dug into his hip, one hand clutching the fabric of Kageyama’s sleeve like he might slip away if he let go. Kageyama kissed him back just as fiercely, his hand sliding up the back of Hinata’s neck, steady, grounding.

When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads were still pressed together, breaths mingling in the dim car. Hinata finally found his voice again. He tilted his head just enough to grin up at Kageyama, his lips still tingling.

“You know,” Hinata whispered, “if you keep kissing me like that, I really am gonna have to tell my mom you’re corrupting me.”

Kageyama let out a quiet snort, his thumb still brushing the back of Hinata’s neck. “Pretty sure she already suspects.”

Hinata laughed, bright and sudden, then sat back in his seat, cheeks still burning. His heart was pounding, and he felt like his whole body was buzzing, but he forced himself to grab the door handle. “Okay, okay. I should go before Pablo comes looking for me and finds me making out in the parking lot like a high schooler.”

Kageyama raised a brow. “You kind of are.”

“Shut up,” Hinata shot back, but he was smiling so wide it hurt.

He opened the door, the cool night air brushing over his flushed face. But before stepping out, he leaned back into the car, catching Kageyama completely off guard by stealing one more kiss, quick and playful this time, but still enough to leave them both smiling like idiots.

“Goodnight, Tobio,” he said softly, the name rolling out with all the warmth in his chest.

Kageyama’s expression softened, almost tender, as he murmured, “Night.”

Hinata hopped out, waving once before jogging toward the entrance of the building. He glanced back just once, just in time to see Kageyama still sitting there, watching him go with the faintest smile lingering on his lips.

 

---

 

When he finally entered his apartment, Pablo didn’t let him off easy at first. He kept grinning, wagging his brows, poking Hinata in the ribs until Hinata had to threaten him with one of the couch pillows.

“Meu Deus! You should’ve seen your face when you walked in just now,” Pablo teased, leaning back with a victorious smirk. “Red like a tomato. You’re so obvious.”

Hinata groaned, dragging his palms down his face. “Shut up. You sound just like Natsu when she’s teasing me.”

“Smart girl,” Pablo quipped, then softened, his grin mellowing as Hinata finally sat down properly. For a moment, the room quieted. The hum of the fridge in the background, the faint city noise outside. Hinata fiddled with his fingers, his mind still caught halfway between that last kiss and the tension at dinner.

“So…” he started slowly. “How bad do you think it was? Tonight. Between Oikawa and Kageyama, I mean.”

Pablo tilted his head, thoughtful now. “Hmm. Worse than I expected,” he admitted without sugarcoating. “Definitely tense. Like walking on glass sometimes.”

Hinata’s stomach tightened, though he’d known that already.

“But—” Pablo went on, “I also saw them both making an effort. Not much, maybe. But some. Enough that I think it wasn’t all for show. If I had to guess, it was probably for you . Because you matter to both of them.”

Hinata blinked, surprised at how steady Pablo’s tone was. No teasing, no smirk. Just honesty.

He shifted uncomfortably. “You think they could… I dunno. Fix it? Like, actually talk it out one day?”

Pablo shrugged, but there was something knowing in his smile. “Maybe. I think a lot of the time, the biggest fights come from the smallest misunderstandings. You know? People don’t say what they really mean, and then it turns into years of resentment. If they ever sat down and really talked about the past—what they wanted, what they felt—they might surprise themselves.”

Hinata leaned back, the weight of those words sinking in. His mind wandered back to the booth, to the sharp silences and the clipped comments, but also to the tiny cracks in their walls. Kageyama forcing questions about Brazil, Oikawa answering with just enough patience. Both of them trying, even if awkwardly.

He let out a slow breath. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s just a big misunderstanding…”

Pablo reached over and gave him a light smack on the knee. “Or maybe they just needed someone stubborn like you stuck in the middle.”

Hinata snorted. “Lucky me, huh?”

“Very,” Pablo said with a wink.

Hinata didn’t respond right away. Instead, he let himself sink into the cushions, staring at the ceiling. His chest felt heavy but not hopeless. For the first time, he wondered if the bridge between Oikawa and Kageyama wasn’t as impossible as he’d always thought.

Pablo sprawled sideways on the couch, his long legs dangling off the edge, still smiling faintly to himself. “You know,” he began after a pause, “I actually liked him. Kageyama. Honestly, if you hadn’t told me, I never would’ve guessed you two ever hated each other.”

Hinata blinked, startled by the bluntness. “What? Really?”

“Yeah , really.” Pablo chuckled. “He was nervous, sure, but… the way he looked at you? That was someone who’s on your side. He gave me a good impression.”

Hinata’s cheeks warmed at that, and he tried to bury his face into the pillow on his lap. “Geez, don’t say it like that…”

But Pablo didn’t tease this time. His gaze sharpened a little, curious. “Then why did you fight when you were in Brazil? You never told me the reason.”

Hinata froze. He stared at the pillow seams, tracing them with his thumb, his chest suddenly heavier. “...Because I was stupid,” he muttered finally.

Pablo tilted his head. “That’s not an answer.”

Hinata exhaled, sinking back into the cushions. “I didn’t tell him I was leaving. To Brazil. He found out through someone else—just… casually, like it was nothing. Like I hadn’t trusted him enough to say it to his face. And he… he took it hard.”

The memory prickled, raw even now. Hinata rubbed at his neck. “The truth is, I was scared. Scared that if he knew I was leaving, he’d pull back from me. That he’d stop caring about whatever it was we were building, because what’s the point if I was gonna disappear, right?”

His voice dipped, soft and uneven. “So I didn’t say anything. I just left. And he found out in the worst way possible. And—yeah. It was childish. It hurt him. And it hurt us.”

For a while, only the city sounds filled the room. Pablo didn’t interrupt, just listened, his expression calm and patient.

“That’s why…” Hinata continued, barely above a whisper now. “That’s why I want to tell him about Brazil. About what happened with Oikawa. Even if it’s embarrassing. Even if he gets mad. I don’t want the same thing happening again. I don’t want to lose Tobio. Not after everything.”

The weight in his chest loosened as he said it out loud, though his heart still hammered.

Pablo reached over and clapped him gently on the shoulder. “Then you’re doing the right thing. You’ve learned, Shoyo. Two years ago, maybe not. But now?” He nodded firmly. “You know better. And you care enough to be honest. That’s what matters.”

Hinata blinked at him, then managed a small, grateful smile. “...Thanks, Pablo.”

“Anytime,” Pablo said, leaning back with a grin returning to his face. “And besides, your Tobio looks like the kind of guy who’d rather you throw the truth at his head like a volleyball than hide it from him.”

Hinata snorted, laughing despite the knot in his chest. “Yeah. That’s… actually pretty accurate.”

The conversation tapered off into comfortable silence, the kind that stretched without pressure. Pablo yawned loudly, stretching out his arms until his shoulders cracked, then flopped back against the couch.

“Okay, brother,” he said, his voice thick with sleep, “I’m calling it a night.”

Hinata blinked at him. “Already?”

“You have practice tomorrow,” Pablo pointed out, wagging a finger without opening his eyes. “And you look like you’re still running on pure adrenaline. Go. Sleep.”

Hinata made a face. “You’re not my mom.”

“No, I’m worse,” Pablo muttered, already shifting into a more comfortable sprawl. “I’m a tired old man who won’t wake up early, so I need you to do it for me. Go on.”

Hinata laughed quietly, shaking his head. He stood and stretched, the apartment unusually still around them after such a charged night. “Fine, fine. Goodnight, Pablo.”

“Goodnight, Shouyou,” Pablo mumbled, one eye cracking open just long enough to add, “And don’t overthink too much. Just sleep.”

Hinata smirked but didn’t answer, padding off to his room.

 

---

 

The second his door closed behind him, the silence pressed heavier. He tossed his clothes into a heap, crawled into bed, and lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. Sleep didn’t come right away. His body was tired, but his head buzzed.

The dinner replayed in fragments: Kageyama’s stiff shoulders when Oikawa walked in, the way Pablo had laughed through the tension, the careful politeness Kageyama forced into every nod and every word. Then the car ride, the way Kageyama had sighed as if letting the weight slip off his chest, the surprising warmth of his hand on the steering wheel, and then, later, the warmth of his lips when they kissed.

Hinata turned on his side, hugging the pillow close.

He thought about Pablo’s words, how strange it was that someone who’d just met Kageyama could see past everything and catch a glimpse of what Hinata had always known: that under all his awkwardness and rough edges, Kageyama had always been there, steady, even when Hinata hadn’t deserved it.

And he thought about Brazil. About the secret he was still holding. His stomach twisted, but instead of panic, he felt something clearer: resolve. He didn’t want to repeat that same mistake, hiding out of fear. He’d already learned where that road led.

Hinata exhaled slowly, pressing his forehead into the pillow.

He would tell him. Soon.

For now, though, his body finally began to sink into the mattress, heavy with exhaustion. His last thought before drifting off was the memory of Kageyama’s hand warm against his, steady on the gearshift, steady like always.

And for the first time that night, Hinata let himself breathe easy.

Chapter 97: Chapter XCVI

Notes:

hello beautiful people! i know you guys are STRESSING about hinata having THE conversation with tobio, and i promise it will be happening within the next chapters. please bare with me. you've read 96 chapters until now, surely you can read a couple more, right? hahahaha

hope you enjoy this chapter<3

The smell of coffee was what dragged Hinata out of his room. His eyes were still heavy, hair sticking up in a thousand different directions, but the warm, bitter scent curled into his nose and pulled him toward the kitchen like a rope.

Pablo was already there, sitting at the table in a worn T-shirt, scrolling lazily on his phone with one hand while the other cradled his mug. A plate of toast and scrambled eggs sat between them, steam still curling off the pan on the stove.

“Morning,” Hinata croaked, his voice gravelly.

“ Bom dia, ” Pablo replied, without looking up. “Eat before you run off to practice.”

Hinata grinned, plopping into the chair opposite him. He reached for a piece of toast and piled eggs on top before finally noticing the glass of juice Pablo had set out too. “Wow, breakfast made by Pablo himself. What’s the occasion?”

“No occasion,” Pablo said, shrugging. “Just felt like cooking. And you’ve been running around like crazy since I got here. Figured you could use a real breakfast.”

Hinata’s chest warmed at that. “Thanks.” He took a huge bite, almost too big to chew, but the eggs were fluffy, perfectly seasoned, and he hummed happily as he swallowed.

They ate in easy silence for a bit, Pablo scrolling and Hinata focusing on shoveling food before practice. It wasn’t until Hinata stood to wash his plate that Pablo finally set his phone down.

“So…” Pablo started, drawing the word out, “what are you doing this weekend?”

Hinata shot him a look over his shoulder. “Just practice. As usual.”

“Besides that,” Pablo pressed. “I was thinking…” He leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head. “We could go to Miyagi. I want to see Oikawa’s hometown. And yours, of course.”

Hinata paused mid-scrub, blinking at him. “Miyagi?”

“Yeah.” Pablo smiled easily, as if it were the most obvious idea in the world. “You said you don’t go back often, right? And it’s close enough for a weekend trip. Oikawa’s already in. You should invite Tobio, too.”

Hinata nearly dropped the plate. “Wait—what?”

“Invite him,” Pablo repeated, as if Hinata hadn’t heard the first time. “It’d be perfect. Home turf, right? You said it yourself last night, you two feel natural around each other when it’s just… life. No pressure. And I think—” He tilted his head, studying Hinata with that perceptive look that always made him squirm. “I think you want to talk to him. Really talk. That’d be a good chance.”

Hinata turned back to the sink, scrubbing a little harder than necessary. His stomach flipped nervously. The idea of inviting Kageyama wasn’t bad. It actually made sense. Miyagi was where they’d grown up, where they’d first collided in that middle school bathroom, where Karasuno had been the start of everything. It would feel different there. Lighter.

Still, just imagining it made his heart pound.

“I don’t know…” Hinata muttered, rinsing the plate.

“Yes, you do,” Pablo countered, grinning. “You’re just nervous. But think about it. You want to tell him, don’t you? About Brazil. About Oikawa. About all of it. And you don’t want to repeat what happened last time.”

Hinata froze, plate still dripping in his hands. He hated how right Pablo was.

Slowly, he set it in the rack to dry and wiped his hands on the towel. He turned to face his friend, cheeks warm but eyes determined. “Okay,” he said finally. “I’ll invite him. You’re right. Miyagi feels… safe. Like home. If I’m gonna say it, maybe that’s the place.”

Pablo’s smile softened, genuine and encouraging. “There you go.” He raised his mug like a toast. “Good. This time, no running.”

Hinata rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop the small, nervous laugh that escaped him. “Yeah. No running.” He slung his bag over his shoulder and grabbed his shoes by the door. “Alright, I’m off. Don’t burn the place down while I’m gone.”

“Yeah, yeah. Go,” Pablo said with a wave, already reaching for another piece of toast.

As Hinata stepped out into the bright Tokyo morning, he felt his pulse quicken at the thought of sending that message to Kageyama. Nervous, yes. Terrified, maybe. But also hopeful.

 

---

The morning air in Tokyo was already sticky, even though it wasn’t yet mid-morning. Hinata jogged down the narrow street toward the station, bag bouncing against his side, phone warm in his hand. He had told himself three times already that he’d wait until after practice to call, when his stomach wasn’t tied up in knots and he didn’t feel so jittery, but the thought kept pressing harder and harder at the back of his skull.

He slowed his pace and thumbed through his contacts, hesitating for half a second before pressing Kageyama’s name. The ringing started, each chime dragging in his chest like a tug of rope, until finally a click sounded in his ear.

“…Hello?” Kageyama’s voice was a little hoarse, like he hadn’t been awake long.

Hinata’s mouth went dry. “Uh—hey! It’s me.”

There was a pause, then a soft exhale. “Yeah. Good morning.”

Hinata smiled despite himself. “Morning. Did I wake you up?”

“…No.” The answer was too quick, almost defensive, and Hinata could picture the exact way Kageyama’s brow furrowed when he lied like that.

“Right,” Hinata teased. “Bet you still have bed hair sticking up like a scarecrow.”

There was a low grumble on the other end. “Shut up.”

Hinata laughed, and some of the tightness in his chest loosened. “Anyway—I, um…” He rubbed at the back of his neck as he crossed the street, waiting for a truck to pass. “I wanted to ask you something. It’s kinda dumb, and I know you’re busy with unpacking and stuff, and maybe you just wanna rest on the weekend—”

“Hurry up and say it,” Kageyama interrupted, though not unkindly.

Hinata winced. “Okay, okay! I was wondering if… if you wanted to come with us to Miyagi this weekend.”

There was a silence that stretched just a beat too long. Hinata’s stomach flipped.

“…Miyagi?” Kageyama finally said.

“Yeah. Pablo and I are going, and Oikawa too, but—uh—I thought maybe… you’d wanna come? Visit home? You don’t have to, I just thought it could be nice, y’know. We haven’t gone back together in a while.”

Another pause. Hinata bit down on his lip and kept walking, heart hammering.

Then, unexpectedly: “Actually… that works.” Kageyama’s tone was steady, almost surprised at himself. “I was planning to go back soon anyway. There’s some stuff at home I need to bring here. So.”

Hinata blinked. “Wait—you mean it?”

“…Yeah.”

Relief flooded Hinata so quickly he almost stumbled over a crack in the sidewalk. “That’s great! I was worried you’d say no.”

“You worry too much,” Kageyama said, a little gruffly, but Hinata could hear something else underneath it. Something small and uneasy, like Kageyama was also trying to convince himself this was fine.

Hinata grinned, letting the warmth wash over the nerves. “Well, then it’s settled. You’re coming with us.”

“Don’t make it sound like I didn’t have a choice,” Kageyama muttered.

Hinata laughed again, too loudly, earning a strange look from a woman passing by with her grocery bags. “C’mon, it’ll be fun! I think Pablo wants to see where we grew up. He’s curious about Karasuno, y’know.”

There was a faint sound on the other end that might’ve been Kageyama’s laugh, low and reluctant. “That old school? Huh.”

“Don’t act like you don’t want to go back,” Hinata teased.

Silence again, but this one was gentler, more comfortable. Hinata could almost imagine Kageyama’s faint smile through the phone.

Finally, Kageyama said quietly, “I’ll come. Text me the details later.”

“Got it,” Hinata replied, voice softening. “Thanks, Tobio.”

Kageyama made a noise like he wanted to brush it off but couldn’t quite manage. “…Good luck at practice.”

The line went dead, and Hinata was left grinning like an idiot as he shoved the phone back in his pocket. His heart still raced, but it was a different kind of race now. Lighter, faster, as though he was already sprinting toward the weekend.

 

---

 

Hinata should’ve been focused on the rhythm of the drills, the sting of the ball in his palms, the sweat sliding down his temples. But his body was moving on autopilot, light as always, while his head replayed the sound of Kageyama’s voice from earlier. That steady “…Yeah, I’ll come.” It looped in his chest like a second heartbeat, distracting enough that the end of practice blurred past him in a rush.

It wasn’t until Meian blew the final whistle and they gathered around for stretches that Hinata realized time had slipped away. Before he could even sit down on the bench, Bokuto and a few others started whispering loudly about how the cafeteria’s taiyaki stand still had some left.

“C’mon, before Meian notices!” Bokuto hissed, already halfway toward the door.

Even Sakusa, always reluctant to join in anything unserious, got up with a long-suffering sigh, trailing behind the pack. Only Hinata and Atsumu remained, separated by a few meters of scuffed floor and thick silence.

Hinata glanced up from his phone, thumbs hovering mid-text to Kageyama. Atsumu sat slouched against the bench, spinning a volleyball lazily between his palms. His face was unreadable, except for the faint crease between his brows.

Hinata thought about just looking away, pretending he hadn’t noticed, but the tension sat heavy in the air, the kind that made him itchy if he didn’t at least poke at it.

“…Kinda weird, huh?” Hinata said finally, breaking the silence.

Atsumu didn’t look up. “What is?”

“The way things feel lately. Like… everyone can tell something’s off.” Hinata took a sip from his bottle, keeping his tone light, almost careless. “I don’t know what it is. Not like it’s any of my business anyway. Just… y’know. You can feel it.”

Atsumu stilled the ball under his hands, his eyes flicking toward Hinata just for a second before sliding away again. His jaw worked, but he didn’t answer right away. Hinata let the silence stretch, though. He wasn’t expecting much, not really. He wasn’t here to dig for answers. It was just an observation, like commenting on the weather.

Finally, Atsumu muttered, “Yeah. Guess you’re not wrong.” His voice was low, tight.

Hinata gave a small shrug, offering the faintest of smiles. “Things’ll work out, though. They always do.”

For the first time, Atsumu huffed a little laugh. Short, humorless, but it was something. “You’re too damn optimistic.”

Hinata grinned, tapping his phone screen back on. “Someone’s gotta be.”

Atsumu leaned his elbows on his knees, still rolling the ball absently under his palms. Hinata had already gone back to his phone, thumbs tapping quick, face a little flushed in that way that probably meant Kageyama had texted something back.

But Atsumu wasn’t looking at the phone. He was watching Hinata.

The words kept replaying in his head, simple as they were. It wasn’t deep. It wasn’t prying. But what caught Atsumu off guard was that Hinata had said anything at all. That he’d been the one to break the silence first, to acknowledge the tension everyone else danced around without touching. Hinata, of all people, who had every reason not to bother with him.

For some reason, that sat heavy in Atsumu’s chest, heavier than he expected.

Before he could figure out what to do with that weight, even say something back, his thoughts were drowned out by the loud crash of the doors slamming open.

“SHOYO! Guess what—guess what they had at the cafeteria!!” Bokuto’s voice boomed across the gym, already halfway to barreling into him.

Hinata looked up just in time to be grabbed by the wrist and tugged up off the bench, barely catching his balance as Bokuto started waving a packet of something sugary and neon-colored like it was a trophy.

“Bokuto—! Wait—what—”

“They had pudding cups but with like, two layers. Chocolate and vanilla! Double trouble, baby!” Bokuto shook the container so wildly that Hinata had to steady it with both hands before it flew out.

Hinata laughed, helpless and bright, swept along by Bokuto’s enthusiasm as though the heavier air from before had never existed. Atsumu sat back, lips pressing into a thin line, watching them. His fingers tightened once on the ball before he set it aside.

The rest of the team trailed in behind Bokuto, loud and buzzing with the giddy energy of stolen sweets. The chatter filled the gym, familiar and rowdy. Hinata was already pulled into the center of it, pudding cup in hand, laughing at something one of the others said.

Atsumu stayed where he was, letting the noise swallow up the silence that had hung between him and Hinata just a minute ago. Still, that offhanded comment lingered in his head longer than he’d admit.

 

---

 

B y the time Hinata finally got home that evening, his body ached in that sweet, heavy way only practice could leave him with. He kicked his sneakers off by the door, stretching his arms above his head until his back cracked, and shuffled into the apartment with his bag still hanging from one shoulder. The smell of something fried and a little burnt drifted from the kitchen, and he didn’t even have to guess.

“Didn’t I tell you not to burn the place down while I was gone?” Hinata called, already stifling a laugh.

Pablo poked his head out from behind the kitchen wall, hair messy, holding up a frying pan sheepishly. “I swear, it wasn’t me this time. Your microwave is haunted.”

Hinata snorted, dropping his bag and walking further inside. “Microwave ghosts, huh. That’s a new one.”

By the time he sat down, Pablo had abandoned the kitchen entirely and was already launching into the rundown of his day. “So Oikawa took me thrifting today. Thrifting. Do you know how much patience that man has when he’s digging through racks? None. Absolutely none.”

Hinata barked out a laugh, instantly picturing Oikawa dramatically flipping hangers with his nose scrunched in exaggerated disgust. “I can imagine,” he said.

“I found four really cool shirts, though. He found—nothing.” Pablo flopped down next to him on the couch, sighing with all the weight of tragedy. “You’d think he’d be good at this. He’s too picky. Everything’s either ‘too loud’ or ‘not loud enough.’”

Hinata laughed again, shoulders shaking. But the sound softened quickly, tapering off into a faint, lingering sigh. He really was happy Pablo had Oikawa to keep him company during the days, but he couldn’t help feeling a little left out. Practice had him locked down most weekdays, and with the Adler's match looming closer, their schedules were even tighter than usual. There wasn’t really room to just… wander around thrift stores or spend an afternoon aimlessly hanging out. Not without something giving way.

He leaned back into the couch, trying to shake it off. “Sounds like I’m missing all the fun,” Hinata said lightly, though there was a quiet edge to it.

Pablo nudged him with his shoulder. “You’re busy saving Japan’s volleyball pride. We forgive you.”

Hinata smiled crookedly, but the warmth barely had time to settle before Pablo shifted, suddenly thoughtful.

“Oh—by the way. Something came up at lunch.”

Hinata glanced sideways at him, brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”

Pablo hesitated, then reached for his phone on the coffee table, already scrolling. “Oikawa was checking Twitter, and—uh, well. You kinda went viral again.”

That made Hinata sit up straighter immediately, the muscles in his shoulders tightening. “Viral? For what this time?”

Pablo showed him the screen.

It was a collage of photos. They were grainy, slightly blurry, the kind that screamed “taken by a fan hiding two tables away.” One was from a few days ago, him hugging Pablo outside the bar. The other was from their hangout with Oikawa, all three of them at the counter, Hinata leaning forward, laughing at something out of frame.

The captions and comments below made his stomach drop.

“Looks like Hinata’s fighting with Kageyama. He’s out drinking on a weeknight and hanging out with other guys lol.”
“Y’all, he’s not even drinking, chill. And that’s Oikawa, he’s literally been friends with him since high school.”
“Hinata’s always with that other foreign dude lately. They hugged?? Are we just ignoring that??”
“Is he cheating lol.”

Hinata’s throat felt dry. He hadn’t opened social media in a long time on purpose. He knew better, especially following the recent events. But seeing it anyway, all of it swirling around his name, hit him like a fist to the gut.

“People are… so dramatic,” Hinata muttered, though the way he rubbed the back of his neck betrayed how unsettled he was.

Pablo grimaced, setting the phone down. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have dragged you out that night. I didn’t even think—”

Hinata shook his head quickly, forcing a small smile. “No, no. Don’t apologize. It’s fine. I’m not gonna stop living my life and hanging out with my friends just because people might get offended on the internet.” He said it with more conviction than he felt.

But even as the words left his mouth, the anxiety settled heavy in his chest. He’d worked so hard to put distance between himself and this kind of noise, to remind himself that volleyball was what mattered, not social media discourse. Still… he could already picture fans whispering about it in the stands, the way those comments would sit in the back of his mind like a splinter.

Pablo studied him quietly for a moment before nodding once. “You’re right. You shouldn’t change your life for them.”

Hinata nodded too, but his fingers drummed nervously against his knee. He wanted to believe it was that simple. He wanted to believe it didn’t matter. But unease still pooled in the pit of his stomach, stubborn and sharp.

 

---

 

Hinata was half-buried in his open suitcase, kneeling on the floor of his room with clothes scattered in messy piles around him, when his phone lit up with Kageyama’s name. He grabbed it immediately, pressing it between his ear and shoulder as he wrestled with a stubborn zipper.

“Hey, so, do you know we’re fighting?” Hinata said the moment he picked up, deadpan.

There was a beat of silence on the other end. “...What?”

“And I’m cheating on you with Pablo, by the way.”

The sound of Kageyama sputtering through the speaker nearly made Hinata fall over laughing. “What the hell are you talking about?!”

Hinata grinned, tossing a shirt into the suitcase. “I went viral again. People online are saying I’m fighting with you, and that I’m running off with Pablo. Thought you should know.”

There was another pause, and Hinata could hear Kageyama’s frown. “Send me the link.”

Rolling his eyes, Hinata flopped onto his bed and forwarded the thread Pablo had shown him earlier. A second later, he could hear the faint sound of scrolling on the other end. Then, a low scoff.

“They’re stupid,” Kageyama muttered. “You’re not even drinking in this picture. And—what is this comment? ‘That foreign man’s stealing him away’? Idiots.”

Hinata bit back a laugh. “So you don’t believe them, huh?”

Kageyama let out a short huff, almost like a laugh of his own. “Shut up. Of course I don’t.”

Hinata pressed his lips together to keep from grinning too wide, warmth blooming in his chest. “Good answer.”

Kageyama hummed, still scrolling. “You should get a media manager, though. Someone to control this kind of stuff if it bothers you.”

Hinata sat up, pulling at the corner of his blanket thoughtfully. “Maybe. I’ll think about it.”

For a moment, there was just the sound of both of them breathing quietly on the line, Hinata fiddling with the zipper of his suitcase again. Then Kageyama cleared his throat.

“Oh, right. Almost forgot to tell you. Miwa said I should just take the car tomorrow. She’s staying in Tokyo for a couple more days. So…” There was a little hesitation before he added, “Do you want a ride?”

Hinata blinked, surprised by the rush of excitement that shot through him. “Wait—you mean you’ll drive us to Miyagi?”

“Yeah. Why?”

Hinata couldn’t hold back his grin this time. “Because you looked—” He cut himself off before he said hot, face heating. “—you looked kinda cool driving.”

On the other end, Kageyama let out a small, awkward laugh. “You’re so weird.”

“Shut up, you’re probably enjoying this.”

“Well, I never said I wasn’t,” Kageyama muttered, and Hinata could practically see the embarrassed look on his face through the phone.

Hinata kicked his legs out on the bed, suddenly feeling lighter than he had all day. “Fine. Then it’s settled. You’re driving me. That means I will be in charge of the aux.”

“Absolutely not,” Kageyama said immediately. “Your playlists are—”

“Perfect,” Hinata interrupted with a grin. “You just don’t appreciate art.”

Their bickering spiraled easily from there—Hinata teasing him about crashing if he didn’t listen to good music, Kageyama threatening to throw him out on the highway if he dared sing along too loud—until Hinata realized he’d been laughing nonstop while absentmindedly folding shirts into his suitcase. By the time they both finally finished packing, it felt like the heaviness from earlier had slipped off his shoulders, replaced by the simple, stupid comfort of being on the phone with Kageyama.

Chapter 98: Chapter XCVII

Notes:

short chapter because we're getting ready for miyagi!! hope you enjoy<3

The next morning, Hinata felt that usual pre-trip buzz fluttering in his chest. He shoved the last of his toiletries into a pouch and zipped it shut, glancing around his small apartment to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything.

The plan was simple enough: Kageyama would drive him to Miyagi, while Pablo would go with Oikawa. The two of them weren’t heading back to Tokyo after the weekend. They had another adventure lined up in Kyoto, a place Hinata had always wanted to explore more but never had the time. Meanwhile, after the visit to their hometown, he and Kageyama would head straight back to Tokyo on Sunday.

The idea of splitting off that way made sense, but still, Hinata couldn’t help but feel a pang. This was probably the last time Pablo would stay in his apartment for a while, and despite how little they’d actually hung out during the weekdays, Hinata had grown used to his presence there.

“I’m really just gonna leave like this?” Pablo’s voice broke into his thoughts. He was standing by the window, gazing around the apartment with mock solemnity. “I’ll miss this place. Even if I didn’t stay long.”

Hinata blinked and turned toward him, holding his pouch awkwardly. “Sorry I wasn’t a better host. I mean… I feel like we didn’t get to hang out as much as I wanted. I’ve been so caught up with practice.”

Pablo looked over his shoulder and smiled, waving him off. “Hey, don’t be silly. I liked it. The breakfasts, the dinners… those were my favorite parts of the day. And we’ve got this whole weekend together, don’t we? That’s more than enough.”

Something warm and guilty twisted in Hinata’s chest. He opened his mouth to reply when the sound of the door unlocking made him freeze. His head snapped toward it, heart skipping a beat.

The knob turned smoothly, and then the door swung open, revealing Kageyama stepping inside, tall frame filling the doorway, carrying that usual frown of concentration.

Hinata blinked once. Twice. Right. The spare key.

It was the first time Kageyama had ever used it, and Hinata’s ears burned at the thought. He just came in… like it was normal. Like he belonged here.

“Morning,” Kageyama said shortly, and his gaze flicked to Pablo before he strode forward.

“Morning,” Pablo greeted brightly, half-expecting a stiff nod. What he got instead left him momentarily speechless: Kageyama went right in for a hug. A quick, awkward pat on the back kind of hug, but still, a hug.

Pablo blinked at him, wide-eyed, before breaking into a grin. “Woah. Did you practice at home for our next encounter?”

Hinata snorted, hand flying to cover his mouth as Kageyama froze, shoulders stiff. “No, I just—” He cut himself off, ears flushing crimson.

Pablo chuckled, clearly enjoying every second of it.

Kageyama turned away quickly, blurting out, “I’ll help with the bags.” He made a beeline toward Hinata’s suitcase, desperate for an excuse to escape.

“Hold on,” Pablo interrupted, voice sly. He leaned casually against the wall, crossing his arms. “You’re at his apartment, Tobio. That means you get to greet your boyfriend however you like best.”

Hinata felt the heat rush to his face so fast he thought he might combust. “Pablo—”

But the challenge hung in the air, and Kageyama froze mid-step. For a long second, he stood rigid, visibly debating whether to crawl under the floorboards or just jump out the window. Then, without looking at Pablo, he marched back over to Hinata.

Hinata’s heart pounded as Kageyama leaned down, quick and clumsy, pressing the lightest peck against his lips. His face was scarlet by the time he pulled back, muttering something under his breath that might’ve been “happy now?” But before Hinata could even process it, before the smile threatening to break across his face could show, Kageyama spun on his heel and bolted straight for the suitcase again, practically yanking it off the floor like it weighed nothing.

“I’ll get this,” he barked, voice a little too sharp, and made for the door.

Pablo burst out laughing, clapping his hands together. “That was adorable.”

Hinata groaned, burying his face in his hands, though the stupid grin he couldn’t hold back gave him away.

Dragging the suitcases down the narrow stairwell of Hinata’s building was more of a workout than he expected. Kageyama carried two at once like it was nothing, his shoulders squared and his expression set in that typical no-nonsense focus. Hinata trailed behind with his backpack slung over one shoulder, and Pablo brought up the rear, humming a tune like he wasn’t hauling half his weight in luggage.

Outside, the summer air was already heavy, sunlight spilling across the street as they stepped out onto the sidewalk. Kageyama popped the trunk of Miwa’s car, stacking Hinata’s bags neatly inside with the kind of precision that made Hinata shake his head and smile.

He had just slipped his own bag onto the pile when a sleek car slowed in front of the building, easing into a stop right beside them. Hinata’s chest tightened as he recognized it immediately.

Oikawa stepped out, sunglasses perched on his head, dressed casually but polished in that way only he seemed able to pull off. He pushed the shades up and smiled.

“Morning,” he said, voice light, almost breezy.

Hinata blinked. He’d been bracing himself for tension the moment Oikawa and Kageyama laid eyes on each other again, but… something was different. Oikawa’s shoulders looked looser, his expression softer, and—most surprising of all—he didn’t waste a second before turning directly to Kageyama.

“Need a hand with the bags?” Oikawa asked, gesturing toward Pablo’s suitcase.

Hinata nearly dropped his backpack. Even Kageyama seemed momentarily stunned, lips parting like he wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. For a beat too long, silence hung. Then Kageyama nodded.

“…Sure,” he said.

The word came out short, clipped, but it was still agreement.

Oikawa didn’t falter. He stepped forward, his movements brisk but casual, and bent to grab one end of Pablo’s suitcase. Kageyama lifted the other, and together, without another word, they carried it to Oikawa’s trunk. Their coordination was almost seamless, like the years of playing together hadn’t left their muscles entirely.

Hinata stood frozen, wide-eyed, watching this bizarre tableau. He turned sharply toward Pablo, who was leaning against the car with his arms crossed, looking smug. His lips curved into the faintest grin, his expression one of satisfaction.

Hinata narrowed his eyes at him. Did he…?

It clicked. Pablo must’ve said something to Oikawa. Maybe not much, maybe just enough to nudge him toward letting go of whatever baggage he’d been dragging around about Kageyama all these years. That explained the shift, the effort.

The two men straightened after setting the suitcase down, neither making a big deal out of it.

“Thanks,” Kageyama said, quick and almost awkward, but he said it .

“No problem,” Oikawa replied easily, dusting his hands.

Hinata almost laughed out loud at how surreal the scene looked: Oikawa, helping Kageyama. Kageyama, saying thanks . And Pablo, smug in the corner like he’d orchestrated the whole thing.

“Alright,” Pablo clapped his hands, dusting them off. “Shall we?”

“Yeah,” Hinata said, adjusting the strap of his backpack and shooting one last side-glance at Oikawa. He was still smiling politely, his posture almost amiable . If Hinata hadn’t been standing right there, he would’ve sworn he was imagining it.

Still unsettled, he climbed into Kageyama’s passenger seat, tugging the belt across his chest as the engine rumbled to life. In the rearview mirror, he could see Pablo sliding into Oikawa’s car, waving at them through the glass before settling in.

Hinata sat back, listening to the hum of the car as they pulled away from the curb. His chest was buzzing with questions. What the hell happened? How much had Pablo said? And was this really going to last, or would the politeness crack as soon as the road stretched too long?

The buildings of Tokyo slowly began to thin out as the journey toward Miyagi began, the two cars weaving onto the highway.

 

---

 

The drive stretched out ahead of them, highway unfurling like a ribbon of gray between the green of late summer fields. The hum of the car filled the silence, steady and low, but not heavy. It was the kind of quiet that came when both people were content to just exist side by side.

Kageyama’s hands rested firm on the wheel, posture relaxed but focused, eyes fixed straight ahead. Hinata sat a little slouched in the passenger seat, watching the way sunlight slid over Kageyama’s profile, the way the tension of last night seemed to have melted out of his shoulders.

It was Kageyama who broke the silence first.

“Ushijima told me something weird yesterday.”

Hinata perked up immediately, leaning toward him. “Weird? Like what? Don’t tell me he finally discovered what memes are.”

Kageyama let out a short huff, almost a laugh. “No. He and Tendou got back together.”

Hinata blinked. “…Wait. Back together? As in, they broke up?”

Kageyama nodded once, keeping his eyes on the road. “Yeah. Apparently it was bad. But now they’re fine again. He said Tendou showed up at his place with like… two giant cakes. Didn’t even say sorry, just put them on the table.”

Hinata burst out laughing, almost choking on his own breath. “Oh my god—can you imagine? Full-on dramatic breakup, then bribed back with cake? That’s legendary.”

Kageyama shrugged, but there was a hint of amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. “It worked, I guess. He sounded… happy. Calmer.”

Hinata grinned, shaking his head. “They’re ridiculous.”

The car dipped back into quiet after that, but it wasn’t empty. Hinata found himself smiling faintly at the windshield, the gossip looping in his head. It felt nice. Like a reminder that even the strongest, scariest players had their messy, human moments.

Kageyama cleared his throat after a stretch of silence. “We should… talk to your mom today.”

Hinata’s head whipped around. “Today?”

“Yeah,” Kageyama said simply, his voice even, but Hinata could see the faint tension in his jaw. “Since we’re going to be in Miyagi. If we wait until tomorrow it’ll be rushed, since we’re going back to Tokyo. Today’s the best time.”

Hinata’s heart gave a nervous little kick, but he found himself nodding almost immediately. “Yeah. You’re right.” He let out a slow breath. “It’s… a good plan.”

Neither of them said anything for a while after that, but the weight of the decision lingered in the air. Not heavy. Not really. Just present.

Eventually, Kageyama tilted his head toward him. “Can you check the map? Just see if we should get off at the next exit.”

“Yeah, sure,” Hinata said, holding out his hand.

Kageyama passed his phone over without taking his eyes off the road. The screen lit up as Hinata swiped it open with the fingerprint already set, and that was when he froze. The wallpaper wasn’t the generic blue it had always been, or some random photo of Miwa’s dog like Hinata half-expected. It was a picture.

Of them.

The picture they’d found the day Kageyama moved to Tokyo. The picture of them eating a watermelon at Tobio’s house one afternoon during their third year. Hinata stared for a second longer than he should have before blurting, “Wait—this?!” He turned the phone so Kageyama could see. “You made this your wallpaper?”

Kageyama’s ears went red immediately, though his expression stayed stubbornly neutral. “Yeah.”

“Since when?!” Hinata pressed, eyes wide.

“…Since Wednesday," Kageyama admitted, shifting slightly in his seat. He glanced at the photo, then back at the road. “I liked it. A lot. It… reminded me of back then.”

Hinata’s chest tightened, and he felt heat creeping up the back of his neck. “Back then?”

Kageyama gripped the wheel a little tighter. His voice was quieter now, not embarrassed so much as deliberate. “Around that time… was when I figured it out. That I—” He paused, adjusting his grip again. “—that I liked you.”

Hinata blinked. He looked back down at the picture, the two of them frozen mid-laugh, and for a moment, he didn’t know what to do with the warmth swelling in his chest. His throat felt tight, his pulse a little too quick.

He didn’t say anything right away. Instead, he looked out the window, lips tugging up in a smile he couldn’t quite suppress.

“Idiot,” he murmured finally, but it was soft. Not sharp at all.

Kageyama’s mouth twitched, as if he knew exactly what Hinata meant beneath the word. Hinata fiddled with the phone for another second, pretending to study the map just to give himself something to do. His voice came out lighter when he finally spoke again. “Okay, turn right at the next exit.”

Kageyama nodded, focusing back on the road. The air between them felt different now. Warmer, somehow, like the space of the car had shrunk just a little. Not heavy. Not awkward. Just… closer.

Hinata rested the phone on his lap, still lit with that picture, and let himself glance at Kageyama again, heart thudding a little too fast for the steady hum of the car.

Chapter 99: Chapter XCVIII

By the time the car rolled past the green fields and into the familiar outline of Sendai, Hinata blinked at the clock on the dashboard and felt genuinely startled.

“Four hours already?” he asked, stretching his arms overhead as they stopped at a light.

Kageyama gave him a sidelong glance, as if it were obvious. “Yeah. Why?”

Hinata let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. “It didn’t feel like four hours. Not at all.” He leaned back in his seat, remembering the steady rhythm of their conversation. How gossip slipped into volleyball talk, which slipped into teasing, and even stretches of silence that somehow felt comfortable. “Guess you’re not too bad to talk to, Tobio.”

Kageyama scoffed, but his ears turned faintly pink.

They reached Kageyama’s neighborhood not long after, and Hinata felt something stir in his chest when the car turned down the quiet streets. The houses here were familiar in a strange way, not his but… tied to memories anyway. Summer afternoons, practices that ended sweaty and late, watermelon eaten on porches. A whole world that had belonged to both of them in small, overlapping ways.

Kageyama pulled into his driveway, killed the engine, and the car fell silent except for the ticking of cooling metal. Hinata hopped out, taking a deep breath of the Miyagi air. It was fresher somehow, or maybe it was just the rush of nostalgia.

Hinata quietly reviewed their plans in his head: at 12:30, they were meeting Oikawa and Pablo at a local restaurant for lunch, and after that, sightseeing. The ruins of Sendai Castle—Aoba Castle, as the locals still called it—then Entsuin Temple. If they paced it right, they could catch the glow of late afternoon slipping over the temple gardens. And to finish the day, Akiu Onsen, where the steam and quiet would settle into their bones.

It was a full schedule, but Hinata felt a little thrill run through him just thinking about it. Showing Pablo around. Being here with Kageyama again.

Inside the house, Kageyama dropped his keys on the counter and muttered something about his back hurting from driving. Hinata excused himself to call his mom, stepping out onto the engawa to hear her voice clearer.

“Shoyo!” his mom greeted immediately, warm and bright through the receiver. “You’re in Miyagi already?”

“Yeah, we just got in,” Hinata said, a little sheepish. “Um… actually, Mom, I wanted to ask—can I bring someone for dinner tonight? 

“Of course, love. Is it your friend from Brazil?”

“Uh, no. Uhm—It’s Kageyama.”

There was a pause, but only for a heartbeat. Then her voice lit up with a kind of cheer that made Hinata wince and grin all at once. “You don’t even have to ask! I’d be so happy to see Tobio again. You should’ve brought him sooner. And—” she added, almost conspiratorial, “he can stay over if he wants. You boys don’t have to rush back to his place.”

Hinata nearly dropped the phone. “Mom!” His ears burned. “We—we’ll see, okay? I’ll ask him. Dinner at eight?”

“That’s perfect,” she replied, utterly unfazed by his fluster. “Tell him I’ll be waiting.”

Hinata hung up with a groan, pressing the phone to his forehead for a second before stepping back inside. Kageyama was bent over by his closet, pulling out a clean hoodie, completely unaware of the bomb Hinata was about to drop on him.

“So…” Hinata started, shoving his hands into his pockets. “We’re going to my mom’s for dinner. And, uh—she—” he cleared his throat, avoiding Kageyama’s eyes, “—suggested you stay over. At my place. I mean, my mom’s. Not mine. Well, both, but—”

He cut himself off before the rambling spiraled any further, cheeks blazing.

Kageyama finally straightened, blinking at him. “…Okay.”

Hinata stared. “…Just—okay?”

Kageyama shrugged, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “Yeah. If it’s fine with her, it’s fine.”

Hinata groaned again, half at his own embarrassment and half at Kageyama’s infuriating calm. “You’re impossible.”

Kageyama only tilted his head, faintly amused, before reaching for his closet again.

Hinata flopped down onto Kageyama’s bed with a dramatic sigh, legs dangling off the side, arms spread wide as if he owned the place. The sheets smelled faintly like laundry detergent and something that was unmistakably Tobio, clean and grounding.

“It’s been forever since I last came here,” Hinata murmured, rolling onto his stomach and propping his chin up on his palms. His gaze wandered around the room—posters curling at the edges, the same scuffed desk, the curtains that hadn’t been replaced since high school. A volleyball sat tucked in the corner like a faithful old friend. “It’s kinda crazy. Nothing’s changed.”

Kageyama was still kneeling by his closet, sorting through a pile of things he wanted to take back to Tokyo. He glanced over his shoulder. “That’s because I moved to Higashiosaka right after we graduated. Never really stayed long enough here to change anything.”

Hinata smiled, humming in acknowledgment. It was strange. He remembered coming here after practice, still sweaty and starving, the two of them collapsing on the bed or the floor, talking about volleyball until they passed out. It felt the same… but also different. Because now he was here as Kageyama’s boyfriend, not just his teammate, and the thought made his chest tighten with something warm.

When he turned his head back toward Kageyama, he froze. Tobio wasn’t rummaging through the closet anymore. He was standing there, hoodie draped over one arm, staring straight at him with an expression Hinata couldn’t immediately place.

“…What?” Hinata asked, blinking.

Kageyama jerked his gaze away instantly, ears turning red. “Nothing.” He busied himself with folding the hoodie, though his movements were clumsy.

Hinata narrowed his eyes, sitting up slightly. “That wasn’t nothing. You were looking at me weird.”

“I wasn’t,” Kageyama muttered, still refusing to meet his eyes.

Hinata pushed. “Yes, you were. Spill, Tobio.”

“No.”

Hinata grinned, feeling the familiar thrill of chasing down his stubbornness. “C’mon. What were you thinking?”

Kageyama’s jaw tightened. He moved another pile of clothes just to have something to do with his hands. But Hinata didn’t let up, throwing out guesses, leaning on the bed frame dramatically.

Finally, Kageyama dropped the hoodie back into the closet with a groan. His voice came out tight, rushed, as if the words had been wrestled out of him: “I just thought you looked cute lying there, okay?”

The room went quiet.

Hinata’s mouth fell open. His heart thudded in his chest, heat rushing up his neck. He hadn’t expected Kageyama to actually say it, and now that he had, Hinata had no idea what to do with himself.

So he didn’t say anything. Instead, he flopped back down onto the bed and spread his arms wide, cheeks burning. “Well? Come here, then.”

Kageyama hesitated for half a second, like he was weighing the pros and cons of humiliating himself further, before his feet carried him forward almost automatically. He dropped onto the mattress with less grace than he probably intended, and Hinata caught him, arms circling his shoulders.

The hug was clumsy at first, Hinata giggling into his collarbone, Kageyama grumbling something incoherent, but then it melted into something steadier. Kageyama’s forehead pressed against his temple, his hands sliding tentatively around Hinata’s waist. The air between them shifted, charged and warm.

Hinata tilted his head just slightly, catching Kageyama’s eyes up close. He didn’t know who moved first, it barely even mattered, but suddenly their mouths brushed, tentative, then deeper.

The kiss started soft, almost hesitant, but it didn’t stay that way. Hinata felt his heartbeat quicken as Kageyama’s hand curled into the fabric at his side, pulling him closer. He let out a muffled sound against Tobio’s lips, half laugh, half sigh, as his fingers tangled in the back of his hair.

It was a little too much and not enough all at once. Familiar but new. The kind of kiss that made Hinata’s stomach twist with how badly he’d missed this, even if they’d kissed a hundred times already.

Hinata let himself fall back against the mattress, Kageyama following without resistance. The bed dipped under their combined weight, the old frame creaking softly, and Hinata couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out between kisses. “Your bed’s too small for this,” he murmured against Kageyama’s lips, breathless.

Kageyama muttered something that sounded suspiciously like don’t care, and pressed him down, mouth hungry now in a way that sent shivers down Hinata’s spine.

Everything blurred after that. Touches too quick to keep track of, kisses that moved from his lips to his jaw, to the soft skin just below his ear, to his chest. Hinata gasped, the sound startling even himself, and his fingers clutched at the fabric of Tobio’s shirt as if to ground himself.

It wasn’t just kissing anymore. It was more.

Hinata felt it in the way Kageyama’s hand lingered too long at his hip, in the way their bodies fitted closer than words would allow. The air grew warmer, his pulse hammering in his ears as if to remind him, this is happening, here, now.

He closed his eyes, letting himself be pulled under. The world outside that room—Miyagi, volleyball, lunch plans, the endless noise of fans and social media—ceased to exist. There was only the weight of Tobio above him, the taste of his mouth, the heady rush of something they’d both been holding back for far too long.

It was dizzying. Like a rally that refused to end, a ball kept aloft only by sheer will and stubbornness, neither of them ready to let it fall. At some point Hinata forgot what he was laughing at, forgot how it started. All that remained was heat, closeness, the electric thrill of being wanted so wholly.

By the time they finally broke apart, both of them were flushed, breaths uneven, chests rising and falling as if they’d just finished running drills. Hinata stayed still for a moment, dazed, the ceiling above him blurry. He turned his head to look at Tobio, whose hair was a mess, lips redder than usual, eyes dark and unreadable.

And then Hinata laughed again, softer this time, unable to stop the giddy smile tugging at his mouth. “We’re definitely gonna be late for lunch.”

Kageyama groaned and hid his face in the pillow beside him, but didn’t move away.

Hinata turned his head, studying Tobio’s profile—the flushed cheeks, the curve of his jaw, the way his chest rose and fell with effort. He bit back a grin. “You’re… kind of bad at stopping, you know.”

Kageyama’s head snapped toward him, scandalized. “Me?! You’re the one who pulled me down in the first place!”

Hinata laughed so loudly the bed creaked again. “Okay, but you didn’t have to listen to me.”

Kageyama frowned, ears red. “Like I can say no when you’re… when you—” He cut himself off, groaning, and buried his face in the pillow. His voice came out muffled: “You’re so annoying.”

Hinata poked his side, smug. “Annoying and cute on your bed, apparently.”

Kageyama made a strangled noise and shoved his arm half-heartedly, but his hand lingered there, brushing against Hinata’s wrist like he’d forgotten how to let go.

The warmth in Hinata’s chest grew, threatening to spill over. He turned onto his side to face him properly. “You know,” he said, softer now, “we really are gonna be late for lunch if we don’t move.”

Kageyama peeked out from the pillow, eyes narrowed. “You’re saying that but it’ll be a little embarrassing to walk into the restaurant looking like this.”

Hinata choked on a laugh, realizing his lips were still tingling, probably swollen. He reached for his hair and realized it was sticking up in weird angles. “Okay, maybe you’re right,” he admitted, grinning.

That earned him the tiniest smirk from Tobio.

Hinata sat up, stretching his arms above his head. “Guess we’ll have to pretend we were wrestling or something.”

Kageyama groaned again, dragging a hand down his face. “Yeah. Of course. Who wouldn’t buy that, right?”

Hinata leaned down, quick as lightning, and stole another kiss before jumping off the bed with a triumphant laugh. “Right.”

Kageyama sat up, glaring at him, but the corners of his mouth betrayed him, lifting just slightly, like he couldn’t quite fight it.

As Hinata moved toward the door, tugging his shirt back on and slipping into his shoes, the weight of everything pressed in again. He’d been laughing only a moment ago, his lips still tingling from Tobio’s, but the laughter thinned when his mind strayed to the truth he was still holding back.

He wanted to tell him. He needed to tell him.

About Oikawa, about Brazil, about the pieces of that story that had never made it into their conversations. Every time he thought about it, his chest tightened. What if Tobio’s expression changed the way it had when he’d learned about the move to Brazil. When Hinata hadn’t told him, when he’d found out through someone else? That look of betrayal had haunted him for two years, sharp enough that Hinata still felt it in his bones.

And now, with things between them finally steady, finally warm. What if he ruined it again? He swallowed hard, dread coiling in his stomach. He couldn’t afford to lose Tobio. Not this time. Not again.

“Hey.”

The sound cut clean through his spiraling thoughts. Hinata looked up just in time to see Kageyama’s hand ruffle through his hair, quick and rough, like he couldn’t stop himself.

Hinata blinked, stunned. “What was that for?”

Kageyama shrugged, face already turning pink as he reached for the doorknob. “Your hair was sticking up weird.”

Hinata huffed out a laugh, the weight in his chest loosening. Typical Tobio. No matter how loud his fears got, Kageyama had this way of pulling him back without even realizing it. And as much as Hinata dreaded the inevitable conversation that was going to take place sooner than later, he couldn’t stop thinking it was the right thing to do. Because for the first time in a long while, he was sure: what he and Tobio were building was something he wanted to keep for as long as he could. 

 

---

 

The restaurant was small, tucked on a quiet corner not far from the station, its wooden sign swinging gently in the breeze. The kind of place that locals loved, with menus scrawled on chalkboards and the faint smell of grilled fish drifting out into the street. Hinata had always liked it here. It felt homey, unpretentious, like Miyagi itself.

When he and Kageyama walked in, Pablo and Oikawa were already seated at a corner table, waving them over. Pablo beamed the moment he spotted them, his smile wide enough to cut the space between them in half.

“There you are!” Pablo said as they slid into their seats. His eyes sparkled with mischief the instant they landed on Hinata. “Took you long enough. What, were you two busy enjoying some alone time?”

Hinata nearly choked on his own breath. “Pablo!”

Kageyama’s ears went red immediately, and he busied himself with the drink menu as though his life depended on it. Oikawa chuckled into his glass of water, not saying a word but sending Hinata a look so loaded with amusement that it made Hinata kick him under the table.

“Don’t start,” Hinata muttered, glaring.

Oikawa raised his hands innocently, though his grin gave him away. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to,” Hinata shot back, cheeks warm.

Pablo leaned back in his chair, clearly delighted with the chaos he’d caused, while Kageyama muttered something about “the place being too hot” and pretended to read the side dishes list.

The food came quickly. Rice bowls steaming, grilled mackerel glistening with sauce, miso soup that smelled like comfort itself. For a while, the clatter of chopsticks filled the silence, and Hinata thought maybe they’d all just eat without much conversation. But Pablo, as always, couldn’t sit still.

“So!” he began brightly, mouth full of rice. “Today’s the castle, the temple, and then—what was it called again?” He turned to Oikawa for help.

“Akiu Onsen,” Oikawa supplied smoothly. “One of the best hot springs in the prefecture. Can’t bring someone all the way to Miyagi and not show them the good stuff.”

Pablo clasped his hands dramatically, as if Oikawa had just declared eternal devotion. “You see? He takes care of me. Unlike you two—late to lunch and acting all suspicious.”

Hinata groaned and shoved another bite of rice in his mouth just to avoid answering. Across from him, Kageyama had gone stiff again, though his expression softened slightly when Pablo leaned toward him.

“Hey, Tobio,” Pablo said casually, as though sensing the silence stretching too tight. “Do you like onsen?”

Kageyama hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. Miwa and I used to go sometimes with my grandparents. I haven’t been in a while, though.”

Oikawa, surprisingly, didn’t pounce on that with one of his usual cutting remarks. He just hummed and said, “You’ll like Akiu, then. It’s got good views.”

The air around the table shifted. Still taut, like a thread pulled just enough to remind them it could snap, but not suffocating. Hinata could feel it, the effort both men were putting in. It wasn’t warm, not yet, but it wasn’t sharp either.

Hinata found himself watching quietly as conversation slipped toward the plans for the afternoon. Pablo, practically vibrating with excitement, wanted to see everything. He asked Hinata if the castle ruins were really that impressive, if the temple gardens were as beautiful as the pictures online, if the hot springs were separated by gender or mixed.

“You’ll just have to wait and see,” Hinata said, grinning despite himself. Pablo’s energy was infectious, dragging him out of his head.

Beside him, Kageyama reached for his water, shoulders a little less tense than when they’d walked in. Oikawa’s gaze flicked toward him once or twice, unreadable, but at least the sharpness that usually lingered there had dulled.

Hinata leaned back, chopsticks tapping against his bowl. Thursday night had been a battlefield, every word barbed, every silence heavy. But now, here in this small Miyagi restaurant, with grilled fish and laughter and a thread of cautious peace, it felt like maybe things could shift. Not all at once. Not without effort. But the possibility was there, simmering beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to come alive.

 

---

 

The drive to the castle ruins wound them up narrow streets lined with trees, the air cooling as they climbed higher. By the time they reached the top, Sendai spread out below them like a living map, the city sprawling toward the horizon under a clear, late-summer sky.

Hinata couldn’t help pressing up to the stone wall, eyes wide, the breeze tugging at his shirt. “Whoa…” he breathed, grinning like a kid. He’d been here before, years ago, on some school trip he barely remembered, but standing here now, older, taller, and with his friends beside him, the view felt entirely new.

Pablo raised his phone immediately, snapping pictures with the enthusiasm of someone seeing everything for the first time. “This is insane. Look at this! It’s like you can see the whole city. Man, Tokyo doesn’t have this kind of view.”

“Don’t fall,” Kageyama muttered, hovering behind Hinata like he thought he might actually tumble over the wall if he leaned too far. Hinata only grinned wider before jogging to Pablo’s side to join in the pictures.

It wasn’t long before Oikawa drifted closer, gesturing toward the open grounds where the statue of Date Masamune sat astride his horse. His tone shifted immediately into that familiar mix of teacher and show-off. “You know, Aoba Castle was the base of the Date clan, right? The guy up there—Masamune—was known as the ‘One-Eyed Dragon of Oshu.’ And, fun fact,” he added with a pointed look toward Hinata and Kageyama, “my high school’s name, Aoba Johsai, comes from this very place. Aoba, as in the castle, and Johsai, which means ‘castle town.’”

Hinata’s brows lifted, impressed despite himself. “Wait, seriously? That’s kinda cool.”

Pablo turned immediately to Kageyama. “And what about you? Any castles behind your high school’s name?”

Kageyama blinked. “...Karasuno High School,” he said flatly, shrugging. “Means… Crow Field. So. No.”

Hinata burst out laughing. “‘Castle Town High’ versus ‘Crow Field High’! Man, Aoba Johsai wins this one.”

“Obviously,” Oikawa said, flipping his hair smugly, though his glance slid to Kageyama just a little too long, as if testing how he’d take the comparison.

Kageyama only crossed his arms and looked away. “…I think ‘Crow Field High’ sounds pretty good, too.”

The air went a little tight again, like the thread between them had been pulled taut. Hinata noticed, chewing the inside of his cheek, but then Pablo swooped in, oblivious or maybe pretending to be, tugging Hinata closer for another picture.

“C’mon, smile! Don’t look so serious.” He snapped a shot of Hinata throwing up a peace sign, then pulled Oikawa into the next one. Oikawa leaned in with practiced ease, flashing a grin that could have belonged on a magazine cover. Kageyama hovered at the edge until Pablo reached over and tugged at his arm too. “You too, Tobio. Don’t be shy!”

Kageyama scowled, but when Hinata nudged him playfully in the ribs, he finally leaned into the frame. The photo ended up a mess with Pablo’s big grin, Oikawa posing like it was a professional shoot, Hinata mid-laugh, and Kageyama glowering just slightly to the side.

When Pablo showed them the result, Hinata cracked up. “You look like you’re being held hostage, Tobio.”

“I am a hostage,” Kageyama muttered, ears turning pink.

They wandered after that, weaving between tourists as Oikawa pointed out plaques and explained the history with the ease of someone who had either studied this in detail or simply loved hearing himself talk. Hinata listened with half an ear, more focused on the way Pablo’s enthusiasm lit everything up and the quiet, careful silence that lingered around Kageyama whenever Oikawa’s voice grew too smug.

Eventually, Pablo asked, “So, have you guys ever been here before?”

Hinata shook his head immediately. “Not really. I mean, yeah—I came once, but it was ages ago, like elementary school or something? We didn’t see much, and honestly, I don’t remember anything except being hot and tired.”

Kageyama shifted his bag on his shoulder. “Same. Came with my family when I was little. Don’t remember anything.”

“That’s perfect, then!” Pablo beamed, sweeping his arm toward the view. “It’s like we’re all tourists. First time together.”

Hinata’s grin softened at that. Together. He liked the sound of it.

 

---

 

The road to Entsūin Temple wound them away from the bustle of the city center, and by the time they arrived, the mood had shifted naturally. The temple grounds breathed quiet, the air laced with the earthy scent of moss and pine, the stillness broken only by cicadas and the crunch of gravel under their shoes.

Hinata slowed as soon as they passed through the entrance gate, his eyes widening at the sight of the gardens. Stones arranged with careful precision, a pond catching the sunlight like polished glass, maple trees arching over paths that seemed to lead into a world softer than the one outside.

“Whoa…” he whispered, almost to himself, but Kageyama caught it.

“Don’t run ahead,” Kageyama muttered automatically, though his voice lacked the sharp edge it used to carry. Instead, there was something gentler there, like he didn’t want Hinata to trip and embarrass himself in front of the tourists with cameras.

“I’m not!” Hinata shot back, grinning, and Pablo laughed, falling into step beside him.

“Man, this is gorgeous. Look at that stone garden,” Pablo said, pointing toward the carefully raked sand that seemed to ripple like frozen waves. “It’s like… you don’t wanna breathe too hard or it’ll mess everything up.”

“Don’t try it,” Oikawa warned in his sing-song tone, clearly imagining Pablo making a scene.

They wandered slowly, pausing at corners where the view opened into something new. Hinata’s phone was out constantly, snapping pictures of everything. The pond, the koi gliding lazily under the surface, the soft red tips of the early maples. Every so often, Pablo leaned over to get into the shot, or to throw a peace sign behind Hinata’s head.

Kageyama walked a little behind at first, hands in his pockets, gaze steady and thoughtful. It wasn’t his usual scowl, nor the tight frown that used to live between his brows back in high school. He looked… comfortable, in a way that surprised Hinata when he glanced back.

When Pablo tried to take a selfie with him, though, Kageyama raised a brow. “You don’t need me in all your pictures.”

“Of course I do!” Pablo clapped him on the back. “You’re part of the group. Plus, you’ve got that cool serious face—it’ll balance out the weird thing Shoyo’s face keeps doing.”

Hinata swatted at Pablo, but Kageyama didn’t bristle. He just huffed softly, almost a laugh, and leaned in, not smiling exactly, but not avoiding the camera either.

Hinata stared at him for a beat too long. This wasn’t the Kageyama who used to dodge photos like they were serves flying straight at his face. He had changed. Grown. Subtly, but definitely.

Later, while Oikawa explained something about the temple’s connection to the Date clan,his voice dropping reverently, just this side of dramatic, Hinata found himself tugged to the side by Pablo, who gestured at a line of ema , wooden prayer plaques hanging under the temple eaves. They were covered in scribbled hopes and dreams, some written neatly, others messy and sprawling.

“Should we leave one?” Pablo asked, eyes lighting up.

Hinata hesitated, glancing over his shoulder. Kageyama was crouched near the pond, watching a koi flicker just beneath the surface. Oikawa stood stiffly nearby, but for once, his expression wasn’t guarded. It was calm, even soft, as he looked out at the garden.

“Yeah,” Hinata said finally, his grin tugging back into place. “Let’s do it.”

Pablo handed him a plaque and a marker, and they bent over the small wooden tablet together. Hinata scribbled something simple but true— To play volleyball as long as I can, and to stay with the people I care about. He didn’t show it to anyone, just tied it quietly alongside the others, his fingers brushing against the smooth wood already worn by the weather.

Hinata had just tied his ema to the wooden rack when he noticed Kageyama a few steps away, holding one too. His handwriting was quick, almost impatient, the marker scratching against the surface. He didn’t make a show of it, didn’t tell anyone, didn’t even glance around when he tied it up at the edge of the others. Just a small movement, quiet and deliberate, before he stepped back.

Hinata hadn’t meant to look. He really hadn’t. But his eyes caught on the dark ink before he could stop himself:

To keep playing, and to not lose what I’ve found.

Hinata froze, his chest tightening. It was simple. Barely a sentence, no extra words, not dramatic or obvious. But that was exactly why it hit him so hard.

He tore his gaze away just as Kageyama turned back toward him. “What?”

“Nothing,” Hinata stammered, ears hot, trying desperately to play it off. “Just—you write like a kid, you know?”

Kageyama scowled faintly, reaching up to ruffle his hair with a muttered, “Shut up.” But his hand lingered a beat longer than necessary before he pulled away.

Hinata laughed it off, shoving him lightly in the shoulder. Yet as they walked on, the words burned in his mind, looping over and over until he thought his chest might split.

To not lose what I’ve found.

Hinata didn’t need Kageyama to spell it out. He knew. And knowing made his whole body hum with warmth.

As the afternoon light softened over the temple gardens, Hinata realized something else: Kageyama wasn’t just calmer. He was lighter here, too, as though the stone paths and maple leaves had pulled him out of the shadow of old rivalries and memories. He teased Pablo a little, let Hinata poke fun at him without snapping back, even endured Oikawa’s long-winded explanations without rolling his eyes.

Hinata couldn’t stop watching it unfold. And somewhere deep inside, beneath the warmth of the moment, the dread stirred again. Because he knew he still had to tell Tobio about Oikawa. And once he did, the air between them might not feel so easy anymore.

Chapter 100: Chapter XCIX

By the time they reached Akiu Onsen, dusk was slipping in behind the mountains, staining the sky with streaks of rose and indigo. The air smelled faintly of cedar and hot stone, a crisp coolness meeting the soft curl of steam that drifted from the baths beyond. Hinata felt both exhausted and restless, his body humming with the weight of the day and the anticipation of sinking into the mineral water.

Inside, the attendant gave their practiced spiel about tattoos, and Hinata’s gaze darted immediately to Tobio. Pablo, of course, was already grinning, pulling a neutral wrap from his bag with practiced ease. “Don’t worry, I’ve done this before,” he said, slipping the cover neatly over the tattoo on his arm.

Kageyama, however, stood with a bundle of waterproof patches in his hand, scowling faintly as if they’d betrayed him. Hinata’s eyes flicked down before he could stop himself, at Tobio’s hip, where the dark curve of ink peeked just above the waistband of his towel. The word nestled there, sharp but fluid, still visible despite the angle: fly.

“Here.” The word slipped out of Hinata before he could second-guess himself. He stepped closer, holding out a hand for one of the patches. “You’ll mess it up if you keep scowling at it.”

Kageyama hesitated, eyes narrowing in that way that always meant he was about to argue, but then he handed one over. Hinata crouched slightly, the steam rising around them, his fingers brushing skin that was too warm to be only from the onsen. He pressed the patch carefully into place, smoothing the edges, his thumb grazing along the sharp lines of Tobio’s hip bone.

Kageyama inhaled softly, almost inaudible. Hinata pretended not to notice, though his own pulse was tripping fast.

From the side, Oikawa’s voice cut through the quiet, slow and deliberate. “Fly,” he said, reading the ink aloud. His tone wasn’t mocking, not exactly. More reflective, surprised. “That was Karasuno’s motto, wasn’t it? That one word you plastered on everything.”

Kageyama’s head turned, meeting Oikawa’s gaze. His jaw tightened, but his voice came steady. “Yeah. It was… important to me. Karasuno—it was the first time I… liked volleyball. Not just winning, but playing. The first time I had teammates that felt like friends.” His gaze flicked briefly to Hinata, then away. “I didn’t want to forget that.”

For a moment, even Oikawa seemed caught off guard. His usual smirk faltered, replaced by something unreadable. Respect, maybe, or recognition. He only gave a small nod, looking away as if the steam itself had suddenly become fascinating.

Hinata’s chest ached with something warm, something proud. He lowered his hand from Tobio’s hip, but not before letting it linger a fraction longer than necessary. When he finally looked up, Kageyama’s eyes were already on him, dark and intent. The air between them shifted, the noise of Pablo fussing with his wrap and Oikawa clearing his throat blurring into the background.

Hinata’s face heated; he laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck as if that could erase the way his skin tingled where Tobio’s had burned under his touch.

The moment broke when Pablo clapped his hands, grinning broadly. “Alright, enough staring contests! Time to soak.”

The baths were nearly empty, the soft roar of water filling the silence as they stepped into the steaming pool. The first touch of heat was sharp, almost unbearable, before their bodies adjusted, sinking deeper until the water lapped just below their shoulders. Hinata sighed out loud, tension melting away with every ripple.

Of course, Pablo couldn’t resist. “Man, you two are so awkward,” he teased, glancing between Hinata and Kageyama with a grin. “You’ve been naked in locker rooms for years and you still look like you’re about to combust.”

Hinata’s entire face went red. “Shut up! It’s different now!”

Kageyama’s ears were pink, and he turned his face away, staring down at the water like it was suddenly very interesting.

Oikawa laughed, his voice echoing in the mist. “It’s the honeymoon era.”

Hinata kicked at the water, splashing Oikawa and Pablo both. “Stop it already!”

But even as the teasing filled the steamy air, Hinata caught Tobio looking at him again. Quick, sharp glances when he thought Hinata wasn’t paying attention. And every time, it sent a rush of heat through him that had nothing to do with the onsen.

The mineral steam curled thick in the air, clinging to their skin and fogging the edges of the bath. For a while, there was nothing but the sound of trickling water, a kind of comfortable silence that settled into the four of them. Hinata leaned back against the warm stone, head tilted toward the rising plume above them, letting the tension of weeks of practice finally drain from his body.

“I’ve been thinking,” Pablo exhaled, stretching his arms over the surface, “I still can’t believe how fast you got snapped up by the Jackals, Shoyo. From Karasuno to Brazil. You’re back and suddenly—Coach Samson’s already locking you down.” He grinned, his accent lilting playfully. “And the JVA too, no less.”

Hinata laughed, scratching his cheek. “I mean… yeah, it happened pretty quick.” He glanced sideways, sheepish. “Guess I was just in the right place at the right time.”

“Or you’re just good,” Pablo said, flicking water in his direction.

Oikawa made a humming noise, eyes half-lidded as he leaned against the stones at the far end. “He’s not wrong. The Shoyo I saw in Brazil wasn’t the same little brat from high school.” His voice softened in a way that made Hinata blink. “You’ve gotten scary strong.”

Hinata’s chest warmed, though he ducked his head, flustered. It was easier to deflect, easier to turn the attention away from himself. He splashed lightly at Oikawa. “What about you? What’ve you been figuring out since Brazil? You’ve been… kinda quiet about it.”

For a beat, Oikawa didn’t answer. He let the steam curl between them, his fingers skimming absently at the surface of the water. Then, with a small sigh, he lifted his gaze.

“I’ve made a decision,” he said. His voice was calm, but there was weight in it, enough that Hinata straightened. Even Kageyama, who’d been silent until now, glanced over with a subtle frown. “I’ve actually been wanting to find the right time to tell you guys.”

Oikawa met their eyes one by one before he spoke again. “I’m moving to Argentina. Next month.”

The steam clung thick to their skin, curling upward in heavy plumes. The four of them had sunk into silence after Oikawa’s reveal, the hot water gurgling quietly as though it were the only one willing to speak.

It was Pablo who finally broke it, sitting forward with a start. “Wait, wait—hold up. Next month?” His eyebrows shot up. “You’re not just talking about, like, a season contract—you’re really going? For good?”

Oikawa’s eyes flickered toward him. “Yes. I bought a one-way ticket.” His voice was steady, but underneath, Hinata could hear the faintest strain.

“But… Oikawa,” Hinata started carefully, “are you sure? I mean, with how much you’ve grown, how good you are—you could aim for the national team. You should, right? Isn’t that something you’ve always wanted?”

Oikawa’s head turned sharply. For a moment, his expression flickered to something between disbelief and irritation. Then he let out a sharp laugh, bitter and cutting.

“The national team?” he repeated, voice rising despite the calm hush of the onsen. “Don’t you get it, Shoyo? That’s exactly the problem.” His hand broke the surface of the water in a quick, frustrated motion, droplets scattering like sparks. “The national team is for the geniuses. Ushijima. Tobio. You.” His gaze snapped toward Kageyama, then Hinata, then away again, as if the sight stung.

Oikawa let out a short laugh, bitter and brittle. “I’ve never been that. Not once. Everything I have, I had to claw my way toward. Every serve, every set—it’s because I stayed up until my hands shook and my knees gave out. And still…” He looked down at his hands, pale beneath the water, flexing slowly. “…still, it never feels like enough.”

The air thickened around them, heavier than the steam. Hinata’s throat tightened, his instinct to argue, to tell Oikawa he was wrong, that he’d always admired him, stumbling against the obvious truth that Oikawa carried like a scar.

Oikawa exhaled, the bitterness giving way to something steadier, something almost fragile. “But in Argentina? There, no one knows me as the guy who couldn’t outshine the prodigies. I can start over. I can just be Tooru Oikawa. Not a genius. Not a failure. Just me.” His voice softened, but the words hit just as hard.

Through it all, Kageyama had been silent. His eyes were lowered, brow furrowed in a way that made him look like he was wrestling with something inside. Finally, after a long moment, he lifted his gaze.

“If that’s what you want,” he began, his voice rough, uneven, “then… then you should go.”

Oikawa blinked at him, clearly not expecting that. Not expecting Kageyama to be the one to speak up first.

Kageyama swallowed, his fingers curling briefly against the edge of the bath before he forced himself to continue. “But… don’t think you’re not enough here.” He shifted uncomfortably, the words catching in his throat. “You… you were always this big, confident player to me. The one I wanted to be like. When I was a kid… you were everything I thought a setter should be.”

Hinata felt his breath hitch, watching Kageyama stumble through the admission like it physically hurt him.

Kageyama looked straight at Oikawa now, eyes fierce despite the hesitance in his tone. “You are enough here. You always have been. At least… to—to me.” His voice dipped at the last words, quiet but heavy. Then he exhaled, firming his tone again. “But if you want to go somewhere else, to start new—then just do it. Don’t hold back.”

For a moment, Oikawa said nothing. He just stared, wide-eyed, at the younger boy who had once begged him to teach him how to set, who had later pushed him to the brink of rivalry. And now here he was, raw and unpolished, giving him the kind of recognition he’d craved for years.

The corner of Oikawa’s mouth trembled before curving into the faintest of smiles. Not mocking, not bitter. Just soft. Almost… grateful.

“…You really have grown up, haven’t you?” he said quietly.

Hinata’s chest felt like it might burst. He couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry, so he just sank deeper into the water, hoping the steam would hide the way his eyes burned.

The steam still hung heavy in the air, a silence settling over them that felt deeper than the quiet of the onsen itself. The water lapped gently at their shoulders, but no one moved to break the moment right away.

Hinata swallowed, the weight in his chest pressing harder the longer Oikawa’s words lingered in the air. He let his gaze drift over the rising steam, then back to Oikawa, who had leaned against the stone wall with his head tipped back, eyes closed.

“…Sorry,” Hinata said softly, his voice breaking the stillness. Oikawa’s eyes cracked open, brow lifting faintly. “For saying the national team. I wasn’t trying to—” He hesitated, searching for the words. “I wasn’t trying to say you weren’t good enough. I just… I thought it was something you’d want.”

Oikawa’s mouth tugged into the faintest wry smile, but he didn’t interrupt.

Hinata leaned forward, elbows propped on his knees, the steam curling around his damp hair. “But I get it. What you said about wanting to start somewhere new.” His eyes softened. “It’s just… I agree with Tobio.”

Oikawa blinked at that, caught off guard.

Hinata pressed on, his words spilling out more comfortably now. “Back in high school, I used to get so excited whenever we had a match against Aoba Johsai. Not just because they were tough, but because there was always something new to learn from you. The way you read the court. The way you made your team work like it was one body. Even when we lost, I never felt like it was for nothing.”

His chest tightened with the memory, but he kept going. “And in Brazil, too. Training with you there… it pushed me in ways I didn’t even notice at first. You were always… you were always showing me what more there was to reach for, just by being you.”

Oikawa stared at him, eyes glimmering faintly in the steam, his expression unreadable for a long, quiet moment.

Hinata leaned back a little, exhaling. “So yeah… I get it. Wanting to go somewhere new. To be seen for who you are, not compared to everyone else. But you should know, Oikawa—whether you’re in Japan, Brazil, Argentina, wherever… you’ve already been that person. To me. To Tobio. And probably to a lot of people.”

The heaviness remained, but it shifted. It felt less sharp, more like a low ache that settled in the chest and stayed there. Oikawa looked down, his lips parting as if to respond, but no words came. He simply let out a breath, slow and quiet, and closed his eyes again.

And for a while, none of them spoke. The steam curled upward, blurring the edges of the room, and the sound of the water filled the silence in place of words they couldn’t quite say aloud.

 

---

 

They left the baths slowly, reluctant but knowing they had to. Steam clung to their hair and skin as they moved through the changing rooms, the quiet broken only by the hum of dryers and the soft thud of lockers closing. Hinata’s head was still spinning. Not from the heat, but from Oikawa’s words, and Tobio’s too. The whole conversation sat heavy in his chest, though not unbearably. Heavy in the way things felt when they mattered.

By the time they stepped out into the evening air, the last of the sun sinking behind the mountains, plans had already been made for the next day. Meet at Karasuno in the morning. Walk the grounds, take it in one last time before splitting off to their separate paths. The kind of casual decision that felt bigger than it sounded.

They were halfway to parting ways—Pablo giving Hinata a friendly squeeze, Hinata promising he’d see them in the morning—when Oikawa hesitated. His steps slowed, his hand lingering on the strap of his bag. He glanced at Kageyama once, then away, his jaw tight as though chewing on words he didn’t want to say.

Hinata noticed immediately. He always noticed when Oikawa got that look. The one where pride battled with something softer, something harder to admit.

Kageyama, oblivious as ever, was tugging at the zipper of his jacket.

“…About earlier,” Oikawa started, his tone carefully even, though his fingers twitched against the strap. He didn’t look at Tobio. Not directly. His gaze fixed somewhere just over his shoulder, as though addressing the night sky instead. “What you said. About… me being enough.”

There was a pause, the kind that stretched, daring someone to fill it. Hinata held his breath.

Oikawa gave a short, humorless laugh. “It’s not the kind of thing I expected to hear from you, of all people.” His voice sharpened on the last word, like old habits wouldn’t let him soften completely. But then it wavered, just slightly. “Still… I guess I should say—thanks.”

The last word was clipped, rushed, almost bitten off like it physically hurt to let it out.

Kageyama froze mid-motion, his zipper halfway up. His eyes flicked toward Oikawa, wide for a fraction of a second before his face snapped into that unreadable mask he always tried to keep. But the tips of his ears betrayed him, flushed red in the cool evening.

“…It’s just the truth,” he muttered, almost defensive, as if bracing for Oikawa to throw it back at him.

But Oikawa didn’t. He shifted his bag higher on his shoulder, turned toward Pablo with an easy smile, as though the moment had never happened. Proud to the last.

Hinata, meanwhile, ducked his head, pretending to adjust the strap of his own backpack. Inside, though, he was burning. Not with secondhand embarrassment, but with something warmer. Because even if the words were awkward, reluctant, even if pride wrapped them in thorns, they had still been spoken. And that was more than he ever thought he’d see between the two of them.

“Tomorrow morning,” Oikawa said breezily, as though dismissing the moment himself. “Don’t be late. I don’t want to waste my last day in Miyagi waiting on you two.”

Hinata lifted his head, grinning despite the tightness in his chest. “We won’t.”

The group split then, the evening folding around them, and Hinata walked beside Kageyama in the cooling air. He didn’t say anything about what he’d just overheard. He didn’t need to. But inside, he carried it with him. A quiet, stubborn kind of hope.

 

---

 

The train station hummed with the kind of quiet bustle Hinata had always found comforting. The murmur of conversations, the rustle of coats, the steady voice over the intercom announcing arrivals and departures. It wasn’t crowded, not on a Saturday evening like this, but there were enough people around that every movement had to be measured. No slipping into easy closeness, no reaching out without thinking.

Hinata hated that part.

They found a spot on the platform side by side, their bags set by their feet. Tobio stood straight, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, his expression unreadable to anyone who didn’t know him. To Hinata, though, the little details spoke louder than any mask could. The slight curve in his mouth, the way his foot tapped almost unconsciously against the ground, the subtle lean of his shoulder toward Hinata’s without ever fully closing the gap…

When the train arrived, they boarded in silence, choosing two seats near the window. The car wasn’t full, but there were enough passengers scattered across it that the presence of others hung between them like an invisible line.

Hinata slid into his seat, pressed his forehead briefly to the cool glass, and exhaled. The weight of the day, the sightseeing, the conversations and Oikawa’s revelation, sat heavy in his chest, but beside it, a lightness flickered. A strange, steady joy at simply being here. With Tobio.

As the train started moving, Tobio shifted, his knee brushing Hinata’s. Just barely, but it was enough to make his pulse trip. Hinata turned his head, searching Tobio’s face, but he was staring straight ahead, jaw set, pretending nothing had happened. The itch to touch him was unbearable. To bridge the gap the way he always wanted to. But here, surrounded by strangers, the risk was too sharp. Hinata bit his lip, restless, before an idea sparked.

Slowly, carefully, he pulled his sweater from his bag and draped it over his lap. Then, with a feigned stretch, he let the fabric spill across the armrest and into Tobio’s space. The movement was casual enough to look like nothing at all. Underneath the soft folds of fabric, Hinata slid his hand over. He found Tobio’s resting on his thigh, tense, fingers curled slightly inward. With a quiet, decisive squeeze, Hinata threaded his own fingers through.

Tobio jolted, just slightly, his gaze flicking toward him in startled disbelief.

Hinata grinned without looking directly at him, his cheek pressed against the glass, watching their blurred reflection in the window. To anyone else, it looked like they were just sitting side by side, quiet and unremarkable. But beneath the sweater, their hands were tangled, warm, hidden in plain sight.

For a long moment, Tobio didn’t move. Then, slowly, his grip tightened, grounding, steady, like an anchor pulling Hinata closer without words.

The train rocked gently, the lights overhead flickering as they passed through a tunnel. Shadows moved across Tobio’s face, softening the sharp lines, leaving him unguarded in a way Hinata rarely saw.

And just like that, the heaviness in Hinata’s chest loosened. He didn’t think about Oikawa, or about the conversation he still dreaded having soon. He didn’t think about the storm waiting just hours ahead. He just thought about this: the heat of Tobio’s palm in his, the quiet rhythm of the train, the way their shoulders brushed when the car swayed.

Hinata let himself breathe.

 

---

 

The moment Hinata slid the door open, the familiar scent of home hit him: soy sauce and ginger lingering in the air, the faint trace of laundry soap that clung to the walls no matter how many years passed. He barely had time to set his bag down before a small whirlwind barreled into him.

“Shoyo!”

“Natsu!” Hinata laughed, catching her as she threw her arms around his middle. She was taller now, he realized it immediately, the top of her head almost reaching his shoulder. “What the heck? Did you grow another meter while I was in Tokyo?”

“I didn’t grow that much!” she huffed, but her grin gave her away. She stepped back just enough to look him up and down. “You look the same. Except maybe… shinier? Tokyo-shiny.”

Hinata snorted. “That’s not a thing.”

Before he could protest further, Natsu’s attention shifted past him, and her eyes lit up. “Tobio!”

Kageyama had barely stepped through the doorway when she launched at him next. To his credit, he caught her without stumbling, though his ears turned red almost instantly. “Hey,” he said, awkward but smiling in that small, shy way that Hinata recognized.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming too!” Natsu accused, smacking his arm lightly before tugging on his sleeve. “You still owe me a rematch in Mario Kart. Don’t think I forgot just because Shoyo came back.”

“I didn’t forget,” Kageyama muttered, letting himself be tugged a few steps inside. His shoulders relaxed in the familiarity of her teasing, the way they always did when Natsu treated him like he belonged.

And then his mom appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel. Her smile widened the moment she saw them. “Shoyo! Tobio! Finally!”

“Mom,” Hinata said, grinning as he bent down for a quick hug. She smelled like sesame oil and soap, grounding in a way nothing else was.

When she turned to Kageyama, he straightened immediately, his posture stiff. “Good evening,” he said, bowing just a fraction too deep.

Hinata blinked. That was… new.

His mom raised her brows, amused, before pulling him into a hug anyway. “Always so polite, Tobio,” she teased, giving his back a firm pat. “But why do you look like you’re about to play in the finals of the Olympics? You’re more tense than usual.”

Hinata almost choked on a laugh. She wasn’t wrong. Tobio’s shoulders were drawn tight, his jaw set like he was bracing for impact.

“Eh? He’s fine,” Hinata jumped in, nudging Tobio lightly with his elbow. “Just tired from the drive.”

“Uh—yeah,” Kageyama muttered, his ears red as he ducked his head.

But Hinata knew better. He could see the storm of nerves sitting just under Tobio’s skin, the weight of what they were planning to ask her later tonight making every movement stiff. And yet, watching his mom smile at him, watching Natsu still cling to his sleeve like he belonged here, Hinata couldn’t help the tiny spark of pride that flared in his chest.

Natsu wasted no time. The moment Hinata’s mom ducked back into the kitchen, she tugged hard at Kageyama’s wrist. “Come on, Tobio, one race. You can’t say no—it’s been months!”

“Alright,” Kageyama muttered, glancing helplessly at Hinata, but Natsu had already dragged him toward the living room. The console clicked on, the familiar jingle of Mario Kart filling the air, and soon his voice joined hers in the kind of half-protests, half-laughs that Hinata hadn’t heard in years.

Hinata shook his head, smiling to himself as he followed his mom into the kitchen. The table was half-set, dishes laid out in neat stacks, bowls already waiting for steaming rice. He automatically reached for the chopsticks and plates, falling into the rhythm he knew by heart.

His mom didn’t miss a beat either. “So,” she began, voice casual but warm, “how’s life in Tokyo treating you, honey? Really treating you.”

Hinata shrugged, balancing plates carefully as he moved them onto the table. “It’s… good. Busy. Very different. I like it, though.”

Her eyes softened, but she pressed anyway, as she always did. “And your apartment? You’ve been keeping it clean, right? You’re not just letting the laundry pile up or eating instant ramen every night?”

Hinata groaned. “Mom, come on—”

“I’m serious,” she said, pointing a chopstick at him like a weapon. “I know you. Do you even vacuum? Or dust?”

“Yes! Sometimes,” Hinata added quickly when she raised her brows. “It’s not a mess, I promise. And I cook!”

She narrowed her eyes but smiled faintly, the corners of her mouth tugging upward. “Cooking, hm? What, eggs and rice don’t count as cooking, you know.”

“Hey! I make proper stuff,” Hinata said, grinning. “Okay, not every night, but… enough. Pablo helped lately. And Tobio comes over and cooks sometimes, too.” The words slipped out before he could stop them, and his cheeks warmed.

His mom’s eyes flicked up, sharp and curious, but she didn’t press. At least not yet. Instead, she nodded slowly, as though filing the information away for later. “Good. I like knowing you’re not eating junk all the time.”

Hinata busied himself with the bowls of rice, but his chest felt warm. He’d always called her from Tokyo with quick updates between practices, sending her photos when he remembered, but somehow standing here, side by side, her voice threading into his like it always had, felt different. More real.

From the living room came a loud groan. It was Kageyama’s voice, exasperated. “You can’t just push me off the track!”

“Yes, I can! It’s strategy!” she shouted back, followed by her laughter ringing through the house.

Hinata and his mom both chuckled under their breath.

“Same as always,” she murmured, shaking her head fondly. “You bring him here, and it’s like he’s already part of the furniture.”

Hinata’s hands stilled for half a second on the chopsticks he was laying out. His throat tightened, but he smiled. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Kind of feels that way.”

 

---

 

Dinner smelled like home. Like miso soup and grilled fish, like steamed rice fresh from the cooker, like something safe and grounding after a day that had been anything but. They gathered around the low table, Hinata sliding into his usual spot, Kageyama sitting stiffly beside him, and Natsu practically bouncing in her seat.

The first half hour passed in chatter, in the rhythm of an ordinary family dinner. Natsu filled in the gaps of her school life, retelling drama about classmates and how their homeroom teacher almost fell asleep mid-lesson. Hinata’s mom chimed in with her own updates about neighbors, who had just gotten married, who had moved away, who had started growing suspiciously large cucumbers in their garden.

Kageyama ate quietly at first, until both of them turned their attention on him.

“So, Tobio,” Hinata’s mom said, her chopsticks pausing midair, “how’s practice with the Adlers? Especially now that you’ve moved to Tokyo.”

He sat up straighter, caught like a deer in headlights. “Uh—good. I mean, we haven’t started practice in Tokyo yet, but it’s good. Practice is… hard. But I like it. A lot.”

“And your new place?” she pressed gently. “Moving away from Higashiosaka, living on your own in the big city. That’s a big change.”

Kageyama nodded quickly. “It’s fine. Different. But fine.”

It might have ended there if Natsu hadn’t leaned across the table with a sly grin. “How close are your apartments? Like, really close?”

Kageyama froze, chopsticks hovering awkwardly over his bowl. His ears turned bright red. “…Really close.”

The room erupted. Natsu burst out laughing so hard she nearly dropped her rice, and even Hinata’s mom covered her mouth with her hand, smiling knowingly.

“You’re not very good at hiding things, are you?” she teased. “But… I suppose that’s a good thing.”

Hinata kicked Natsu under the table, face burning, but his little sister only laughed harder.

“Honestly,” their mom said after the giggles subsided, her tone softer now, “it feels like years since I last saw the two of you together at the same table. I missed it. I missed seeing you side by side. I’m glad you’re… friends again.”

The word hung in the air, almost mocking. Natsu snickered under her breath, and Hinata wanted to sink through the floor. Friends. Right.

He felt Kageyama shift beside him, tense as a bowstring. The laughter, the teasing… it was cornering them, pressing the moment forward before Hinata felt ready. His heart hammered as he set his chopsticks down. “Actually, Mom, there’s something we wanted to…” He trailed off, nerves clamping his throat. “I mean, we thought that maybe—”

Before he could stumble any further, Kageyama suddenly pushed back his chair and stood. The movement was so abrupt that all three of them blinked up at him in surprise. Then he bowed, deep and desperate, his hands clenched at his sides.

Hinata’s breath caught.

When he straightened, his voice shook, but there was a clarity to it that cut through the awkward laughter. “I—um. Today, we wanted to ask something of you.” His hands curled into fists at his sides. “It’s important to me. To us.”

Kageyama pressed on, halting but determined, words spilling like stones pulled from the bottom of his chest. “I know I’m a man, and because of that, I can’t… we can’t ever be a normal family. I don’t have that to give, and I’m sorry. But…” His eyes flicked briefly to Hinata, then back to his mother, hardening with resolve. “But I want to be with him. I want to protect him. To make sure he eats something other than cup ramen in Tokyo. To carry the heavy stuff when he forgets he’s too short to reach the top shelf.”

Natsu snorted at that, but Kageyama didn’t falter.

“I want to play volleyball with him for the rest of my life. To keep moving forward with him. To make sure he doesn’t burn out or gets left behind, because I… I can’t imagine doing any of this without him.” He swallowed, visibly gathering himself. “So please. I know I’m asking a lot. But I’m asking anyway—please, give us your blessing.”

The silence afterward stretched long, heavy, so sharp that Hinata felt like he could hear his own heartbeat hammering in his ears.

And then their mother laughed softly, her eyes wet. She reached for a napkin to dab at the corner of her eye before it could spill. “Oh, Tobio. For a second there, I thought you were about to ask for Shoyo’s hand in marriage.”

Hinata let out a strangled sound, halfway between a protest and a squeak, while Natsu slammed her hands on the table in hysterics.

“‘Carry the heavy stuff,’” she wheezed, “oh my god, you’re killing me.”

But their mom only stood and crossed to where Kageyama still stood stiff as a board, his head bowed. She reached up, cupping his cheeks with both hands like he was her own son, and leaned in to press a kiss to his forehead. His eyes widened, stunned, but she smiled through her watery eyes.

“You don’t need my blessing,” she said gently. “You’ve had it for years. But you still have it anyway. You won’t ever be a conventional family—but neither were we. And I don’t care. I’ve seen the good you bring into each other’s lives, Tobio. Into Natsu’s, and into mine, too. I know how much you mean to him.”

Then, with the gentleness of a mother who had already decided long ago to welcome him as one of her own, she pressed a kiss to his forehead. Kageyama’s shoulders shook, just barely, as she drew him into a hug.

Hinata sat frozen, chest tight, his face hot and his eyes stinging. He wanted to speak, to say something, anything. But all he could do was stare, his heart too full.

When Kageyama finally sat back down, his movements were stiff, almost mechanical, like his body hadn’t caught up to what had just happened. He kept his eyes fixed on his lap, hands awkwardly fidgeting, until Hinata reached across the space between them.

Shoyo’s fingers found his, warm and sure, and he laced them together under the table, squeezing gently.

Kageyama startled at the touch, his head snapping up in surprise, but when his gaze met Hinata’s, the tension in his shoulders softened. Hinata looked at him like there was nothing else in the world. Like the whole evening, the teasing, the nerves, the dread, had all been worth it just to land here, staring into those dark blue eyes that had followed him for years.

It was dizzying. He’d always known those eyes, always relied on them, always raced toward them across the court. But now… now it felt like seeing them for the first time. Like uncovering a truth that had been sitting quietly in the corner of his chest all along, just waiting for him to stop running long enough to recognize it.

There was so much he wanted to say. About the way Kageyama’s words had made something sharp in his chest unravel, about how his mom’s kiss to Kageyama’s forehead had nearly undone him, about how lucky he felt… but the words would never be enough. He knew that. So he just held on tighter, his thumb brushing over Kageyama’s knuckles, letting the silence between them speak for him.

Of course, that silence didn’t last long.

“Well,” their mom said, breaking the spell with a teasing little smile. “I suppose I should be asking now—have you two been dating this whole time already?”

Hinata froze mid-breath. Beside him, Kageyama practically jolted out of his skin, his hand twitching in Hinata’s grip.

“Wh—no—uh—I mean yes—” Kageyama stammered, his voice strangled with alarm. “Yes, we have, I—I’m sorry! I know I should’ve—I should’ve asked you before—”

Hinata barked out a laugh before Kageyama could spiral further. “No, no, that’s not on you, Tobio. It’s on me. I asked first. I asked him to be my boyfriend.” He grinned, utterly unapologetic, even as his cheeks burned.

Across the table, Natsu let out a triumphant shout and slapped the table. “I knew it!” She turned gleefully to Kageyama, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I always thought you’d be the one to ask first. Guess I would’ve lost ten bucks if Mom had taken my bet.”

“Natsu!” Hinata yelped, mortified, but his sister only laughed harder, her legs kicking under the table.

Their mom shook her head, chuckling, though her eyes remained warm and soft as they rested on the two of them. “Honestly, you two. All these years, I should’ve seen it coming. It doesn’t matter who asked first. What matters is that you found your way to each other.”

Kageyama ducked his head, flustered, but Hinata caught the faintest curve of a smile tugging at his mouth. He squeezed his hand again, unable to stop the grin spreading across his own face.

The teasing carried on in gentler waves, not sharp or embarrassing, but affectionate, like threads of love being woven tighter around them all. Natsu joked about who cooked better cup ramen, Hinata or Tobio, while their mom reminisced about when the two of them used to collapse at her table, sweaty and starving after practice, demolishing anything she set in front of them.

Bit by bit, the earlier tension melted away, replaced by something softer. The room glowed with the kind of warmth Hinata had always associated with home: laughter echoing off the walls, the clink of chopsticks, the easy rhythm of voices layered over each other. Except this time, Kageyama wasn’t just a guest at the table. He belonged.

Hinata sat back, his hand still wrapped around Tobio’s, his chest full in a way that no words could capture. 

The clatter of plates and chopsticks had finally stilled, the hum of conversation dissolving into the faint buzz of cicadas outside. Hinata moved around the dining table quickly, gathering up bowls and cups, stacking them with practiced ease. His heart still felt light, buoyed by everything that had just happened, though his cheeks still carried a lingering warmth from all the teasing.

In the kitchen, the tap ran steadily. Kageyama stood at the sink, sleeves rolled back, hands submerged in warm, soapy water as he scrubbed carefully at a plate. His back was straight, his movements precise. Focused in that oddly earnest way that was so unmistakably him.

Hinata couldn’t help the grin tugging at his lips as he carried the last of the dishes over. He set them on the counter with a soft clink, then paused for a moment, just watching. The sight of Tobio at his family’s sink, the slope of his shoulders framed by the kitchen light, stirred something quiet and steady in his chest.

Without thinking, he stepped forward and slipped his arms around him from behind.

Kageyama jolted. “Hey—Shoyo—what—” His voice caught, a little too high-pitched, as Hinata rested his cheek between his shoulder blades, arms cinched tight around his middle.

Hinata laughed softly against his back. “You’re so stiff. Relax, I’m not gonna bite.” He gave him a squeeze, deliberately leaning his weight into him as Kageyama awkwardly tried to keep scrubbing the plate in his hands.

After a beat, Hinata tipped his head up, his voice low and teasing. “So… did you practice that whole speech before coming? Because honestly, it was pretty smooth.”

“I—I didn’t—shut up—” Kageyama muttered, his ears already going pink as he tried to elbow him off gently without dropping the dish. “Let go, I can’t—”

“Nope,” Hinata said simply, tightening his grip. His chest vibrated with a laugh, but when he spoke again, his tone softened. “Thank you, though. For everything. For saying all that stuff. It… it really meant a lot.”

Kageyama stilled at that. He didn’t turn around, didn’t respond right away, but Hinata felt the way his shoulders eased, the way his body leaned back just slightly into the hold. His mouth opened like he might say something, but before the words could come—

“Honestly, Shoyo!”

They both whipped around to see his mom standing in the doorway, hands on her hips, her expression caught somewhere between exasperation and fond amusement. “You’re really going to let poor Tobio do the dishes? After all he’s done tonight?”

Hinata grinned sheepishly, refusing to let go of Kageyama, who was now red-faced and sputtering. “What do you mean, Mom? Tobio’s not just a guest anymore. He’s got responsibilities in the house now.”

Kageyama’s head whipped around so fast Hinata thought he might give himself whiplash. “Shoyo!” he hissed, trying to pry Hinata’s arms off as his mom chuckled at the sight of them tangled together in the kitchen.

“You’re impossible,” she said finally, shaking her head, though her eyes were soft as they lingered on them. “Alright, that’s enough. I’ll finish up here. You two go rest a little. You’ve had a long day.”

Kageyama opened his mouth to protest, but Hinata beat him to it, already tugging him toward the door with a triumphant little grin.

The air outside was cool, the kind that carried the faint scent of grass and soil still damp from yesterday’s rain. Hinata tugged Tobio toward the backyard after his mom shooed them from the kitchen, their footsteps light against the wooden deck. The lantern hanging by the sliding door glowed a muted amber, spilling over the two old chairs that had been sitting there since Hinata was little. He flopped into one, stretching his legs out lazily, while Tobio lowered himself into the other with his usual stiff sort of care.

For a moment, neither spoke. The crickets filled the silence, joined by the distant hum of a passing car. The house behind them was still warm with light and chatter, but out here, the world shrank down to the quiet edges of the yard, the two of them cocooned in the dark.

Hinata leaned his head back, staring at the stars blinking faintly through the haze of city light. “Tomorrow… maybe we should stop by Suga’s place before heading back. You know, just for a quick hello. He’ll kill us if he finds out we were in town and didn’t visit.”

Kageyama hummed low in his throat, his elbows resting on his knees. “Yeah. We should.”

They drifted into small talk. Whether they’d have time for breakfast with Natsu, whether Hinata thought Suga had finally convinced Daichi to buy that ridiculous toaster oven he’d been bragging about over social media. It felt easy, the kind of conversation that came without thinking, warm and ordinary.

The sliding door creaked open. Hinata’s mom stepped out, carrying two glasses that glistened white in the lantern light.

“Milk?” she said, smiling softly as she handed one to Tobio. “I remembered how much you used to like it.”

Kageyama froze for a second before nodding, his ears tinged pink as he accepted it. “Thank you.”

Hinata’s mom touched his shoulder gently. “And Tobio,” she added, her voice quieter now, carrying more weight. “Thank you again. For your words tonight. And for wanting to be with my baby boy.”

Kageyama straightened, glass still in his hands, but before he could stammer anything back, she waved him off with a laugh. “Don’t stay out too long, okay? It gets chilly at night. You’ll catch a cold.” She gave them both a final look, a mixture of fondness and something that shimmered like blessing, before she slid the door shut behind her, leaving them alone in the hush of the backyard.

Hinata sipped his milk, but his throat felt tight. The sweetness sat heavy on his tongue.

Beside him, Tobio shifted. “So… how do you feel about Oikawa?”

Hinata blinked, startled. “Huh?”

“I mean…” Kageyama stared down into his glass, thumb tracing the rim. “About him leaving. To Argentina.”

Hinata exhaled slowly, trying to untangle the knot in his chest. “I’m… happy for him. I know the team he’s going to is really good. He’s going to grow so much there,” His words carried conviction, but his voice dipped at the edges. “But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t sad. He’s… he’s been such a big part of my life these past years. Thinking about him not being here anymore…”

Kageyama glanced at him, his brow faintly furrowed, though not in anger. More in thought. “You two got close. Way closer than I thought.”

Hinata gave a small, lopsided smile. “Back in high school, if you’d told me I’d ever be close friends with Tooru Oikawa, I’d have laughed in your face. But Brazil… it changed things, I guess.”

The words hung between them. Hinata felt his heart speed up, that familiar thrum of nerves. He knew. He knew this was the moment. The moment to stop hiding, to stop carrying the weight of that night alone. His fingers trembled around the glass. He set it down on the ground, suddenly afraid he’d spill it. His legs bounced restlessly, and his breath came uneven.

Kageyama noticed. “What’s wrong?”

Hinata shook his head quickly, but his body betrayed him, shaking, twitching, his hands clenching against his knees. His chest squeezed tight. “I… I’ve wanted to talk to you about something. For a while now.”

Kageyama turned fully toward him, alarm flickering in his eyes. “What is it?”

Hinata swallowed hard. His mouth was dry, his tongue heavy. He forced himself to speak, though the words tumbled out messy, uneven. “I know I’ve hurt you before. Back then—when I wasn’t brave enough to speak up. When I should have said something, and I didn’t. I hate that. I hate knowing I made you feel that way.” His voice cracked, and he pressed forward, frantic to keep talking. “But I’ve learned. I’ve learned my lesson, Tobio. I know better now. And I really—really like where we are. This. Us.”

He lifted his eyes, wide and desperate. “I love spending time with you. I love this relationship. And I want it to last as long as possible. So if that’s going to happen, then I have to be honest. I have to say the things I couldn’t before. I don’t want to be the same coward I was two years ago. I want to be brave and say it now.”

Kageyama’s eyes narrowed slightly in confusion, his voice low. “Shoyo… what are you talking about?”

Hinata’s breath stuttered. His hands curled into fists. The words scraped his throat. “It’s about… Oikawa.”

The shift was instant. He felt it. Kageyama’s body tightening beside him, the way his posture stiffened, the glass of milk set carefully on the ground as though his hands had suddenly gone rigid. The air thickened.

Hinata’s stomach lurched. His vision swam, but he forced the words out anyway, stumbling over them like broken pieces. “It was in Brazil. Over a year and a half ago, one night—it was just me and Oikawa. We’d been drinking. A lot. He’d just gotten dumped by Iwa-chan that same day, he was wrecked. And me—” his voice cracked, small and raw, “—I was wrecked too. I hadn’t even said your name for months. I couldn’t. I told him everything that night. About us. About how I’d messed up.”

He dragged in a breath, shaking so hard now he could barely sit still. “We were both drunk, both falling apart and—and we kissed.”

The words came out barely above a whisper, but they struck the air between them like a slap. Hinata’s pulse roared in his ears. He couldn’t look at Tobio. Couldn’t bear to see what was in his eyes. His own gaze fixed on his trembling hands, knuckles white, his whole body taut with dread.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered hoarsely, not even sure if the words reached him. “I’m so, so sorry.”

The night stretched wide and merciless, crickets chirping as if mocking the silence that fell between them.

Chapter 101: Chapter C

Notes:

let me hold your hand while you read this

For a second, it didn’t register. The words hung there like smoke, like something fragile that would disappear if Kageyama just blinked hard enough.

He sat very still, staring at Hinata with wide, uncomprehending eyes. His lips parted as if to speak, but no sound came out. He looked like someone trying to solve a problem written in a language he didn’t understand.

Finally, he gave a small, strained laugh. Sharp and humorless. “You’re… joking. Right?”

Hinata’s hands clenched tighter in his lap. He shook his head, barely. His throat bobbed.

Kageyama blinked once, twice. His face drained of color. “You’re not.”

The silence between them grew heavy. The night air pressed down, thick and suffocating. Kageyama’s shoulders tensed, his jaw locking as his breath grew uneven. His hands curled into fists against his knees.

“You…” His voice broke, low and jagged. He swallowed, tried again. “You kissed Oikawa?”

Hinata flinched at the way he said his name. Not the usual Oikawa, not with the begrudging respect he sometimes added, but Oikawa , spat like it burned his tongue.

“It was—Tobio, that time… we were drunk, and—”

“‘That time’?” Kageyama’s head snapped up, his eyes cutting sharp through the dark. The lantern’s glow caught in them, wild, disbelieving. “It happened more than once?”

Hinata froze. His silence was the only answer Kageyama needed.

It was like watching glass shatter in slow motion. The first crack was disbelief, the next humiliation, and then came the fury that had been simmering beneath years of comparison, resentment, and self-doubt. Kageyama stood suddenly, the chair scraping back against the deck with a screech. His hands shook at his sides. “How many times?” His voice rose, harsh, almost desperate. “How many times, Hinata?”

Hinata’s throat worked soundlessly. “A… a few.”

The sound that left Kageyama’s chest was half laugh, half broken gasp. He dragged a hand through his hair, tugging hard at the strands, pacing two short steps before stopping, like he couldn’t even figure out where to put his body.

“Of course,” he muttered, bitter. His voice was unsteady, cracking around the edges. “Of course it was him.”

Hinata shot up, reaching for him. “Tobio—”

But Kageyama flinched back, as if Hinata’s hand burned. His chest rose and fell in sharp bursts, anger and something far more fragile trembling beneath his skin.

“Or course it wasn’t some random person. Someone—someone I could just forget about. No.” His laugh was sharp, hollow. “It had to be him. Oikawa.” He spat the name again, venom and pain tangled together.

Hinata’s heart twisted. “It didn’t mean—”

“Don’t.” Kageyama’s voice cracked like a whip, harsh enough to slice the night in two. Hinata’s mouth snapped shut.

Tobio turned away, hands pressed hard to his hips like he needed to hold himself together. His words came out low, almost a whisper, but they trembled with raw anger. “You made me sit there. You made me say those things to him. At the onsen—” He choked on the memory, pressing his knuckles against his forehead. “I told him… I told him he was enough. That I admired him. That he was someone I wanted to be. And the whole time—you already knew how he—” His voice broke, the word strangled in his throat. “—how he kissed you.”

Hinata’s knees nearly gave out. “Tobio, I never meant to make you—”

“Look like a fucking idiot?” Kageyama turned then, and the look on his face, raw and torn open, made Hinata’s chest ache. His eyes shone, not just with anger, but with humiliation. “That’s what I looked like, right? While you and Oikawa…” His breath hitched. “While I thought—Shoyo, I thought you were mine.”

The words struck like a blow, jagged and desperate, revealing the boy beneath the setter’s stoic mask. The one who’d spent his whole life watching people choose someone else.

Hinata’s eyes blurred. “I am. Tobio, I am, I swear it’s not like that—”

But Kageyama shook his head hard, fists trembling at his sides. “No. You don’t get it.” His voice rose again, cracking under the weight of years. “All my life, it’s been him. Oikawa had everything. He knew how to smile, how to talk, how to make people want to follow him. Everyone loved him. I couldn’t—” His breath shuddered, chest heaving. “I couldn’t ever be that. I couldn’t ever be enough. And the one—the one person I thought would choose me despite everything—” His voice faltered, broke. “The one thing I thought I had that was finally mine—turns out, not even that.”

Hinata’s tears spilled hot down his cheeks. He took a shaky step forward, desperate. “You are enough. You’ve always been enough for me, Tobio. Always. It wasn’t like that with Oikawa, it never—”

But Kageyama flinched again, shoulders curling inward, hands pressing to his head like he was trying to block out the sound. He looked wrecked, like the weight of every insecurity he’d ever carried had come crashing back all at once.

“I can’t—” His voice shook. He squeezed his eyes shut, as if the sight of Hinata hurt. “I can’t listen to you right now.”

The words cut through Hinata’s chest like ice. Kageyama stepped back, shaking, his jaw locked tight. He wouldn’t look at him. The crickets went on singing, cruelly oblivious, as the distance between them stretched wider than it had in years. Hinata’s breath trembled in the dark, his tears sliding hot and unrelenting down his cheeks. He didn’t know what else to say, what else to do. His words kept tangling, slipping uselessly through his fingers like sand.

Kageyama was still standing stiffly, fists clenched at his sides, chest heaving like every breath was a battle. His eyes were locked on the ground, dark and unreadable, as if he were clinging to the one thing that wouldn’t betray him.

The silence stretched so long Hinata thought maybe  he’d walked too far out onto the edge of this cliff and there was no way back. Then Kageyama spoke, voice flat, stripped bare of all warmth.

“Can you afford a train ticket back to Tokyo?”

Hinata blinked. The words didn’t make sense at first, they didn’t fit into the moment, like they’d been dropped from another conversation entirely. “What?” His voice cracked, confused.

Kageyama’s gaze finally lifted, pinning him in place. His eyes were sharp, cold in a way Hinata had never seen before. He repeated, slower this time, each word cutting like glass. “Can you afford a train ticket back to Tokyo?”

Hinata’s stomach dropped. His throat tightened, but he managed a small, shaky nod. “Yeah. I can.”

Kageyama’s jaw worked, his teeth grinding. He gave one short nod, like he’d just decided something final. His voice was low, but it shook with the force of what he was holding back. “Then I’m leaving.”

The words hollowed Hinata out, left him standing on unsteady legs, barely breathing.

“Tobio, wait—”

“I need time.” The words came fast, clipped, like he was cutting them free before he lost his nerve. His fists trembled at his sides. “Don’t call me. Don’t text me. Don’t—don’t reach out.”

Hinata’s chest tightened, panic sparking hot in his veins as Kageyama’s words sank in. Leaving. He couldn’t just let him walk away like that.

“Tobio, wait—please, listen to me.” Hinata choked out, stumbling forward. His hand shot out on instinct, fingers brushing Kageyama’s arm. He just needed him to stop for one second, to look at him .

But Kageyama froze at the touch, then yanked his arm back with such force it was like Hinata had burned him. The motion was sharp, violent in its clarity, a line drawn in the sand. Hinata’s hand hung useless in the air, stinging from the loss, trembling. His breath hitched as he stared at Kageyama’s back.

“I said don’t reach out.” The words dropped low and final, like a door slamming shut.

Then he was gone. Striding through the yard, sliding the door open with rough, jerking movements, and letting it slam behind him with a crack that seemed to split Hinata down the middle.

Hinata stood frozen, his arm still half outstretched, the ghost of Kageyama’s warmth slipping from his skin. His knees buckled, and he dropped onto the cold step of the veranda, chest heaving, vision blurring until the world was nothing but streaks of orange and black.

For a long, long time, the only thing he could hear was his own ragged sobs tangled with the cicadas screaming into the night.

Hinata barely remembered sliding the door back open and stepping inside. His body moved on autopilot, but his head felt split open, thoughts spilling out and colliding like broken glass. Every step down the hall toward his room echoed with the sharp crack of Kageyama yanking his arm away.

It wasn’t just that Kageyama was hurt. It was the way he was hurt. As if Hinata had struck the one place that mattered most. He’d known, deep down, that kissing Oikawa of all people would be the hardest part for Kageyama to swallow, but he hadn’t imagined this— this kind of pain that looked like it seared Kageyama from the inside out.

It burned him, Hinata thought, numbly gripping his doorknob. It burned him like nothing else I could’ve done.

He staggered inside his room and shut the door with trembling fingers. The air felt suffocating, pressing down against his ribs. His legs gave way, and he sat on the edge of his bed, his chest tight, hands knotted together as if trying to hold himself in one piece. His breath hitched, shaky, uncontrolled.

The door creaked open again.

“Sho?”

Natsu’s small voice pulled him up from the swirl of his thoughts. She stood in the doorway, brows pinched with worry, clutching at her sleeves. “What happened? I… I saw Tobio storm out. He looked… really upset.”

Hinata opened his mouth, but the words strangled in his throat. His jaw trembled, lips parting without sound until finally he croaked, broken and hoarse, “I… I made a mistake.”

The way his voice cracked made Natsu’s eyes widen. She padded into the room, stopping in front of him. “Then go after him.”

Hinata shook his head violently, burying his face in his hands. “Natsu, no—he won’t want to see me right now. The last thing he wants is me .”

“That doesn’t matter!” Natsu shot back, her voice sharp in a way that made him look up, startled. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, but her jaw was set with determination. “It’s not about whether he wants to see you. It’s about you showing him that you care . If you let him walk away like this, you’re going to regret it, Shōyō. Forever.”

Hinata’s chest convulsed with a sob he barely held back. She was right. She was so painfully right.

Natsu leaned forward, gripping his arm tightly, grounding him. “You said you made a mistake, right? Then show him it was just that—a mistake. Not who you are. Show him you still love him.”

Something inside Hinata broke, but through the fracture came a rush of resolve. He wiped at his wet cheeks with the back of his sleeve, standing abruptly. His legs felt unsteady, but his pulse screamed at him to move.

“I… I don’t have my bike. It’s still in Tokyo—”

“Take mine,” Natsu interrupted, already darting to the hallway. “Just go. You might catch him.”

Hinata’s throat burned with gratitude and despair all tangled together. “Thank you,” he rasped, then sprinted out of the house, the summer night air hitting his face like a slap.

He mounted Natsu’s bike, kicking off hard against the pavement, his heart pounding louder than the wheels spinning under him. His mind locked onto one desperate thought: catch him, catch him, catch him.

The ride was brutal. His house was on the edge of the neighborhood, a decent distance from Kageyama’s place, but Hinata pedaled like his lungs didn’t matter. His legs screamed, his chest heaved, but he pushed harder, the air slicing into his throat until it was raw.

When he finally turned the corner onto Kageyama’s street, hope surged in his chest, only to shatter immediately.

Kageyama’s car was already rolling out of the driveway, headlights slicing through the dark.

“Tobio!” Hinata screamed, voice breaking. He pedaled faster, chasing the taillights, the chain clattering as he pushed the bike past its limit. “Tobio, wait! Please!”

But the car didn’t slow.

Hinata’s desperation spiked into recklessness. He swerved off the paved road, trying to cut across a shortcut he remembered from childhood, a narrow path lined with loose gravel and uneven dirt. The bike rattled violently under him, and before he could steady himself—

The front wheel caught on a rock.

Hinata’s body lurched forward, the handlebars jerking out of his grip. He hit the ground hard, the breath punched out of his lungs as his knees and palms scraped against the rough dirt.

“Ah—!” The cry tore from his throat, half pain, half devastation. He scrambled up, ignoring the sting of blood, but when he lifted his head, the car was already a pair of glowing taillights vanishing down the road.

“Tobio!” he screamed again, voice hoarse and useless against the roar of the engine growing distant.

His knees gave out. He sank onto the gravel, the bike toppled beside him, his hands shaking as he gripped at his hair. The taste of dust and iron filled his mouth, and tears blurred his vision until the world smeared into nothing but streaks of white headlights fading into the night.

For the second time that evening, Hinata was left with nothing but the sound of his own broken sobs, echoing in the summer dark.

 

---

 

Hinata woke to the shrill vibration of his phone buzzing against the nightstand.

For a moment he lay there, staring up at the ceiling, blank. His body felt heavy, like he’d been buried under sand, and his eyelids stung with the weight of a sleepless night. His throat was dry and scratchy. He’d cried until he didn’t have anything left to give, and then stared at the ceiling until the dawn light crept across the room.

The phone kept buzzing.

Hinata rolled over sluggishly, dragging it into his hand. The name flashing on the screen, Pablo, took him a second too long to register. His voice cracked when he answered, “Hello?”

“¡Shoyo! Where are you, irmão? We said Karasuno, first thing in the morning.” Pablo’s voice, warm and energetic as always, carried through the speaker like sunlight he wasn’t ready to face.

Hinata’s gut clenched. He pressed the heel of his hand against his eye, trying to will away the pounding in his skull. “Uh… yeah. Sorry. Tobio… he, um…” The words stuck, and then tumbled out in pieces. “He went back to Tokyo last night. And, uh… Natsu’s bike chain broke so… I don’t have a way to go.”

There was a pause on the other end. Not long, but enough for Hinata to picture Pablo’s expression tightening, his easy smile falling into concern. “...Shoyo, what happened? Are you okay?”

Hinata squeezed his eyes shut. The worry in Pablo’s voice was like pressing against a bruise. “I’m fine. Really. Don’t worry about it. You guys should just go without me—”

“No,” Pablo cut him off firmly, his voice suddenly carrying that tone Hinata had only ever heard when he was coaching him, or when something was serious. “We’ll come for you. Get ready.”

“Pablo—”

But the line had already gone dead.

Hinata let the phone slip from his hand, clattering softly onto the mattress. He let out a long, shaky breath, then groaned and threw himself face-first back into his pillow. His chest hurt. Not sharp or sudden, just a dull, endless ache, like his heart was bruised from the inside out.

He didn’t want to go. He didn’t want to see Karasuno today, didn’t want to put on a smile, didn’t want to pretend that the ground beneath him wasn’t splitting open. But it was Pablo. Pablo, who had crossed an entire ocean for him and Oikawa. Pablo, who had taken him in when he was lost and wandering in Brazil. If there was one thing Hinata knew, it was that he couldn’t let Pablo’s visit be ruined because of this.

He turned onto his side, reached for his phone again, and opened the screen. A pit of hope and dread churned in his stomach as he unlocked it, checking messages, missed calls.

Nothing.

Not even a single word from Tobio.

The sight cut deeper than any shout, any slammed door. Hinata bit the inside of his cheek until it hurt, then pushed himself upright.

The shower was scalding, steam wrapping around him, but it did little to loosen the knots in his chest. He scrubbed his hair too harshly, pressed his palms into his face,

but the water couldn’t wash away the exhaustion clinging to his skin. He leaned against the cool tile, eyes squeezed shut, letting the spray pelt down on him until he realized he was wasting time.

When he finally came out, toweling his hair dry, he found his mom waiting in the hallway with Natsu by her side. Neither said a word. They didn’t ask. They didn’t press. They simply stepped forward in unison, and his mom wrapped her arms around him while Natsu squeezed his waist from the side.

The warmth broke something fragile in him, more than any words could have. He swallowed hard against the lump in his throat and hugged them both back, clinging for just a moment.

“Thanks,” he murmured, voice muffled against his mother’s shoulder.

When they pulled away, it was without questions. Only a quiet, knowing look in her eyes, and a reassuring squeeze of Natsu’s hand before they let him go.

Hinata forced himself through the motions after that. He dressed mechanically, grabbed his bag, checked the clock again. Every second stretched thin, dragging, until a knock rattled the front door.

Natsu ran ahead to open it.

On the porch stood Oikawa and Pablo, side by side. Oikawa wore his sunglasses pushed up into his hair despite the morning light, his expression unusually subdued. Pablo, meanwhile, was smiling, but it was a softer smile than usual. It seemed gentle and careful, as if he knew Hinata was holding himself together by a thread.

“Ready?” Pablo asked, his voice calm but steady, like an anchor.

Hinata adjusted the strap of his bag over his shoulder, nodded once, and stepped forward.

Even if every part of him wanted to collapse back into bed, he couldn’t. Not today.

Notes:

hello beautiful people! i'm sorry for not posting yesterday. i've been a little busy lately, plus my computer decided to stop working as i was writing this chapter so i had to finish writing on the phone (which i don't recommend)

thank you so much for the beautiful comments on the 100th chapter! that's a LOT, really, and i wouldn't be doing this if it weren't for all the crazy love and support you've constantly given to this fanfic since earlier chapters.

i also know that most of you asked for no angst, but i had to 💔 i'm sorry (i'm not)

anywaysss, thank you so much for reading!

Chapter 102: Chapter CI

The morning sunlight fell sharp through the windshield, cutting across the dashboard in clean, golden lines. Oikawa drove with one hand on the wheel, the other tapping faintly against the gearshift in a rhythm that didn’t quite match the low music spilling from the radio. He looked casual, sunglasses perched on his nose, posture straight. But Hinata knew him well enough now. Well enough to notice the little signs that Oikawa was thinking too much. His jaw clenched and released every few seconds, his thumb rubbed at the leather of the steering wheel, and his eyes, behind the dark lenses, kept narrowing just slightly at the road ahead, like he wasn’t only seeing the asphalt.

Pablo was in the passenger seat, leaning forward with his elbow propped against the window. He looked relaxed, though Hinata knew that was deliberate too. He was trying to make it easier for him.

Hinata sat in the back, slouched against the window, his forehead pressed lightly to the cool glass. The streets of Miyagi rolled by in fragments with familiar houses, narrow alleys and the occasional shopfront. Each one should have pulled a memory, some thread of home tugging at his chest. But today, everything blurred together like scenery in a dream, distant and untouchable.

His right hand sat limp in his lap, bandaged neatly. Just looking at the white wrap made his stomach churn. His mom had done it last night after he came home scratched and trembling. She cleaned the wound, covered it gently and asked nothing. But she hadn’t needed words. Her silence had held all the worry she didn’t speak aloud.

Now, in the confined space of Oikawa’s car, that bandage felt louder than any conversation. He caught Pablo’s eyes flicker toward it when he climbed in earlier, caught Oikawa’s gaze dart to it once before he shifted into gear. Neither of them said a word about it, but Hinata knew they didn’t need to.

The empty seat beside him might as well have been shouting.

Tobio should’ve been there. He should’ve been staring out the window with that furrowed brow, or bickering with him over something stupid, or trying to argue with Pablo about protein bars. Instead, there was only silence, and the echo of Tobio’s voice in Hinata’s head. Can you afford a ticket train to Tokyo? Cold. Detached. The way he had yanked his arm out of Hinata’s grip, like the touch itself burned.

Hinata’s chest tightened. He wanted to hate Oikawa for it, for being part of the truth he had spilled last night, the truth that cracked everything wide open. He wanted to blame him, shove all the weight into his hands and say it was your fault, you kissed me first. But he couldn’t. Because he hadn’t pulled away. Not then, not the times after. He had let it happen. Again and again.

And now, even sitting behind him, he couldn’t meet his eyes in the mirror.

“So,” Pablo’s voice broke the quiet, carefully light, “we’re just doing a tour from outside, right? No sneaking in, Shoyo?”

Hinata startled slightly, dragging his eyes from the window. Pablo was looking at him through the mirror, warm and coaxing, like he was testing the waters.

“Yeah,” Hinata muttered, his voice rough. He cleared his throat. “I mean… they wouldn’t just let us in. But, uh. The outside’s… enough.”

“Enough,” Pablo repeated with a little smile. “Good. I want to see it through your eyes, anyway.”

Oikawa let out a soft huff from the driver’s seat. “You make it sound like some holy site,” he teased, but there wasn’t as much bite in his tone as usual. More… a thread of curiosity. He adjusted his grip on the wheel. “Though I guess for you it kind of is, huh?”

Hinata swallowed hard. He kept his eyes on the blur of buildings outside. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Kind of.”

Silence again. The radio hummed low. The car rattled gently as Oikawa shifted gears.

Neither Oikawa nor Pablo asked why Tobio wasn’t with him. They didn’t need to. His absence spoke louder than any explanation. Hinata could feel it pressing down on all three of them, heavy and unspoken. They must have known something bad had happened just by seeing the swollen edges of his eyes, the way he moved like he’d been hollowed out and the bandage on his hand.

Hinata tried to force a smile, tried to make his voice sound lighter than it felt. “Sorry,” he muttered after a while. “I’m just… tired.”

Neither of them contradicted him. And somehow, that silence was worse than if they had.

Karasuno rose quietly at the end of the street, its building framed by the slope of familiar hills and the faint outline of trees still heavy with summer green. From this distance, it looked almost smaller than Hinata remembered. Ordinary, like any other public school. The same dull beige walls, the same neat lines of windows, the same patch of stubborn weeds breaking through the cracks near the gate. He’d been here not long ago, when Natsu invited him to join the training as a special guest. That had been the first time he’d shared a court with Kageyama after two years of no contact. 

Even when it hadn’t been that long, his chest still tightened as soon as the car slowed, Oikawa pulling up on the side of the road where they could see the entrance clearly.

“There it is,” Oikawa said, his tone light but strangely restrained. He leaned an elbow on the window and tilted his chin toward the building. “The famous Karasuno.”

Pablo leaned forward in his seat, his eyes wide with curiosity. “Wow… schools here look so different. In Brazil, most public schools don’t look anything like this. This looks like something from a TV drama.” He chuckled, genuinely fascinated. “I can picture you in your uniform, Shoyo, running late and jumping that fence.”

Hinata forced a sound that might’ve been a laugh, but it felt dry, almost broken. His eyes were locked on the school. The gates. The worn dirt path that led to the gym. The building that had been both a battleground and a sanctuary.

It was cruel. That was the only word for it.

Cruel, that he was standing here now, the morning after everything had collapsed, staring at the place where it had all begun. He could almost see it. He could almost see the first time he walked into that gym, heart pounding, only to find Kageyama there too, glaring at him like fate was mocking them both. The hundreds of practices after that, the sound of sneakers squeaking on the polished floor, the rhythm of Kageyama’s tosses meeting his jumps like clockwork. The laughter, the fights, the moments they couldn’t look away from each other.

Three years of becoming something more than just teammates. Three years of falling into step with someone who saw him clearer than anyone else.

And now, Kageyama was gone.

Hinata gritted his teeth, heat prickling behind his eyes. If he could’ve gone back in time, he would’ve grabbed yesterday’s self by the shoulders and shaken him. Why did you agree to this plan? If he had known what last night would bring, if he had known how Tobio would look at him, he would never have set foot here. Not today. Not like this.

Pablo’s voice cut through the haze. “Shoyo? Do you… feel strange, being back?”

Hinata didn’t answer. He hadn’t even registered the question. His vision tunneled, his breath caught halfway in his throat. The world narrowed to the gates and the weight of everything he’d lost.

A hand pressed gently against his shoulder.

Hinata flinched hard and jerked back like he’d been burned. His eyes shot to the side and found Oikawa standing there, his hand frozen mid-touch, brows lifting in startled surprise. For a heartbeat, the three of them stood suspended in that moment. Oikawa’s hand hovered in the air. Hinata’s pulse thundered in his ears, guilt and panic flooding in. He couldn’t even stand the thought of Oikawa’s touch, not after what he’d confessed last night.

Oikawa’s mouth opened, like he wanted to say something, but no words came out. His eyes flicked toward Pablo. He was watching, stunned, his lips pressing together as if to hold something back. The air between them grew thick, heavy with things none of them dared name.

Finally, Pablo cleared his throat. His voice was careful, soft. “Maybe we should… go get a coffee or something. Warm up. Get out of the sun.” He offered Hinata a small, coaxing smile. “What do you think, Sho?”

Hinata swallowed, hard. His throat felt raw. He nodded quickly, unable to meet either of their eyes.

Oikawa glanced back at Karasuno once more before unlocking the car. “Coffee sounds good,” he muttered, his tone quieter now, almost unreadable.

They got back inside, leaving Karasuno behind them, its gates shrinking in the rearview mirror until they were nothing more than a shadow against the trees.

 

---

 

The café they stopped at was small, tucked into a quiet corner street. It smelled of roasted beans and fresh pastries, the kind of cozy warmth that usually felt like comfort. But when Hinata sat down across from Oikawa and Pablo, clutching the paper cup in both hands, he felt like his insides were hollow.

Steam curled from his coffee. He watched it rise, dissipating into nothing, and felt the same was happening inside of him.

“I’m sorry,” Hinata said suddenly, his voice rougher than he intended. His eyes stayed fixed on the cup. “Back there. At Karasuno. I didn’t mean to ruin the mood.”

Pablo leaned forward, resting his chin on one hand. His expression was soft, patient. “It’s fine, irmão . Really. But…” His eyes flicked toward Oikawa before returning to Hinata. “I can tell something’s wrong. What happened?”

Hinata’s throat tightened. He wanted to say nothing . He wanted to swallow it all down and pretend it didn’t exist. But the weight of last night sat on his chest like a stone. The words clawed their way up until keeping them in felt unbearable.

So he told them.

He told them about dinner. About Natsu’s laughter, about his mother’s warmth, about the way his heart nearly burst when Kageyama stood and asked for her blessing. Then about the backyard. About the conversation that had started so gently but spiraled until he was confessing the one thing he dreaded most. His voice grew quieter the further he went, stumbling over the memory of Kageyama’s expression when the truth sank in. The anger, the hurt, the humiliation.

By the time he reached the end, Kageyama yanking his arm away, storming into the night, the sound of his car disappearing into the dark and his accident on the bike, Hinata’s hands were shaking so hard that the coffee rippled in his cup. He hadn’t looked up once.

Silence hung between them. Oikawa stared into his own drink, lips pressed tight. Pablo’s brows were drawn together, worry etched all over his face.

Pablo finally opened his mouth, his tone careful. “Shoyo… that sounds—”

“Exaggerated,” Oikawa cut in, sharp enough to make Hinata’s head snap up. His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it, like steel hidden under velvet. “Kageyama’s exaggerating. You two weren’t even together back then. So we kissed. Big deal. It’s not like you cheated. He’s blowing it out of proportion.”

Hinata blinked, stunned. For a moment, he couldn’t even process the words. Then anger bloomed hot in his chest.

“It’s not about whether I cheated or not!” he snapped, his voice louder than he meant it to be. A few customers glanced their way, but he didn’t care. His hands curled into fists against the table. “It’s not about that at all!”

Oikawa frowned, his confusion genuine. “Then what—”

“Don’t play dumb!” Hinata’s chair scraped against the floor as he leaned forward, the heat in his voice shaking. “You know ! You know how things are between you and Tobio. You know how strange it’s always been. How much he—how much he looks at you like you’re everything he’s not. And I—” His voice cracked. “I kissed you. Of all people. Don’t you get it?!”

Oikawa froze. The defensiveness faltered for the first time. His eyes searched Hinata’s, and something in his expression shifted.

Hinata pressed on, his voice trembling but fierce. “How would you have felt, huh? If Tobio had kissed Iwa-chan when you two broke up? How would you have felt if he did that when you were at your lowest?”

That landed. Hinata saw it. The flash of understanding in Oikawa’s eyes, sharp and raw. Oikawa drew back slightly, his mouth parting, but no words came out.

The air between them felt like it might shatter.

Pablo stepped in quickly, his voice steady, his hands raised slightly like he could push the tension down with his palms. “Hey, hey. Enough.” He looked at Hinata, then at Oikawa, his gaze calm but firm. “Shoyo’s right to feel guilty. And Tobio’s right to be hurt. But…” He turned back to Hinata, his tone softening. “You did the right thing, telling him. That matters. More than anything.”

Hinata’s chest heaved, but he forced himself to listen. Pablo’s words anchored him, if only slightly.

“Tobio just needs time,” Pablo continued. “To cool off. To think. He’s not gone forever. Don’t panic. Don’t give up on him yet.”

Hinata swallowed hard, the anger ebbing into exhaustion. His hands loosened around the cup, now lukewarm in his grip.

The coffee cooled between them, untouched for a long stretch of silence. The hum of the café carried on around their little table with soft clinking of cups, murmured conversations and the hiss of the espresso machine, but none of it seemed to reach them. Hinata sat with his head bent low, staring at the rim of his drink like it could offer him answers. Oikawa, for once, was quiet. Even Pablo, normally the one to fill any silence, didn’t try.

When Pablo finally pushed his chair back and muttered something about the bathroom, Hinata didn’t move. He barely registered the sound of his friend walking away, his footsteps fading into the back of the café.

Oikawa exhaled slowly, the kind of breath that seemed to drag out the seconds. He leaned back in his chair, eyes fixed on the condensation that had formed on his cup. His fingers tapped once against the cardboard sleeve, then stilled.

“I guess…” he started, his voice softer than Hinata was used to hearing from him, “I didn’t realize what it meant. To him.”

Hinata blinked, lifting his gaze slightly. Oikawa wasn’t looking at him. His eyes were on the table, but they were distant, thoughtful in a way that unsettled Hinata.

“I mean, I’ve always known how Tobio feels about me.” A wry smile tugged faintly at Oikawa’s lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “That rivalry thing. His obsession. I played into it too, maybe more than I should have. I liked having that kind of power over him. And I never… really thought about how it might feel if the situation were reversed.”

He paused, as though weighing whether to keep going. Then he let out a small laugh, humorless and thin. “You were right. If he’d kissed Iwa-chan after everything… I would’ve lost it. I wouldn’t have been able to forgive him, no matter how much time passed. And yet, when it was me, I brushed it off like it was nothing.”

The guilt in his voice was faint, but it was there, buried beneath his pride.

Hinata shifted, unease curling in his chest. He hadn’t expected Oikawa to admit that, let alone so openly. And the fact that he did only made Hinata feel worse. His earlier outburst replayed in his mind. The sharp words, the raw anger. Guilt pressed down on him.

“Oikawa…” Hinata said quietly. His voice cracked just a little, but he forced himself to continue. “I… I’m sorry. For yelling at you like that. I didn’t mean to. I just—everything is so messed up right now and—”

“Don’t,” Oikawa interrupted, still not meeting his eyes. “Don’t apologize. You were right. I was being dismissive. It’s… what I do. I’m not proud of it, but I’ve always been good at brushing things aside, pretending they don’t matter. But they do. To Tobio, to you, they do.”

Hinata swallowed hard. For a second, he didn’t know what to say. The silence returned, thick but not as sharp as before.

Finally, he forced a small, tentative smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes either. “We’re good. Really. I don’t want you to beat yourself up about it. Like Pablo said… maybe Tobio just needs time to cool off. Once I get back to Tokyo, I’ll try to talk to him again.”

Oikawa finally looked at him then, his expression unreadable. Something softer flickered there, something Hinata couldn’t quite name, but it passed quickly. He gave a small nod, leaning back in his chair as if to signal that the conversation was done.

When Pablo returned, wiping his hands on his jeans, he glanced between the two of them. “Everything okay here?” he asked lightly, though his eyes lingered on Hinata with a shade of concern.

Hinata forced himself to nod. “Yeah. We’re good.”

Pablo smiled, relieved, and took his seat again. The tension had eased, if only slightly, and for the first time since sitting down, Hinata took a sip of his coffee. It was lukewarm, bitter, but it grounded him.

He told himself, over and over, that Pablo was right. That Oikawa was right now, too. Tobio just needed space. Time. And when the moment came, Hinata would be ready to face him again.

The conversation at the café had dissolved into a fragile sort of quiet after Pablo returned from the bathroom. Hinata felt a little steadier, though the knot in his chest hadn’t loosened. His coffee had gone cold in his hands, but he still cupped it, holding on to the warmth of the mug as if it were the only thing tethering him there.

When his phone buzzed against the table, Hinata flinched, almost spilling the coffee. His pulse jumped, ridiculous hope sparking through him, but it wasn’t Tobio. It was Suga.

“Your mom just ratted you out to me at the supermarket. You’re in Miyagi and didn’t even bother to visit?? I’m offended.”

Hinata stared at the screen, his lips twitching into a weak laugh. Typical Suga. But the message made his stomach tighten too. His mom. If she’d told Suga he was back, what else had she said? She wouldn’t mention last night, would she? Still, Hinata couldn’t shake the thought that Suga’s text was more than just playful scolding. That it was also his way of reaching out, of making sure Hinata was okay without asking directly. Because if there was anyone Hinata could tell, really tell, it would be Suga.

He dropped the phone onto the table, suddenly exhausted, his chest aching in that familiar, heavy way.

“You okay?” Pablo asked carefully.

Hinata nodded a little too quickly. “Yeah. Just a friend.” His voice cracked faintly, but neither Pablo nor Oikawa pressed him.

When they finally got up to leave, Oikawa jingled the car keys in his hand and glanced at Hinata. “We’ll drop you at the station, yeah?”

Hinata hesitated, the weight of Suga’s message still buzzing in his head. Then, quietly: “Actually… could you take me to a friend’s house instead? It’s nearby.”

Oikawa blinked, but didn’t question it. “Sure.”

Pablo smiled gently from Hinata’s other side, his eyes soft with understanding. “Of course, Sho. Just tell us where to go.”

And so, they left the café behind, the three of them slipping back into the car. The city stretched out around them as they drove, the air inside the vehicle quieter this time. Not tense, but softer, like everyone had silently agreed to give Hinata the space he needed.

The drive to Suga’s house was quiet at first. The kind of quiet that wasn’t exactly uncomfortable but wasn’t warm either. The kind that sat between people who had too much on their minds to fill the air with words. Outside, the scenery shifted from Miyagi’s streets to the calmer neighborhoods that Hinata knew by heart, though today they seemed almost foreign, as if he were seeing them through someone else’s eyes.

Oikawa’s hands rested steady on the wheel, his gaze fixed on the road. He wasn’t humming to the radio like he sometimes did, nor throwing his usual comments about other cars or pedestrians. Hinata caught himself glancing at him every now and then, only to quickly look back out the window before their eyes could meet. His chest tightened every time, the memory of last night felt too raw, too sharp.

It was Pablo who finally eased the silence. He leaned a little closer to Hinata in the backseat, his voice gentler than his usual playful tone. “So… the plan is Kyoto first. Then a few other stops before heading back to Tokyo. I’ll have about a week and a half left in Japan before my flight.” He smiled faintly. “I’ll come crash at your place for a couple days before I go, okay? We’ll hang out properly, the three of us, before I leave.”

Hinata blinked at him, the small, tired smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. Of course.” He tried to sound cheerful, but even he could hear the flatness in his voice.

Pablo tilted his head, studying him with those steady, honest eyes of his. “I mean it. Don’t think you’re escaping me. You’ll be sick of me by then.”

Hinata chuckled softly, the sound fragile but real. “Not possible.”

From the driver’s seat, Oikawa glanced at them through the mirror but didn’t say anything.

The mood in the car loosened slightly after that. Not the bright, chaotic energy they usually carried with them, but something gentler, steadier. Oikawa eventually made a small comment when they stopped at a red light, teasing Pablo’s Japanese, which earned him a dramatic eye roll and a flurry of rapid Portuguese in return. That finally drew a tiny laugh from Hinata. For the first time since last night, his chest didn’t feel quite so heavy.

Still, beneath the softened chatter, Hinata knew they were all on edge. Oikawa was unusually restrained, and Hinata himself kept catching the way his smile faltered when he thought no one was looking. Pablo, ever the glue between them, seemed to notice it too. How careful they were being around each other. He carried the conversation without pushing too far, weaving little details about temples, gardens, and street food stalls to keep the air light.

But his mind wasn’t in Kyoto. It wasn’t even in Miyagi anymore. It lingered ahead, in Tokyo, in the quiet reminder that once Pablo and Oikawa came back from their trip, they’d have just a handful of days together before Pablo boarded a plane back to Brazil. And Oikawa too, he’d be leaving soon after, flying into his new chapter on the other side of the world.

Hinata stared out the window, the glass cool against his temple, watching the streets blur by. Those last days would be precious, he realized. He couldn’t ruin them with his heaviness. He wanted to make them count. The three of them together, like always. That thought tugged at him, both a comfort and a sharp ache, as the car hummed quietly toward Suga’s house.

Chapter 103: CII

The ride ended more quickly than Hinata expected. One moment he was lost in the blur of familiar streets through the car window, the next Oikawa was turning the wheel, easing the car into a quiet residential road Hinata had walked down countless times during high school. His chest tightened with memory.

Suga’s house came into view. The same pale walls, the same neat little garden with its rows of potted plants lined like soldiers along the walkway. This time, Daichi was outside. He was crouched in front of the flowerbeds, hose in hand, spraying water in steady arcs that glittered in the afternoon sun. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, damp spots clinging to the fabric, and he looked every bit the same dependable captain Hinata had always known.

“Daichi!” Hinata blurted out before he even thought about it, shoving the car door open and almost stumbling onto the sidewalk in his rush.

Daichi looked up, blinking against the spray of water. For a heartbeat, his face was blank with surprise. Then, it cracked into the wide, genuine grin Hinata had always loved. “Hinata! What are you doing here?”

Hinata didn’t answer right away; he practically barreled into him, hugging him with all the leftover energy buzzing in his chest. Daichi laughed, steadying them both with a hand on Hinata’s back. “Man, you still hug like a cannonball.”

By then, Oikawa and Pablo had stepped out of the car too. Daichi straightened, letting Hinata go, and his smile shifted into something more polite, though no less warm.

“Oikawa,” Daichi said with an easy nod. “It’s been a while.”

“Not that long,” Oikawa replied with his trademark grin, though softer than usual. “Two months, maybe? You haven’t aged a day since.”

Daichi chuckled, shaking his head, and raised his voice toward the house. “Koushi! We’ve got company!”

The sound of quick footsteps followed, and then Suga appeared in the doorway, apron still tied around his waist. He blinked once, twice, before his whole expression lit up. “Shoyo! You brat, your mom told me you were around, but I didn’t think you’d actually show up!”

Hinata grinned sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, man… surprise?”

Suga’s eyes softened immediately, and for a moment, Hinata worried he saw too much, but then he turned his attention to the others.

“And you brought friends.” His gaze landed on Pablo first, curious but welcoming. “Hi there, I’m Sugawara. Hinata’s friend from high school.”

“Pablo,” he answered in smooth, accented Japanese, offering a polite bow. “Hinata’s friend from Brazil.” His words carried the natural rhythm of someone who had worked hard at the language, each syllable carefully placed, and both Suga and Daichi blinked at him, impressed.

“Wow,” Daichi said, exchanging a look with his husband. “That’s a really good accent.”

Pablo’s smile tilted modestly. “Thanks. Still learning.”

Suga clapped his hands once, laughing. “Better than Oikawa’s ever was when he came back from Brazil himself.”

“Hey!” Oikawa protested, but his voice lacked real sting, and Daichi laughed under his breath.

The greetings stretched on a few more moments, easy, pleasant and grounding. Then Oikawa glanced at the car keys still in his hand and cleared his throat. “We should let you catch up. We’ve got a long drive back anyway.”

Daichi and Suga waved them off warmly, but as Hinata turned to say goodbye, Pablo caught his wrist gently. The Brazilian’s voice was low, meant only for him.

“You did the right thing, Sho,” he said in Portuguese, his tone steady, anchoring. “It hurts now, but that’s because it matters. Don’t regret being honest.”

Hinata’s throat tightened instantly. He pulled Pablo into a fierce hug, pressing his face into his shoulder. “Thank you,” he mumbled, the words muffled but heavy with meaning.

When he pulled back, Oikawa gave him a little wave, the kind that said take care of yourself, okay? without needing words. Hinata nodded, forcing a small smile, and watched them slip back into the car before he finally turned toward the house.

The door was still open. Warm light spilled from inside, the faint smell of whatever Suga had been cooking drifting into the air. Hinata’s chest squeezed painfully, but he took a breath, stepped forward, and crossed the threshold into the safety of his old senpai’s home.

Inside, the house smelled faintly of soy sauce and ginger, the kind of homely warmth that Hinata hadn’t realized he missed until it wrapped around him. The living room looked just the same as always: tidy shelves lined with books and framed photographs, the couch that had hosted countless dinners and the faint scuff marks on the wooden floor that Suga still hadn’t managed to polish out.

Daichi set the watering can by the door and disappeared briefly into the kitchen, returning a moment later without his gloves, while Suga tugged off his apron and gestured for Hinata to sit. The three of them settled around the low table, and for a moment it felt like stepping back into high school. Like he was once again the underclassman with his seniors fussing over him.

“So,” Daichi said, leaning back comfortably, “how’ve you been, Hinata? You look good. Tired, maybe, but good.”

Hinata chuckled softly, ducking his head. “I’m okay. Training a lot. Playing a lot. You know… volleyball.”

“Of course.” Daichi’s grin widened. “That’s exactly what I’d expect.”

Hinata hesitated, then tilted his head curiously. “And you, Daichi? How’s… police work?”

The question made Daichi laugh, a low rumble that filled the room. “Busy. Always busy. You’d think it would get easier, but nope. I’m still running around like I used to when I was chasing you on the court.” His eyes crinkled as he said it, and Hinata couldn’t help but laugh with him.

“Daichi’s still the dependable one,” Suga cut in with fond exasperation, then fixed his gaze on Hinata. “But actually… I’ve got something to tell you. Remember what we talked about in Tokyo? About me feeling, uh, kind of… stuck?”

Hinata’s eyes widened. “Yeah. Did… something happen?”

Suga nodded, a small, proud smile tugging at his lips. “I finally talked to Daichi about it. And I realized I just couldn’t keep pretending I was fine with not playing anymore. So… I joined a local club. Just two days ago, actually. Nothing professional, just a group of older players who meet a few times a week. But it feels really good to be back on the court again.”

Hinata blinked at him, and then the grin broke across his face so suddenly it almost hurt. “That’s amazing!”

“It’s the same club Coach Ukai used to play at,” Suga went on, warmth in his voice. “So there are a lot of familiar faces. It feels like… coming home. I can’t believe I waited this long.”

“You were the one who pushed me to finally go for it,” he added, his tone gentler now. “So… thank you, Shoyo. Really.”

Hinata’s chest swelled with a mix of pride and happiness. He could picture it so clearly: Suga back on the court, smiling that bright smile, his hands steady as he set the ball. For a moment, it filled him with pure joy. “I’m so happy to hear that,” he said, voice firm with sincerity. “You belong on the court, Suga. Just… hearing that makes me really, really glad.”

Daichi reached over to squeeze Suga’s hand, smiling with quiet pride, and Hinata felt a warmth settle in his stomach. This, sitting here, laughing lightly and talking about volleyball and life, felt like being wrapped in a blanket. Like nothing could touch him.

And yet, the weight in his chest didn’t leave. No matter how many times he smiled, no matter how much his heart lifted at Suga’s news, there was still that hollow ache pressing down inside him, an unspoken heaviness that both Daichi and Suga couldn’t help but notice. They didn’t push, not yet, but their eyes softened when they looked at him, their voices gentler than usual.

Hinata knew they could see it. They could see the way his laughter came too quickly, how his gaze sometimes dropped to the table like he was losing his grip on the moment. He knew they were waiting, the way big brothers always did, ready to catch him when he finally decided to stop pretending he was fine.

They’d slipped into that comfortable quiet that always seemed to follow long conversations with Daichi and Suga. A silence that wasn’t awkward, just full of ease, like the pause after a familiar song. Daichi was sipping his tea, Suga was leaning back against the cushions, and Hinata found himself absently tracing patterns on the edge of the table with his finger.

But it didn’t last. Suga’s gaze lingered on him a little too long, thoughtful, sharp in that gentle way of his. Finally, he tilted his head and asked softly, “Shoyo… is something wrong?”

Hinata froze. His throat tightened instantly, the weight in his chest pressing harder as if it had been waiting for someone to open the door. He blinked quickly, looking anywhere but at them. “Did… did my mom tell you something?”

Suga glanced at Daichi. The captain didn’t say anything, only gave him a quiet nod of support, steady as always. Turning back, Suga’s voice was calm but careful. “Yes. She said she was a little… worried about you.”

Hinata’s stomach dropped, guilt pooling there. Of course his mom had noticed. She always noticed. He curled his hands together, staring down at them like maybe the answers would appear there.

“She didn’t really say why,” Suga continued gently, “only that she knew if you were going to talk to anyone about… personal things, it would probably be me.” His smile was soft, a little sad. “She trusts that you’d come to me when you’re ready.”

Hinata swallowed hard. He hadn’t realized how badly he’d needed that opening until it was handed to him. His shoulders sagged, and for a moment he just sat there, head bowed, silence heavy around him.

“I…” His voice cracked, so he cleared his throat and tried again. “I messed up. Or… I don’t know if I messed up, but it feels like I did.” His fingers twisted against each other, restless. He couldn’t bring himself to look at them.

Daichi leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, his presence steady and grounding. Suga didn’t rush him, just gave a small nod as if to say, go on, we’re here .

Hinata took a shaky breath. “Last night, Tobio… he asked my mom if she’d give us her blessing.” Even saying it out loud made his chest ache. “It was really sweet. He was nervous, but he meant it. And then, later… I told him something. Something I probably should’ve told him sooner.”

His voice dropped, heavy with shame. “That I kissed Oikawa-san. More than once. Back when we weren’t really talking, before Tobio and I were… together.”

Silence fell again. Thick, but not judgmental. Just waiting. Hinata finally looked up, his eyes stinging, and saw both of them watching him with the same careful, protective expression. Not angry, not shocked. Just listening, holding the space for him.

“He got so upset,” Hinata whispered, his throat tight. “I knew it was going to hurt him, but I didn’t think… I didn’t think it was going to feel like I’d burned everything between us. He stormed out. I tried to follow him, but—” His words snagged in his chest. “He told me not to reach out to him.”

Daichi let out a quiet breath, leaning back, while Suga’s hand moved just slightly across the table, like an invitation if Hinata needed it.

Hinata lowered his head again, his hair falling forward to shield his face. “It’s like… I ruined everything. And I don’t even know how to fix it.”

Suga let the silence hang for a beat, long enough to make sure Hinata had really let everything out, but not long enough for it to start curdling into shame. His expression softened, and when he spoke his tone was calm and measured. The kind of voice that always made Hinata feel like he was back in the gym after practice, listening to Suga’s gentle corrections.

“Shoyo,” he said quietly, “you didn’t ruin everything.”

Hinata’s head snapped up, eyes wide and wet, ready to argue, but Suga raised a hand lightly, not to silence him but to steady him.

“You didn’t cheat. You were honest. That matters more than you think.” He leaned forward a little, resting his arms on the table. “You could’ve kept it from him, hoped it never came up. But you didn’t. You told him, even knowing how hard it would hit. That takes courage.”

Hinata blinked, stunned. It didn’t feel like courage. It felt like he’d just thrown a bomb into everything he loved.

Daichi, who had been listening quietly, gave a little nod and added, “Suga’s right. It takes guts to say something you know will hurt someone you care about. Not everyone can do that. Believe me, he and I…” He exchanged a wry smile with Suga, “—we’re terrible at it ourselves. We’re both so used to taking care of everyone else, we forget to be honest about what’s going on with us. So I can tell you: saying it out loud, even at the wrong time, is a lot braver than pretending it never happened.”

The words sank into Hinata like heavy stones, dragging up something hot behind his eyes. His throat ached, but he didn’t look away.

Suga studied him for a moment, then continued, voice softer now. “I think Tobio’s not just upset about the kiss. It’s… more complicated. You know how he is with Oikawa.”

Hinata frowned, guilt twisting tighter. “That’s why I knew it would be the worst thing I could tell him.”

“Exactly,” Suga said gently, but firmly, “because for him, Oikawa is… everything he wanted to be. Talented. Charismatic. Loved by his teammates. Tobio respected him, and at the same time, he couldn’t stand him. That’s what happens when pride gets tangled up with admiration.”

Daichi hummed, as if remembering something. Suga’s eyes softened further, his tone almost reflective now. “When Kageyama first came to Karasuno, I had to give up my spot as the main setter. And I can tell you honestly, that wasn’t easy. It hurt. But we had something to fall back on. We had the team. We built trust. Friendship. It made it possible for me to set my pride aside.” He paused, letting the weight of that settle. “Oikawa and Tobio never got that chance. Their relationship stayed stuck between admiration and rivalry. That’s why this feels like such a betrayal to him. Not because of what you did with Oikawa, but because of what Oikawa represents to him. It hits his pride more than his heart.”

Hinata’s breath caught. Pride. Yes. That word burned through him like lightning. He thought of the way Tobio’s face had twisted last night. Not just hurt, but raw with something sharp and unyielding. Not just pain. Wounded pride.

Daichi leaned in then, his voice steady, grounding. “That’s why you need to give him space. He’s not ready to see it clearly yet. But he will. And when he does, he’ll realize you weren’t trying to hurt him. You were just being honest. That’s something he’ll come to respect, even if right now it feels like salt on a wound.”

Hinata bit his lip hard, his chest aching with both relief and sorrow. “So I just… wait?”

“Not just wait,” Suga said softly, his smile small but certain. “Be ready. Keep being honest, keep being yourself. He’ll come back when he’s ready. Because he loves you, man. He really does. Pride just has a way of clouding everything else until it burns off.”

Hinata blinked rapidly, shoulders shaking with the effort not to break down. The ache in his chest hadn’t gone, but the crushing weight had eased just enough for him to breathe.

Daichi reached across the table, giving his arm a firm squeeze. “You’re stronger than you think. You did the right thing.”

The kitchen filled with the faint, warm sound of sizzling oil and the smell of garlic and soy sauce. Hinata sat at the counter, chin propped on his hand, watching as Daichi and Suga moved easily around each other. An unspoken choreography that spoke of years spent sharing this space. Suga reached for the cutting board just as Daichi slid it closer without needing to ask. Daichi tasted the broth straight from the spoon, only for Suga to lightly smack his hand with the spatula, muttering that he was going to burn his tongue.

Hinata’s chest loosened in a way it hadn’t all morning. It was so ordinary, so simple, yet he could see it: the way they leaned toward each other without thinking, the way their laughter came quick and soft, the way their silences weren’t heavy.

He knew that outside of these walls, things were different. He’d seen it. He’d seen the way they stood just a little farther apart in public, the way they kept their touches professional, the way they spoke of each other like old teammates and not partners. Daichi was a police officer, Suga an elementary teacher; both carried themselves with a respectability that didn’t leave much room for their private lives. But here, in their own kitchen, they could be what they truly were: not Suga and Daichi the responsible adults, but Suga and Daichi who had been together long enough to know each other’s moods from a single glance.

Hinata found himself smiling despite everything, a small, aching warmth in his chest.

“Hey,” he blurted suddenly, almost startling himself. “Did you guys ever… have a fallout? Like… something big? Not just little arguments?”

Both men paused. Suga, knife halfway through a carrot, glanced at Daichi. Daichi, already holding a pot lid, let out a laugh that was equal parts surprised and knowing.

“Of course we did,” Suga said after a beat, setting down the knife. His tone was light, but his eyes were distant, as if flipping back through pages of memory. “Plenty of little arguments, too. But the biggest one—”

Daichi let out a deep chuckle, shaking his head as if it were only funny now, in hindsight. “—was right after high school.”

Hinata’s brows shot up. He couldn’t imagine these two , of all people, really fighting.

Suga sighed, leaning against the counter. “My family wasn’t exactly… thrilled about me dating Daichi. A man. They thought we were too young, that I should focus on studying, that moving in together was reckless and a sin. I wanted to cut ties, to prove I could make my own choices without their approval.”

Daichi’s jaw softened, his voice dropping lower. “And I didn’t want that. I didn’t want him to lose his family because of me. I thought he’d regret it later, and I didn’t want to be the reason.”

Hinata’s heart tugged painfully as he looked between them. He could almost picture it: Suga with his sharp words, Daichi with his stubbornness, the two of them pulling in opposite directions even while loving each other fiercely.

“It was a huge fight,” Suga admitted, but there was a small smile on his lips now. “We stopped talking for a while. Gave each other space to sort out our priorities.”

“And then,” Daichi said, his eyes softening as he glanced at Suga, “we realized the priority was always each other. Everything else, we figured out together.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy. It was warm, filled with the unspoken weight of years of choosing each other again and again.

Hinata swallowed hard, his throat tight. He wanted to ask a hundred questions. How they knew, how they trusted, how they kept choosing when things got so hard. But he couldn’t find the words. Instead, he just sat there, watching them move back into their easy rhythm, laughter threading into the steam curling up from the stove, thinking that maybe, love wasn’t about never falling apart. It was about finding your way back, no matter how wide the gap felt in the moment.

And in that small, ordinary kitchen, Hinata realized just how badly he wanted that with Tobio.

Lunch was soft in a way Hinata hadn’t realized he needed. The food wasn’t fancy, but it was warm, filling, and above all, comforting. He sat at the table with Suga and Daichi, their voices weaving in and out of each other with easy banter, tugging him along without pressuring him to contribute. Every now and then, Daichi said something dry that made Suga swat him on the arm, and Hinata found himself laughing, really laughing, for the first time since the night before. The sound surprised him, but it also soothed something jagged inside his chest.

It felt like being back in high school, safe under their watch, except gentler now, more grown. They weren’t his senpai and captain anymore. They were his friends, his big brothers. And they were treating him exactly as such, offering him space and warmth at once, making sure he left their house with a fuller stomach than when he came in.

When the plates were cleared and the tea set down, Hinata hesitated. He was about to ask if they could point him toward the nearest station, but before the words left his mouth, Daichi leaned forward with that steady, grounding voice of his.

“I’ll drive you,” he said simply.

Hinata blinked. “Ah—Daichi, you don’t have to, I can just—”

“You’re not going to lug your bag around or worry about any of that today.” Daichi’s gaze softened, but it didn’t waver. “Let me take you.”

Hinata’s throat caught for a second. He realized, not for the first time, why Daichi had been such a good captain. He had that uncanny ability to read people, to know when they needed pushing and when they needed quiet, when to step back and when to step in. And right now, Daichi knew Hinata couldn’t bring himself to ask, not directly.

The car ride to the station was quieter than the drive to Suga’s house. No one filled the silence unnecessarily. Hinata stared out the window, watching the familiar Miyagi streets pass by, each one heavy with memories. Suga hummed along faintly to the radio, Daichi drove with calm precision, and Hinata clutched his bag like a lifeline, wishing the pit in his stomach would ease.

When they finally pulled into the station lot, Daichi parked and killed the engine. The three of them got out together, standing for a moment by the trunk. Hinata adjusted the strap of his bag and bowed, already thanking them for everything, but before he could turn toward the station entrance, Suga called softly:

“Hinata.”

He froze, looking back. Suga’s smile was small, careful, but kind.

“You should probably know,” Suga said, slipping his hands into his pockets, “Kageyama texted me a while ago. During lunch.”

Hinata’s eyes went wide. His heartbeat stuttered, tripping over itself. “He—what?”

“He just wanted to make sure you were okay,” Suga explained gently. “That you had a way back to Tokyo. He didn’t say much else.”

The words landed like a blow and a balm all at once. Hinata’s throat tightened, and suddenly it felt like tears were clawing their way up before he could stop them. His eyes burned as he looked down at the pavement, biting his lip hard. Just knowing Tobio had thought of him… had cared enough to reach out, even indirectly. It cracked something open inside.

Suga stepped closer, his voice warm but firm, the way it had always been when Hinata was a first-year, when the world felt too big and too sharp.

“Don’t lose hope,” he said. “Things are raw right now, but they’ll settle. Everything will be alright.”

Hinata nodded, the tears threatening to spill but not quite falling, his chest so tight it almost hurt. He bowed his head low, not just in thanks but to keep his trembling face from showing.

When he finally straightened, Daichi gave him one of those grounding looks again. Steady, reliable, like an anchor. Hinata swallowed, forced a wobbly smile, and whispered, “Thank you. For everything.”

And with that, he turned toward the station, bag on his shoulder, carrying with him the smallest, most fragile flame of hope.

Chapter 104: Chapter CIII

Notes:

short chapter (please don't kill me)

enjoy<3

By the time Hinata finally unlocked the door to his Tokyo apartment, night had already settled heavy across the city. The hallway light flickered as he stepped inside, the faint echo of the train ride still buzzing in his ears. His body ached, but not in the way it did after practice, not with the satisfying burn of muscles used well, but in the hollow, dragging exhaustion that came from too much feeling. His bag slid from his shoulder and landed in the corner with a dull thud, as if it too had given up.

The apartment was quiet. Too quiet. He kicked off his shoes and padded into the bathroom, peeling himself out of his clothes as if they weighed a ton. The hot water filled the tub quickly, steam curling up in little ghostly ribbons, and he sank into it with a groan. The heat seeped into his skin, loosening his body, but his chest refused to unclench.

He let his head rest back against the edge of the tub, water lapping at his collarbones. And of course, inevitably, Tobio’s face surfaced in his mind. That moment in the backyard, his eyes sharp and burning, his voice tight when he said it: Don’t reach out.

Hinata’s hand twitched toward the counter, where his phone sat face down. He thought about unlocking it, typing out just one short message: I’m home. I’m safe. Don’t worry. Something simple. Something that wouldn’t break any rules. Something that would maybe ease that terrible loneliness pressing down on him.

But the words rang in his ears again, harsh and final, and his hand sank back into the water. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Not when Kageyama had been so clear.

So he stayed there, letting the water scald his skin, eyes fixed on the bathroom ceiling until it blurred. The loneliness pressed down like a weight on his chest, making it hard to breathe. For the first time in months, the apartment didn’t feel like home. Without Tobio in it. Without his voice, his presence, his blunt comments… the place felt empty and foreign.

And yet, even with that loneliness gnawing at him, Hinata clung to Suga’s words, to Daichi’s steady calm. He had done the right thing. He knew that. Keeping the truth buried would’ve been easier in the short run, but it would’ve rotted between them. He had chosen honesty, even if it hurt, even if it risked everything. That mattered.

He just needs time, Hinata told himself. He needs to cool off. He needs to see past the anger.

The problem was: how? How could he help Tobio set aside his pride, when Hinata knew all too well how deep that wound went? Was there anything he could say, anything at all, that could prove this wasn’t about Oikawa, or rivalry, or humiliation, but about them ? About what they were building together?

The questions circled endlessly, twisting and tightening until his head hurt. By the time he dragged himself out of the bath, wrapped himself in a towel, and collapsed into bed, he was still replaying every word, every possibility. His phone sat silently on the nightstand, no notifications lighting up its screen.

He curled under the blankets, staring into the dark, thoughts tumbling until they blurred together. His chest ached with wanting. Wanting Tobio, wanting the comfort of his voice, wanting things to go back to how they were just days ago, before all of this.

Eventually, his eyes grew heavy, but sleep didn’t come gently. It dragged him under, slow and reluctant, while his mind still overthought every angle, every possibility of fixing what felt so breakable. His last thought before sleep finally claimed him was a simple, desperate one:

Please, let him come back.

 

---

 

The first thing Hinata noticed when he woke up was silence.

Not the comforting kind. Not the lazy weekend kind, filled with sunshine and birds outside the window, but the sort of silence that pressed on his ears, a hollow absence that made the room feel colder than it was. His hand reached instinctively for his phone on the nightstand, thumb brushing over the screen before his eyes were even open.

No new messages. No good morning text.

The disappointment landed heavy in his stomach, even though he’d told himself not to expect anything. He said not to reach out. He meant it. Still, the habit was so ingrained. Waking up and checking for Tobio’s name lighting up his screen. The thought of breaking that habit felt impossible.

Hinata sat up, rubbed his face with both hands, and let out a long breath. He thought back to Brazil, to those months where silence had been his only companion, where he’d had no choice but to get used to it. How the hell did I even survive that? he wondered. Now, with only one day of this heavy quiet, he already felt like a piece of him had been stripped away.

He moved on autopilot through his morning routine. Toast popped up from the toaster, but he didn’t bother spreading anything on it. Just chewed mechanically, staring blankly out the window at the sliver of sky between buildings. Even the walk to the training facility felt different. He noticed nothing, not the morning rush, not the snippets of conversation he passed. It was all a blur.

At practice, the coach gathered them before warm-ups. 

“We’ve arranged a practice match,” he announced. “Division Two team. It’ll be good to test our rhythm outside these walls.”

The others buzzed with energy at the news, voices overlapping as excitement sparked. Hinata wanted to join in. Normally, he’d be the loudest one there, grinning ear to ear, bouncing on his toes with too much energy. Today, he forced a smile, nodded, and went back to stretching.

On court, he did what he always did. He ran. He jumped. He hit. His body moved almost perfectly, muscle memory guiding him, but his head wasn’t there. His reactions were a fraction of a second slower. His jumps weren’t quite as high. His calls were quieter.

“Hey, Hinata,” Meian said during a water break, coming to stand beside him. His tone wasn’t sharp, but it carried concern. “You okay? You seem… off today.”

Hinata blinked at him, startled, and quickly nodded. “Ah—yeah, just… tired. I took a train yesterday back from Miyagi and it wore me out, I guess.”

Meian studied him for a moment longer, but let it go with a pat on the shoulder. Hinata offered him a small smile in return, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

The hours passed, but it all blurred. Every serve, every spike, every rotation, it all felt muted, like he was playing underwater.

By the time he got home, he was running on fumes. He tossed his bag in the corner, ignored the kitchen, ignored the idea of dinner altogether, and went straight to his room. The apartment felt cavernous again, the silence pressing on him even harder than in the morning.

And then he saw it.

One of Tobio’s shirts, folded neatly on the dresser. Left behind after he’d stayed over, washed since then, but still faintly carrying his scent. Hinata picked it up, fingers pressing into the fabric. He brought it to his nose, inhaled, and felt something inside him ache at the faint reminder. It wasn’t the full comfort of Tobio’s presence—the shirt smelled mostly of laundry soap now—but there was a ghost of something underneath, enough to make his chest clench.

He sat on the edge of the bed, shirt balled in his hands, and thought about Brazil again. How lonely it had been. How many nights he’d fallen asleep hugging his pillow, pretending it was enough. Back then, he hadn’t had Tobio at all. Not his presence, not his love, not even his friendship. And he had survived. He had grown stronger.

So why now, when Tobio was only a train ride away, did it feel unbearable?

Because now he knew what it was like. Because now he knew what it meant to wake up to his texts, to play side by side, to walk home together, to laugh in the kitchen late at night. Because Tobio wasn’t just a teammate anymore. 

He was home.

Hinata lay down, still clutching the shirt to his chest. His phone rested on the nightstand again, dark and silent. He knew what day it was. Tobio’s first day of practice with the Adlers in their brand-new training center. He imagined him there, standing tall, shining, surrounded by teammates, pushing himself as hard as always. He wanted so badly to ask how it went, to celebrate the milestone with him.

But he couldn’t. Not yet.

The world was still moving. Games were being scheduled, practices were being held, careers were advancing… but Hinata felt like he was standing still, weighed down and left behind.

The silence reminded him too much of something else. Of that fight, two years ago, right before he left.

Back then, their words had been sharp, reckless, thrown like knives meant to cut. They’d shouted, they’d accused, they’d said things that weren’t true just to hurt the other more. Hinata could still remember the sting of Tobio’s insults, of his own, even.  The way they’d echoed in his chest for weeks afterward, even when he told himself they weren’t real. It had been a mess of pride and anger and misunderstanding, so loud that it drowned out everything else.

This time, it was different. No insults. No shouting. Just words that fell heavy and final, as if Tobio had taken every feeling he had and pressed them into short, unshakable sentences: Don’t reach out. That was what hurt the most. Because last time, Hinata had been able to tell himself that anger had twisted their words. That they hadn’t really meant it. But this time, Tobio’s silence, Tobio’s distance, was deliberate. The wound it left behind wasn’t jagged, but clean, deep, and impossible to ignore.

Hinata almost wished they had yelled again, just so he could cling to the noise instead of this suffocating quiet.

Eventually, exhaustion won out. He curled tighter around the shirt, eyes closed, letting the faint trace of Tobio’s scent anchor him. The world spun on outside his window, but Hinata didn’t have the energy to follow.

Sleep came heavy, dreamless, and lonely.

Chapter 105: Chapter CIV

Notes:

hello beautiful people! sorry i haven't been able to reply to the comments. i got sick and i'm taking a very strong medicine that makes me really sleepy (i don't even know how i'm still writing and posting lol)

but anyways, hope you enjoy!<3

Hinata hadn’t slept. Or maybe he had, just enough to keep his body moving, not enough to make his head feel clear. His alarm cut through the dark before dawn, and for the first time in years, he lay there debating if he should even get up. But eventually muscle memory won. He dressed. He packed his things. He forced his feet forward.

Again, no text. No call. His screen was as empty as the night before.

When he said he needed time, how much did he mean? Hinata asked himself for the hundredth time on the train ride to the gym. A day? A week? A year? His chest ached just thinking about it, as though the answer might stretch into forever.

At the station, the stares burned more than usual. Jackals tracksuit, duffel bag, unmistakable hair. Phones tilted his way, eyes widened. One person started toward him, mouth forming his name, and Hinata bolted into the crowd before they could catch him. His heart didn’t slow down until the automatic doors of the train shut behind him.

By the time the Black Jackals arrived at the Tachibana Red Falcons’ training center, his chest felt tight with exhaustion. The gym itself was buzzing with energy: polished floors, echoing sneakers, sharp whistles. A normal practice match. Nothing unusual. But Hinata moved like someone slightly out of rhythm, a half-beat off the music.

He changed into his jersey with the others, laced his shoes, stretched. Meian kept giving him sidelong glances. Bokuto too. They were both reading something off him that he couldn’t hide.

Warm-ups started. Hinata tried to focus, to feel the bounce in his legs, but his arms felt heavy, his head foggy. The usual fire that crackled in his chest before a match was only smoke today.

“Hey.”

Hinata turned. Bokuto was standing just behind him, spinning a ball lazily in his hands. His usual wide grin was softer now, tilted. “You’re quiet.”

Hinata blinked. “I’m fine. Just a little tired.”

Bokuto tilted his head. “Nah. This isn’t just tired.” He nudged Hinata with his elbow, keeping his voice low so it didn’t carry to the rest of the team. “What’s wrong?”

Hinata opened his mouth, ready with another brush-off, but the words stuck. He couldn’t. He wasn’t ready.

So instead, he forced a smile. “I’ll be okay.”

Bokuto watched him for a second longer, then let it drop. Not because he believed him, but because he knew Hinata well enough to recognize the wall. Still, Bokuto slung an arm over his shoulders as they walked to their line. “Then I’ll pick up the energy for both of us, yeah? Just stick with me.”

Hinata let out a small laugh. It wasn’t much, but it loosened the tightness in his chest. Bokuto wasn’t dramatic about it, wasn’t pushing him to talk. He was just there, steady, the way only a teammate could be.

The whistle blew. They rotated into position. Hinata crouched, eyes on the ball, but his head was still caught in a loop of unanswered questions. A day, a week, a year?

For now, though, he would move. He would jump. He would play. Even if his heart wasn’t in it, his body still remembered how.

The gym buzzed with the weight of competition, even if it was only a practice match. The Tachibana Red Falcons were no strangers to the Black Jackals; they were a solid Division 2 team, disciplined and sharp, a perfect opponent for working out the edges before the season fully picked up. Their players were tall, organized, and already radiating a steady kind of confidence as they warmed up.

Hinata should’ve felt that familiar rush, the one that made his blood spark and his body itch to move. But as he jogged into position for the start of the first set, he felt… slow. Heavy. Like his legs were dragging a little behind his mind.

Still, he forced himself forward. Move. Jump. Don’t let them see.

The first rallies weren’t disastrous. Hinata was moving, covering, pushing himself to react fast. He still found the open spots, still chased impossible balls. His body had been trained too well to completely collapse, even on low reserves. But the sharp sting in his right hand whenever he landed wrong made him flinch, even if only for half a second. The damn injury from when he fell from Natsu’s bicycle. A constant reminder of Kageyama leaving him behind, now getting in the way of his game. He shook it out between plays, pretending it was nothing. 

But Meian saw.

After Hinata mistimed a pass and sent the ball too close to the net, the captain leaned toward him during rotation. “You good?” he asked under his breath.

“I’m fine,” Hinata shot back quickly, too quickly, forcing his eyes straight ahead.

“Fine doesn’t look like that,” Meian muttered. His eyes softened, but his voice was steady. “If you need to sit for a bit—”

“I don’t!” Hinata snapped. The word came out sharper than he meant, panic laced in it. The thought of sitting on the bench made his chest squeeze. “I can’t. I’ll be fine.”

Meian held his gaze a moment longer, then sighed, backing off. At least for now.

The set dragged on. Hinata kept moving, kept jumping, but he felt like his own shadow: smaller, slower, out of sync. The restless two nights caught up to him in bursts of sluggishness, like his reflexes had to claw through fog. By the end of the set, they had scraped out a win, but Hinata could feel sweat soaking through his jersey more than usual, his lungs straining for air.

And worse. He knew his teammates were noticing.

Bokuto thumped him on the back between sets. “C’mon, Shoyo! Energy up, yeah? You’re usually bouncing circles around us.” His grin was wide, but his eyes weren’t. They were worried.

Hinata nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah. I got it.”

But the second set was harder. The Red Falcons had adjusted to his angles, and his jumps weren’t explosive enough to catch them off guard. He landed one cross shot cleanly, but the next swing stung in his hand so bad he had to shake it out mid-play, costing them a point. He stumbled on a receive. Missed a read. The energy he tried to summon wasn’t answering anymore.

Meian barked a timeout, and the team gathered around. Hinata bent forward, palms on his knees, lungs burning. Sweat dripped into his eyes. He felt like collapsing but kept himself upright by sheer will.

Meian crouched down in front of him, not even hiding the concern this time. “Hinata. Enough.”

Hinata’s head snapped up. “What? No—I’m fine, I can—”

“You’re not fine,” Meian cut in, voice firm. “You’re hurting the team. You’re running yourself into the ground, and it’s showing.”

Hinata’s throat closed. The words stung more than he expected. He knew they were true—he knew —but hearing them out loud hit him like a blow to the chest.

Suddenly he was sixteen again, the memory of Kamomedai High slamming into him. The flu, the fever, the crushing realization that he couldn’t go on, that he was dragging his team down. Watching from the bench while his teammates kept fighting without him, powerless to help.

The guilt burned in his chest now just as it had then. This was his favorite place, the court, and he was being pushed out of it. Again.

Bokuto leaned closer, voice softer. “Hey. We all have bad days. Doesn’t mean you’re not a monster on the court. Just… rest for now, okay?”

Hinata’s eyes blurred for a second, the sting in his throat hard to swallow down. He wanted to scream that he could still play, that he could push through it, that he needed to be out there. But his legs trembled under him, his lungs were already begging for air, and his hand throbbed every time he flexed it.

Meian didn’t even wait for his answer. “Bench.”

Hinata flinched. It wasn’t a suggestion this time. It was an order.

He stumbled back, trading places with a substitute, the weight of every step heavier than the last. His heart twisted watching the others line up without him, watching the game continue while he sat, hands clasped uselessly in his lap.

Samson didn’t scold him. Didn’t lecture him. The coach just walked past, pausing long enough to pat Hinata’s back, firm and steady, before stepping away again. Like a father telling him without words: It’s okay. Rest.

Hinata bit the inside of his cheek, fighting the swell of shame.

Across the net, Hakuba shot him a small, worried glance, but said nothing. On his own side, Bokuto kept calling encouragements after every point, making sure to glance Hinata’s way, as if to remind him he was still part of this even off the court.

Atsumu, on the other hand, watched quietly from his spot, eyes unreadable. Not mocking, not pitying. Just… observing. Like he was cataloguing every crack in Hinata’s armor.

Hinata sat there, guilt gnawing at him, the sounds of the game echoing like a punishment. His place was on the court. And right now, he couldn’t hold it.

 

---

 

The Black Jackals still won. On the scoreboard, that much was clear. They’d scraped through the second set and dominated the third, pulling off the kind of relentless push that made them a Division 1 powerhouse. The players shook hands, coaches exchanged polite bows, and the gym’s energy softened from sharp competition into the buzz of post-match chatter.

But the weight lingered. Hinata could feel it.

He sat on the bench, jersey damp and sticking uncomfortably to his skin, while his teammates gathered their things. The others congratulated each other with the usual back slaps and grins, but there was a subtle restraint in the air. Like they all knew the victory hadn’t been as clean as it could’ve been. Like they’d all felt the gap left by his absence.

Hinata hated that the gap had been him.

“Hey, Hinata!”

He lifted his head, startled, as Hakuba strode over with his usual easy grin. Tall, lean, and practically glowing from the exertion of the match, the Red Falcon player looked completely at ease despite the loss.

“Good game,” Hakuba said, extending his hand. Hinata stood automatically to shake it, though his grip was weak.

Hakuba chuckled. “Man, it’s even kinda funny—you guys lose one of your key pieces halfway through, and you still manage to take us down. Says a lot about how strong the Black Jackals are, huh?”

Hinata opened his mouth, but the words caught in his throat. He tried to smile instead, but it came out thin, almost apologetic.

Hakuba tilted his head, something flickering in his expression. Then he leaned in a little, lowering his voice. “Don’t beat yourself up too much, Hinata. You’re still one of the scariest guys I’ve played against. Everyone has bad days.”

Hinata blinked, the kindness almost disarming. He nodded quickly, bowing once in gratitude. “Thanks. Really.”

“See you next time.” Hakuba clapped him lightly on the shoulder before moving off toward Bokuto and Atsumu, greeting them with the kind of familiarity only players who’d once shared a training camp could have. Bokuto was quick to boom his laughter, pulling Hakuba into a rough half-hug, while Atsumu exchanged a grin and a few words.

Hinata lingered on the edge of the group, watching. Everyone was trying to cheer him up in their own way. Hakuba’s encouragement, Bokuto’s constant chatter and grins thrown his way, even the subtle glances from Meian and Sakusa as they gathered their things, as if to say we’re not mad at you … It should’ve felt comforting. But all Hinata could feel was the ache of his own failure, pressing down on him heavier than his tired body could handle.

The sting worsened when he noticed a few people from the small crowd that had come to watch. Fans, probably local volleyball enthusiasts, standing by the railings. They were whispering, glancing his way. Their expressions weren’t hostile, but they weren’t admiring either. Some looked puzzled, others disappointed. Like they’d expected fireworks from the “ninja Shoyo” and instead had watched him fade into the background.

Hinata quickly looked away, pretending to fumble with his knee pads. The whispers stayed anyway, buzzing in the corner of his hearing like flies.

He just wanted to leave.

The team began to file out, the squeak of shoes on the polished court echoing toward the exit. Hinata stuffed his water bottle back into his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. He was about to follow when a familiar voice stopped him.

“Hey, Hinata.”

Hinata turned, startled to see Atsumu lingering behind, one hand shoved into his jacket pocket, the other loosely holding his bag strap. His expression was unusually serious. 

Atsumu looked him over once, then sighed. “I dunno what’s going on with you. But… I think I can guess. It’s gotta do with Kageyama, right?”

Hinata froze, the blood rushing to his ears. He opened his mouth to protest, but Atsumu cut him off with a small shake of his head.

“Don’t worry, I’m not asking. Not my business,” Atsumu said, voice quieter now. His eyes softened in a way Hinata rarely saw, like the sharp edges of his personality had smoothed down. “But I know you. Kind of. I know you wouldn’t walk out of the court unless it was something that hurt real bad. Nothing else would get you off there.”

Hinata swallowed, throat tight, his chest clenching with the truth in those words. He didn’t trust himself to respond.

Atsumu shifted, glancing away for a second before speaking again. “Things’ll work out, though. They always do. Someone’s gotta be optimistic, right?”

Hinata’s eyes widened. He recognized those words. They were his own, thrown back at him. Just a few days ago, he’d said almost the same thing to Atsumu, trying to reassure him about his troubles with Sakusa. He hadn’t thought too much of it at the time; it had been instinct, offering comfort the way he always did. But now Atsumu was handing them back to him, steady and sure.

And somehow, it hit harder than he expected.

Hinata felt something loosen in his chest. His lips trembled into the smallest of smiles. “Yeah,” he whispered, voice low but steady. “Yeah. Thanks, ‘man.”

Atsumu smirked faintly, though it didn’t reach his eyes. He jerked his head toward the exit. “C’mon. Let’s get outta here.”

Hinata nodded, and they walked out side by side. Quiet, yes, but closer than before.

 

---

 

The train ride home blurred past him, the stations flickering outside the window, voices rising and fading with each stop. By the time Hinata reached his apartment, his body felt heavier than his bag. He closed the door behind him, dropped everything onto the floor, and leaned against the frame for a moment, the silence of the place pressing in around him.

He wanted to talk to Kageyama. More than anything. Every second since the fight, the ache in his chest had been gnawing at him, and now, after a match where he hadn’t even been able to stand his ground, the need burned. He wanted to hear Tobio’s voice. Short, awkward, maybe even a little scolding, but familiar. Comforting.

But his words still echoed too loud in his head.

So instead, Hinata collapsed onto the couch, pulling his phone out in a desperate attempt to distract himself. He scrolled aimlessly through his feed, seeing pictures of teammates celebrating, fans posting highlights of the match. At first, it was harmless. He even managed a weak chuckle at a clip of Bokuto flexing after a point.

Then he saw it.

A blurry shot of him sitting on the bench, head bowed, sweat-damp hair plastered to his forehead. The caption burned:

“This is the ‘Ninja Shoyo’ y’all hyped up? Looks like he’s all talk, no talent. Mid at best.”

Hinata froze. His thumb hovered above the screen, but his eyes kept reading. More posts. Different angles of him slumped on the bench. Words cutting sharper than spikes:

“Can’t even last a full game? Guess he’s not built for the top.”
“Black Jackals carried him today lol.”
“He’s clearly tired, y'all can chill for a sec.”

Something snapped. His jaw clenched, his chest heaving with an anger that bubbled too close to despair.

Are you kidding me?

Hinata slammed the phone down beside him, burying his hands into his hair. He’d given everything. Everything . Since high school, since Karasuno, since the day he’d first stepped into a dusty gym with a net that looked way too high for him. Every morning, every night, every breath of his life had been volleyball. And now, because of one mistake, one bad game where his exhaustion had finally caught up to him, they discarded him like he was nothing?

Like he was a fraud?

Hinata’s throat burned. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to swallow the rage, the helplessness, the overwhelming urge to scream.

His phone buzzed suddenly, startling him. He glanced down.

Suga.

Hinata fumbled to answer. “Hello?”

“Hinata.” Suga’s voice was calm and warm, but laced with something heavy. “Did you already see the posts?”

Hinata’s chest tightened. “Yeah.” His voice came out hoarse, small.

On the other end, there was a pause, then a long, quiet breath. “I thought so.”

The silence between them stretched for a beat, then Suga spoke again, steady and sure. “Listen to me, Hinata. You’re allowed to be upset. But don’t let them take volleyball from you. Don’t let them decide what you are. You’ve worked too hard, too long, to let a couple of people behind a screen tell you you’re not good enough.”

Hinata swallowed, his eyes stinging. He wanted to argue, to say that those words had still cut deep, that they felt true no matter how much he tried to deny it, but his voice failed him.

“Have you eaten?” Suga asked suddenly.

Hinata blinked. “…Yeah.”

“Hinata.” The tone shifted. Gentle, but unmistakably firm, like a parent catching a lie.

Hinata’s shoulders slumped. “No. I just… don’t have the appetite.”

Another pause. Then Suga sighed softly. “You have to eat, Sho. Even if it’s just a little. I know you’re sad. I know this feels heavy. But if you stop taking care of yourself, you’ll lose the only thing that’s always been yours. Volleyball. And you love it too much to lose it, don’t you?”

Hinata’s throat closed. He pressed the heel of his hand to his eyes, trying to keep his voice steady. “…Yeah.”

“Then treat it like what it is,” Suga said gently. “Your safe place. Your way to keep moving forward. Volleyball shouldn't feel like a burden. And you know that better than anyone. Don’t let this turn it into something else, okay? Remember why you play.”

Hinata sniffled, a shaky laugh escaping him. “You… kind of always know what to say.”

“That’s because I know you,” Suga replied with a smile audible in his tone. “Trust me, Sho—everything’s going to be alright. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but it will.”

Hinata clutched the phone tighter, letting those words seep in like warmth spreading through his chest.

By the time they said goodbye, he still felt raw, but steadier. He dragged himself into the kitchen, pulling out the simplest thing he could: instant rice and an egg. He forced the first bite down, then another, and slowly, the weight on his chest eased just a little.

Suga was right. Volleyball was his anchor. And he couldn’t let go of it now.

Not when it was also the one thing that tied him to Tobio.

Chapter 106

Notes:

thank you so much for your good wishes!! i'm still sick but i feel so much better<3

hope you enjoy<3

Hinata woke up with the taste of exhaustion still heavy in his mouth, but at least this time, he’d managed a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. Not enough, not really, but more than the past nights where he’d tossed and turned, the glow of his phone screen tempting him with the urge to text Tobio, to beg for a reply that might never come.

The posts still lingered in his mind, resurfacing like sharp rocks no matter how hard he tried to push them down. That picture of him on the bench, his head low, shoulders sagging… it looped behind his eyelids every time he blinked. He hated it. Hated that the version of him people were passing around wasn’t the one he knew himself to be. Hated that, maybe, just maybe, it reflected how far off balance he really was.

But then he thought of Suga’s voice from the night before. Steady, kind, but firm in its certainty.

So Hinata dragged himself to practice.

The rhythm of drills filled the court: sneakers squeaking against the polished floor, the thwack of the ball against palms, the quick barks of instruction from Samson. The familiarity of it all should have been comforting, but Hinata still felt a step behind, like he was chasing after his own shadow, lungs never quite filling the way they used to.

He forced himself to keep moving, to put one foot in front of the other. His jumps were there, but sluggish. His serves went over, but without their usual bite. Every mistake gnawed at him, and every glance from his teammates, curious, cautious, or worried, added another stone to the weight in his chest.

During a water break, Hinata sat against the wall, towel draped over his head. He was too busy trying to steady his breathing to notice until a bottle of cold water was suddenly dropped into his lap.

He looked up.

Atsumu stood over him, arms crossed, expression set in that half-annoyed, half-bored mask he wore whenever he didn’t want to show too much. “Don’t overthink it,” he muttered, eyes flicking away. “Just drink. You look like you’re running on fumes.”

Bokuto leaned in from behind Atsumu with a wide grin. “He’s right! Hydrate, Hinata! You looked like a dried-up raisin out there.”

Hinata blinked, then let out a breath that was almost a laugh. He twisted the cap off and drank, cold water rushing down his throat like relief. He caught Atsumu’s gaze just long enough to murmur, “Thanks.”

Atsumu only shrugged, but Hinata didn’t miss the way his shoulders eased, as if he’d been waiting for that small acknowledgment.

Practice trudged on. Hinata forced himself through the motions. It wasn’t brilliant, it wasn’t terrible, just… there. When it was finally over, he packed up slowly, letting the others filter out first.

The walk home was quiet, his bag heavy on his back, the streets lined with the glow of shop signs and the hum of cars. He tried not to think, but the silence was too good at pulling thoughts out of him.

That was when he saw it.

Up ahead, just past the corner store, stood a figure. Broad-shouldered. Tall. Familiar.

Hinata’s heart leapt so violently it hurt. His pace quickened, his throat tight. The hair, the short, dark spikes catching the streetlight… it had to be him.

“Tobio!” Hinata called, voice cracking as it rushed out of him before he could think.

The figure turned.

Not Tobio.

Just a stranger with vaguely similar hair, glancing at him in confusion before turning back toward the bus stop.

Hinata froze mid-step, air knocked out of his lungs. The hope that had flared inside him a second ago fizzled out into something sharp, something hollow. He ducked his head, muttered a quick apology, and hurried past, the sting of disappointment so much worse because of that split second of believing.

By the time he reached his apartment, his chest felt heavier than when he’d left practice. He closed the door behind him, dropped his bag, and walked straight to his room.

Hinata lay sprawled on his bed, one arm flung across his eyes, the other clenching and unclenching against his stomach like it might wring an answer out of him. Now that practice was done, he was more exhausted than ever. But not even that bone-deep fatigue could drown out the ache in his chest.

He hadn’t heard a word from Tobio. Not a text. Not a call. Nothing.

And every time Hinata’s fingers hovered over his phone, he remembered the sharp way Tobio had said to stay away from him The words felt like iron, closing around his chest, keeping him in place no matter how much he wanted to break through them.

What if I just… call him? Or… maybe an apology over text message?

He rolled onto his side and buried his face in his pillow with a groan. Every path he thought of ended with him breaking Tobio’s request, or worse, making him angry all over again. And the idea of Tobio being even more upset with him was unbearable.

Hinata wanted so badly to show him he cared, that he was still there, waiting. But how? How could he slip past those words and still reach him?

And then his mind flickered back, like it had so many times these past days for some reason, to that story Tobio had told him about Tendo. About how he had shown up at Ushijima’s home with an apology cake after breaking up. 

I can’t show up at his apartment with a giant cake. He’d probably kill me, Hinata thought, lips twitching despite himself. But maybe… maybe something smaller. Something that says I’m thinking of him, without me saying it directly.

The idea sparked, simple but warm: milk bread. Milk. Little things Tobio always loved, quiet comforts that spoke without words. It wouldn’t be a text. It wouldn’t be a call. It wouldn’t even have his name on it. Just… a reminder. A piece of care, left where Tobio couldn’t miss it.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he grabbed his wallet and stepped outside again. His feet carried him not to the small cafeteria tucked near the corner of his street. The place always smelled faintly of yeast and butter, and it reminded him of mornings when he and Tobio would sneak off after practice in Miyagi, chasing anything with milk in it to refill his bottomless appetite.

The bell above the door chimed as he pushed it open. The warm smell wrapped around him immediately, softening something raw inside his chest. Behind the counter stood a girl about his age, tying her apron a little tighter as she greeted him.

Hinata’s eyes roamed the glass display until they landed on it: milk bread, golden and fluffy, with that faint sheen of sweetness Tobio had always devoured without any shame. And just beside it, cartons of chilled milk stacked neatly in the cooler.

“Can I get one milk bread and a box of milk?” Hinata asked, his voice a little more rushed than he intended.

The girl rang it up, her smile polite. Hinata paid and tucked the small paper bag under his arm, hesitating before blurting out, “Uh—sorry, do you have a post-it note? And maybe a pen?”

She blinked, surprised, but nodded. “Uh… sure, give me a sec.” She handed him a small square of pale yellow paper and a pen with a little cartoon mascot dangling off it.

Hinata stood by the corner of the counter, bread and milk waiting beside him, pen hovering over the paper. His hand shook just a little. He couldn’t sign it, couldn’t risk that. But he wanted, needed, Tobio to know it was from him.

He chewed the inside of his cheek before finally writing in quick, uneven strokes:

I hope practice went well today.

He stared at the words for a moment, wanting to write more, wanting to spill everything he couldn’t say out loud, but he forced himself to stop there. Any more and it would feel desperate. Any less and it wouldn’t be enough.

He folded the post-it once, tucked it against the carton of milk, and carried everything carefully back into the night.

The walk to Tobio’s building felt heavier than usual, every step a mix of nerves and relief. By the time he reached Tobio’s building, his heart was a hammer in his chest. Every step up the narrow staircase felt heavier than the last, like his legs weren’t carrying him but dragging him toward something he wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch.

Then he saw it: the faint golden glow spilling through the curtains of a familiar window. The one he’d looked out from countless times before. Tobio’s.

Hinata froze. His breath caught in his throat.

The light was on.

And, through the quiet of the evening, he could hear the faint, steady rhythm of a commentator’s voice. A volleyball match. He’d know that sound anywhere.

Tobio was right there. On the other side of the wall. Probably lying on the sofa.

Hinata’s grip on the paper bag tightened until the edges crumpled. His chest ached with the raw need to knock, to throw the door open, to cross the distance and cling to Tobio until he was forced to listen, until he forgave him. Every instinct in his body screamed at him to close the gap, to go to the person he loved more than anything.

But he couldn’t.

He shouldn’t. Not yet.

His knees felt weak as he knelt, carefully setting the milk bread and box of milk in front of the door. His hand lingered over the note. He pressed it down once, firm, like sealing a promise he didn’t dare say out loud.

Then he stood, forcing his feet to carry him a few paces back down the hall. His chest was burning, his heart racing so violently he thought it might shatter right through his ribs. He looked once more at the door, the faint slice of golden light, the soft murmur of the TV, and then raised his hand just long enough to knock.

Three quick raps. Light, almost hesitant.

And before his courage broke completely, Hinata turned on his heel and fled down the stairwell, each step thundering in his ears louder than his own heartbeat.

All he could do was hope that when Tobio saw the little bag waiting for him, he’d understand. Even if Hinata couldn’t say it aloud, even if pride and hurt were still in the way, the message was simple:

I still care. I always will.

 

---

 

Hinata woke with a jolt, his hand flying automatically toward the nightstand before he even opened his eyes. His phone was there, screen dark and cold against his palm. He blinked against the dull light seeping through the curtains, his pulse quickening as he unlocked it, half-expecting, half hoping, to see a notification lighting it up.

A message. A missed call. Anything.

But there was nothing.

The silence of the phone was heavier than the quiet room around him. No “Thanks for the food.” No “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Just blank space.

Hinata let out a breath, long and shaky, and sank back into the pillow. For a moment, disappointment squeezed his chest so tightly it hurt. He had imagined it. The soft buzz of his phone in the night, the rush of relief at seeing Tobio’s name on the screen, the way even the smallest acknowledgement would’ve set his heart alight. He had hoped so hard that maybe, just maybe, Tobio would break the silence first.

But he hadn’t.

And yet… as Hinata lay there, phone still in hand, he realized the weight pressing down on him wasn’t quite as suffocating as yesterday. His chest still ached, but there was something different about it now, a strange, fragile ease tucked between the cracks.

He closed his eyes and thought back to last night.

The warm glow spilling from Tobio’s window. The low hum of the television, the unmistakable rhythm of a volleyball match playing just beyond the wall. The light knock of his knuckles on the door before he turned and ran, his heart hammering like a drum in his chest.

He had been so close.

Closer than he had been in days.

Maybe Tobio hadn’t seen him. Maybe he hadn’t noticed the bread and milk yet, or maybe he had and chose not to say anything. Hinata didn’t know, couldn’t know. But that wasn’t the part that lingered in his mind when he closed his eyes again.

What stayed with him was the simple fact that Tobio was still there. Real. Present. Living his life just meters away, with the same glow of light, the same TV turned too loud, the same habits and rhythms Hinata had grown to love.

For the first time in days, Hinata didn’t feel like he was losing him to silence. For the first time, it didn’t feel like Tobio had disappeared from his world.

And somehow, that was enough.

Hinata let the phone slip from his hand, his chest loosening just a little as he exhaled. He wasn’t okay, not fully, not even close, but last night had given him something small to hold onto.

A reminder.

That Tobio was still there. Still real. Still his.

Even if he wasn’t ready to open the door yet.

 

---

 

The days began to fall into a rhythm after that day.

Every afternoon, after practice, when the sweat was still drying on his skin and the ache of his body weighed heavy, Hinata made a detour. He walked the extra blocks past his own apartment, down the narrow streets that by now he could map with his eyes closed. And every time, he stopped at the same corner café.

The bell above the door jingled when he pushed it open, and the girl behind the counter soon recognized him, not as “the Ninja Shoyo,” but as the polite, slightly tired young man who bought the same things every day: a loaf of milk bread, a box of milk, and sometimes, a pack of sticky notes and a pen refill when he ran out. She’d smile knowingly as she rang him up, and he’d smile back, sheepish and grateful.

And then he’d walk to Tobio’s building, carrying his little offering like something sacred.

On Thursday, Hinata left the bag on the doorstep and scribbled hastily on a bright yellow note: “Did you eat properly today? I hope you’re okay.”

He pressed the note to the top of the bag, knocked twice, and darted down the hall before anyone could open the door. When he returned later in the evening, the bag was gone. His heart thrummed with relief.

On Friday, he wrote: “I saw a cat on the way home today. It was black. It made me think of the chain you gave at the arcade.”

He laughed quietly to himself as he placed it down. He came back a couple of minutes later, his curiosity winning, and the spot in front of the door was empty. It was such a small thing, but the knowledge that someone had picked it up, that Tobio might have read it, kept Hinata’s chest warm well into the night.

Hinata didn’t go to Kageyama’s apartment that weekend.

The thought had haunted him the whole time, his legs itching to run the familiar route, his fingers twitching to buy milk bread and scribble a note. But he stopped himself. Saturdays were unpredictable. He had no idea if the Adlers trained that day, if Kageyama was home resting, or if he might open the door just as Hinata was crouching to leave his offering. The risk of bumping into him, of breaking that unspoken agreement of distance, was too high.

So he forced himself to stay put. The weekend stretched long and quiet, each hour weighed down by the absence of a message, a call, anything. He threw himself into sleep, short walks, and forcing down bowls of rice, reminding himself over and over: Wait. Give him space.

By Monday, the silence was unbearable again. And so the routine resumed.

At practice that day, something shifted. His legs felt lighter, his jumps sharper. Even when the ball stung against his palm, it felt alive again. Bokuto was the first to notice, grinning wide when Hinata dove for a receive he’d almost missed. “That’s more like it!” Bokuto shouted, voice echoing through the gym.

Hinata stopped at the café after practice. He left the bread, the milk, and a note that read: “I didn’t come on the weekend because I didn’t want to disturb you. But I thought about you anyway.”

On Tuesday, The note was shorter: “I spiked three in a row today. It felt good.”

He came back later. Again, the bag disappeared. Again, Hinata slept easier.

At practice, his timing with Atsumu was still jagged at points, but his focus was clearer. His steps lined up, his eyes tracked the ball faster, his whole body buzzing with that stubborn drive to improve. Atsumu squinted at him after one particularly clean hit. “You’re starting to look more alive,” he muttered, tossing him a bottle of water in that roundabout way of showing he cared.

Hinata drank greedily, throat aching but heart lighter.

On Wednesday, he wrote: “I miss hearing about your day.”

That practice was brutal, the kind that left his shirt clinging, his hands raw, his thighs trembling with exhaustion. The Jackals were grinding hard, preparing for the inevitable clash against the Adlers. Every drill, every scrimmage felt like sharpening knives for the battlefield to come. And yet, even as sweat blurred his vision, Hinata felt steadier. Each note at Tobio’s door was like a quiet tether, reminding him of the reason behind all of this.

By the time the week ended, Hinata realized he was breathing easier. He still woke up checking his phone for messages that weren’t there, still fell asleep clutching a faintly-scented shirt, still burned with the ache of missing Kageyama. But now there was hope threaded through it all.

Because each day, the bag disappeared.

And though Tobio hadn’t said a word, Hinata knew, he felt, that his notes were being read.

And that was enough to keep him fighting. Enough to carry him through another day of sweat and exhaustion, another night of silence. Enough to believe that maybe, just maybe, they’d find their way back to each other.

Sunday, though, crept in like a gray shadow, stretching endless across Hinata’s little apartment. Two weeks. It had been two whole weeks since he’d last heard Tobio’s voice, two weeks since those sharp words cut through him like glass, two weeks of silence heavy enough to suffocate. 

Sundays always seemed worse. Too quiet, too still, as if the rest of the world slowed down just enough to make him notice how empty the space beside him was. He lay sprawled on his futon for hours, phone clutched in his hand, the screen lighting up with nothing but trivial notifications. 

He almost did it. Almost typed out a message, something as simple as “Did you eat?” or “Good luck with practice tomorrow.” His thumbs hovered, heart racing at the thought of breaking through that invisible wall. But then he remembered the way Tobio’s voice had sounded that night. Low, final, edged with hurt. The memory froze him. 

Hinata pressed the phone to his chest, eyes burning as he whispered to the silence around him, “Why are Sundays always like this?”

Chapter 107: Chapter CVI

The gym buzzed with a different kind of energy that Monday afternoon. Not the thunder of volleyballs slamming against hardwood or the rhythm of sneakers squeaking on the court, but the hum of voices, the rustle of camera equipment, and the metallic click of folding chairs being set into neat rows along one side of the training center. 

Hinata sat on the bench with his warm-up jacket zipped up to his chin, watching the preparations unfold as though he were in someone else’s dream. His stomach hadn’t stopped twisting since the morning. The Adlers match was less than forty-eight hours away, and now, before he could even lose himself in drills or sprints, he had to sit under fluorescent lights and let strangers pick at him with questions. Questions that weren’t just about spikes or serves, but about him. His face, his words, his nerves.

Coach Samson stood near the entrance with his arms crossed, watching a couple of staff members set up a backdrop plastered with sponsor logos. His voice carried across the court, deep and casual as always. “Still don’t get why they need you all looking pretty for the cameras,” he said, scratching his jaw. “Wouldn’t it be better if you spent the time hitting a few more serves instead of combing your hair?”

A few of the guys laughed, though it was tight, strained. They all knew the coach wasn’t really criticizing. It was his way of cutting the tension, of reminding them that no matter how formal things looked, volleyball would still be waiting once the microphones were packed up.

Hinata managed a small smile, though his hands were gripping his knees so tightly that his knuckles whitened. His heart was hammering in his chest. Not from the thought of speaking in front of reporters exactly, but from the swirl of everything else riding on this week. The match against the Adlers wasn’t just another match. It was the match. The first real clash between the two best Division 1 teams. The first time he would face Kageyama across the net in an official game. The first time their story would be written in headlines instead of quiet moments nobody else could see. And most importantly, the first time he’d see Kageyama after that day, back in Miyagi.

He tried to focus on Bokuto, who was fiddling with the zipper of his jacket and whispering something to Thomas about whether they were supposed to bow or wave first when the cameras turned on. Meian, who usually looked unshakable, was tugging at the collar of his jersey like it was tighter than usual.

His gaze then turned to Atsumu and Sakusa, who were seated side by side a few feet from him, shoulders brushing, their legs pressed so tightly together it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began. Hinata could see the way Atsumu kept sneaking glances at Sakusa when he thought no one was looking, the way his restless energy seemed to have stilled beside him, contained and grounded by that quiet presence. The tension that had once hovered between them like a storm cloud was gone now, replaced by something steadier, softer. They had fixed things, somehow. 

Hinata’s chest tightened at the sight. If they could do it, if they could weather whatever storm had passed between them, then maybe, just maybe, there was hope for him too.

He shook those thoughts from his head. Now wasn’t the time. One problem at a time.

Shoyo thought about what Samson had said—looking pretty—and it almost made him laugh. He didn’t feel pretty. He didn’t even feel like himself. His reflection in the polished court floor showed wide eyes, tense shoulders, lips pressed thin. He wanted to shake himself loose, to feel the kind of uncontainable fire he usually carried before games, but all he felt was pressure stacking higher and higher inside his chest.

Someone adjusted the microphones at the table where they would all sit in turns. A cameraman called out to test the lights. The brightness flooded the gym, bleaching out the corners, making everything too sharp, too clear. Hinata swallowed hard. He inevitably thought of the bread and milk he had left last week at Kageyama’s door, of the faint hope that somewhere in that silence, his presence was still reaching him. Maybe Tobio would be watching this press conference. Maybe the whole world would.

Hinata pulled in a shaky breath and straightened his back. The whistle of sneakers and the echo of volleyballs might have been absent today, but the weight on his shoulders was no lighter. The game hadn’t even started, and already, he was being tested.

By the time Hinata, Bokuto, and Atsumu were called up to the long white table, the lights above were blazing hot, the kind that made you sweat even if you were sitting still. Cameras whirred. Reporters shuffled their papers, pens poised, eyes fixed forward. Hinata tugged once at the zipper of his jacket before folding his hands on the table, his heart pounding in his throat.

The first few questions were what he expected.

“To Hinata and Bokuto—how has your preparation shifted in these final days leading up to the Adler match?”

Bokuto grinned, leaning into his microphone first. “Ah, we’ve been working hard on reception and defense, making sure our rhythm is sharp. You can’t give free points to guys like Ushijima and Romero. They’ll crush you if you do.”

Hinata nodded quickly, catching the baton. “Yeah, and for me, I’ve been focusing on stamina. Keeping my speed up across the whole match. The Adlers have some of the best blockers in the league, so I need to stay sharp, keep moving, and keep finding gaps.”

Another hand shot up. “For Atsumu—this will be your first time setting against Kageyama in a Division 1 official match. How are you approaching that?”

Hinata’s chest turned at the mention of Tobio’s name. He tried to keep his face neutral.

Atsumu smirked in that way he did when he was trying to look more confident than he felt. “I’m looking forward to it. Kageyama’s sets are sharp, no doubt, but I’ll back myself and my spikers any day. We’ll show we can run just as fast and hit just as hard.”

There was some polite laughter from the crowd, scribbling pens, murmurs of approval. Hinata tried to breathe evenly. So far, so good.

Then it came.

“To Hinata—about last week’s practice match against the Red Falcons. You were seen sitting out the second set. Can you comment on your condition at that time?”

Hinata straightened, the lights from the cameras almost blinding him. He had known this question would come, and though his chest tightened, a part of him was grateful for the chance to answer it directly.

“Yeah, uhm…” he began, his voice steadier than he expected. “I had traveled back home during the weekend, and honestly, I came back more exhausted than I thought I would. During the match, I wasn’t at one hundred percent, and… I know that probably let some people down.” He paused, exhaling slowly before continuing, his gaze steady on the reporters. “I want to apologize to our supporters and the Jackals fans for that. Volleyball is everything to me, and I take representing this team really seriously. I promise I’m working hard every day—on the court, but also taking better care of my body—so that I can always be in the best condition to play for this team. I’ll be ready for Wednesday’s match.”

For a moment, the room was still, only the clicking of camera shutters filling the silence. Hinata felt heat rise to his cheeks, but also a flicker of relief—he had said what needed to be said.

The moderator shifted the attention with a quick nod. “Thank you, Hinata. Next question—this one for Bokuto.”

A reporter leaned into their mic. “Bokuto, you’ve faced the Adlers before in official matches. What do you think will be the key difference this time around?”

Bokuto puffed out his chest, already grinning. “The difference? Easy! I’ve got Shoyo and Miya here now. And this team—we’ve been working our butts off. If we bring our rhythm and keep the energy up, there’s no stopping us!”

A ripple of chuckles passed through the room at Bokuto’s booming confidence.

Another hand went up almost immediately. “To Hinata—there’s been a lot of talk online about you and Kageyama Tobio. You were close teammates in high school, and there’s speculation that you’ve remained… very close since then. Some are saying you might even be more than friends. What can you tell us about your current relationship with him?”

Hinata froze. 

The words Kageyama Tobio rang in his ears louder than the hum of cameras, louder than the scratching pens, louder than anything. He blinked, eyes wide, his brain lagging behind the question like it couldn’t quite process that someone had just said that out loud. He’d noticed the rumors dying down lately. Their absence from each other’s orbit, the way they hadn’t been seen together in public—he thought maybe people had let it go. So why now? Why bring it up now, of all times, with all these cameras rolling?

Beside him, he felt Atsumu stir, microphone twitching in his hand. Bokuto leaned forward too, the protective instinct on both of them so obvious Hinata didn’t even need to look. They were ready to jump in, to shield him from it. But before either of them could, Hinata spoke.

“I…” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. His heart was slamming against his ribs like it wanted to tear its way out. He thought about every time he had dreaded this moment, the idea of the media defining him, controlling him, painting him into a corner. 

He thought about how terrified he had been of being seen, not as Hinata Shoyo, the volleyball player, but Hinata Shoyo, the volleyball player who likes men. He thought of every sleepless night he’d spent, thinking about how pressured he felt about giving answers. He thought about every post, every comment, every muted account.

But he also thought about every encouraging word from his friends, reminding him that he had the right to come out publicly in his own way, in his own time. He thought about Kageyama himself, saying he’d wait until Hinata was ready.

Something shifted inside him.

Because not only was it still his choice. His story. His voice. This was a chance for him to speak out. To say what had been in his chest for the last few weeks. Not only to the people on social media, but to Kageyama as well. It wouldn’t be reaching out, not exactly. Tobio would probably watch this by his own accord, or maybe Hoshiumi would make him watch, likely unaware of what happened back in Miyagi.

It was now or never.

“I think,” Hinata started, steadying his voice, “that Kageyama Tobio is the best setter Japan has seen in decades. And I don’t say that lightly. He has this way of pulling the best out of you, whether you’re ready for it or not. He makes you chase after him, makes you grow just to keep up. He’s the kind of setter who can turn you into more than you thought you could be.”

There was a hush in the room, pens scratching furiously. Hinata pressed on, his words gathering strength like a wave.

Hinata shifted in his seat, fingers tightening briefly around the mic. “I think every player has that one person who pushes them to be better. Someone who’s… more than just competition… like Bokuto, who talks about his fiancée all the time or Atsumu, who has his twin brother supporting him off the court all the time. But for me…” He inhaled, steadying himself as the cameras blinked like impatient fireflies. “For me, it’s always been Kageyama.”

He felt the room still, the air prickle with curiosity. But Hinata’s voice didn’t waver.

“I was lucky to play with him in Karasuno. Back then, I didn’t just get a setter—I got someone who challenged me every single day. Someone who showed me what it meant to trust, and to fight, and to believe that we could reach higher than we ever imagined. Every memory I have of that time is tied to him in some way. And even now, I still feel that.”

He swallowed, pressing on. “I know I haven’t always been the best teammate,” His chest tightened at the weight of the words, the way they were meant to land in just one pair of ears. “But I’d do anything to keep sharing the court with him for as long as we can.”

The cameras flashed, but Hinata only saw Tobio in his mind’s eye: arms crossed, pretending to scowl at the TV, pretending not to care. Yet listening. Always listening. Hinata could almost picture the way his brow would furrow, how his eyes might soften despite himself.

“I admire him more than I can explain,” Hinata said softly, every syllable deliberate. “I’ll always look up to him. And on Wednesday… I can’t wait. I can’t wait to play against him, to see how far he’s come, how far we’ve both come. That’s what I’m excited for.”

The words hung in the air, and he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Then, quieter, more firmly, he added:

“But I’d also be grateful if people would stop asking me about my personal life. I want to talk about volleyball. About my team. About the game I love. That’s what I’m here for.”

The silence that followed was almost reverent. A moment suspended in time, as if even the press had to pause and take in the weight of what he’d just said. Hinata’s chest ached, but not in the same way it had for the past two weeks. This ache felt alive, sharp with hope.

Because if Tobio was watching, then Hinata had said everything he wanted him to hear.

For a heartbeat after Hinata finished, the room stayed oddly quiet, as if the air itself needed a moment to process. Then, the storm broke, pens scratching, flashes going off, voices rising as reporters scrambled to build their next questions around what he had just said.

But Hinata didn’t hear most of it.

At the table, Atsumu let out a sharp breath, leaning back in his chair with a lopsided grin. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t need to, but the glint in his eyes said atta boy. Bokuto, on the other hand, wasn’t subtle at all. He reached over and gave Hinata a heavy slap between the shoulders, grinning so wide it nearly split his face. “That was AWESOME,” he stage-whispered, loud enough that at least two microphones probably caught it. Hinata flushed but didn’t mind. The warmth spreading through his chest was stronger than embarrassment.

Even Coach Samson, gruff and usually impatient with the media, gave him the faintest nod of acknowledgement. It was the kind of gesture that meant more than words: good job, kid.

When the conference wrapped and they were herded out of the room, Hinata’s phone buzzed so violently in his pocket he thought it might be overheating. He glanced down, and froze.

It was a text, from Suga.

“Saw the live interview. That was incredible, Shoyo. I’m proud of you, kid.”

Hinata blinked, his throat tightening. Live…? he thought, suddenly realizing. Of course. It was broadcast live. Which meant his words would probably reach Kageyama sooner than he expected. He shook that thought from his head and tried to focus on the text instead.

Hinata’s chest swelled, his eyes stinging as he read the words over and over. The weight in his chest hadn’t vanished. It wasn’t that simple, but for the first time in weeks, he didn’t feel crushed by it. Instead, he felt lighter, buoyed by the knowledge that he’d taken control of something that once terrified him.

He slipped his phone back into his pocket, walking alongside Bokuto and Atsumu as they left the building. The cameras were still flashing, fans were still calling their names, but Hinata’s mind was somewhere else.

Because if Tobio had been watching, if he’d heard every word… then Hinata had managed to send his message across the distance, straight to him.

And that was enough, for now.

 

---

 

Hinata sprawled on his futon with his phone held a few centimeters from his nose, the familiar numbness of scrolling eating away at the hours. He hadn’t even realized how long it had been since the press conference ended. His adrenaline had carried him straight back home, straight out of reach of the noise and questions.

He flicked his thumb upward again. He’d told himself that he would wait some time to check his social media, a little scared of what he’d find in there after his heartfelt statement back at the press conference. But as soon as his body hit his bed sheets, he went immediately for his phone to check Twitter.

And there it was.

Among edits of Bokuto and Atsumu, there were clips of his answer, his voice shaky at first, but steady by the end, speaking about Tobio with every ounce of admiration he had. He wanted to bury himself six feet in the ground. He had no idea he looked like that speaking about Tobio. 

He hadn’t explicitly stated what his relationship was with Kageyama, but by the look in his eyes, he didn’t really need to.

With his stomach tossing and turning, he clicked for the comment section, and for once, didn’t hate what he read.

Some comments were still clung to the rumors. There were pictures of him and Kageyama, endless speculation, people highlighting the way he spoke about him with so much love and admiration. But most of the top comments were different this time:

“Let him breathe, he literally said he doesn’t want to talk about his private life.”
“Respect Hinata. He’s one of the best wings in Japan right now, focus on volleyball.”
“People don’t owe you an explanation about who they’re dating btw!!”

Hinata’s chest loosened as he read, a warmth replacing the usual tension. It wasn’t perfect. He wasn’t naïve enough to think the noise would disappear forever. But it was the first time he’d felt like the tide was turning in his favor. That maybe, just maybe, people were starting to listen to him, not just talk about him.

He let out a shaky laugh and closed the app, flopping back against the wall. For the first time in days, the silence in his apartment didn’t feel oppressive. It felt… calmer. Safer.

When his eyes caught the clock glowing on the wall—6:30 p.m.—his body jolted upright. Right. He’d already bought the bread and milk on the way home, tucked neatly into a small bag by the door. He’d come back from the training center earlier than other days, since they hadn’t really practiced. He didn’t feel confident enough to leave the food earlier at Kageyama’s place that day. He was too scared of bumping into him by accident if he went earlier than usual.

Hinata grabbed the bag, his heart already racing with the familiar mix of nerves and hope that always came before he left his quiet offering. He slid his arms through the sleeves of his jacket, pulled the door open—

And froze.

Because standing on the other side, hand half-raised as if he had been just about to knock, was Kageyama Tobio.

Hinata’s breath caught in his throat, his pulse thrumming so violently he thought it might burst out of his chest. Tobio looked almost exactly as he always did. Broad-shouldered, sharp-eyed, hair slightly messy as if he hadn’t bothered fixing it before coming here. The hallway light cast a shadow across his face, but Hinata could still see the faint crease between his brows, the intensity in his gaze.

For a beat, neither of them spoke. The silence rang louder than any noise.

Hinata’s grip on the paper bag tightened until it crinkled. His mind, usually so quick on the court, went blank. All he could think was he’s here, he’s really here. The boy who’d been just out of reach for two unbearable weeks was standing in front of him, close enough to touch.

Kageyama lowered his hand, curling it into a fist by his side. His eyes flicked down to the bag Hinata was holding. The bread, the milk, the quiet ritual he hadn’t acknowledged once in words.

When his gaze lifted again, his voice was low. Rough.

“Hinata.”

Hinata’s throat worked, but no sound came out. His knees felt weak, like he’d been running sprints for hours. He wanted to say everything at once. I’m sorry, I missed you, please don’t leave me. But all he could do was stare, wide-eyed and breathless, at the boy who had finally closed the distance.

Notes:

hehehe

btw, we're getting reaaaaally close to the end of this fic :( don't know how to feel about that

Chapter 108: Chapter CVII

Hinata’s fingers twitched on the doorknob, his pulse racing so fast it was almost dizzying. Kageyama was standing right there, just inches away, shoulders tense, eyes burning into him with an intensity that made it hard to breathe.

“Do you… do you want to come in?” Hinata asked, his voice small but steady. He stepped back, opening the door wider, almost afraid Kageyama would turn and leave.

But he didn’t. After a heartbeat, Kageyama walked in, his presence filling the small apartment in an instant. Hinata shut the door behind him, the soft click sounding too final, too loud.

“Do you want to sit?” Hinata asked, gesturing nervously to the couch, to the table—anywhere that could make this less overwhelming.

“No.” Kageyama’s refusal was immediate, his voice clipped. He stayed standing, arms crossed tightly over his chest, jaw hard. It wasn’t anger yet, but it was weighty. Heavy. He wasn’t going to relax, and Hinata could feel that.

Hinata swallowed, shifting on his feet. “Okay…”

For a long moment, silence stretched between them, taut and suffocating. Hinata’s head was spiralling, trying to find his voice.

“I—”

“What did you mean at the press conference?”

Hinata blinked, throat tightening. “…You saw it?”

“Of course I did.” Kageyama’s stare didn’t waver. “All of it. You knew I would, and I want to know what you meant. All that—about me, about being the person who pushes you, about wanting to stay on the court with me forever. Why would you say it there, in front of everyone, and not to me?”

Hinata’s chest constricted. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Because… you told me not to reach out.”

Kageyama’s eyes narrowed, his jaw flexing. His next words came quieter, but no less heavy. “You broke that a long time ago.”

Hinata flinched.

“The bread. The milk,” Kageyama continued, his voice flat, almost weary. “Every night. I knew it was you.” His gaze flickered, but didn’t soften. “You didn’t stop reaching out. And then you said that stuff on live TV and—” He exhaled sharply, almost a growl of frustration. “It just made everything more confusing.”

Hinata’s heart twisted. He opened his mouth, but Kageyama spoke again before he could.

“You could’ve called me,” Kageyama said suddenly, the words heavy with accusation. His voice rose a fraction, eyes burning hotter. “Not only now, but back then—in Brazil. You could’ve called me. You could’ve broken no contact for me. But instead…” His fists curled tighter, knuckles white. “…instead you kissed him.”

The words landed like a punch. Hinata staggered back a step, breath caught in his throat.

“Tobio—”

“Why?” The demand cracked through the room like lightning. Kageyama’s voice was sharp now, cutting, every syllable jagged. “If I was the one you cared about—if I was the one you loved—why would you do that with him? Why him, Hinata, and not me?”

Hinata’s chest ached so badly it felt like it might cave in. His hands trembled at his sides, his whole body quivering under the weight of the question.

“Because I was scared!” The words burst out of him, ragged and desperate. His voice shook, his throat burned. “I was scared and ashamed! I didn’t know how to face you after everything I’d said, after the way I left. Do you even remember, Tobio? Do you remember the things I threw in your face before I went to Brazil? I hurt you, I walked away without giving you a chance, and I hated myself for it. I couldn’t just call you like nothing happened. I couldn’t.”

Kageyama’s face twisted, anger and hurt battling in his eyes. “So you kissed him instead?” His voice cracked on the last word, thick with something rawer than fury.

Hinata’s vision blurred, his hands clenching harder. “I thought—it didn’t mean anything, I swear it didn’t—but I thought if I distracted myself, if I pretended just for a second, then maybe I wouldn’t have to feel how badly I’d messed up with you.” His breath shuddered. “I was wrong. And now it’s made everything worse. So much worse.”

Kageyama’s eyes narrowed, his chest rising and falling fast, unsteady. “Then why him?” His voice was raw, stripped of composure, demanding in a way that made Hinata’s stomach twist. “Why Oikawa? Of all people—you could’ve been drunk, you could’ve kissed anyone, but you kissed him. Do you have any idea how that feels? Do you—” His words cut off, choked with fury and something deeper, more fragile.

Hinata shook his head, desperate. “It wasn’t about him, Tobio, it wasn’t—”

“But it was him!” Kageyama snapped, his voice breaking through the room like a whip. His fists trembled at his sides, his face flushed red with anger. “You keep saying it didn’t mean anything, but I can’t forget it! I see it every time I look at you! I can’t—”

“Stop!” Hinata’s voice tore out of him, hoarse and shaking, cracking the heavy air between them like lightning. His chest heaved, the sound ragged, and his whole body trembled with the force of everything he had held back for too long. His fists clenched at his sides, nails biting hard into his palms, but he couldn’t stop now, not when the words were burning to get out.

“I’m sorry, okay? I’m really sorry!” His throat ached as the words broke loose, each one raw and desperate. “I didn’t think—back then, I didn’t think it mattered! I never thought in a million years that I’d ever get the chance to be with you, not like this, not for real. So why would I care about something so—so small? That kiss, it was nothing, Tobio! Nothing! Not to me, not to him. It was stupid, it was lonely, and it didn’t mean a damn thing!”

His voice rose with every sentence, straining higher, sharper, until it cracked, until the heat in his chest scalded him from the inside out. His eyes burned, his breath stuttered, but he kept going, words tumbling faster than he could shape them. “I’m sorry I was an idiot. I’m sorry I couldn’t face you. I’m sorry for every single thing I said that night before Brazil—I regret it all! But don’t stand there and tell me this is about a kiss that meant nothing, because it’s not. It’s never been about that.”

He stepped forward, so close now that the anger in his voice quivered between them like a live wire. His words fell sharp, cutting, but beneath them bled a raw plea. “This is about you. That’s all this is. It’s not the kiss—it’s your pride, Tobio!”

For a heartbeat, Kageyama just stared at him. His eyes widened, then narrowed, darkening into something stormy, dangerous. His whole body went still, but it wasn’t calm—it was the kind of stillness right before lightning struck, the unbearable pressure in the air before a storm split the sky open.

“Don’t you dare,” Kageyama said, his voice so low it scraped raw, like gravel in his throat. His shoulders trembled, his fists tight enough that his knuckles blanched. “Don’t you dare tell me what this is about.”

Hinata’s breath stuttered, the sound harsh in the silence. He could feel the wall of Kageyama’s anger pressing against him, suffocating, but he didn’t back down. His throat burned, eyes wet, but he lifted his chin and glared back anyway. “Then tell me what it’s about,” he whispered, his voice hoarse but steady. “Tell me, Tobio. Because all I see is your pride.”

Something broke in Kageyama’s face. His eyes flickered, like the words had hit too close, scraped against something too raw. His chest rose fast, uneven, like he couldn’t get enough air.

The silence stretched, unbearable. Hinata’s hands trembled at his sides. His pulse thundered so hard it shook through his fingertips, the pressure mounting, mounting, mounting until it felt like the air itself would combust.

And then—

Kageyama moved.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t careful. His hands shot forward, grabbing Hinata by the arms, shoving him back so hard his shoulders hit the wall. And before Hinata could gasp, before he could think, Kageyama’s mouth was on his.

It wasn’t a kiss. It was an explosion.

Their teeth clashed, lips bruising, breath crashing in shallow bursts between them. Kageyama’s grip was iron, fingers digging into Hinata’s arms, holding him in place like he was afraid to let go. Hinata’s whole body jolted at the force, his back pressing into the wall, hip digging painfully against the doorframe, but he didn’t care.

He gasped into Kageyama’s mouth, the sound swallowed instantly. His hands clawed at Kageyama’s shirt, clinging, pulling him closer even as tears blurred his vision. His heart pounded so violently it hurt, and still—still—he kissed back, desperate, frantic, because even in anger, even in chaos, this was Kageyama.

Their mouths broke apart with a harsh sound, breaths colliding in ragged gasps. Kageyama’s forehead pressed against Hinata’s, their noses bumping, the heat of him overwhelming. His eyes burned, glassy with something Hinata couldn’t name.

“I—” Kageyama’s voice cracked, barely audible. His grip trembled. “...sorry.”

Hinata’s breath hitched. His fingers clenched tighter in Kageyama’s shirt, as if he could anchor him there, force him to stay, but Kageyama pulled back with a jerk, breaking free.

The loss was like being shoved into cold water.

Kageyama stepped away fast, almost stumbling, his breath still ragged. He didn’t even look at Hinata. He just spun, reached for the door with shaking hands, and yanked it open. The sudden rush of cool air filled the apartment.

And then he was gone.

The door slammed shut, the sound reverberating through the walls.

Hinata stood frozen against the wall, chest heaving, lips swollen, his body trembling so hard it felt like his legs might give out. The silence left in Kageyama’s wake was deafening, the absence so sharp it cut.

His arms ached where Kageyama had gripped him. His mouth still burned. And all he could do was stare at the empty space by the door, heart splintering, unable to move, unable to breathe.

 

---

 

The next morning, Hinata felt like his body had been scraped hollow.

He woke with his cheek pressed against the pillow, but his eyes didn’t want to open, his limbs didn’t want to move. His chest rose and fell in slow, shallow pulls, but every breath was heavy, like dragging something unwilling through his lungs. The apartment was quiet, but not the comforting kind of quiet. It was just flat and suffocating.

He’d felt bad before. Lonely, restless, zombie-like in the days when Kageyama had shut him out completely. But these last few days, there had at least been something, a fragile thread he could cling to. The bread. The milk. The stupid little post-its with his scrawled handwriting. They weren’t much, but he’d known, with an ache that was almost sweet, that Kageyama was taking them. Eating them. Reading them.

It had been enough to breathe on.

But now, after last night, he didn’t know what he had anymore.

Hinata sat up slowly, his head heavy, eyes gritty from sleep that hadn’t been real rest. The memory of Kageyama’s mouth on his was still there, raw and searing, but so was the slam of the door, the way his absence hit like a blow. Hinata pressed his hands against his face, dragging them down over his skin until his palms covered his mouth. His lips still felt bruised.

What had that kiss meant? What had “sorry” meant? What did it mean that he left?

Hinata dropped his hands, staring at the ceiling as if it might hand him an answer. He wanted to reach for his phone, to call, to text, to beg Kageyama to say something, anything. His fingers hovered over it for too long before he finally unlocked the screen.

No new messages.

He typed out Kageyama’s name. His thumb hovered over the call button.

Do it, his chest screamed. Just do it, before you lose him again.

But when he pressed it, the line didn’t even ring. The screen lit up with a message that made his stomach plummet: Phone is off or out of range.

Hinata’s hand shook as he set it down again, harder than he meant to. He stared at the dark screen, the reflection of his own tired face staring back, and thought about going to Kageyama’s place instead. Marching up to the door, knocking until he had no choice but to answer.

But Kageyama would hate that. He knew it the same way he knew how Kageyama’s toss would feel in his palms without even looking. Just instinct, bone-deep. Kageyama would see it as crowding, as Hinata not giving him space, and right now Hinata didn’t know if Kageyama would open the door at all.

He thought about the words he’d thrown at him. About his pride. He could still hear his own voice breaking, the way he’d shouted it like an accusation. His chest squeezed tight. He should’ve said it differently. Softer, truer. He should’ve been braver instead of angry.

Hinata rubbed his hands over his face again, dragging himself out of bed. His body felt heavy, leaden, but the clock kept ticking, and practice wasn’t going to wait for him. He considered, for one aching second, not going. Staying here, curled up in bed, letting the day slide away from him.

But Meian would come. If he didn’t show, Meian would march across the city, knock on his door, and drag him by the collar if he had to. With the Adler match tomorrow, skipping practice wasn’t an option. Not if he wanted to keep standing on the court.

Hinata pulled on his hoodie and sweats with sluggish movements, every step dragging. His legs felt like they were moving without him, like he was some broken marionette just being tugged along by obligation.

He decided, somewhere between tying his shoes and grabbing his bag, that he’d give Tobio one more day. Just one more. Space to breathe, to think.

But his chest ached as he stepped outside, the morning air biting against his skin. Because no matter how much he told himself it was the right thing, all he could feel was that he’d lost something, again.

And this time, he didn’t know if he could get it back.

 

---

 

The Jackals’ practice gym buzzed with the sound of sneakers squeaking against the polished floor, the sharp rhythm of balls striking hands, and the short, clipped calls echoing across the court. But beneath the familiar noises, there was something else. An undercurrent that tugged at every player’s nerves.

Tomorrow wasn’t just another match.

Tomorrow was Adler versus Jackals. Kageyama versus Hinata. Rivalry carved into the foundation of the league. Everyone knew eyes across the country, across the world, would be watching.

Hinata stretched on the sideline, his body moving through the motions he’d repeated thousands of times, but his mind lagged behind. His legs felt heavy, like every muscle was carrying the weight of the night before. He caught himself staring too long at the far wall, gaze unfocused, until Meian’s voice cut across the court.

“Hinata!”

Hinata blinked and looked up. Meian was standing just a few feet away, arms crossed loosely, expression calm but sharp. The kind of look that meant he wasn’t just checking in about drills.

“You good?” Meian asked, voice steady. His gaze lingered, not accusing, just measuring. “You seem… off today.”

Hinata forced a small grin, quick and shallow. “I’m fine. Really. Just a little tired.”

Meian didn’t look convinced. He tilted his head, studying Hinata’s posture, the faint slump in his shoulders, the way his hands fidgeted at the hem of his shirt. Finally, he exhaled slowly. “You know tomorrow’s a big one. I need to know you’re here. All the way here.”

Hinata swallowed, throat tight. He straightened, squaring his shoulders like he could prop himself up on sheer will. “I’m here,” he said, firmer this time. His chest ached, but the words came out steady. “I can still play. Don’t worry.”

Meian held his gaze for a moment longer, then nodded once. “Alright.” His hand landed on Hinata’s shoulder briefly, solid and grounding, before he turned back toward the court. “Let me know if you need to talk, okay?”

As soon as he left, Hinata let out a slow breath, relief mingling with the pressure swelling in his chest. He could still play. That much he was sure of. But he wished, with a sharp ache, that things with Kageyama weren’t so raw, so broken. Tomorrow, when they faced each other across the net, Hinata didn’t want to feel this weight pressing down.

“Shoyo!”

Bokuto’s booming voice cut through his thoughts. He bounded over, grin bright but not quite hiding the tension in his eyes. “What are you looking all gloomy for, huh? You gotta shake it off! Tomorrow’s our big showdown.” He flexed his arms in an exaggerated pose, feathers of sweat in his hair catching the light.

Hinata managed a laugh, small but genuine. “Easy for you to say. You’re always excited for showdowns.”

“Of course I am!” Bokuto clapped him hard on the back, nearly knocking the air out of him. “That’s what makes it fun. We’ve trained, we’ve worked hard—tomorrow we get to show it off. You and me, buddy. We’re gonna crush it.”

The warmth in Bokuto’s grin did something steadying, a reminder that he wasn’t alone on this team.

Before Hinata could answer, Atsumu wandered over, towel slung around his neck, his usual cocky smirk muted into something more careful. He stopped a couple of steps short, eyes flicking over Hinata before settling.

“You ready for tomorrow?” Atsumu asked, his tone casual, but his gaze was sharper, probing.

Hinata blinked at him. The last few weeks had been calmer between them. He almost hadn’t noticed the careful steps back into something resembling friendship after everything that had happened. Even now, the way Atsumu stood, the way he didn’t push too close, felt like a kind of respect.

Hinata nodded, adjusting his grip on his knee pads. “Yeah. I’m ready.”

Atsumu studied him for a moment, then gave a short nod of his own. “Good. ‘Cause I’m not setting a single half-ass toss tomorrow.” His mouth tugged into the faintest smirk, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “So you better jump like hell.”

Hinata felt the corner of his mouth twitch upward, a flicker of something lighter passing through him. “Yeah. I will.”

The sound of the whistle cut through the gym, sharp and commanding, pulling them back into formation. Hinata jogged onto the court with the others, the weight in his chest still there but tempered by the steady rhythm of the team around him.

The nerves hummed in the air. Everyone felt it, the anticipation, the knowledge of who they were up against. But as Hinata bent his knees, the ball arcing toward him, his body moved the way it always had.

One more day. He’d give Tobio one more day.

And tomorrow, on the court, he’d find a way to reach him again.

 

---

 

The sky was already dimming by the time Hinata left practice, the heat of the gym still clinging to his skin, sweat cooling under his hoodie. His legs ached in that good, familiar way, but his chest felt heavier with every step toward home. The streets were busy, headlights flashing, bicycles weaving past, the faint smell of fried food drifting from stalls that had just started setting up for the night.

He shoved his hands into the pocket of his hoodie, eyes half-lidded, walking on autopilot. His thoughts kept circling back to Kageyama. About the match tomorrow, the kiss, the way he’d run. It was like trying to breathe with his head underwater.

He rubbed at the back of his neck, gaze lowered to the uneven pavement, until a gleam of headlights caught the corner of his eye. A car idled near the curb ahead, tucked half into the shadow of a streetlamp. Hinata slowed without meaning to. The shape was familiar. Too familiar. His gut clenched even before his brain placed it. The car was sleek, polished, unmistakable even in the dark. 

Oikawa’s.

Hinata froze, sneakers rooted to the ground. His breath lodged high in his chest, caught between a gasp and a choke. What was it doing here?

As if in answer, the café’s door, where Oikawa’s car was parked in front of, opened with a quiet bell ringing. Pablo stepped out, balancing a paper bag in one hand. He laughed at something over his shoulder, the sound muffled by the distance, then slipped into the passenger seat. 

For a flickering moment, relief surged through Hinata. 

Of course. They were back from their trip. He should’ve expected this, should’ve remembered. Guilt bathed him from head to toe. He should’ve been there to welcome them, not wandering home like a zombie. But he had forgotten. After everything that had been going on, he’d simply placed the thought at the back of his head.

The relief evaporated as the engine hummed back to life. Hinata’s mouth opened on instinct, his hand shooting up before he even thought about it.

“Wait!” His voice cracked against the quiet street, thin and desperate.

But the car was already pulling away, headlights gliding forward, his outstretched hand reaching only for shadows. Hinata stumbled after it a few steps before giving up, his heart rattling painfully against his ribs. He watched as the car drifted toward the main road, its indicator light blinking. Left. It should have turned right, toward his apartment. That was always the way. Always. But the car angled left instead, sliding into the opposite lane like it had somewhere else to be.

Hinata’s stomach sank. A wrong turn. No, more deliberate than that. The route was clear, purposeful. His body moved before his mind could stop it, legs carrying him after the car, his breath hitching in short bursts. He tried to reason with himself as he walked faster, then faster still. Maybe they were stopping for food. Maybe they were meeting someone. Maybe he was overthinking.

But every block they crossed pulled them farther from the path that should’ve led home.

And then, as the street opened up, Hinata’s stomach dropped. He knew these buildings, the slope of the road, the faded convenience store sign on the corner. He had walked this route before—too many times to mistake it. His legs faltered for half a step as the truth struck him like a blow: they weren’t heading toward his apartment at all. They were heading straight for Kageyama’s. The thought clawed up his throat, hot and sickening, and for a moment he could barely breathe.

By the time the car slowed again, easing against the curb in a narrow side street, Hinata’s chest was heaving. He ducked behind a tree at the corner, the bark rough against his palms as he steadied himself. His pulse thundered so loud it felt like the entire world could hear it.

He dragged his phone from his pocket, hands slick with sweat, and jabbed Pablo’s name. The dial tone buzzed in his ear, too long, too loud. His gaze flicked back to the car, watching shadows shift inside.

“Sho!” Pablo’s voice burst through at last, bright and casual, like sunlight cracking open the dark. “How are you doing, man?”

Hinata went rigid. His eyes locked on the car, on Pablo’s unmistakable outline lit by the yellow streetlamp. His breath hitched like a sob, but no sound came out.

“I’m good.” His voice came out raw, strangled. “I was just checking if you guys already made it to Tokyo.”

Pablo laughed. “Oh, not yet! Don’t miss me too much, eh? I’ll text you when we get there.”

Hinata’s fingers tightened around the phone until his knuckles ached. “…Right. Okay. See you.”

He ended the call before the lie could thicken further, before his voice could betray the quake in his chest.

Silence collapsed in around him. His vision wavered, the streetlight spinning halos across his eyes. It didn’t make sense. It couldn’t make sense. He stared down at the black glass of his phone, his reflection fractured and warped across it, then back at the car, at the truth gleaming there like a knife in the dark.

A door opened.

Hinata’s head snapped up, heart skidding in his chest. Oikawa stepped out from the passenger side, his coat falling smooth against his legs, hair neatly catching the lamplight. Every movement was measured, deliberate. He closed the door softly behind him, adjusted his bag, and set off toward the staircase without a single glance back at Pablo.

Hinata’s body lurched forward an inch, his breath spilling ragged into the night. He should stop him. He should run across the street, grab his arm, demand to know what was going on. But his feet locked where they stood, frozen by something colder than fear.

Oikawa’s shoes clicked faintly against the concrete, the sound steady, confident. He climbed the staircase without hesitation, each step echoing in Hinata’s bones. Hinata’s fists curled at his sides, his nails biting half-moons into his palms.

At the landing, Oikawa lifted his hand. Two knocks, firm and certain.

The door opened almost at once. Light spilled out warm and golden, washing Oikawa’s figure into silhouette. Without pausing, without even the pretense of hesitation, he stepped inside. The door shut behind him with a final, unyielding click.

Hinata’s breath left him in a violent rush. He staggered back against the tree, his chest tight, his eyes burning. Around him, the world carried on. Cars rolling past at the far end of the street, the faint chatter of people passing blocks away. But all he could see was that door closing. All he could feel was the silence that followed.

It had looked planned. Like Oikawa was expected. Like Pablo’s voice had been a script to throw him off, and he had fallen for it.

Hinata pressed a shaking hand to his mouth. His heart felt as though it was splitting itself apart from the inside.

And worst of all, he had no idea what it meant.

Notes:

forgive me??

Chapter 109: Chapter CVIII

Hinata sank down at the base of the tree, knees drawing up close to his chest as the rough bark pressed into his shoulder blades. The night air was cooler now, a restless wind tugging at his hood, but his palms still burned with sweat. He couldn’t tear his eyes from the apartment building across the narrow street, from the stairwell that climbed up toward a single door he knew too well. Kageyama’s door.

His whole body buzzed with restless energy. He wanted to move, to run across and demand answers, to pound on the door until Kageyama opened it and told him what was happening. But fear pressed him down, heavier than the roots under his sneakers. His friends were lying to him. That phone call echoed in his skull, Pablo’s voice telling him they weren’t even in Tokyo, when Hinata could see him sitting not twenty meters away. The betrayal stung, sharp and personal, but confusion wrapped itself tighter around his chest.

Why?

The question gnawed at him, louder with every passing minute.

So he stayed.

The seconds trickled like water through a crack. Fifteen minutes. The quiet street held steady, the car parked unmoving, Pablo just a vague silhouette behind the wheel. Thirty minutes. Hinata’s legs ached from crouching, his thighs prickled with pins and needles, but he didn’t budge. An hour. His teeth worried at his lip until he tasted blood, his mind darting down every dark path. What could they possibly be doing in there, what did they need to hide from him, why wasn’t Kageyama calling him instead of—

He swallowed hard, shoving the thought back down before it could finish.

By then the urge was unbearable. He couldn’t sit in the shadows any longer, couldn’t stand the not knowing. His hands shook as he pushed himself up, his body stiff from waiting. One step forward. Another. His sneakers scraped faintly on the pavement as he drifted toward the stairwell, his eyes locked on that door at the top, his chest hammering so loud it nearly drowned the world around him.

And then it opened.

The hinge creaked softly, the sound too sharp in the quiet night, and Hinata froze mid-step.

Oikawa stepped out. His head was bowed slightly, his hands sunk deep into his pockets, his usual swagger stripped away. The golden light of the hallway spilled over his face for only a moment before the door clicked shut behind him, but it was enough to see that something had shifted. His expression was calm, reflective almost, but heavy. The kind of heavy that pressed down on everyone around him.

Hinata’s chest clenched. Panic bolted through his legs. He spun half around, ready to retreat to the shadows again, to disappear before Oikawa’s eyes could catch him—

“Hinata?”

The voice came from behind, low, uncertain.

Hinata stiffened, every muscle locking tight. Slowly, he turned.

Pablo stood a few paces away, having slipped from the car at some point without Hinata noticing. The faint glow of the streetlamp caught on his familiar features, his dark eyes widening as they landed on Hinata.

“Pablo…” Hinata’s voice rasped out, sharp with surprise and something closer to anger. His chest heaved as his mind scrambled, the questions piling faster than he could speak them. “What the hell is going on?”

Pablo lifted both hands slightly, palms out, his voice low and steady, coaxing. “Hey, Sho. Breathe. It’s—”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” The words cracked out before Hinata could stop them, louder than he intended, his fists curling hard at his sides. “You lied to me! You told me you weren’t even in Tokyo and—and now you’re here—” His voice shook, caught between fury and desperation. “What’s going on? Why are you lying to me?”

The sound of footsteps on the stairs pulled Hinata’s head around.

Oikawa was descending slowly, the shadows swallowing his figure until he stepped into the glow of the streetlight. He looked at Hinata then, really looked, his gaze sharp and assessing, but stripped of any teasing sparkle. His face was set, serious in a way that made Hinata’s stomach flip.

He stopped at the bottom step, his hands still in his pockets, his voice flat. “Hinata. Get in the car.”

Hinata’s breath caught. The words landed with the weight of command, with no room for negotiation, and for a moment he didn’t recognize the man speaking them. Oikawa wasn’t smirking, wasn’t playful, wasn’t deflecting with a joke. His tone was… tired.

“We’ll talk at your place.”

Hinata’s pulse stuttered. Something in Oikawa’s voice, something clipped and final, told him this wasn’t the moment to argue. Whatever had happened behind that door was serious. Serious enough to erase Oikawa’s usual mask. Serious enough to make Pablo, usually so calm, so steady, keep his distance with his jaw tight.

Hinata swallowed hard, his anger still boiling under his skin, but instinct screamed at him to shut up. To listen. To obey.

So he did.

With legs that felt strangely hollow, he walked toward the car, slid into the back seat, and sat rigid as the door shut him inside.

The night pressed on around them, but for Hinata, the world had shrunk to the suffocating space of that car and the weight of the unanswered questions burning in his chest.

The ride back was filled with silence.

Hinata sat stiff in the back seat, his knees drawn close together, his hands twisted in the fabric of his hoodie. The hum of the engine filled the car, steady and low, while the city lights slipped past in fractured streaks outside the window. His chest still burned from shouting, the echo of his own voice replaying in his skull, but the heat of it was already softening into something else. Something heavier.

He glanced toward the front.

Oikawa was behind the wheel, shoulders angled toward the glass as though the road demanded all of him. But now that Hinata really looked, he realized it wasn’t anger pinning Oikawa’s body so still. It was weariness. His jaw was tight, yes, but not sharp with fury. His whole face seemed drawn, the skin beneath his eyes shadowed, the usual lively curve of his mouth erased. He didn’t look like someone about to deliver a lecture. He looked like someone who had run out of words. Someone who had already given too much of himself upstairs, in that apartment Hinata hadn’t dared to enter.

The sight sent a ripple through Hinata’s chest, muddling the sharp edges of his own anger with guilt. He had been so quick to assume the worst, to lash out, to demand answers, but Oikawa wasn’t his enemy. Pablo wasn’t, either.

From the passenger seat, Pablo’s gaze kept flicking up to the mirror, steady and quiet, checking on them both. His eyes lingered on Hinata, then darted to Oikawa, then back again, and though his mouth didn’t move, the worry was plain in the lines of his forehead. Hinata swallowed hard, his fists loosening on his hoodie.

The anger that had lit him up under the tree cooled a little more with every second of silence. Shame pressed in at the edges, unsteady and nagging. He had yelled at Pablo like a cornered animal, accused him without letting him speak, when all Pablo had done was try to calm him down.

Hinata dropped his eyes to his lap, staring at his own clenched fingers. His throat ached, dry and tight, but no apology came. Not yet. The silence in the car wasn’t fragile. It was dense, weighted down by whatever had happened inside Kageyama’s apartment. And until he knew what that was, until the air shifted, the words caught in his chest like thorns.

He pressed his forehead lightly against the window, the cool glass dampening his skin, and let the hum of the tires on the road drag the minutes out. The city stretched by in streaks of neon and shadow, but all Hinata could feel was the hollow ache of not knowing.

By the time they reached Hinata’s building, the car felt like it had been drained of oxygen. Oikawa pulled up against the curb and killed the engine without a word. For a long second, none of them moved. Then, with a sharp exhale, Oikawa pushed open the door and circled around to help Pablo with the luggage.

Hinata followed in silence, his sneakers scuffing on the pavement, his body moving on autopilot. The three of them climbed the narrow stairwell together, shadows stretching up the walls under the dim light, until they reached the familiar door. His key felt heavier than usual as he slid it into the lock, twisting. The door gave with a soft click, and he stepped aside to let them in first.

Inside, the apartment seemed smaller than ever. The silence followed them in, thick and unwelcome, as though it had seeped into the walls. Pablo and Oikawa dropped the bags by the entrance and almost immediately collapsed onto the couch. They didn’t even try to make themselves look presentable or polite. Just sank into the cushions like they’d been holding themselves up too long. Oikawa leaned his head back, eyes closed for a moment, while Pablo rubbed a hand over his face with a weary sigh.

Hinata stood for a beat, uncertain. His apartment, usually a comfort, suddenly felt foreign with them sitting there, carrying something heavy he hadn’t yet been let into. His throat tightened. With nothing else to do with his hands, he turned toward the kitchen, pulling three glasses down from the shelf. The sound of water filling them from the tap was too loud in the quiet.

When he came back, he set the glasses carefully on the table. Neither Oikawa nor Pablo moved to drink right away. The silence pressed on him again, and before he could stop himself, Hinata spoke.

“…I’m sorry,” he said quietly, but firmly. His hands curled against his thighs, knuckles pale. “For yelling. For accusing you both. I—I know you’re my friends. I know you wouldn’t hurt me on purpose.” His voice wavered, but he forced the words out. “I just… it felt like you were lying to me, and it made me panic. But still, I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did.”

For the first time since they’d entered, Pablo’s expression softened. He leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, looking at Hinata with something warm and regretful. “No, Hinata,” he murmured. “You were right to be upset. I should’ve told you. I shouldn’t have lied.” His shoulders lifted and dropped in a slow exhale. “I thought I was protecting you, but that wasn’t fair.”

Some of the tension loosened, just enough for Hinata to breathe. He gave Pablo a small nod, his lips pressed tight. “It’s fine,” he whispered. “I just… I need to know what’s going on. Please.”

That was when Oikawa finally stirred. He straightened a little, pushing a hand through his hair, eyes downcast as though choosing his words carefully. When he spoke, his voice was lower than usual, stripped of its usual lilt, its teasing cadence.

“I’ve been thinking,” Oikawa began, gaze fixed on the glass of water in front of him rather than Hinata, “about Brazil. About everything that happened there. About what happened between us.” He paused, jaw tight, before continuing. “And about how it… spilled over into your relationship with Kageyama.”

Hinata froze, his chest tight. Oikawa’s tone wasn’t defensive, wasn’t sly—it was raw, almost resigned.

“The truth is,” Oikawa went on, “I started to feel guilty. Not just because of the kiss. I was the one who kissed you first, after all. But because I knew, deep down, that the kiss itself wasn’t the real problem.” His eyes flicked up at Hinata, sharp but pained. “It was me. It was that it was me.”

Hinata’s breath caught, his body leaning forward unconsciously.

Oikawa gave a hollow laugh, shaking his head. “Kageyama and I… we have too much history. Too many unresolved things. I’ve been cruel to him. Dismissive. I let my jealousy and pride twist everything between us, and I can’t undo that now. But when you told him about us—when you told him about the kiss—it wasn’t just about what you did. It was about who it was with. That’s why it cut so deep.”

Silence followed his words, heavy and thick. Oikawa’s face had none of its usual sparkle; his mouth was a thin, grim line, his eyes shadowed.

“So I decided,” he finished quietly, “that if there was anything I could do to fix it, I had to try. For you, Shrimp. Because I didn’t want to be another weight on your shoulders.” He glanced away, voice tight. “That’s why I spoke to him tonight. That’s why I asked him to meet.”

Hinata’s body went cold. His pulse roared in his ears, but his throat locked up. The words he wanted to form tangled in his chest, unable to come out.

Across from him, Pablo let out another quiet breath, as if the truth itself had been pressing on him too.

The glasses of water on the table sat untouched.

Hinata sat frozen, his body leaning slightly forward but his muscles taut, caught between wanting to hear more and wanting to run from it. His chest was tight, and his stomach curled uneasily, as though bracing for impact. The idea of Oikawa and Kageyama sitting across from each other, talking—actually talking—felt unreal. Like a scenario he’d imagined a hundred times in his head, but always ended with shouting, slammed doors, or silence so hostile it could cut.

“Go on,” Hinata said finally, his voice quieter than he meant it to be. His fingers dug into his knees, grounding himself. “Please.”

Oikawa’s expression didn’t change, but his shoulders rose and fell in a long, deliberate breath. “It wasn’t easy,” he admitted. His tone was steady, but Hinata could hear the drag of fatigue beneath it. “I don’t think either of us expected it to be. But… we talked.”

The word talked sounded strange coming from Oikawa’s mouth, heavy with years of rivalry and sharp edges. Hinata swallowed hard, unable to tear his eyes away.

“I told him I’d been wrong,” Oikawa continued, his voice unusually stripped of bravado. “About the way I treated him. About letting my pride get in the way. I told him that I’d let my jealousy shape everything—our rivalry, our dynamic, even the way I looked at him. And I told him that it wasn’t fair to him. That he deserved better than being treated like some obstacle I had to tear down just to prove I existed.”

Hinata’s pulse raced. He had never heard Oikawa speak of Kageyama like this, not without venom, not without fire. His chest tightened with a strange cocktail of relief and unease.

“And you know what?” Oikawa’s lips curved into a humorless smile. “He didn’t blow up. He didn’t storm out. He listened.”

Hinata blinked, breath catching. “He… listened?”

Oikawa nodded slowly, the weight of it sinking in his eyes. “More than that. He answered. He told me he’d been doing some reflecting of his own. About the way he sees people. About how much of his life he’s spent measuring himself against me, against everyone. He admitted that maybe—” Oikawa’s mouth twisted, as though the words themselves resisted being spoken. “Maybe he’d been unfair too. That his pride had kept him from seeing me as anything other than a rival, when in reality, we were just two setters who wanted the same thing.”

The room was utterly still. Hinata couldn’t breathe. The image of Kageyama, the same Kageyama who bristled at the smallest slight, who shut down when emotions got too raw, sitting down and admitting that made his head spin.

“It wasn’t all sparkles and rainbows,” Oikawa said quickly, as if to ground it. “There were sharp words. Long silences. He’s still Kageyama, and I’m still me, after all. But there was something… different. Like he wanted to be heard as much as he wanted to hear. That surprised me.”

Hinata’s throat ached. He gripped the glass of water in front of him, but didn’t drink. His hand shook faintly against the condensation. “So… what does that mean?” His voice cracked, betraying the fear creeping in around the edges.

Oikawa didn’t answer right away. He leaned back into the couch, dragging a hand over his face, his eyes shutting briefly as though to shut Hinata’s question out. When he opened them again, they were dull, heavy.

“It means he’s not as unreachable as you think, Hinata,” Oikawa said finally, his tone low, almost reluctant. “It means he’s been turning things over in his head, even if he hasn’t told you yet. Maybe he’s closer to sorting through it than either of us expected.”

Hinata’s chest throbbed with a sharp ache. Hope and fear clashed so violently it made him nauseous. If Kageyama had been reflecting, if he had actually let Oikawa in enough to talk, then maybe there was still a chance. But why hadn’t Kageyama told him? Why had Oikawa been the one to see that side of him first?

His mind spun, but all he could do was sit there, staring at Oikawa, waiting for more, terrified of what might come next.

Oikawa exhaled slowly, rubbing his temples as though the words themselves were pressing on him. “I can’t tell you what it means for you, Hinata. I’m not even sure what it means for me. I didn’t walk out of there thinking, ah, yes, everything is fixed now. That’s not how this works. But I had to try.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his voice low and even. “For once in my life, I didn’t want to leave things between me and Kageyama festering. Not when I know what’s at stake for you.”

Hinata stared down at his own hands, pale against the glass he hadn’t touched. His chest felt caught in a vice, squeezed between relief that they hadn’t shouted each other hoarse, and dread that he still didn’t know where that left him.

Hinata’s heart pounded in his ears. His mind dragged him back, unbidden, to the night before. The crack of his own voice, shouting, It’s not the kiss, it’s your pride! He thought about the way Kageyama’s face had twisted, the furious hurt in his eyes. He thought about the kiss that followed, desperate and angry, the way Kageyama had broken away and whispered sorry before vanishing like smoke.

Had that been the trigger? Had something in those words rattled Kageyama enough to make him think, to make him sit down across from Oikawa and listen? 

The room pressed in on him, heavy with the echo of everything unsaid. His friends were right there. Pablo watching him carefully, Oikawa drained and silent beside him. But Hinata had never felt so alone with his thoughts.

Hinata finally lifted his head, throat tight, but he forced the words out anyway. “Thank you,” he whispered, then steadier, firmer: “I know that couldn’t have been easy. To sit down with Tobio, to… to say those things. It must’ve taken a lot.” His fingers curled against his knees, nails pressing faint crescents into the fabric. “I don’t know what it means yet, but… I’m glad you did it. I’m really grateful that you did it for me.”

Oikawa turned his glass between his hands, the water catching faint glimmers of light. For a moment, he said nothing, his expression unreadable. Then he let out a quiet laugh, not sharp or mocking but tired, almost fragile. “Yes,” he admitted softly. “I did it for you.” His gaze lifted, steady and direct, pinning Hinata in place. “But you should know—you were also the reason I could do it. If you hadn’t…” His voice trailed, but his mouth tightened, and he shook his head as though forcing himself to continue. “If you hadn’t forced yourself to be honest with him, with me, with yourself… I don’t think I’d have had the courage to face Tobio at all. Not after all this time.”

Hinata’s breath hitched. His chest swelled, not with relief, exactly, but with a painful ache of recognition.

Oikawa leaned back into the couch, finally drinking from the glass, his throat moving with each slow swallow. When he lowered it again, there was something lighter in his face. It wasn't joy or peace, but a slackening of the tension that had carved itself into his features for years. “Things aren’t fixed,” he said firmly, as though reminding both of them. “Not between me and him, not between you and him. But…” His lips quirked faintly, a shadow of the brightness that usually lit his smile. “It does feel like there’s a little less weight pressing down on me tonight. Like I finally set something down I’ve been carrying far too long.”

Hinata felt his throat close, his eyes sting. He blinked hard, dropping his gaze to the glass untouched in front of him. The heaviness hadn’t lifted from his own chest, but seeing some of it slide from Oikawa’s shoulders, even a fraction, felt like proof that change was possible.

The silence that followed wasn’t suffocating this time. It was tired, stretched, but bearable. 

Pablo shifted where he sat, his forearms resting on his knees, his hands loose and open. For a long moment he just looked at both of them. The younger boy knotted with uncertainty, the older one hollowed by old battles, and then he smiled, soft and easy.

“You two,” he said gently, shaking his head, “you carry too much on yourselves. Always dragging years of weight around like it’s your job.” His tone wasn’t scolding; it was tender, the way he spoke to Hinata in Brazil whenever Hinata overworked himself into exhaustion. “It’s okay to let it down sometimes. That’s what friends are for.”

Hinata’s chest squeezed. The words were so simple, but they loosened something inside him, something clenched and aching.

“And besides,” Pablo went on, a spark of brightness returning to his voice, “tomorrow’s important, isn’t it? Adler versus Jackals. The match everyone’s been waiting for.” He leaned closer, his smile growing, eyes shining. “I’m not missing that for the world. You’re going to play your heart out, Hinata, and we’re going to scream our lungs out from the stands. Right, Tooru?”

Oikawa huffed, the sound halfway to a laugh, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Don’t lump me in with your screaming, Pablo. But…” He glanced at Hinata, his mouth twitching upward just slightly. “Yeah. We’re excited to watch you. You better not embarrass us.”

Hinata let out a weak laugh, rubbing at his face with both hands. “You guys…” His voice cracked, but it was lighter this time. The knot in his chest didn’t vanish, but it eased, just enough for him to breathe.

The heaviness in the room had thinned, replaced with a quieter kind of fatigue, the kind that made you aware of how late it was. Oikawa pushed himself to his feet with a sigh, stretching his back until it cracked. “Iwa-chan’s going to kill me if I don’t get home soon,” he muttered. “I need a shower, I need sleep, and I need to see my man before I forget what he looks like after two weeks of traveling with someone who’s not him.” He shot Pablo a mock glare, which only made Pablo laugh. “I’ll pick you two up tomorrow, alright? Say… eight? Gives us time to get there early and scout the atmosphere before things get wild.”

Hinata nodded, and Pablo gave a thumbs-up from the couch.

At the door, Oikawa paused, his hand on the knob. His expression was unreadable, caught somewhere between worn-out and thoughtful. “Get some rest, Hinata. Big day tomorrow.”

And then he was gone, the click of the closing door leaving the apartment in quiet.

Hinata leaned against the wood, exhaling shakily. His chest was still crowded with questions, doubts swirling, but they weren’t crushing him anymore. He turned back to the living room where Pablo had already stretched himself comfortably across the couch, flashing him that easy smile.

“You’re not alone tonight,” Pablo said simply.

Hinata swallowed hard, nodding as his chest squeezed. For the first time since the night before, he believed it.

Chapter 110: Chapter CIX

Notes:

had so much fun writing this one!

Soft pink sakura petals drifted down, brushing his hair, clinging to his shoulders, melting against the backs of his hands. The road stretched out in front of him, familiar in a way that made his stomach twist. His bike leaned against the tree. His shoes were dusted in white gravel. His clothes were the same ones he’d worn before falling asleep.

Hinata drew in a slow breath, his chest tight. He knew this place. He hadn’t dreamed it in a long time. Hadn’t dared to. The last time, his body wouldn’t move, and all he could do was watch as the figure he longed for most turned and walked away from him. He’d woken choking on that image, and it had haunted him for weeks.

But this time… this time felt different.

A petal spiraled toward him, and without thinking, he lifted his hand. His fingers brushed its edge before closing around it. The soft weight sat in his palm, fragile and trembling, and as soon as he felt it, the air shifted.

His ears pricked. A sound, low, familiar, almost like his name, carried through the stillness.

Hinata turned. And there he was.

Kageyama.

Not a blur, not a faceless silhouette, but Kageyama. Tall, shoulders squared, eyes fixed on him with a sharp, expectant intensity that made Hinata’s heart lurch. It was as if he had been standing there all along, waiting for him to move, waiting for him to choose.

Hinata’s feet felt heavy, as though he were wading through water, but they moved. One step. Then another. Each one slow, dragging, but real. With every inch he closed, something inside him eased, as though Kageyama’s silent gaze was pulling him forward, telling him he could do it.

When he finally reached him, his chest was hammering so loud he thought it might shatter the dream itself. He raised a trembling hand.

Kageyama flinched, just barely, like a flicker of hesitation, but he didn’t step back. He didn’t turn away. He stayed.

Hinata’s palm cupped his cheek with careful, almost reverent slowness, like he was afraid the dream would collapse if he moved too fast. The warmth of Kageyama’s skin met his fingertips. Real. Solid. Kageyama’s lashes fluttered shut, his jaw tightening as if the touch hurt and soothed all at once.

Hinata’s breath caught.

And then, black. The dream dissolved like smoke, leaving him with only the memory of that touch, and the hollow ache of wanting more.

 

---

 

The alarm jolted him awake, a thin, tinny melody that felt far too sharp for how heavy his body was. Hinata blinked into the morning light spilling across his room, his chest rising in uneven pulls of air. For a second he stayed still, staring up at the ceiling, replaying the dream like a film burned into the backs of his eyes.

It had been so long since he’d dreamed of that road, that tree, those petals. But this time, something had shifted. He hadn’t been frozen. He hadn’t watched Kageyama’s back retreating into the distance. He’d walked to him. He’d touched him. His fingers still tingled with the phantom memory of skin, of warmth, of Kageyama closing his eyes under his palm.

Hinata pressed the heel of his hand to his chest, trying to steady the rhythm there. Maybe it meant nothing. Maybe it was just his own heart desperate for closeness, rewriting the dream into something he wanted. But as the alarm kept chiming, dragging him into the reality of match day, he couldn’t shake the quiet bloom of hope curling in his stomach.

Today, he would see Kageyama again. Not in a dream, not in passing, but across the net, under the weight of lights and the roar of a crowd. His body trembled with nerves, with excitement, with something dangerously close to fear. He didn’t know how Kageyama would look at him, didn’t know what would linger between them after the last two nights. But Oikawa had said Tobio listened, that he spoke. That was more than Hinata had dared to hope for.

Dragging himself out of bed, Hinata padded to the door and pulled it open. The smell hit him first. It was savory and warm, something rich and unfamiliar in the early Tokyo air. He blinked, and there was Pablo in the small kitchen, hair tied back messily, shoulders relaxed as he flipped something over a pan.

“Bom dia,” Pablo said without turning, his voice easy, carrying that gentle lilt of home. “Perfect timing. Go shower. Breakfast’ll be ready by the time you’re done.”

Hinata stood there for a beat, throat thick, watching the way Pablo moved as though he belonged in this space. A rush of gratitude hit him so hard it almost buckled his knees. After weeks of feeling adrift, waking to someone here, someone steady, was enough to make his eyes sting. He swallowed it back, nodding quickly.

“…Okay.” His voice was small but steady. He slipped into the bathroom, letting the hot water wash some of the tremors out of his muscles, though the nerves still clung stubbornly under his skin.

When he came out, the table was set with two plates, steam curling up from food Hinata didn’t have a name for, but it smelled incredible. Pablo was already seated, grinning as he gestured for Hinata to join him.

They ate slowly, with easy small talk filling the gaps. Hinata let himself relax into it, the rhythm of Pablo’s voice anchoring him as he took bite after bite, the food both unfamiliar and comforting. It wasn’t heavy, just simple, made with care, the way Pablo always did things.

After a while, Hinata finally asked, “So… how was the trip? I’m sorry I forgot to ask yesterday.”

Pablo’s whole face lit up. He pulled out his phone immediately, tapping through photos and videos with a boyish excitement that made Hinata laugh despite himself. He showed him snapshots of shrines, bustling city streets, quiet countryside paths lined with endless green. Videos of Oikawa teasing him in front of a temple, of stray cats that had followed them for blocks, of sunsets that painted the sky in impossible colors.

Hinata leaned in, smiling despite the tightness in his chest. For a moment, the looming match, the gnawing fear about Kageyama, all of it faded into the background. He let Pablo’s joy wash over him like sunlight, warm and steady, something to hold onto as the storm of the day approached.

 

---

 

By the time the knock rattled the door, the clock had inched close to noon. Hinata jolted up, nerves snapping through him like static before he even moved. For a split second his stomach flipped. Kageyama, he thought wildly, as if Tobio might just be standing there. But the voice that followed was unmistakable, smug even through the door.

“Hey, Shrimp, you’re not making me stand out here, are you?”

Oikawa.

Hinata let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He padded quickly across the floor and tugged the door open. There stood Oikawa, sunglasses perched on his nose even though the street wasn’t that bright. He looked freshly showered, dressed with care, his energy already humming with something different than last night.

“Good morning, my little Jackal,” Oikawa sang, stepping past Hinata without waiting for an invitation. He clicked his tongue as his eyes swept the room. “Hm, at least it doesn’t look like a murder scene. That’s a plus.”

Hinata rolled his eyes, but the teasing tone and the familiar swagger loosened something tight inside his chest. Last night’s gravity had drained him, but this Oikawa, this version that picked at him with a crooked smile, felt like a lifeline.

“Shut up,” Hinata muttered, though there wasn’t much bite in it. He caught Pablo’s grin from the couch, wide and warm, and the mood shifted almost instantly.

Pablo stood, pulling Oikawa into a hug that looked like it knocked the breath out of him. “You’re back to being annoying,” Pablo said in his now improved Japanese, laughter dancing in his voice. “Good. I prefer you like that.”

Oikawa huffed, pretending to swat him away, though the corners of his mouth betrayed him. “Of course you do. Who wouldn’t?”

Hinata couldn’t stop himself from smiling. The heaviness of last night, the guilt, the raw nerves, the uncertainty that had clawed at him, wasn’t gone. Not really. But it wasn’t pressing down on his shoulders in the same way. With Oikawa back to his usual cocky rhythm, and Pablo gently grounding the room, the air felt lighter.

They spent a few minutes gathering bags and jackets, Oikawa chattering the whole time, alternating between trash-talking the Adlers and tossing little barbs at Hinata about how nervous he looked. “Careful,” he said, wagging a finger as they filed out the door, “if you shake that much on the court, people will think you’ve got a fever.”

Hinata shot him a glare but couldn’t hold it. The teasing softened his nerves instead of sharpening them. Maybe that was Oikawa’s intention, maybe not, but it worked. His heartbeat was still fast, his hands still fidgeting, but the sick twist in his stomach had untangled just a little.

As they piled into the car, Pablo slid into the passenger seat, Oikawa behind the wheel, and Hinata in the back. The tension wasn’t gone, but for the first time in days, it felt like he could take a full breath without it breaking apart inside him.

The match was waiting. Kageyama was waiting. But for now, cushioned by his friends’ voices, Hinata could almost believe he was ready.

 

---

 

The arena rose like a mountain of glass and steel, glittering in the midday light. By the time Oikawa’s car rolled to a stop near the players’ entrance, Hinata’s palms were slick against his knees, his breath shallow. He climbed out with Pablo and Oikawa trailing behind, their voices weaving in easy conversation, but the second the heavy doors opened to let them in, the atmosphere shifted.

Inside, the air carried a different weight. Polished floors echoing with footsteps, muffled shouts from players warming up somewhere deeper in the halls, the faint thud of balls already striking palms. It was familiar, and yet today, every sound felt sharpened, every detail magnified.

“Hinata.”

The voice grounded him. Meian was already there, dressed in the Jackals’ warm-up jacket, broad-shouldered and steady. Sakusa was stretching nearby, earbuds in, while Bokuto bounced on the balls of his feet, practically vibrating with restless energy.

Meian gave him a slow nod, the kind of acknowledgment that didn’t need words. Then, with a rare flicker of warmth, he reached out and clapped a hand on Hinata’s shoulder, firm, steady and enough to anchor him.

“You look better,” Meian said simply.

Hinata felt the corner of his mouth twitch upward, faint but genuine. “Yeah. I feel… better.”

“Good,” Meian replied, already turning to say something to Sakusa, but the approval lingered like an ember in Hinata’s chest.

Bokuto bounded over next, his grin wide, eyes bright. “Shoyo! You ready for today?” His voice was booming but not overbearing; it was the kind of cheer that filled rather than pressed.

Hinata couldn’t help laughing softly, the sound shaking out of him like a sigh. “Yeah, I think so.”

The warmth from his teammates held him upright as they made their way to the locker room. Still, as they passed through the corridor, Hinata’s eyes snagged on movement in the distance. Yellow and white warm-ups, the Adler crest gleaming under the lights. His chest tightened. He forced himself to look away before his gaze could betray him, before it could start scanning desperately for a single figure among them. Not now. Not yet.

The locker room buzzed with low conversation and the muted thud of players moving around, but at Hinata’s corner of the bench, it felt strangely quiet. He bent forward, tugging his laces tight, listening to the rhythm of his own breath more than the noise around him. The ritual usually steadied him. Today, it wasn’t enough.

The door swung open, and Atsumu stepped in, shoulders squared like he was trying to look casual but not quite pulling it off. His bag hit the bench with a soft thud, and he muttered a quick, “Mornin’,” as he dug through it.

Hinata gave a small nod back, not thinking much of it, until Atsumu lingered. He stripped off his jacket, tugged his shirt over his head, and then instead of diving straight into changing like usual, he slowed. He sat down heavily on the bench across from Hinata, hands braced against his knees.

“You seem… better,” Atsumu said finally, eyes flicking toward him and away just as fast.

Hinata blinked. “Huh?”

“Compared to yesterday,” Atsumu clarified, fiddling with the tape in his hand. His tone was rough, like he wasn’t used to speaking softer. “Your shoulders ain’t all hunched up. Your eyes ain’t looking like your head’s somewhere else.”

Hinata gave a small shrug. “Yeah. A little better.”

For a moment, Atsumu just nodded, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Then, with a sudden exhale, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped so tightly his knuckles went pale.

“Listen,” he said, his voice low. “Can we—uh. Can we talk?”

Hinata paused, caught off guard by the uncharacteristic uncertainty in his voice. Atsumu didn’t wait for an answer; his gaze dropped to the floor, as if he couldn’t speak the words while looking at Hinata directly.

“I should’ve done this way sooner,” Atsumu muttered. “Long ago, honestly. But I didn’t know how. And… I didn’t wanna. Pride, I guess. But—I owe you an apology, Hinata.”

Hinata straightened slowly, heart thudding. He hadn’t expected this.

Atsumu’s jaw worked as though the words were dragging themselves out, fighting him on every syllable. “Back then… when I, uhm, kissed you. I was pissed off. At Kageyama. At myself. At everything. And I took it out on you. Used you for something that wasn’t yours to carry. That wasn’t fair. Hell, it was worse than not fair—it was shitty.”

The last word cracked sharper than he meant, and Atsumu grimaced, dragging a hand through his hair before pressing his palm to the back of his neck. He looked like he wanted to crawl out of his own skin.

“I should’ve said it then, but I didn’t. Because I’m proud. ‘Because I thought I could just… ignore it. Pretend like it didn’t happen. But it did. And it hurt you. I know it did.” His voice softened, though it wavered at the edges. “I’m sorry, Hinata. For real. For making something that was already messy even worse.”

Hinata’s throat was tight. Atsumu still wasn’t looking at him, eyes glued to the ground like the act of speaking had stripped him raw.

“And,” Atsumu went on, slower now, like every word cost him something, “I know I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve to be your friend after that. But if… if you’re willing to give me another chance—just as a teammate, maybe as a friend too—that’d be… I dunno. That’d be pretty damn cool.”

The silence stretched, heavy but alive. Hinata studied him. The way Atsumu’s shoulders curved inward, the rare tremor in his voice, the way his pride bent but didn’t break as he forced the apology into the air.

Something in Hinata’s chest softened. This wasn’t the cocky setter spitting sharp words. This was someone who had wrestled with himself and, for once, let his guard drop. He’d seen Atsumu change. He’d seen how much he struggled. If he had to guess, he’d even bet that Sakusa had somehow been involved in that steady difference that now carried him.

Hinata thought about it. He had forgotten when was the last time he felt uncomfortable around Atsumu. The last time he felt conscious about his presence at practice, in the court. The last time tension ruled their interactions. He realized that things had changed ever since Atsumu stood up for him back at that interview with the reporter. Back when they had first asked about Kageyama and Hinata had frozen in his place. Something had shifted between them since that day, unconsciously. 

Atsumu had hurt him, yes. He’d made him feel used. Played. Like a piece of a game he wasn’t even aware of. But he’d assumed his responsibility later. He’d given him space, respect, and he’d changed in a way that mattered without really expecting anything in return. And now, in that locker room, he’d even offered an apology. Something Hinata had never expected to hear from someone like him. 

Hinata nodded, slow but certain. His voice was quiet, but steady. “Thank you, Atsumu. For saying that.”

Atsumu finally looked up, just for a second, and Hinata thought he saw relief flicker in his eyes before he masked it with a crooked, almost sheepish grin.

After so long, the distance between them didn’t feel like a wall.

 

---

 

The arena was already pulsing by the time they stepped onto the court for warmups. The air was thick with the hum of voices, the clatter of shoes on hardwood, and the sharp squeak of rubber soles cutting across the floor. Bright lights poured down from above, glinting off polished surfaces and catching in the faint sheen of sweat that had already begun to bead on players’ skin.

Hinata followed his teammates in, his stomach coiled tight. His pulse was hammering, not just from nerves but from that unmistakable pre-game charge that always lit him up inside. It was the same electricity that had carried him since Karasuno, the thrill that only grew sharper the bigger the stage became.

Still, his eyes betrayed him. The second he glanced across the court, he froze. There. White jersey, black hair, sharp lines carved into every movement. Kageyama. Tobio. His chest lurched, something between a choke and a surge, and he had to look away before the floor opened beneath him.

But then a flash of yellow and white caught his eye. Ushijima stood near the net, steady as ever, his presence a mountain that nothing could move. Beside him, a far more animated shape, Hoshiumi, bouncing on his feet, grin already splitting his face. The little wing spiker spotted Hinata almost instantly and waved, both arms slicing the air like he was trying to flag down a plane.

Hinata startled into a laugh and lifted his own hand, waving back, the simple gesture sparking a bit of warmth in his chest. Ushijima, too, acknowledged him with a short, respectful nod. It was enough to make Hinata’s throat tighten for reasons that had nothing to do with nerves.

The moment barely lasted before Meian’s voice cut across the court like a whip. “Alright! Line up—warmup drills, sharp and clean!”

Coach Samson’s voice overlapped, firm but focused. “Eyes forward! Execution, not just speed. Get your bodies right, your heads right—don’t think about them, think about us.”

Hinata sucked in a breath, falling into step with Bokuto and Sakusa as they began moving into formation. Bokuto was practically vibrating beside him, every inch of him restless energy. “This is it, huh? Big match, big stage—we’re gonna crush it!” His grin was blinding, his volume enough to earn a few side-eyes, but somehow it steadied Hinata instead of rattling him.

Sakusa, of course, muttered something drier. “Don’t waste energy before the whistle.”

But Hinata barely heard them. His hands flexed at his sides, muscles tightening and loosening as though his body was impatient to get moving, impatient to release everything coiled inside him. His nerves screamed, but beneath them, the thrill surged brighter. The stage was here. The players were here. And whatever storm was still raging between him and Kageyama would be tested on the court.

 

---

 

The whistle blew, sharp and commanding, and the teams fell into their lines. Shoes scraped across the polished court as the Jackals gathered shoulder to shoulder, facing the Adlers across the narrow strip of net that divided them. The air thickened, buzzing with noise from the stands, but for Hinata, it all seemed to mute, the edges softening until it was only this: two rows, two worlds, standing eye to eye.

Hinata’s spot put him directly across from Hoshiumi. The shorter spiker was already smirking, his expression a mix of mischief and determination, eyes glittering like he couldn’t wait for the first serve. Hinata tried to mirror it, mouth twitching into the ghost of a grin, but his chest was tight, his blood rushing too fast.

Because, out of the corner of his eye, he felt it. The pull. The awareness like gravity itself had shifted across the court. Slowly, almost against his will, Hinata turned his head.

And there he was. Kageyama.

The sight of him knocked the breath from Hinata’s lungs, even though he’d known, of course he’d known, he’d be here. Closer. White jersey, number carved bold against his chest. Hair perfectly in place, expression unreadable. But his eyes. His eyes were locked on Hinata, steady and unblinking, like he’d been waiting for him to look.

He didn’t smile. He didn’t nod. There was no flicker of acknowledgment beyond that stare. But his jaw wasn’t tight. His shoulders weren’t hunched with tension. He didn’t look angry, not like he had in Hinata’s apartment two nights ago. If anything, he looked… calm. Collected. As if taking all of Hinata in piece by piece, holding him in his gaze until the rest of the arena blurred away.

Hinata’s throat went dry. His heart slammed so hard he was afraid it would shake the floor beneath him. Still, he couldn’t look away.

For a moment, it felt like no one else existed. Not Hoshiumi bouncing in front of him, not Ushijima standing like an immovable wall, not the teammates fidgeting at his shoulders. Just the two of them, bound in silence across the net, eyes locked in a way that said everything words had failed to.

And then the whistle shrilled again, breaking the spell, and they both snapped back to their lines.

The roar of the crowd was a living thing. It rose and fell in waves, vibrating through the soles of Hinata’s shoes, through his chest, up his throat until he could almost taste the noise. Lights blazed overhead, mercilessly bright, bouncing off polished wood and glossy jerseys. Cameras swiveled, screens flickered, flashes popped. Thousands of eyes locked on them, waiting for the first toss of the ball.

Hinata drew in a breath so deep it almost hurt. He was aware of everything at once: the sea of banners in the stands, the sharp tang of resin on his fingertips, the sweat already prickling the back of his neck. And within the noise, he felt the steady presence of Oikawa and Pablo somewhere in the crowd, watching. Anchoring him.

Across the net, the Adlers stood like a wall. Ushijima, immovable as ever, arms crossed, chin lifted. Hoshiumi bouncing on his toes, sharp grin already flashing, restless energy sparking around him. And at the center, Kageyama, straight-backed, calm, hands flexing in anticipation. The sight sent a jolt through Hinata’s chest.

But he forced himself to look back, to take in his own team. Bokuto cracking his knuckles with a grin that was more controlled than usual, his energy burning steady and sharp. Sakusa, expression cool, gaze razor-sharp as he adjusted his elbow pad. Atsumu rolling the ball between his palms, face unreadable, but his posture radiating focus. And Meian, their captain, steady as a rock, his voice cutting through the noise as he barked out last-minute reminders.

This was it. The best of the best. Both sides knew it.

The whistle cut the air. The ball went up.

The Adlers’ serve cracked like a gunshot, whipping across the net with brutal speed. Hinata’s body reacted before his mind could catch up, feet pounding against the floor as he moved into position. The pass was clean, snapping into Atsumu’s hands. And then, Hinata was flying.

For a split second, the world narrowed to air and height and motion. He felt the ball explode off his palm, the satisfying sting ringing through his bones as it shot down into Adler territory. The crowd roared, but already the rally was moving, Hoshiumi launching into the air on the other side, his arm a blur as he cut the ball across the court.

Hinata darted back into place, lungs burning, legs coiled. Every play was a tug of war. Jackals biting back, Adlers answering with teeth bared. Ushijima’s spikes cracked against their defense like thunder. Bokuto matched him blow for blow, his voice echoing after each strike.

And always, threading through it all, was Kageyama. His sets were sharp, merciless, placed with surgical precision. Hinata knew that rhythm, that touch. It burned into him, familiar and devastating. Each time the ball left Kageyama’s hands, Hinata’s body remembered, even if his mind screamed not to focus on it.

He stole glances when he could. Kageyama’s eyes were fixed on the court, not on him, but the tension stretched like a wire between them. Push and pull. Avoidance and gravity. Every point tightened it further.

Hinata’s chest heaved as he crouched low, knees ready, the sweat on his temples cold against the heat of his skin. His heart was racing not just with the thrill of the match, but with the knowledge that on the other side of the net, it was Tobio’s heart hammering just as hard.

They weren’t speaking, but they were fighting each other, with each other, in every motion of the game.

The first few rallies were knives. Sharp, fast, merciless.

The Adlers came out strong. Ushijima pounding down a spike that rattled straight through the Jackals’ block, Hoshiumi darting around like a shadow, impossible to pin down. Kageyama’s hands were steady, ruthless, feeding them ball after ball without hesitation. Each set was like a judgment, clean and exact, daring Hinata’s side to keep up.

Hinata threw himself into it headfirst. He wasn’t about to falter. Not here, not now, not in front of Tobio. His legs burned as he jumped again and again, his arms stinging from desperate receives, his voice raw as he called out. The tension in his body was more than just the match, it was everything left unsaid, everything that hung between them. He could feel it every time Kageyama’s gaze flickered toward him, sharp and unreadable, before turning away again.

At first, it was unbearable. Hinata tried not to look at him, tried to focus only on the ball, on Atsumu’s hands snapping it into the air, on Bokuto’s shout as he hammered through a block. But it was impossible. He knew that rhythm too well. He knew the set of Kageyama’s shoulders, the way his eyes followed the ball, the tilt of his head as he judged distance and angle. He felt it. Every choice, every flick of those hands that had always belonged to him.

And yet, as the rallies stretched on, something shifted.

Hinata’s breath was coming hard, sweat dripping down his temples, but beneath the exhaustion a different current pulsed. Kageyama wasn’t just punishing him. He was challenging him. Every serve, every set, every perfect ball that forced Hinata to stretch higher, react faster, think sharper, he was pulling it out of him. The thrill that surged in Hinata’s veins wasn’t just adrenaline. It was recognition.

This was what he’d said in the interview, what he hadn’t been able to tell Tobio directly: You make me better. Even when you’re against me, you’re still pushing me forward.

The realization hit with every rally. Hinata felt it when he managed to chase down a set from Atsumu that nearly went too wide, stretching his body to its limits, and across the net, Kageyama’s eyes widened just slightly, following his motion. He felt it when he went up against Hoshiumi in midair, both of them flying high, the ball cracking between their hands, and when the dust settled, he caught the edge of a grin tugging at Kageyama’s mouth. Quick, fleeting, but still there.

The tension didn’t vanish all at once. It was still rocky, still jagged. Sometimes their eyes met and Kageyama’s gaze darted away like he couldn’t bear to hold it. Sometimes Hinata looked too long and felt his chest twist with all the things they hadn’t said. But point by point, the rhythm grew undeniable. The court became a conversation.

He jumped higher. Tobio’s sets got faster. Hinata adapted. Tobio adapted back. It wasn’t smooth, it wasn’t easy, but it was theirs.

By the second set, Hinata couldn’t stop himself anymore. When he landed a sharp cross-shot that sliced just past Ushijima’s block, he turned, breathless, eyes dragging to Kageyama before he could stop himself. And Kageyama was already looking. His expression was tight and unreadable, but then, slowly, his lips twitched. The barest ghost of a grin. Like he hadn’t meant to show it, but couldn’t help himself.

Hinata’s chest tightened. Heat surged through him, not just from the effort, but from the weight of that look. For a second, he felt almost dizzy.

It happened again, and again. Hinata serving sharp into the corner, Kageyama glancing over with that sharp, assessing gaze that lingered just a little too long. Hinata matching Hoshiumi step for step, and Kageyama’s jaw loosening, his shoulders easing. Hinata going up for a feint that slid past the blockers, and this time, Tobio didn’t look away. Their eyes caught and held.

Hinata almost forgot to breathe.

It was so gradual, so slow, it was like watching ice thaw under sunlight. The stiffness drained from Kageyama’s movements piece by piece. His jaw wasn’t clenched anymore. His shoulders rolled with a looseness Hinata recognized. His eyes… they weren’t angry or cold. They were focused, intense, yes, but every time they landed on Hinata, something softer flickered there.

Admiration.

Hinata felt his pulse stutter each time he caught it. It was the look he remembered from years ago, when they’d first discovered how high they could go together. That same unspoken thrill, that same recognition.

And slowly, so slowly, Hinata felt it ease the knot in his own chest. He stopped fighting the urge to look. He let himself grin after a point, breathless and raw, and though Kageyama didn’t grin back right away, he didn’t look away either. By the third set, he did grin back. Small, reluctant, crooked, but real.

Hinata’s whole body lit up.

This was it. This was them. Rocky, stubborn, prideful, always clashing but always pulling each other higher. The court was where they spoke best, and here, now, they were talking in a language only they knew.

Hinata felt it. The joy. Pure, unfiltered joy. And it was because of Tobio. Even when they were on opposite sides, especially when they were on opposite sides, he could feel it: that pull, that drive, that connection.

And he knew Tobio felt it too.

Atsumu served sharp, a skidding bullet that just kissed the tape before dropping low. Hoshiumi dove, his body practically parallel to the ground, popping it up. Kageyama was already there, hands steady, setting with that precision Hinata could feel in his bones. Ushijima swung, Meian’s block caught just enough to slow it, and Hinata was sprinting, heart rattling in his chest as he launched into the air for the save.

The ball shot back up, spiraling, and Atsumu was already under it. His grin was sharp, cocky, as if to say You ready?

Hinata’s legs coiled, and then he was flying.

The ball slammed off his palm, cracking through Hoshiumi’s hands. The crowd roared. But the rally wasn’t over. Hoshiumi recovered, popping it back up with a desperate dive. The Adlers scrambled, quick as lightning. The ball found its way back into Kageyama’s hands.

Hinata’s breath caught.

The set was flawless. High, fast and cruel. It pushed Hoshiumi right into Hinata’s path, the two of them colliding midair like sparks. The ball ricocheted between them, neither willing to give an inch. Hinata landed hard, knees bending, arms shooting back up, his lungs burning. Kageyama’s eyes snapped to him across the net, and Hinata felt it. The challenge, the dare.

Come on. Higher.

Hinata grinned, chest tight with exhilaration. “Don’t you dare lose!” he shouted across the net, voice hoarse but gleeful.

Kageyama didn’t answer with words. His answer was the next set. Fast, blistering, a perfect ball that dared Ushijima to hammer it down. Hinata barely had time to sprint, to stretch his body into impossible angles, keeping the rally alive by the skin of his teeth. His veins screamed with adrenaline. His grin wouldn’t fade.

It was back and forth, a storm of spikes and blocks, sets and digs, each touch a dialogue, each rally a sentence. They weren’t just opponents. They were speaking.

I’m here. I can match you.
Then keep up. Don’t fall behind.
I won’t. Not anymore.

And maybe, just maybe, beneath the sharpness, beneath the fire, there was something else too. Something softer.

The rally stretched long enough for the crowd to rise to their feet, voices blending into one continuous roar. Hinata’s legs screamed, his lungs burned, but his heart was soaring. Each time he met Kageyama’s gaze, he felt it more. That spark. That connection. That joy.

Finally, the ball arced high. Atsumu, chest heaving, lifted it perfect. Hinata sprinted, every muscle alive, every nerve singing, and launched into the air.

He could see Kageyama watching. Jaw slack. Eyes sharp. Breath caught.

Hinata’s hand met the ball. It split through the block, thundering to the floor.

Point. Jackals.

The whistle shrieked. The arena erupted. Hinata landed, breathless, sweat stinging his eyes. And there, across the net, Kageyama was still staring at him. No words. No scowl. Just watching him like he couldn’t look away.

And then, just the smallest twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Hinata’s chest squeezed so hard it hurt. His own grin broke wide, unstoppable, raw with joy.

“Hey,” Hoshiumi cut in, jogging up with that mischievous sparkle in his eyes. “If you two wanna flirt, do it after the game. Don’t drag me into your little lover’s rally!”

Hinata’s face flushed scarlet, sputtering, but the laugh that ripped out of him was uncontainable. The tension in his chest cracked apart, splintering into something lighter, brighter. And across the net, Tobio didn’t deny it. Didn’t even look away.

Just grinned. Small, crooked, but real.

And Hinata thought, dizzy with it all—So this is what it means to play against you. And with you. Always.

The score pressed forward, set after set, each one a battle carved out of sweat and willpower. The Jackals took the second set by a threadbare two-point difference, Bokuto’s roar shaking the rafters. The Adlers came back in the third, Kageyama threading impossible sets for Ushijima until the court practically split under the weight of his spikes. The fourth belonged to Hinata, Atsumu feeding him toss after toss until it felt like he had wings strapped to his ankles, dragging his team back from the brink.

And now, everything funneled down to this. Fifth set. Final points. Every player wrung out, nerves strung tight as a bowstring.

The arena was vibrating with sound. Stomping feet, chanting fans, the thunder of thousands of voices. Hinata was aware of it. Of Oikawa and Pablo somewhere in the blur of faces, of cameras flashing, of the sheer scale of it all. But what cut through, what anchored him, was the sight across the net.

Kageyama. Not scowling. Not smiling. Just looking. A steady gaze that burned with the same fire Hinata felt rushing through his veins.

The rally began.

Atsumu’s serve tore across the net, blistering fast. Hoshiumi dug it clean, flinging himself to the floor like a spark. Kageyama was there in a flash, already moving, hands up, ready. Hinata could see it in his eyes, he was going to Ushijima. He launched the set high, perfect, heavy with trust.

Ushijima swung. Meian and Sakusa formed a wall. The ball ricocheted, spinning high. Another scramble. Bokuto dove, his hand barely skimming it up. Atsumu was under it in an instant, tossing without hesitation, and Hinata was already there.

He soared, body burning, lungs aflame. He hit the ball at its peak, slamming it past the block. The crowd screamed. Adlers 23, Jackals 23.

The next rally was chaos. Hoshiumi cut sharp to the corner, Hinata diving with a desperation that rattled his bones. He kept it alive, barely. Atsumu chased it, flipped it, Bokuto hammered it through. Adlers 24, Jackals 24.

On and on it went, deuce after deuce, every point dragging them closer to breaking.

Hinata’s chest was heaving, his shirt plastered to him, his body begging him to stop. But across the net, Kageyama’s eyes met his again, steady, unshaken.

Match point.

The Adlers had the serve. The ball cracked like lightning over the net. Sakusa took it clean, calm even in the storm. Atsumu was there, already squaring. His eyes flicked at Hinata, sharp, asking—can you? one more?

Hinata nodded before his brain could even catch up.

He exploded off the floor, legs screaming, arms pulling him higher, higher. Atsumu’s toss was perfect, fast and low, built only for him.

And there, across the net, Kageyama moved. His eyes widened, his body lunged, his hands rising in perfect sync with Hinata’s jump. For a second, the world stilled.

It was just the two of them. Hinata, soaring. Kageyama, blocking. A collision years in the making.

Hinata struck. The ball shot down, grazing Kageyama’s fingers, burning past the block, past Ushijima’s desperate dive, slamming into the floor.

The whistle split the air.

Jackals 27. Adlers 25. Match over.

Noise surged like a wave, fans on their feet, teammates shouting, coaches clapping, but Hinata couldn’t hear any of it. His chest heaved, lungs burning, and yet all he could see was Kageyama. Standing just across the net, shoulders rising and falling, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead. He wasn’t scowling. He wasn’t storming off. He was just looking at him. Directly. No walls, no armor. And then, just faint, hesitant, he smiled.

It wasn’t the triumphant grin of victory, or the tight smirk of rivalry. It was softer. Uneven. Almost reluctant. But it was real.

Something in Hinata snapped. Or maybe it broke open. Before he knew it, his legs were moving. He barely felt the court beneath him as he crossed the center line, ignoring refs, ignoring protocol, ignoring everything but the boy on the other side. His teammates shouted, but he didn’t hear them. All he knew was the pull in his chest, dragging him forward.

Kageyama stiffened when Hinata collided into him, arms wrapping tight around his shoulders, face pressed against the crook of his neck. It wasn't careful. It was instinct, raw and overwhelming. Hinata clung to him as if the world might slip away otherwise.

For a heartbeat, Kageyama didn’t move. He was stone, breath caught, arms hovering uncertainly at his sides. And then, slowly, his hands lifted. One found Hinata’s back, the other his shoulder, holding him. His grip tightened, steady and sure, and Hinata felt it all over again. The weight, the steadiness, the wordless answer.

The crowd roared louder, flashes popping from every corner, but Hinata barely registered it. The whole world could watch, and he wouldn’t care. All that mattered was that Kageyama hadn’t pushed him away. 

That, in this one fragile moment, they were still choosing each other.

Notes:

okay, so :(

we'll have two more chapters and an epilogue. so, three more days and this fic will be officially over.
i'm too emotional about this.

lots of hugs for everyone! thank you for all the love and support you've been giving to this story<3