Chapter Text
“Care to explain why on earth you know the cute chibi?” a low, teasing voice questions from Oikawa’s left.
He keeps his elbows on his knee, towel draped over his shoulders and chin resting on his palms. Slowly, he grins and glances towards Matsukawa.
“Well, wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Cut the crap Shity-kawa” spats Iwaizumi.
“Oh my, is Iwa-chan jealous?” His grin widens, amusement dancing in his eyes.
“I’m just getting tired of your annoying face,” the spiker answers, frown clear on his forehead.
“Mean Iwa!”
“So?” Insists Hanamaki, who has now made his way to his captain’s right.
“So,” he moves his palms to his knees and pushes himself to be standing, “I’m not telling.” He sticks his tongue out teasingly and starts making his way to the other side of the gym, steps putting as much distance as possible between him and his childhood best friend, who he knows will certainly answer by spiking a ball his way.
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The gym starts to empty in fragments.
Shoes squeak less. Bags are zipped. The sharp edge of competition dulls into something looser, warmer—like a breath finally released.
Hinata is crouched near the bench, carefully folding his jersey, when a shadow falls across him.
He looks up.
Oikawa Tōru is standing there, hands on his hips, towel draped over one shoulder, grin already halfway to unbearable.
Hinata’s face lights up.
“Oikawa-san!”
It comes out a little louder than intended, excitement lifting his voice. He’s on his feet in an instant, nearly bouncing on his toes.
Oikawa blinks.
Once.
Twice.
Then his eyes widen, and for the first time since he arrived, the grin cracks into something real.
“So it is you.”
He steps closer without thinking, leaning down just slightly to peer at Hinata’s face like he’s confirming something impossible.
“Long time no see Chibi-chan.”
Hinata laughs, nodding rapidly. “You remembered!”
“Of course I did!” Oikawa straightens, pressing a hand dramatically to his chest. “Do you know how many terrifying middle schoolers I’ve rescued from emotional collapse? You stand out.”
“That’s not reassuring,” Hinata shoots back, still smiling.
Oikawa’s gaze flicks to Hinata’s ears, then to his eyes—checking, adjusting instinctively—and he slows his mouth just a little when he speaks again.
“You got… taller,” he says. “Still short. But taller.”
Hinata gasps, offended. “Oi!”
“There it is,” Oikawa beams. “That energy. I knew I didn’t imagine it.”
Behind them, several Aoba Johsai players have stopped pretending not to stare.
Matsukawa nudges Hanamaki with his elbow. “Is he… flirting with the Karasuno kid?”
“He absolutely is,” Hanamaki replies. “Look at him. He’s glowing.”
Iwaizumi’s eyebrow twitches. “Oi. Tōru.”
Oikawa ignores him.
“So,” he continues, rocking back on his heels, eyes sharp with interest, “you play volleyball now.”
Hinata nods enthusiastically. “Yeah! I’m a middle blocker.”
Oikawa snorts. “Of course you are.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?!”
“It means,” Oikawa says lightly, leaning closer again, “that you’re exactly the kind of problem I hate playing against.”
Hinata grins wider, competitive spark flaring. “Good.”
That finally does it.
Iwaizumi marches over and grabs Oikawa by the collar. “You’re done hogging him.”
“Ow—Iwa-chan! I’m reconnecting with an old friend!”
“You met him once in a bathroom.”
“Trauma bonding counts!”
That’s when Matsukawa and Hanamaki slide in, uninvited and unashamed.
“Hey,” Matsukawa says casually, towering just enough to be intimidating. “Karasuno’s decoy in the flesh.”
Hinata blinks, then nods. “Yeah!”
Hanamaki hums appreciatively. “You’ve got some jumps.”
“And legs,” Matsukawa adds.
From across the gym, Tanaka chokes.
“Why are they surrounding him,” he hisses. “Why do they look like that.”
Nishinoya grips Daichi’s sleeve. “Captain. Permission to retrieve.”
Daichi exhales slowly. “Let’s… observe for now.”
Suga smiles, fond and worried all at once.
Back by the net, Oikawa slips an arm around Hinata’s shoulders—far too familiar, far too fast.
“You did great out there, chibi-chan,” he says, voice softer now. “I’m glad you’re… okay.”
Hinata stills for half a second.
Then he nods.
“Me too.”
Their eyes meet, understanding passing quietly between them—no weight, no pity. Just shared memory and something mended enough to smile about.
Iwaizumi sighs. “I swear, if you adopt him—”
“I already did,” Oikawa says cheerfully.
Karasuno groans in unison.
Hinata laughs, bright and unburdened, and for the first time since the match began, the gym feels less like a battlefield—
and more like a place where paths cross for a reason.
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The circle around Hinata grows without anyone quite noticing when it happens.
One second it’s just the third years. The next—
“Oi, Chibi-chan,” Matsukawa says, leaning down just enough to invade personal space. “You’re way springier up close.”
Hinata blinks, then laughs. “Thanks!”
Hanamaki grins. “That wasn’t a compliment.”
“Oh,” Hinata says, unfazed. “Still thanks!”
Matsukawa snorts. “I like him.”
From behind them, Yahaba suddenly steps forward, chest puffed out. “You know,” he says, voice just a bit too loud, “it’s not like we only played well because of Oikawa-san’s serves or anything. We’re all pretty strong too.”
Hinata nods earnestly. “Yeah! You’re amazing!”
Yahaba freezes.
“…He acknowledged me,” he whispers.
Kunimi, half-slouched nearby, raises his head and glances at Hinata. “You jump a lot.”
Hinata beams. “I do!”
Kunimi nods once. “Thought so.”
Kindaichi hovers at the edge of the group, hands clenched awkwardly at his sides. He takes a breath, then steps-up and blurts, “Your blocks were really good! I mean—sometimes you missed, but you recovered fast and your timing was—uh—”
Hinata turns toward the movement more than the sound, watching his mouth carefully. “Thank you!” he says brightly. “You’re really tall!”
Kindaichi turns red. “I—yeah—thanks.”
From behind Hinata, Oikawa watches the exchange with smug satisfaction.
“See?” he says, draping an arm around Hinata’s shoulders again. “Everyone loves him. But I knew him first.”
“That doesn’t make him your property,” Iwaizumi mutters, though his tone is calm, eyes warm as he looks at Hinata. “You played well today. Seriously.”
Hinata straightens at that, meeting Iwaizumi’s gaze fully. “Thank you, sir!”
Iwaizumi coughs. “Don’t call me that.”
Hinata laughs, a little sheepish now. He glances at Oikawa as someone speaks from his left—misses it—then looks back at Oikawa instead, confused.
Oikawa notices immediately.
He taps Hinata’s shoulder gently and points.
Hinata turns. “Oh! Sorry!”
Seijoh goes quiet for half a beat.
Hanamaki’s smile softens. “What was that?”
Oikawa hesitates just long enough to check Hinata’s face. When Hinata gives a small nod, relaxed and trusting, Oikawa’s hand settles lightly between his shoulder blades.
“He’s deaf,” Oikawa says easily, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “He reads lips. Sometimes he misses stuff if he’s not looking.”
There’s a pause.
Then—
“Oh,” Matsukawa says. “…That explains a lot.”
Kindaichi’s shoulders ease. “So that’s why—”
Kunimi hums. “Efficient workaround.”
Yahaba tenses. “WAIT—so you weren’t ignoring me earlier?!”
Hinata shakes his head quickly. “No! I just didn’t see you talking!”
Yahaba exhales, relieved. “Okay. Okay, good.”
Iwaizumi nods once, firm. “Got it.”
Oikawa gives Hinata’s back a small, reassuring pat. Not possessive. Just there.
From across the gym, Karasuno watches the scene unfold.
Tanaka squints. “Why does it look like they’re trying to recruit him.”
“They’re definitely trying to recruit him,” Nishinoya says.
Daichi sighs. “At least he looks happy.”
Hinata laughs again as Matsukawa challenges him to a jumping contest and Hanamaki eggs it on, Oikawa loudly declaring himself referee while absolutely cheating.
For all the noise, all the movement, all the chaos—
Hinata never once looks lost.
And when he does miss something, someone is always there to gently point him back in.
⋯⋯⋯ 𓅪 ⋯⋯⋯
Surprisingly for Karasuno, it gets worse. Much worse.
“Alright,” Hanamaki announces, clapping his hands together, “nickname time.”
Hinata’s eyes light up. “Oh!”
“No,” Kindaichi says immediately. “No, we don’t—”
“Too late,” Matsukawa cuts in. “Spring Imp.”
“Pocket Rocket,” Yahaba adds.
“Human pogo stick,” Hanamaki offers.
Hinata laughs at all of it, nodding enthusiastically even though he only catches half the mouths moving. He looks to Oikawa, expectant.
Oikawa grins. “They’re workshopping. Don’t worry, I already named you.”
Hinata tilts his head. “You did?”
Oikawa leans down, stage-whispering right in his line of sight. “Shōyo-chan.”
Iwaizumi’s fist connects with the back of Oikawa’s head. “Don’t add ‘chan’.”
Hinata blinks, then giggles. “I don’t mind!”
“That’s not helping,” Iwaizumi sighs.
Kunimi, who has not moved from his spot, meets Shōyō’s gaze and adds, “Orange.”
Hinata tilts his head. “Orange?”
Kunimi shrugs. “You’re loud visually.”
“…I’ll take it?”
Matsukawa snaps his fingers. “We should steal him.”
Daichi stiffens across the gym.
“Steal him,” Hanamaki repeats thoughtfully. “Yeah.”
Hinata looks between them. “Steal?”
Oikawa, delighted, translates with flair. “They mean invite. To visit. To hang out. To abandon Karasuno forever.”
Hinata’s eyes widen. He whips around to look for Daichi, misses him, then looks back to Oikawa, panicked.
Oikawa laughs and taps his shoulder, pointing.
Hinata turns. Daichi gives him the Look.
Hinata laughs nervously. “I’m not abandoning anyone!”
“Shame,” Matsukawa says. “We had matching jackets in mind.”
“Seijoh orange would look good on you,” Hanamaki adds.
Yahaba gasps. “We could teach him our cheers!”
“Absolutely not,” Iwaizumi says. “But—” he pauses, glancing at Hinata, “you’re welcome to come by anytime. Seriously.”
Hinata smiles, wide and sincere. “I’d like that!”
Oikawa preens. “See? I told you he’s perfect.”
From the sidelines, Karasuno is spiraling.
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Kageyama hasn’t said a word.
He stands rigid, eyes locked on the cluster of green and white surrounding Hinata, jaw tight.
“They’re touching him a lot,” Nishinoya whispers.
“They’re laughing with him,” Tanaka adds, offended.
Sugawara watches Kageyama carefully. “You okay?”
Kageyama doesn’t answer.
Oikawa throws his head back in laughter. Hinata mirrors it a second later, clearly reacting late. Oikawa notices immediately, turns, says something slower, exaggerated.
Hinata nods. Smiles again.
Kageyama’s hands curl into fists.
“…He’s doing it on purpose,” he mutters.
Daichi frowns. “Doing what?”
“Watching him,” Kageyama says sharply. “Adjusting. Making sure he understands.”
There’s something ugly in his chest at that. Something he doesn’t like examining.
Because Oikawa always does that. Always sees things first. Always adapts first.
Always inserts himself where he shouldn’t.
As if sensing the stare, Oikawa looks up.
Their eyes meet across the court.
Oikawa’s smile doesn’t change—but his eyes sharpen, just a fraction.
Oh, Kageyama thinks. So you noticed too.
Hinata turns then, following Oikawa’s gaze—lands on Kageyama.
He lifts a hand and waves, bright and unguarded.
Kageyama freezes.
Then, stiffly, he raises his own hand in return.
The whistle echoes faintly in Kageyama’s memory.
The match may be over.
But whatever this is—
It’s just getting started.
⋯⋯⋯ 𓅪 ⋯⋯⋯
“That’s it,” Nishinoya declares loudly, “I’m bringing Shōyō back.” As soon as the words leave his lips, the libero walks away in long strides, puffing his chest out and letting a determined exhale flare his nostrils.
“Noya-” Daichi starts.
“Hell yeah!” Tanaka cuts him off. “I’m coming with you bro!”
Daichi’s eyebrows twitch in frustration, a strained grin sitting on his lips. His gaze falls to Suga, whose eyes follow the duo and track back to give Daichi a knowing look.
The captain sighs heavily. “Ennoshita.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll bring them back.”
“Thanks.”
“Herd Shōyō back here too,” adds Ukai.
“We’re going back.”
Ennoshita reaches Hinata first.
“Hinata,” he says, gentle but firm, tapping his arm to get his attention. “We’re heading out.”
Hinata turns immediately, smiling. “Oh! Okay!”
He looks back at Seijoh—at the loose cluster, the hands still mid-gesture, the half-finished arguments and nicknames—and for just a second, he hesitates.
Oikawa notices.
Of course he does.
“Hey,” he says, softer now, lifting a hand in a small wave. “Don’t be a stranger, yeah?”
Hinata brightens. “I won’t!”
Matsukawa smirks. “We’ll see you again, Spring Imp.”
Hanamaki grins. “Try not to get boring before then.”
Iwaizumi nods once. “Good game.”
Hinata bows a little too deeply. “Thank you!”
Then Nishinoya grabs him by the wrist.
“Okay, okay, reunion over,” he says. “You’re ours.”
Hinata laughs, letting himself be pulled away.
Tanaka takes the opportunity to send one last glare.
Ennoshita slaps the back of his head and murmurs something that could resemble an insinuation about their conjoint lack of brain cells.
As Karasuno moves toward the exit, Hinata glances back one last time.
Oikawa is watching him—not smiling now, not waving. Just looking.
When their eyes meet, Oikawa lifts two fingers, taps his own eyes, then points lightly toward Hinata.
I see you.
Hinata’s chest warms.
He lifts his hand and waves back.
Behind him, Kageyama watches the exchange, unreadable.
The doors slide shut.
The gym falls quiet.
Oikawa exhales, slow and thoughtful.
“…Huh,” he murmurs.
Iwaizumi crosses his arms. “Don’t.”
Oikawa smiles anyway.
“Oh, I absolutely am.”