Chapter Text
The car jerking to a stop woke Fukunaga up from his sleep. He opened his eyes to see the familiar sight of his house.
He tried to unbuckle his seatbelt, but his father had opened his car door and helped. He shrugged off the blanket the hospital had given him and turned to leave the car. It still hurt slightly to walk, so he appreciated his father’s help.
Throughout his time spent in the hospital, all Fukunaga wanted to do was to be at home, in his own bed, with his family and cats. Given that he had had quite a major surgery, though, his body was too weak to walk upstairs. Walking normally was taxing, so stairs would be a whole other obstacle.
“I could carry him upstairs,” his dad said. “His bed would be more comfortable than the couch, and I’d say he misses it.”
“If you can manage, then alright.”
Fukunaga felt himself being lifted, and then carried up to his bedroom. He was immensely grateful that his parents had noted his yearning for his own bed.
Once he was placed down on the mattress and the duvet was draped over him, he fell asleep in under thirty seconds.
Fukunaga woke up to the feeling of his body being shaken. He cracked open his eyes and saw his mom by his bedside, holding a glass of water.
“You have to take some medication now,” she told him. “Just to prevent infection.”
He used his arms to hold his body up, and reached out for the water. He was also handed a pill, which he took as fast as he could so he could get back to sleep.
Even after the medication was taken, his mother still lingered by his bedside.
“How’re you feeling?” She asked. Fukunaga nodded, lying back down and already falling back asleep.
His mom ran her hand through his hair and kissed his forehead, leaving and closing the bedroom door behind her.
Given that Fukunaga had to stay home from school for two whole weeks, boredom quickly crept into his life.
His teammates texted him everyday, informing him on what he’s missed. Kenma had also come by to drop off some schoolwork, which is mainly what Fukunaga had been doing to stay busy.
Those two weeks were spent sleeping, taking medication for nausea and pain, doing schoolwork, and attempting to keep his muscles awake. He was getting better at walking up and down the stairs, gripping onto the railing.
He had never hated school, but he found himself longing for the day where he could finally return. He missed volleyball, also, but was banned from sports for six weeks.
Fevers also plagued him, though thankfully they weren’t too severe. Nothing that standard medicine couldn’t fix.
And finally, Fukunaga was cleared to return to school.
His parents allowed him to attend the team’s morning volleyball practice, just as long as he himself didn’t play.
When Fukunaga had walked into the gym that morning, his teammates all ran up to him. Someone even wrapped their arms around him, but he wasn’t sure who.
All of his teammates' questions blended into a noise, but Nekomata had come over to the group and told them all to give him some space. The team backed away, and Fukunaga saw that it was Kuroo who was hugging him.
“How’re you doing now?” Nekomata asked.
“Better. I can’t play volleyball yet, though.”
“That’s alright,” the old man said. “Naoi and I could use some company.”
Fukunaga nodded, and the team soon returned to practice. He walked over to the two coaches, sitting down on a chair that Naoi had pulled out for him. He felt something being placed down onto his shoulders, and looked to see Nekomata’s jacket draped over him. He looked up at the man and smiled softly, the older reciprocating the expression.
“Do you need anything, Fukunaga?” Naoi asked.
“I’m alright,” Fukunaga replied.
“If you do, just say so.”
Fukunaga nodded and turned his head back to the court. The practice was going smoothly, but when they were practicing their receives, one of the balls had bounced off of someone’s arms and towards Fukunaga, hitting the stitches in his stomach.
He doubled over instantly, wrapping his arms around his midsection. Nekomata placed his hands on his shoulders, rubbing his upper arms while Naoi was yelling at the team.
“Are you alright?” Nekomata asked softly, leaning down to be on Fukunaga’s level. Fukunaga panted, eyes squeezed shut. Nekomata rubbed his back until his breathing evened out. Naoi stood up and walked over to a water fountain, bringing back a cup of water for the teenager.
Fukunaga took it with shaky hands, drinking slowly while Nekomata continued stroking his back up and down.
He eventually sat up, still holding his stomach. He could see Shibayama walking towards him, looking like he was about to cry.
“Fukunaga, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to, I just lost control of the ball.” He bowed his head down, his chin touching his chest.
“It’s okay,” Fukunaga told him. “I know you didn’t mean to.”
Still, Shibayama looked ashamed. His head was still down, eyes closed. Naoi patted his shoulder reassuringly, and Fukunaga smiled softly at him.
Once the first year was sure that nobody was mad at him, he trudged back onto the court, slightly embarrassed. The team gave him reassuring looks and assured him, before they returned right back to their practice.
The pain hadn’t fully dissipated, but it had faded enough to allow Fukunaga to sit up straight. He still held a hand over his stitches, trying to rub over it without hurting it further. Nekomata’s hand was still rubbing his back, and Naoi had placed a hand on his knee. They both seemed ready to deflect any stray balls that would come their way.
“How’re your stitches?” The old man asked. Fukunaga lifted up his shirt slightly, just enough to see a pad of cotton covering the surgical sight. The skin peaking out from underneath the cotton was tinged red, making both coaches wince slightly.
“If you’re in pain, let us know,” Naoi told him. “You still have the school day ahead, so you’ll need your energy for that as well.”
Fukunaga nodded, watching practice continue on until it ended. His teammates spoke to him whenever they had a water break, making sure to not ignore the boy.
Maybe they missed me more than I thought.
He knew that they would miss him, of course they would. Since he didn’t speak too often, though, he didn’t think that his absence would’ve hit the team as hard as it did.
Fukunaga left the gym and entered the school, slightly dreading it. The assignments that Kenma had given him likely weren’t enough to fully keep up with what he had missed. His parents had let his teachers know what had happened, so Fukunaga hoped that they would be somewhat understanding if he was confused.
It’s either this or the hospital, he kept telling himself.
Sitting down in homeroom, a few heads had turned to look at him. He tried to avoid meeting their eyes, and was grateful when the teacher came in and took their focus off of him.
By the time the final bell of the day rang, Fukunaga could feel his eyes drooping. He debated going straight home instead of to the gym, but didn’t want to worry his teammates.
When he was walking to the gym, he could see some of his other teammates also on their way there. They greeted the second year and exchanged small talk, with Fukunaga nodding at them.
“You tired?” Yaku asked. Fukunaga shrugged.
“I know that being in school with an injury can be tiring,” he told the second year. Fukunaga knew that Yaku, out of everybody on the team, knew what it was like to be hurt. He remembered the time Yaku had to spend sitting on the bench, where Fukunaga would spend the next few weeks occupying.
“Don’t worry. You’ll be back on the court before you know it.”
They entered the gym, and Fukunaga returned to the bench. Shibayama was sitting beside him this time and was being tutored by Fukunaga in the subjects he found difficult. It was the most he had heard Fukunaga talk, and was glad the older boy had felt comfortable enough with him.
Once Shibayama was positive he understood the material better, he noticed that Fukunaga’s eyes kept on drooping. He shrugged off his hoodie and put it on the edge of the bench, forming a makeshift pillow. Nekomata, seeing what the first year was trying to do, came over.
“Tired?” He asked, laughing softly. Fukunaga looked up at him, trying to stifle a yawn. It didn’t work, though.
“Lie down,” the older said. “We’ll wake you when practice ends.”
After a few seconds of thinking, Fukunaga decided to follow orders and try to sleep. He laid his head down on Shibayama’s hoodie, and was asleep in less than a minute. Both the coach and first year smiled when his breathing evened out.
“He probably needed that,” Shibayama remarked. Nekomata hummed in agreement.
Fukunaga felt someone softly shaking him awake. He opened his eyes and saw Kuroo kneeling in front of him.
“Wakey wakey,” he teased. Fukunaga sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
“How’d you sleep?”
Fukunaga was getting tired of people asking him questions like that, but he nodded regardless. He looked around the gym and saw everyone else tidying away the net and balls.
Kuroo picked up the hoodie that Fukunaga’s head was on and waited for the second year to stand up before walking. The gym was mostly cleaned, and by the time Fukunaga had fully woken up, everything was already put away and the team were packing up to leave.
“Good job today, boys,” Nekomata told them. Everyone bowed and thanked him, including Fukunaga. He looked to see Kuroo handing Shibayama his team hoodie, making Fukunaga thank him. Shibayama smiled and assured him that it was fine.
When Fukunaga left the gym, he could see his mother’s car parked, waiting for him. On any other day he would’ve walked home, but his parents didn’t want him over-excerting himself any more than he needed to. Given that he fell asleep for the majority of practice, as well, he was also glad to be driven home.
His teammates bid goodbye to him, and he waved as he entered the car.
“Hi, darling,” his mom greeted. “How was school?”
“Good. Tiring, though.”
His mom smiled. “Naoi texted me and told me that you fell asleep. You weren’t playing volleyball, were you?”
Fukunaga shook his head. “Just tired from school.”
“You can fall asleep here if you want, or you can have a nap when you get home. Do you have much homework?”
“I got it done there.”
His mother hummed, and they sat in comfortable silence until they were back home.
Fukunaga held up his shirt as a doctor examined his stitches. The pad of cotton was finally removed, revealing irritated scars. The doctor prodded at the lines, which wasn’t fully painless. He eventually brought his hands away and smiled.
“The stitches are healing nicely. I’m sure that you’ll be happy to know that you can now return to volleyball.”
Fukunaga’s eyes widened slightly in delight. His mother patted his knee happily.
“You’ll still have to take it easy, though, and your stamina will take some time to return to its previous level.”
Fukunaga nodded, but he knew that his coaches would make sure he wasn’t overworking himself regardless of what the doctor told him. He explained a few more things, mainly saying to take breaks and drink water, before he gave him a doctor’s note clearing him to play and letting them leave.
Fukunaga felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders as he and his mother left the hospital. He was glad that he wouldn’t feel awkward or embarrassed sitting on the bench by himself anymore, and that he would actually be able to help his team on the court.