Chapter Text
He is five when it first happens.
Schoolwork is a chore. Or, at least, that's what Miwa says. Miwa says this a lot. She'd said it as early as back when she was seven and grumbling complaints about trying to memorize her nine-times tables, and had said it again at thirteen when her teacher assigned them fractions worksheets almost daily at her middle school. Tobio never understood why his older sister always hated doing her maths. It was just numbers, he used to think. Was it really that hard to count?
But now that he's moving up from connect-the-dots to three-minus-one's, Tobio finds that he is beginning to understand.
The dilemma, at present: Tobio has approximately ninety-nine problems on his maths worksheet, and he doesn't know how to answer even a single one of them.
Worst of all, it's due tomorrow.
Tobio doesn't know what to do. There's nobody around whom he can ask for help. His parents are working late today; Kazuyo is currently preoccupied with cooking their dinner in the kitchen. His sister was home too but, as expected, is just as useless as if she hadn't been. Tobio scowls at the memory of Miwa shrugging off his questions with a flick of her face-something brush, specks of bright cream powder flying in the air as she turned to her laptop to play another video of some westerner's impromptu makeover tutorial on YouTube instead. No wonder his sister's been getting so good at English these days.
Tobio stares down at his desk before slamming his forehead down onto the surface with a muffled groan. After a few seconds of head-throbbing frustrated agony, he picks himself up and heads out to the kitchen. Kazuyo probably won't be able to help him with his homework, but perhaps, Tobio is certain, a glass of milk sure will.
The idea strikes him a minute later just as he's walking down the hallway.
The Kageyama household has a telephone located at the foot of the staircase. It rests on the third level of the bookshelf where his mother stores her coffee books and the magazines that are now out of season. Tobio stretches an arm up and stands on the tips of his toes, legs shaking as he struggles to push himself forward while maintaining his position. The telephone mocks him from its height. It's still too out of reach.
Tobio glares at its plastic white handle.
He tries again, this time jumping up and reaching for the phone with grabby hands. By some odd stroke of luck, his index hooks itself on the grey coils of its connecting cable. He tugs on the piece that's within his reach while gravity helps him with the rest. The device comes tumbling down as he pulls on it with his weight.
Tobio lands on his butt with a grimace.
The phone falls unceremoniously, unharmed, onto his lap.
He picks up the handset and presses it against his ear, fingers hovering hesitantly over the keypad. He freezes in mild panic. What was the emergency hotline again? Kazuyo had taught him and Miwa about this just last week; had told them to call up the operator if in case he or his sister would ever face a situation where they needed help. Tobio's fingers fumble clumsily with the buttons. He presses the numbers with a slow but deliberate intention, reciting the numbers aloud as soon as they come to mind: one...then one...and– and what was the next one again?
"Hello?"
Someone picks up. Tobio blinks dumbly. He could've sworn Kazuyo taught them that the number for emergencies was three digits. So how–
"Hello?" The voice speaks up again. The sound of it is calming, like a sigh in his sleep, a certain softness almost as tender as the night. "Is anyone there?"
Right. He still hasn't replied.
"Hello, Operator?"
"Yes, hello. I'm here," the operator's voice cuts in, a comforting tenor, calm and gentle. "How may I help you?"
"I need help with my maths," Tobio says.
"Your mouth?"
"No, my maths," Tobio corrects. "I have takeaways."
"Oh, you have to do the takeaways."
Tobio nods, then remembers that he's on the phone and the operator won't be able to see him.
"Yeah," he says. "It's a big problem. Many big problems. It's due tomorrow."
The operator clears his throat, and Tobio thinks of it like a vague sound of discomfort. He wouldn't be surprised if he's just made him uncomfortable with Tobio's request to help him with his latest predicament. This was a difficult subject.
"Alright, let's hear it then."
"Can you help me?"
"Yes," the operator replies. "Yes, I will help you."
"Okay," Tobio says, and flattens out the half-crumpled worksheet in his one hand. "Okay, uhm, what's six minus four?"
"You tell me. How many do you think it is?"
"I don't know, seven?" Tobio frowns. "I thought you said you'd help."
"I am helping, kid," the operator insists with a quiet laugh, "but I just needed to know what we're working with first."
"We're working with six and four," Tobio explains, with as much conviction as a five year old could carry, "and we're minusing them."
"Right." A solemn pause. "Right, minusing. Okay, er, how about we try something else? Try visualizing the numbers," the operator suggests, "think of it in terms of things you like. Tell me, kid, what do you like for example?"
"Volleyball!" Tobio beams, ecstatic. "I go to the gym with my grandpa to play volleyball a lot. I like it because of the color and smell!"
"Okay, so volleyball, then," the operator hums thoughtfully. Tobio thinks his voice sounds very nice. "Pretend you have six volleyballs in front of you and you take away four. How many do you have left?"
Tobio takes his time to think about it. He maps it out in his head, imagines six volleyballs on the coffee table, laid out in three even rows; imagines his hands reaching out towards the balls and stacking his loot in the small space of his arms. He makes a mental tally and keeps count. The operator waits for him to compute the figures patiently.
At last, Tobio says, "Four."
"What? No."
"What do you mean no?" Tobio argues stubbornly, petulant. "You just told me I took four, so that means I have four!"
A sigh. "Alright, then," the operator says, "let me rephrase it. You have six volleyballs in front of you and I'll be the one who takes away four. Now, then, how many volleyballs would you have left?"
Tobio hums. Carefully, he conjures the imagery back in his mind and reimagines the situation for a second time. "Oh!" Tobio says after a beat. "That's easy," he smirks, "I have tw–"
"Tobio!" a voice shrieks. It is high-pitched and shrill. Miwa.
"So your name is Tobio, huh?"
"Yeah," Tobio says before lowering the handset as he turns to address his sister. "Yes, nee-san?" he asks.
Miwa looks at the telephone on his lap and resumes her outburst in bewildered panic, "What the heck are you doing?!"
"Maths," Tobio replies with a small half-shrug. Kazuyo walks in with a curious raise of his brow, masking the look of alarm that has not yet fully worn off after hearing Miwa's distressed screaming. His grandfather notices the telephone and directs his gaze to Tobio still sitting on the floor.
"What's going on over here?" Kazuyo asks, bemused.
"The operator is helping me with my maths," Tobio explains. At this, Miwa groans and smothers her cream-white face with her palm. Kazuyo seems to have accepted his answer, chuckling even as he chides Tobio lightly.
"Oh, my boy, when I said to dial 119 for help, I didn't mean this," his grandfather says, wiping an amused tear from the corner of his eye. "I was talking about emergencies, Tobio. You know, the big problems."
"It is a big problem!" Tobio insists with a pout. "It's many big problems! And it was due tomorrow."
His grandfather nods at Tobio with an exaggerated display of understanding. "I see," Kazuyo says reverently. He brings his hand up to his chin. "That is a big problem indeed." Kazuyo's voice is level again when he continues, "Was Operator-san helpful at least?"
"Yeah!" Tobio beams, happy to share the new lesson he'd just learned, "He said to pretend I had six volleyballs so I did and then he minused four of them so then that means I'd get just two volleyballs after."
Kazuyo smiles. "That's good then," he says, and gestures to the now-forgotten handset before heading back to the kitchen. "Don't forget your manners, Tobio. Give Operator-san your thanks."
"Oka–"
"Tobio, this thing isn't even connected," Miwa says when moves closer to take the telephone off Tobio's lap. "Look," she says and gestures to the hollow plug of the outlet, "I think you yanked out the cord when you pulled the phone down." She squints her eyes. "Were you just talking to yourself this whole time?"
"No, I wasn't!" Tobio tells her off, cheeks puffing with indignation, "I was talking to the operator."
"Liar."
"I'm not a liar."
"Your pants are on fire."
"No, they're not!"
Miwa rolls her eyes and plugs the phone back into place. "Whatever, weirdo," she says and repositions the telephone on the bookshelf. Tobio can hear his sister muttering insults under her breath as she tidies up. She's calling him an idiot. He wonders if he should tell her he can still hear it.
#
"Look at you making your first proper phone call," Miwa coos as she towel-dries her hair the next evening, stepping downstairs to lounge after her bath.
"What do you mean first?" Tobio frowns. This time, he's climbed on a chair and turned it into a step ladder to afford himself a better height as he reaches for the telephone. "I did it properly before."
"No, see," Miwa smiles and points to the cable line, "this time it's connected. Are you going to ask 'Operator-san' to do your homework for you again?"
He shakes his head. "No, but I need to say thank you."
"I don't thi–"
"It's important," Tobio insists. "Kazuyo-san said."
"Okay, okay." Miwa raises her hands in mock surrender. "You do you, then." His sister leaves him to head to the living room, plopping onto the couch and flipping the TV on. "Just don't hog the phone too much, Tobio," Miwa reminds before directing her attention onto the dorama airing on screen.
Tobio nods as she goes. He picks up the handset and dials down the number. Kazuyo told him the emergency hotline was 119 last night, so maybe he'd just forgotten that he'd already pressed on the 9 button by then. The phone rings thrice before someone picks up.
"Hello, opera–"
"Hello, Emergency Services," a friendly voice cuts in. It's unfamiliar. New. Someone else. "This is Yamaguchi speaking. How may I help you?"
"Hello," Tobio begins again awkwardly. "Uhm, I'm Kageyama Tobio, and I–"
"Yes, Kageyama-kun?" the other man lilts in reply. He's speaking slower now, Tobio realizes, probably because he's noticed that Tobio's still a child. "What's your emergency?"
"I don't have an emergency," Tobio clarifies. "I'm looking for the operator."
"Operator?"
"Yeah, the one who talked to me yesterday when I called," Tobio tells him. "He helped me with my maths. I just want to say thank you."
A small chuckle. "I see," he hears the other man say. "Do you know this person's name, Kageyama-kun?"
"No, I didn't get to ask."
"Alright, hold on," There's the sound of keys clicking from the other end of the line. "Okay. Sorry, Kageyama-kun. I checked our records for you just in case, but our department never received a call from your landline yesterday. You must have dialled the wrong number."
"Oh."
"Sorry I can't help you much further than this. I hope you can get in touch with that person soon, Kageyama-kun," Yamaguchi says in the end, as Tobio is mumbling his thanks and exchanging bye-bye's.
Tobio unplugs the cord and settles down to place the telephone on his lap. He isn't sure what the correct number he dialled was anymore, but if he can't trust his brain to recall it for him at this point, he'll just try to recreate what he did last night and leave it all up to muscle memory.
He's only dialled two buttons so far when he suddenly hears the echo of the phone ring; the soft click of it as someone picks up the line. Tobio doesn't quite understand how this is all happening with the current state of the phone being unplugged, but the fact remains that there's now another person on the other end, waiting for his response.
"Hello!" the voice greets, bright and cheery. Still wrong.
"Hello, who's this?"
"Uh, you're the one calling and you don't even know who this is?" the other person scoffs. "Wow, rude mu–"
Tobio ignores him. "I'm looking for the operator."
"I'm Hinata Shouyo, by the way, thanks for asking."
"I did ask," Tobio agrees. "Are you the operator?"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm one of them," the voice replies, composing itself. "How may I help you?"
"I'm looking for the operator."
"That's me," the other operator says. "Unless you're looking for any operator in particular? I can check with my coworkers if you want. Got a name, kid?"
"I'm Kageyama Tobio."
"Ah, no, I mean–" A frustrated noise. The squeak of a chair as if someone were leaning back. "Who are you looking for?"
"I'm looking for the operator."
Tobio thinks he can hear this Hinata person groan from the other end of the line. "Which operator?"
"The one who helped me with my maths."
"I'm afraid that's not me, then."
"Okay," Tobio says, and hangs up.
He tries again after that. Tobio dutifully brings the phone back up to his ear and presses on the buttons, deciding he'll just work his way up from there until he gets it right. He lucks out on his third attempt, when a familiar voice picks up on the first ring.
"Hello?"
"Hello, operator?"
"Oh. Hello, Tobio," the operator greets, tone warm with recognition. "Maths again?"
"No, I just called to say thank you," Tobio answers, blunt and earnest, "for yesterday."
The gesture seems to catch him by surprise. There's a pause for a moment, the shrill stillness of hesitation. Tobio waits for a response. The operator says, "You're welcome."
"Also, what's your name?"
"It doesn't matter. How did you do?"
Tobio beams at the question. "I got an eighty-two!" he brags, because it's the highest grade he's ever scored and tells the operator just as much.
"That's good to hear," the operator says. Tobio thinks he can hear a smile in his voice. He wonders if he's made him proud."It's getting late now isn't it?"
Tobio glances at the clock. It reads 9:15 PM.
"Yeah, it is."
"I won't keep you for long," the operator tells him. "Get some sleep, kid."
"Okay," he says. "Thanks again, Operator-san."