Work Text:
The sound of the ball hitting the court is so familiar, and he hates it. There's the distant awareness that this is a dream, but it's all too real in its vividness. It doesn't feel like a dream nightmare. Not as his heart stops, and he turns around. Not as he see everyone turning away and it melts into some concoction of horror and anger and betrayalandmisery that threaten to drown him. Not as he makes it to collapse on the bench only by muscle memory, mind millions of miles away or not that far away, maybe right in front of him, where everyone goes on without him and they're fine, they're better off without him there, not as his shoulders shake with the sobs he barely keeps from coming out, and his heart shatters into a million pieces, and he fears if he looks up or opens his mouth the shards will fall all over the court.
He doesn't remember anything between that moment and when he's sitting on the bus home, everything finally fading into emptiness. His veins buzz with something like guilt. He feels detached, like he's not there, and maybe he's not, he doesn't deserve to be there hedoesn'tdeservetoliveatall-
Then he's somewhere else, just as suddenly. It's dark, and he can feel the warmth of the two beside him. Their breathing doesn't change- he hadn't woken them up. Good. Kageyama struggles out of the bed, finds himself in the kitchen setting the water to boil, then sits down on the couch, hunched over. He doesn't get these nightmares that often, now. But sometimes...
He's never brought it up, because he's always been alone when they happened before. Perhaps it'd been too soon for them to share a bed. He thought the issues had been resolved now, but old memories don't ever quite leave, wounds can't completely disappear without leaving a scar, not matter what forgiveness is exchanged. Kageyama still doesn't plan to tell Kindaichi or Kunimi. It'll bring up old grief that they don't need. He's dealt with these nightmares alone for years, he can do it now too.
"Kageyama..?"
He must have woken him, somehow. He'd been so careful not to. He feels some sort of despair at the thought- he can't even do this right. "Go back to bed, Kunimi."
The other boy doesn't say anything, but the weight settling next to him is telling enough. "What's wrong?"
"I just... couldn't sleep."
"You had a nightmare, didn't you." It's not a question. How he figured that out, Kageyama doesn't know.
"Don't bother yourself with it."
"Why do you still not trust anyone? That's always been your problem." Kageyama flinches. It hits too close to home. He knows, without looking, that it couldn't have escaped Kunimi's notice.
"I have them sometimes, okay? Not that much anymore." His voice is a little sharper, an old, familiar defense mechanism. Because he can't tell him. He can't risk losing them again when they find out he's too fucked up to get over something that's in the past. He's terrified that one day he'll do something wrong again and before he realizes he's even done it he'll be looking at their backs as they walk away.
Kageyama doesn't know if he could make it through that.
Kunimi's eyes are concerned in an otherwise blank expression. "I can't help you if you won't talk to me." When Kageyama doesn't respond, minutes passing uninterrupted in the stillness that late night brings, he sighs. "If you really want me to go, I will."
"No! I- can you just stay with me? Please?" He hates sounding so needy, but if he can't ask that of someone he's in a relationship with, then who else?
Kunimi opens his mouth to answer, but doesn't get the chance. "What's going 'n out here?" Kindaichi looks like he had to drag himself from the bed to find them, rubbing at his eyes, undoubtedly woken by the absence of their presence. He feels a pang of guilt for the sleep he's making them lose.
"He had a nightmare. He won't tell me what it was about."
"He wouldn't." Kindaichi settles on his other side. He feels trapped. "You're allowed to tell us your problems. We've already seen your worst, no one's gonna judge you."
"It doesn't matter. I'm fine." They have seen his worst; that's the problem. It's always there, the ghost of the idea that maybe he isn't any different than he used to be.
"Would you believe either of us if we said that in this situation?" Kageyama doesn't answer. "You wouldn't." Kunimi finishes.
And he's right, of course. Kageyama isn't good with dealing with people or their emotions, even after all this time, but he'd be concerned if either of them were acting this way. And stubborn as he is, he wouldn't back down until he got answers. That's why he knows Kunimi and Kindaichi won't, either. There's really not choice, then, is there? It was always going to come out eventually, the aftermath of thair past couldn't be resolved easily, too complicated.
"Kitigawa Daichii." He says, eyes closed. The two words are just that, insignificant to anyone but them, for whom it has too much meaning. Someone breathes in sharply. Kindaichi's hand clenches where it rests against Kageyama's shoulder. No one says anything then, and he starts to worry he'd made an awful mistake by giving in and telling them.
"You said you don't have them much anymore, earlier... how often did you used to have them?" Kunimi's usually calm voice has slid into something rougher, and it's hard to tell if it's from anger or something else.
"A few times a week, I guess. Not... not as much after I joined Karasuno."
"Yeah, because they didn't ever abandon you." Kindaichi actually does sound angry, and Kageyama finds himself flinching again.
"Sorry." He whispers.
"No, no. Hey. We're not mad at you."
He opens eyes he hadn't realized were still closed, feeling the tears start to well up, no matter how hard he tries to will them away. He doesn't want them to see him cry over this. "You should be."
"You know we're not still upset about that, right? It's in the past."
"It should never have happened in the first place." Kageyama know Kunimi puts a lot of the blame on himself for the incident, having been the one to suggest it. He hates himself even more for causing the other boy that guilt. (sometimes he wonders if it's possible to dislike himself any more; the only time he doesn't feel worthless is when he's on the court. maybe that's why it had affected him so deeply to be turned on like that- it'd felt like he couldn't even have the comfort of volleyball anymore)
Because he knows who's really to blame for it. "I deserved it. It wasn't your fault."
"You didn't!" Kindaichi insists. "It went too far."
That's what does it. It's like a switch has been flipped, turned off his control. He starts sobbing, trying to stifle it at first because he can't, he can't do this here not now, but it's useless, and before he knows it he's clutching at someone as he cries, trying to pull in enough air and barely hearing the panicked sounds of Kindaichi trying to figure out how to comfort him. They shouldn't have to comfort him. Kageyama shouldn't be too weak to deal with it alone, should lock it up with the rest of his emotions like he's been doing for years. It's too late to stop it now.
Kunimi's hand is gentle as it runs through his hair, like he's afraid anything more will shatter Kageyama (shatter, like he did back then). He can't help but relax into the touch. He spent most of his childhood without physical contact, with his parents rarely around and his lack of friends during his childhood. It'd been better, for the past few years, because there was no escaping Hinata's incessant physical contact or that of his other teams members, though not as often. And obviously there'd been more, when he'd started dating Kindaichi and Kunimi, but he's still not quite used to it.
And the thing is, he'd fully expected to be pushed away after talking about the nightmare. Even if he knew it wasn't realistic, that if they were still that angry over it then they wouldn't have made up, wouldn't be in this situation in the first place. Knowing and accepting were two different things, and Kageyama was terrified of believing in anyone fully again, that risk was too much and he never wanted to feel the way he did on that day, those weeks after, never again. He'd gotten far too close to a precipice he couldn't come back from. He worried that next time, he'd fall right over the edge.
But that hadn't happened. This was... nice. Or as much as could be said for what was happening. The fears were melting away, even if temporarily, the sobs had finally faded into stray tears, and he was beginning to realize how tired he was. The breakdown certainly hadn't helped that. He pulled away, instinctively wrapping his arms around himself, as if he could put any protections back up after such a display of vulnerability.
"Can we go back to bed now...?" There's a shift in the atmosphere; what just happened still hangs heavy in the air, but they're all exhausted, and enough of the pressure has been released now that sleep could come more easily. None of it really seems to matter in that moment.
"We're going to talk about this tomorrow." Yes. But it's an issue for the morning, not the middle of the night. Not after they've reached some sort of peace; trying to talk about this now, really talk about it, would destroy that. Kageyama knows even now that his problems run deeper than whatever they're expecting, that it isn't all from that day- even if that was the breaking point- and he isn't prepared for that conversation. (He never will be, but the morning will make it easier, or so he hopes.)
"I know." It's enough of an answer; they make their way back to the bedroom silently.
If they lay a little closer than before once they settle back in, well, no one but them would ever know.