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You know he’s crooked. He doesn’t care about anyone but himself.
There’s not even anything good about him. He ruins his talent with that attitude of his. It’s like he thinks he actually owns us.
Kageyama wakes up. His hand is clutched over his heart. The pulse is tangible throughout his entire body, heart pushing against his ribcage like it’s trying to escape.
/ * \
He has nightmares too often. It’s always the same thing—crooked, tyrant, wish he never existed—and always stings like a thousand paper cuts. The grains of truth littered throughout it are impossible to ignore, because, yeah, he is screwed up. He hasn’t slept through the night for as long as he can remember. He can’t even go a conversation with his best friend without insulting him more times than he can count. It’s pitiful.
The dreams prey on those thoughts like vultures.
His exhaustion catches up to him and throws him off so badly he can’t even practice. The team is usually content to let him off on his worst days, let him go home early or take extra time resting, with little comments of reassurance such as get to bed early tonight, okay? or if it’s homework keeping you up, you can always come to your senpai for help! that pierce Kageyama’s heart like tiny knives.
Hinata joins in and is pointedly kinder. His consideration throws Kageyama off even more, as though that was possible. The way Hinata's gaze lingers on Kageyama for a few seconds too long makes Kageyama's skin prickle each time it happens. There's something hidden in that look that worries him.
Kageyama is no stranger to dozing off in classes, and neither is Hinata, but it all comes to a head when Kageyama starts nodding off during stretches. He just can't help it—the exhaustion filters up from his core and poisons every limb until he can't possibly work up the energy to move them.
Hinata stops him after practice, that day, when everyone else has gone. There is is: that unreadable look in his eyes that unnerves Kageyama. "What's been up with you lately, Kageyama?" He asks, and the question—not just casual conversation—doesn't just pierce his heart, but stabs it.
"Nothing." Hinata isn't going to buy it, not a chance, but Kageyama has to try.
"We both know that's not true." Hinata's frowning, hard, and the look in his eyes has shifted to worry above all else. It’s enough to make Kageyama nauseous, feeling the bile on his tongue and the sting in his throat, how pathetic this is. "C'mon, you can trust me, you know?"
"I said it's nothing," Kageyama insists, trying to put an edge into his voice. "Nothing you need to worry about. I'll be fine—"
"That's a load of crap, Kageyama," Hinata interrupts him without hesitation. The ferocity in his eyes chills Kageyama to the bone, almost enough to make his tiredness vanish for a moment. "You've been falling asleep in class for weeks, off your game for even longer. That's not 'nothing.' That's not being 'fine.' You'd never let something affect volleyball this much if you could handle it on your own."
In the midst of his glaring, there’s a gentleness that Kageyama can feel breaking down his walls. He's so tired, so sick of the nightmares, so fed up with being alone and holding this all in—"Kageyama," Hinata whispers, soft and clear. "I’m here. Talk to me."
"I have nightmares," Kageyama mutters before he even realizes it. But the dam's been broken with those few words, and—"Almost every night. About what happened in middle school. It's always... my teammates talking about how twisted and corrupt I am. And how much they wish I wasn't around. I should be over it by now, I know, but it's just—every night, it comes back, and it's so real." He releases a shuddering breath. "And I can't get by it."
Hinata's glare has softened even more, lacking almost any aggression, now. "You know none of that is true, right?"
Kageyama stays silent.
"Kageyama," Hinata prods.
Kageyama bites his lip, looks away. "Well, it's all complete junk," Hinata says. "None of us think that about you. Nobody should think that about you. You're not twisted or anything like that. Sure, you act like a king, but so what? You've come so far from where you were in middle school. Nothing they said then applies now, and I don't think it really even applied then. You were pushing them the only way you knew how, and, yeah, you hurt them, but they hurt you right back."
Kageyama stares down at his feet, watching the grass tremble in the wind blowing around them. "They still didn't want me around.”
“But you're still here!" Hinata bursts out.
Kageyama looks back up at him, about to call him some version of stupid, when Hinata interrupts. “No, no, hear me out. It’s like—like, you’ve gotten through so much, through every single day of middle school and all the pain that came with it, and you’re still here. The fact that you haven't given up is proof enough that you deserve to be playing. It's something to be proud of, that you're able to keep going through even this. At least, I think so."
Kageyama stays silent. The wind is blowing a browned leaf against his foot, making it flutter uselessly.
“Kageyama,” Hinata prods.
Kageyama’s throat wells up, stiff and uncomfortable. He’s not going to cry, not going to cry. “Dumbass,” he chokes out. “You’re so—”
Hinata smiles up at him. “So smart, right? I bet you Stingyshima couldn’t have figured that out!”
“Yeah, whatever you say,” Kageyama says, gears working in his mind. We want you around, Hinata basically said.
“We’re here for you, y’know?” Hinata murmurs. “Whenever you need us. You’re just as important to the team as anyone else.”
Kageyama believes him.
/ * \
Hinata checks on him more after that night. It’s still their teasing banter, but the jab of geez, Kageyama, why don’t you cover your mouth when you yawn? Haven’t you ever heard of manners? and all the other taunts have little hints of concern lying just underneath, Hinata’s eyes shining with it.
I’ll cover my mouth when you stop talking with your mouth full, Kageyama returns easily, and Hinata’s face flickers with relief.
(Hinata keeps talking with his mouth full, and Kageyama doesn’t cover his mouth when he yawns. It’s the same; yet the tiny reminder that Hinata is there turns Kageyama’s world on its head.)
/ * \
The nightmares are less frequent, after that. The biting scorn in them still sends a chill through Kageyama’s whole body, numbs his heart.
But, sometimes, the dreams are different. Sometimes, it’s not just disconnected voices, rehashes of memories. Sometimes, Sawamura is there, a staunch wall that blocks the voices from ever reaching him. Sometimes, Sugawara is there, and his alternating between gentle ribbing and earnest consoling makes Kageyama not believe in the voices quite so much, if he even notices them. Sometimes, Asahi is there, and his nervousness as he talks about volleyball with Kageyama distracts Kageyama from his own fear.
Sometimes, Nishinoya and Tanaka are there, and the voices hush to the quietest tickle in the back of his mind as Nishinoya rambles on about some new technique he’s trying to master, Tanaka supplying appropriate sound effects. Sometimes, the trio of second-years is there, and their unfazed calmness draws Kageyama right in.
Sometimes, Tsukishima is there, and treats the voices with such animosity that they fall flat. Sometimes, Yamaguchi is there, and he talks about his own struggles, his own nightmares, and Kageyama wonders if maybe he’s not so crooked after all. Sometimes, Hinata is there, and the voices vanish in an instant, as though in terror.
Kageyama sleeps through the night.