Chapter Text
Like most things involving Hinata Shouyou, Kageyama did not see this one coming… but he wasn’t really surprised, either.
Kageyama wasn’t all that shocked when he saw Hinata, his teammate, rival, partner, and (best?) friend fall to the gym floor after colliding with a first year student during an attempt to receive his serve. Despite Hinata’s reflexes, he was still prone to the occasional accident. This time, He’d been in the perfect position, but the overager freshman was in the wrong place. As a result, they’d gotten tangled mid-step.
What did catch Kageyama off guard was the way Hinata toppled over, blood suddenly pouring down his face. Instantly queasy, he was at the net before he knew it, replaying the collision in his head to figure out what had happened.
From Kageyama’s vantage point, it looked like Hinata had made the decision to go with the fall— likely to save them both from injuring their knees or ankles— instead of the ball. He’d taken Kageyama’s jump serve right to the face.
Its wicked velocity depleted, the volleyball rolled harmlessly away with a soft tut tut that echoed through the now-silent gym. The entire team, managers and teachers included, were frozen to the spot.
Nakamura, the freshman, broke the silence, “Hinata-senpai!” He disentangled his long legs from Hinata’s, his thin face pale. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry!” he collapsed to the floor in a deep bow and began to apologize profusely, sounding as if he were about to cry.
Time resumed its normal pace.
Ukai interrupted the rest of the team from their slow approach, “Alright, give him some space,” he said. The team took a hesitant step back, and he gestured for Yachi, who was already reaching for the first aid kit.
“It’s okay—” Hinata gurgled, trying to be reassuring. But there was blood dripping from between his fingers and Kageyama could see his eyes watering.
Dumbass, Kageyama thought, his stomach dropping.
Yachi guided a clean towel into his hands, her expression drawn. “U-um, Shouyou, that’s a lot of blood. Are you sure you’re alright?”
He nodded and took the towel, blood streaking down the front of his practice jersey before he could press it to his face. Some of it speckled the glossy court floor.
Kageyama’s stomach lurched and he shouted, “You stupid moron!” He freed his fingers from where they were twisted in the net and stormed towards Hinata. “What kind of dumbass, garbage receive was that? How many times am I going to have to tell you not to receive with your dumb face you stupid—”
Nakamura scampered away as Kageyama approached, but Hinata glared up at him, his eyes bright and challenging. I dare you, his eyes said, See what happens.
Before Kageyama could finish his sentence and find out what Hinata was threatening, Ukai stopped them dead in their tracks with a warning look. “Settle down, you two,” he said, stepping between them. He took a knee next to Hinata, effectively blocking him from Kageyama’s view, and gestured for Hinata to lower the towel. “Let me see.” He gently prodded Hinata’s nose, making him yelp in pain. Ukai sighed.
Big fat tears began to roll down Hinata’s cheeks, and Yachi rubbed his shoulder, waiting for Ukai’s next instruction. Kageyama had to look away, because his stomach was lurching again.
“It’s probably broken,” Ukai announced flatly, “Takeda will take you to the hospital—”
Nakamura made a high-pitched noise, “O-oh my god, Hinata-senpai, I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I broke your nose, I’m s-sorry.” One of the other first years gave him a sympathetic pat on the back.
“Not your fault,” Hinata said, his voice muffled by the towel. He glanced pointedly at Kageyama, his eyes shining in a way he hadn’t seen in a long time.
“It’s no one’s fault,” Yamaguchi said peaceably, earning himself an appreciative glance from the coach. He and Yachi helped Hinata to his feet. “Accidents happen, the rest of us will do our cool downs and clean up.”
Takeda whisked Hinata out of the gym without another word, leaving the rest of them waiting awkwardly for instruction. Ukai had Nakamura and one of the younger managers start mopping. The rest of the team began heading towards their water or to start packing gear. Kageyama was left standing in place, feeling oddly off-balance.
“You look like shit.” Tsukishima drew his attention away from the spots of drying blood and gave him one of those cool, sidelong looks for which he was famous. “Feeling guilty?”
“ No ,” Kageyama snapped. Was he supposed to feel guilty? It wasn’t his fault that Nakamura had more height than sense. He stomped away, not wanting to give Tsukishima a chance to respond, and picked up the volleyball.
The material was the same as ever, familiar, smooth, and warm against Kageyama’s fingers. It was one of their newer volleyballs, and it was in perfect condition. There was nothing to indicate that it had just been used to break someone’s nose.
Objectively, Kageyama knew that sports injuries happened, and that some were avoidable and some were inevitable. Last year, one of their wing spikers had sprained his wrist during a practice match with Nekoma. The year before that was the fever incident Kageyama didn’t like to remember. A small part of him was surprised that Hinata’s self-destructive streak hadn’t resurfaced sooner, even though he’d been taking good care of himself.
So, how much blame did Kageyama have in this? He’d put the ball in a tricky spot on purpose, after promising the other team (but mostly Hinata), that he’d take back all the points they’d just lost. Nakamura was always running into people or falling over, like a newborn dear, but Kageyama had assumed he’d fall back this time. He’d been wrong.
Feeling disgruntled, annoyed, and uncomfortably unsettled, Kageyama dropped the volleyball in the cart with the others. They’d been scheduled to practice for another half an hour, and then there was the extra practice he’d promised Hinata after. Kageyama’s evening was ruined.
And if Hinata’s nose was really broken, who knew how long it would be before he could play again. The realization only made him grumpier.
The underclassmen all steered clear of Kageyama during cool down exercises, especially Nakamura. He didn’t care to know what his face looked like, but Hinata’s voice rang through his head, unbidden, You look like you’re about to kill someone—If you kill someone I won’t cover for you!
Yachi approached him after the group stretches, right when the team began to disperse to put everything away. “Hey, Kageyama?” she asked, her voice tentative. “Would you mind getting Hinata’s things from the club room before you leave? Sensei took him right to the doctor.”
Of course, it wasn’t enough to just break his nose, Hinata had to leave all his crap behind for Kageyama to clean up, too. He exhaled slowly and quietly through his nose. “Sure,” he said. All of Hinata’s stuff would be a wreck because he’d been late to practice. It was probably all over the club room. And then there was his bike, still chained up outside the gym. He probably can’t ride with a broken nose. How’s he supposed to get that home?
“Are you okay?”
Blinking, Kageyama focused on Yachi. He’d zoned out a little, but said, “I’m fine.”
Tilting her head, she gave him an understanding smile, “Alright. Just don’t beat yourself up.”
“O-okay,” he said, puzzled. She went back to the team, leaving Kageyama to wonder if he looked as bad as Tsukishima said he did. He noticed a few of his teammates throwing curious glances his way, and when he caught Ukai watching him, Kageyama suddenly felt like a bug under a microscope. He left the cleaning for everyone else and went to the club room, it didn’t seem like anyone would say anything about him bailing early.
Kageyama changed out of his sweaty practice clothes, put on deodorant, and got Hinata’s stuff together. It was crammed mindlessly into his cubby, and when Kageyama tried to take it out, it all fell on the floor. He stared at everything for a long moment. Hinata’s textbooks were overflowing with scraps of paper that looked like they were meant to be notes. Mostly, they were just doodles of volleyballs and half-baked ideas for plays.
Sighing, he picked everything up and packed it neatly into Hinata’s bag.
The door to the clubroom opened and Ukai leaned inside, “Kageyama.”
“Coach?”
“Takeda just called, Hinata is with the doctor now. When he’s cleared, Takeda will drive him home but will stop at the store. Why don’t you take his stuff there and wait? Yamaguchi can lock up and take care of the key.”
Relieved that Hinata wouldn’t attempt to bike over the mountain with a broken face, Kageyama nodded obediently. “Yes, coach.”
Ukai studied him for a moment, then said, “It could be a while, depending on how bad the break is. Don’t eat too much junk food while you’re waiting.” He left it at that and closed the door behind him.
Going to the store sounded way better than navigating the rest of the team’s attention, and Kageyama’s stomach rumbled at the mention of food. He grabbed his and Hinata’s bags and went to get the bike before the rest of the team came back to change. Kageyama knew the code to the bike lock, 0205, only because Hinata was physically incapable of leaving any thought in his head unspoken.
He set Hinata’s bag in the basket and made his way off campus, the bike strangely loud without Hinata’s chatter to drown it out. As Kageyama made his way to the store, the incident replayed on a loop in his head. He kept hearing the sound of Nakamura and Hinata colliding, kept seeing the way the ball had ricocheted away. The blood was the worst part, the memory of it left Kageyama feeling uneasy and unsettled.
With a deep breath, Kageyama locked the bike to the rack outside of the store and instead tried to focus on the good parts of practice. The new librero was finally becoming more communicative during rallies, and one of the middle blockers added a decent amount of height to his block. Kageyama and Hinata were getting the hang of a new attack, too, and Ukai had run them through some new exercises.
Feeling a little better, he went inside. The woman at the counter nodded at him, but if she thought anything about him being there alone, she didn’t give any indication. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d come here by himself.
But without a needy middle blocker around to pester him for food like a spoiled child, Kageyama could browse the selection in peace. He knew he had time to kill before Takeda arrived, so he made a big deal of browsing the convenience meals. His parents wouldn’t be home to cook dinner that night, and he needed something to hold him over until he could get home and raid the pitiful selection of leftovers.
Kageyama knew better than to fill up on junk, even without Ukai having to tell him. He read the labels carefully and selected two meals that would be both balanced and nutritious. Then he got some milk, of course, and protein bars. Before heading to the counter to pay, he grabbed the last couple meat buns, too. There weren’t many left, probably because the soccer club had already come through, but the smell of them made his mouth water.
The purchase killed the remainder of his lunch money for the week, but with the weekend ahead, it didn’t matter. Kageyama took his snacks outside to wait by the bike to make sure no one messed with it. He ate a protein bar, drank a carton of milk, and wrote in his volleyball journal for the day. He included a note about Hinata’s injury, but didn’t go into detail. Dumbass got himself hurt trying to receive a serve. Typical.
He was tearing into his second carton of milk when the school van pulled up and parked next to the curb. It was one of the cramped 12-seaters they took to practice matches when the big bus wasn’t available. Takeda rolled down the window and smiled at him, “Kageyama, thank you for waiting.”
Kageyama nodded quietly and peered around Takeda to look for that familiar mop of orange hair. “Where’s Hinata?”
“I’m here,” he said, leaning forward in his seat so Kageyama could see him through the window. He sounded rough, like he had a terrible cold, and looked even worse. Hinata’s eyes were puffy and red from when he’d been crying, and an ugly, dark bruise peeked out from the edges of his bandages. Gauze was packed around his nose and taped in place, making his face look even more swollen. “Oh,” he said, his eyes glittering in the fading daylight. “Is that a mean bun, Kageyama?”
Snatching the paper bag from the bench, he barked, “It’s not for you, stupid,” more out of habit than anything. Takeda laughed and went to open the back of the van for the bike.
“Oh, come on,” Hinata whined, draping himself over the seat. He watched Kageyama and their teacher lift the bike into the vehicle, “You did break my nose, it’s the least you could do.”
They fought with the handlebars to get it wedged into place between the rows of seats. “Are you sure you don’t want to get something to eat here?” Takeda asked him, sounding as if he’d already had this conversation.
“Nah I’m alright. My mom made a bunch of food before she left, so I’ll be fine.”
Kageyama went to the passenger side of the car, frowning. “Where’s your mom?” he asked, his arms full of school bags and snacks.
Hinata opened the door and took his things from Kageyama. “She’s gone for the week, remember? Natsu has a school trip and they won’t be back until Monday night. That’s why I told you we could stay extra late to practice today.”
Right. If Kageyama tried, he could almost remember the conversation they’d had at the beginning of the week. It explains why Hinata had been so wound up that morning. “Oh.”
“Kageyama, would you like a ride home?” Takeda asked, climbing into the driver’s seat “I can drop you off on the way to Hinata’s house, you’ll just have to tell me how to get there.”
“Um,” he looked between the two of them. It didn’t feel right to leave Hinata to fend for himself all weekend. He could barely take care of himself on a good day and Kageyama had a feeling that if left unsupervised, Hinata would end up in the hospital, again . “I’ll just go to Hinata’s house,” he said gruffly. “My mom can pick me up later, so you don’t have to go out of your way.”
“What!” Hinata wheeled around in his seat, staring as Kageyama got in. His bag, which Kageyama had so carefully packed, fell over. All the loose papers and books and pencils spilled all over the floor of the van. “You never want to come over.”
“Shut up, unless you don’t want this meat bun,” Kageyama warned, slamming the door shut louder than he needed to. He crawled into the seat, pointedly avoiding eye contact with Hinata. He felt a little self-conscious about his decision. Kageyama had never invited himself over to anyone’s house before.
“No, no no no. It’s alright, my mom says you’re welcome any time,” he said, holding his hands up in surrender. He glanced at the paper bag in Kageyama’s hands.
He threw it at him, taking the unusual effort to not aim for his face.
Hinata caught it and all but tore the bag to shreds to get to the meat buns.
Takeda laughed and started the van, “That sounds good to me. I’m sure your mom will be relieved to know that you’re not alone.”
“Was she mad?” Kageyama asked, thinking about how his parents would likely react in the same situation.
“No, mostly just worried,” Takeda said. “Hinata talked her out of coming home early from her trip.”
“Natsu’s been talking about this trip for months. I’ll be fine,” he said. There was some shuffling as he crammed his belongings into his bag and pulled out a bun. “The doctor said I probably won’t even need surgery, just some rest.”
Kageyama’s stomach dropped. “S-Surgery?” His mind started to spin. If Hinata needed surgery on his face then that would definitely disrupt their plans for the season. How long was the recovery time for face surgery? Probably longer than it took for a sprained joint. How was he supposed to play, how was Karasuno supposed to play, without him?
“It’s unlikely,” Takeda injertected. He sounded calm, and Kageyama held onto his reassuring words like a lifeline. “Hinata will go back to the doctor in a few days and see what else needs to be done. She said it wasn’t a messy break, so Hinata should heal just fine.”
Hinata made a weird noise, “I didn’t think it would hurt this much to chew.”
“Try taking smaller bites, dumbass.” Kageyama snapped. He crossed his arms and sank into his seat, feeling more confident in his decision to babysit. He had to make sure Hinata didn’t hurt himself any worse. Then Kageyama had a sudden thought. “Is it going to look different?” he asked.
“Who knows,” Hinata said, his voice stuffy and his mouth full. “You might have disfigured me for life.”
“Hinata.” Takeda admonished him in that gentle way he usually did. “It probably won’t look that different.”
He snickered, but didn't apologize, choosing instead to focus on taking the tiniest bites Kageyama had ever seen. They started the long, steep climb up the hill separating Karasuno from Hinata’s house, and Kageyama was left to think.
They’d both changed, in physical and emotional ways, since they’d met before that middle school match. Kageyama had grown taller and put on muscle, and Hinata had gotten a little taller and had maybe possibly gotten broader, but Kageyama had never really thought about Hinata actually changing. They still lived and breathed volleyball, competed nonstop, and spent every waking moment dedicated to their sport and partnership. How would it feel if Hinata showed up one day with an entirely new nose? It was jarring enough for Kageyama when he showed up with an unexpected haircut.
Kageyama stared out the window, the street lights flickering to life as the early fall sun began to set. The leaves were beginning to change, and by the time spring returned, they would no longer be teammates, and after that, Hinata would grow and change on his own.
Hinata’s broken nose was Kageyama’s fault, and now he really did feel bad.