Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“How exactly are you so bad at this?”

Hinata looked up mutinously from his social studies textbook, pouting across the little Shiratorizawa dorm room at Goshiki, perched on his bed glowering at him. Hinata returned his gaze to his textbook, squinting down at the list of boring old people who died hundreds of years ago that he really didn’t care about. The dates were kind of making him go cross-eyed.

“Uh... I meant Minatomo no Yoshi...tomo?” Hinata hedged, watching Goshiki undoubtedly strain himself as he rolled his eyes hard.

“Minamoto no Yoshitsune!” Goshiki bit out at him, seething. “Can you even call yourself Japanese? How do you not know the name of one of the most famous samurai of all time?”

Hinata shrugged. “I always kind of thought ninja were cooler.” When was his social studies class going to focus on ninja? If he had to learn about fuddy old people who got into fights with each other over stupid things, couldn’t he have at least learned about ninja and their jutsu? Hinata idly wondered how based in fact Naruto was.

Goshiki was cradling his head in his hands, his own textbook and reference cards discarded on the bedspread. “How’re you going to get into a good college if you’re this stupid?”

A flare of indignation bloomed in Hinata’s chest and he quickly tamped it down. Goshiki was always saying condescending and rude things that annoyed the heck out of him. It was just how Goshiki was.

Before Hinata had left for the Miyagi First Year Invitational Training Camp, Osamu had pulled him aside during lunch to explain that the best course of action when living in close quarters with a roommate was to pretend to be a duck in water, letting insults and annoyances roll off your back.

“If ya can manage it, don’t fight, Shouyou-kun. Nothin’ good ever comes of pickin’ fights when ya gotta share a room with someone,” Osamu explained, looking pretty serious — he’d paused in between bites of food, so it was very serious for Osamu.

Hinata stared at his friend before wrinkling his nose. “But you and Atsumu-san fight all the time.”

Atsumu didn’t bother swallowing the food he was eating, merely spoke around it, a few rice grains flying out of his mouth. “Yeah, but it could be a lot worse.”

Osamu nodded gravely. “Ya only gotta keep yer mouth shut fer like, five days. I’m sure ya can manage.”

It had been three days since he’d arrived at this camp, and Hinata had gotten a lot of practice keeping his mouth shut around Goshiki and his petty insults. If it wasn’t ‘You’re so stupid’ here, it was ‘Have you gotten slower?’ there. Or the fact that Goshiki always needed to be around him, chiding him, or criticizing him, or generally being a condescending nuisance.

Goshiki’s latest focus was all about how bad at school Hinata was — apparently, Goshiki was the top inhis class and the next great ace of Shiratorizawa. Riseki had utterly betrayed Hinata at some point during his journey to Miyagi — because by the time he arrived, Goshiki was well aware of all the homework Hinata was expected to do. He didn’t understand why he had to have so much homework, even if he was missing a day of class. Goshiki was making it his life’s mission to make Hinata finish all his homework in the evenings after camp.

When Hinata got back to Kobe, he was going to have a chat with Riseki about his apparent concern that Hinata wouldn’t be “diligent in his studies” while he was away. At a volleyball training camp.

How on earth was Hinata supposed to focus on homework when he was playing volleyball against some of the best players in Miyagi!?

And so Goshiki-sensei was born, highlighting all of Goshiki’s worst qualities. The condescension, the pushiness, the loudness, the arrogance, the demanding. Which was really too bad, because Goshiki was kinda really cool when you put a volleyball in his hands.

This was honestly the worst way Hinata could think of to spend the night after an awesome, energizing day of volleyball.

With homework. Blech.

Hinata swore he wasn’t ever going to give Riseki another batch of eggs for as long he lived! ...Though Riseki’s birthday was coming up in March and—

“Have you listened to a word I’ve said?” Goshiki snapped at him, smacking his hand against the textbook.

Hinata grimaced, because he hadn’t, and now Goshiki knew, which inevitably meant that—

Goshiki tutted, shaking his head. “Getting tired of social studies then? Hmph, guess we better give your brain a break,” Hinata now knew that he and Goshiki had very different definitions of what constituted a break. For Hinata, it meant laying around, maybe playing a game. Eating a snack. Texting. Watching TV. For Goshiki, well— “We’ll switch to math. Hopefully, that will help you focus.”

Hinata groaned, reaching to grab his math book. If he’d known there was going to be this much homework during his amazing Miyagi volleyball camp, he might’ve just saved himself the trouble and stayed in Hyougo.

...No, he wouldn’t have. As grating as his evenings had been since he got here, he wouldn’t have changed attending this camp for the world. Everyone from Miyagi was so good! His mind boggled at this fact. Hinata couldn’t think of one other first year that he’d seen at the Prefectural qualifiers in Hyougo who was interesting at all. And Miyagi had six! —Plus some others, but the ones who really made an impression on Hinata? He couldn’t believe there were so many. He said as much to Goshiki after the first day of camp.

Goshiki got that high and mighty smirk on his face as he looked down on Hinata. “Miyagi has always been a powerhouse prefecture. Some of the best volleyball players come from here. Our top schools? They’d be number one almost anywhere else.” Hinata tried to nod his head to be like, cool thanks for the info, but Goshiki wasn’t done. “You see, even in the V.League, about 15% of players are from Miyagi, despite only making up less than 2% Japan’s population.”

Hinata could feel a profoundly boring lecture coming on, so he slid his gaze away, watching some of the tall middle schoolers attending camp do some passing drills. “Mhmm, that’s nice. I guess that’s why you guys lost then, huh?”

Hinata cringed as he watched the flash of hurt turn to anger on Goshiki’s face. He hadn’t meant to be that mean. He just meant— there was a lot of talent in Miyagi! You couldn’t win 100% of the time, right?

Like, there was Kunimi and Kindaichi, who seemed like more of a pair than even Atsumu and Osamu were sometimes. At least they liked each other most of the time. Though when Hinata had been introduced to them, he had kind of thought Kunimi was like a try-hard Suna, with his lazy disinterest that seemed to be all about making himself seem cooler. Kindaichi was kind of like an uptight Gin, now that Hinata thought about it.

So maybe they were more like Suna and Gin then?

Either way, Kunimi had tried to tell Hinata that he had no interest in making friends with some energetic weirdo outsider and Hinata had laughed in his face, startling Kunimi. If Hinata could get the actual Suna to like him in a non-ironic way, try-hard Suna would be no problem for him.

Kindaichi was a way easier nut to crack. Hinata just had to excitedly ooh and aah his blocks and spikes a few times, and Kindaichi had since decided Hinata was friend-shaped.

Despite this, they certainly had that easy camaraderie when it came to making fun of other people, taking delight in every instance of Hinata getting yelled at. Which happened a lot. As secretly kind as Hinata had figured Washijou to be during the summer camp, he, uh, certainly showed his ‘Demon Sensei’ face during the training camp.

Washijou seemed to take particular issue with everything Hinata did, big or small. His hands weren’t angled right on a block. His A-pass needed work. Was he announcing to the whole world where he was spiking? If Hinata didn’t get his head out of his ass, Washijou was going to make everyone run lines — an idea that, in particular, terrified Hinata. He might love running lines, but you could only accept so many threats from Suna before your self preservation instinct kicked in and you kept your mouth shut about it.

At least Hinata wasn’t the only eager beaver here.

Nothing quite beat the immediate connection Hinata made with Koganegawa. After the first day of camp, Koganegawa had gone around asking Hinata’s favorite question in the whole wide world — shockingly getting ignored for some reason Hinata couldn’t fathom.

Hinata watched Koganegawa approach Goshiki as he was zipping up his jacket to leave. “Hey, Goshiki-kun, wanna stay for a bit for some extra practice? I want to work on my tosses.” Koganegawa cutely flicked his wrists, a hopeful smile on his face. Hinata decided right then and there that he and Koganegawa were going to be best friends.

Hinata was almost relieved to see he wasn’t the only one who got Goshiki’s holier-than-thou stare. “No thanks.”

Never able to look a gift horse in the mouth, Hinata slid in between them, beaming up at Koganegawa. “I’ll stay, Koganegawa-kun!” He gave Koganegawa a thumbs up. “I’ll hit any toss you give me.”

Which seemed to be the exact right thing to say, because Koganegawa glittered back at him, giving him a tape-wrapped thumbs up back.

“Wait,” Goshiki cut in, frowning now. “You’re staying?”

Hinata and Koganegawa nodded in sync.

Heaving a sigh, Goshiki unzipped his jacket, tossing it aside without looking. “Fine, I guess I’ll stay too.”

Hinata grinned at him. “Wow~ Goshiki-kun, you’re so cool!” And then it was kinda funny, because Goshiki seemed to get hot, despite taking his jacket off, because his face got all flushed.

Goshiki shouldered past them, jaw clenched. “Shut up! I’m gonna crush you.”

Hinata just laughed, skipping after him, beaming at Koganegawa. There was nothing better in the world than a setter who wanted to practice endlessly with you. Koganegawa’s tosses weren’t anywhere near as good as Atsumu’s, but that didn’t mean Hinata cherished each ball any less.

Give him any ball, and he would hit it.

After the first day of camp, Hinata had considered five other members of this group interesting. It was on the second day that he added another.

After playing against Hakuba Gao once, Hinata was only slightly less inclined to be absolutely enthralled with anybody standing over 200cm. It also helped that Annika stood around that height too, especially with her fancy heeled boots on. He was kind of, almost used to only barely coming up to a freakishly tall person’s shoulder.

Which was why he managed to bite his tongue when Hyakuzawa Yudai walked into the gymnasium, needing to duck under the doorway so as not to hit his head. It was still a near thing.

It also probably helped that Hyakuzawa wasn’t very good either.

For as tall as he was, he wasn’t in the best condition. He seemed constantly anxious with little court sense. No skill to back up the physical attributes he was gifted. And he seemed to be down on himself a lot — fully aware that he was only attending this camp by virtue of his height and nothing else.

With the exception of that last thing, Hinata actually saw a lot of himself in Hyakuzawa. At least as he was when he’d first met Atsumu and Osamu. A skillset and a brain that couldn’t keep up with the rest of him. An inability to do the things he knew he should have been able to. Frustrated and hungry to keep trying and trying. Hyakuzawa was still here after all.

It was after overhearing some of the more caustic middle schoolers attending the camp talk about Hyakuzawa on the second day that Hinata made up his mind.

“His skillset just isn’t there, right?” One of them asked in a low murmur.

“I hope I don’t get paired up with him in the next two-on-two matches,” the other one grumbled.

When it came time for Coach Saito to announce pairings, Hinata had made the gross miscalculation of interrupting — he had wondered if Washijou had ever killed a man with his stink eye alone. Still, he persisted.

Hand shot up in the air, Hinata looked at Saito-sensei imploringly, determinedly ignoring the ferocious glare from Washijou. “Coach, can I please be paired with Hyakuzawa-san?”

Everyone stared at him mutely. Most of the players gawked at him, like he’d just asked for a big handicap in Mario Kart or something. His gaze didn’t waver on Saito.

Saito referred to his clipboard, throwing a glance at Washijou, who pursed his lips, before he nodded once, murder eyes never leaving Hinata’s face. Saito shrugged. “Okay, but we normally don’t take requests, Hinata-kun.” He squinted at the list. “I guess we’ll put Kuroishi-kun with Tsukishima-kun in your stead then.”

Both Kuroishi and Tsukishima had the audacity to look relieved, which Hinata thought was kinda rude. So instead he focused on beaming up at a visibly baffled Hyakuzawa. “Ready to win, Hyakuzawa-san?” Hinata asked.

Hyakuzawa looked dubious and only shrugged.

They started with passing drills, which was about when Hinata realized that he might have his work cut out for him. Hyakuzawa’s overhand passes were wobbly at best, and his underarm receives were about as good as Hinata’s were before he met Akagi and Kita. It was the fourth flubbed receive that had Hinata approach Hyakuzawa. He reached out, gently grabbing Hyakuzawa’s wrists and rotated them.

“You want to keep your wrists rotated just like this, to make the best surface for the ball to go THWAM against. See?” Hinata went to go retrieve the ball, standing a bit closer this time and giving Hyakuzawa a nice and easy underhand toss. “We’ll try this for a bit until you get used to it.”

Hyakuzawa only frowned at him but nodded. Hinata kinda thought that maybe he was looking a little bit more determined than before.

After a few minutes of those, Hinata beamed. “Repetition is the key to mastering control of the ball.” He felt a flush of pride at his own words. Oh man, Akagi would be so proud if he could hear Hinata now. He caught the ball in the air as Hyakuzawa sent it back to him with a whoop. “See! You’re already becoming good friends with the ball.” That sounded pretty cool, right? Kinda Captain Tsubasa-y. Like Hinata knew what he was talking about? Oh man, he’d probably make the coolest senpai ever.

Hyakuzawa stood up to his full height, giving Hinata a funny look. “Why?”

Hinata blinked up at him, spinning the ball in his hands. “Oh, uhm. Well, I think the best way to get better is through lots of practice and becoming familiar with the ball, y’know?”

Hyakuzawa frowned. “No, I mean, why would you want to team up with me? I’m the worst one here.”

Hinata pursed his lips, knocking the ball against his chin as he thought. How to put it into words? “Oh well— it’s kinda cool that you’re so tall. I’ve never played with anyone so tall before.” He hooked his chin over the ball, eyes going distant as he remembered the good parts of the Kamomedai game. “I have played against someone super tall though, and that was really cool.”

“So you only want to play with me because I’m tall? Then why are you helping me so much?”

Hinata looked up at Hyakuzawa blankly, not fully understanding the question. “Uh, well. You kinda remind me of myself? And I had a bunch of people help me get to where I am today.” He gave Hyakuzawa a long, slow blink. “No one gets better on their own. You can learn from anybody around you, though I guess sometimes it’s hard to remember you can ask.”

But maybe that wasn’t what Hyakuzawa was actually asking. Why did Hinata feel compelled to help him? And then a thought occurred to him, and Hinata couldn’t keep the excited twist of toothy smile off his face. “Besides, it’s way more fun when I beat you at your best.”

Hyakuzawa’s eyebrows were high on his forehead as he gaped at Hinata — yes, he too was a bit surprised about how wise he was starting to sound. Maybe spending all that time with Kita-san was finally paying off.

“HINATA!”

Hinata flinched, smacking the ball hard enough into his chin to make him bite his tongue. He gave Washijou a guilty look as the old man glowered at him. “Quit your gabbing and get to practice. You’re here to learn, not gossip.”

Hinata bowed, face flushed as the other players around him sniggered between themselves, amused at Hinata’s embarrassed misfortune. He threw the ball up for Hyakuzawa to go back and forth with overhand passes. After a moment Hyakuzawa broke the stilted silence.

“That’s all well and good, but I still don’t understand why you wanted to team up with me. We’re probably going to lose. I’m just tall.”

If he weren’t so upset, Hinata might have been embarrassed by the hissing shriek that statement elicited out of his mouth. Just tall? JUST. What Hinata wouldn’t give to be just tall, instead of just too small. He would never eat an egg again if it meant he could just be tall. Talk about all the ungrateful—

Hinata was so appalled he didn’t notice until it was too late that he threw the ball up with too much force, sending it too high—

Hyakuzawa leapt up, easily reaching the ball, tipping it back to Hinata — snapping him out of his frustrated fury. Just as quickly as it had come, Hinata’s tension left and he found himself laughing, sending the ball back cleaner to Hyakuzawa.

“I’d take being tall a hundred times over having the best serve in the world — you can always practice your serve Hyakuzawa-san, but being tall is the best talent there is when it comes to volleyball.” Hinata conveniently skirted around the issue of him being very naturally untalented when it came to height. “But if you’re worried about not being as good as the others, there is definitely something only you can do.”

Hyakuzawa looked intrigued by the malicious grin on Hinata’s face, so Hinata broke down his plan.

Which was super effective! Hinata was going to have to text Atsumu later to brag. Part of Hyakuzawa’s problem was that he was only focusing on how fast everyone around him could go — only thinking of others’ strengths, when his natural strengths, his height, was something only he could take advantage of here.

Watching Hyakuzawa take a measured breath and send the ball in a slow arc to the net for Hinata to set for him, Hinata had never been prouder. Maybe this was what Atsumu felt when he was setting and he perfectly figured out how to get a spiker back on track? Because this was an awesome feeling. Maybe Atsumu would have time for a phone call later and Hinata could ask?

Camp was amazing. Not quite as magical as Summer Camp had been — Hinata could really do with less homework in the evenings — but fun nonetheless. He found himself eagerly getting along with everyone in attendance. With the exception of one person.

As they stood in line on that first day to greet each other, Hinata had openly goggled at the tall blond-haired boy with the glasses in the Karasuno track jacket. Goshiki had explained to him that was Tsukishima Kei, Karasuno’s genius middle blocker. Another first year, like them. Tsukishima had actually managed to stop Ushijima during the match last month — shocking everyone in the stadium.

Hinata really hoped if he played his cards right he could convince Washijou to let him watch the game tape from that match. He was so curious! What exactly had happened? How had Shiratorizawa actually lost? Tendou had tried explaining it to him, but he used a lot of metaphors and likened it to a bunch of different scenes in sports manga Hinata had never read.

There had been a not-so-small part of Hinata that had been so curious about Tsukishima in particular, and by extension Karasuno. This was the team that made him want to play volleyball in the first place. The team of the Little Giant. And this guy with the persistently bored expression on his face was one of the best players on that team. This guy would have been his teammate if he’d stayed in Miyagi.

Hinata had maybe held out a bit of hope that he and Tsukishima could be friends.

Tsukishima very quickly tried to disabuse Hinata of that notion.

On the first water break after warm ups on the first day, Hinata had sidled up to Tsukishima, practically vibrating with anticipation. He’d wanted to meet a Karasuno player for so long, especially after they’d beaten Shiraotrizawa.

“Hi! Tsukishima-kun, right? I’m Hinata Shouyou, I play for Inarizaki in Hyougo. It’s nice to meet you! I started playing volleyball because of your team — well, because of the Little Giant who used to play for Karasuno back in... I think 2007-2010?” he grinned, tucking a hand behind his head. “If I’d stayed in Miyagi, I probably would have ended up playing with you, isn’t that kinda funny?”

That was when Hinata finally noticed the expression on Tsukishima’s face. A mix of overtired and disgusted all at once — like a hodgepodge of Suna’s and Akagi’s meanest expressions. Like he couldn’t believe Hinata would say something so unbelievably stupid. Finally Tsukishima scoffed, turning away. “No.”

Hinata sucked on his teeth, watching Tsukishima take a drink from his water bottle. So he was going to be a tough nut to crack, huh?

Tough nut, indeed. Hinata went out of his way to chat with Tsukishima as much as he could, trying his hardest to make friends. And he never had to try. Friends were just something that happened to Hinata. It was pretty frustrating all things considered. No one had ever made him work this hard to be liked — not Suna, not Akagi, not even Ushijima-san!

Perhaps Hinata should have reserved some eggs for Tsukishima? Maybe that would have helped?

“Nice kill!” He’d shout at Tsukishima after a particularly nice spike, and Tsukishima would grimace at him like he was human dog poop.

“Ooooh! You’re so good at blocking, Tsukishima-kun! Can you show me some tips?” Hinata would ask after getting stuffed. Tsukishima would heave a pained sigh and turn away.

So Hinata switched tactics. “Your glasses are super cool, Tsukishima-kun, I think it’s neat you have glasses especially for volleyball.” Referring to Tsukishima’s sports glasses. Tsukishima was rude enough to not even deign that with a response, only walked away.

Later, on the second day Tsukishima cut him off before Hinata could even offer an effusive compliment about Tsukishima’s excellent read-blocking. “Could you not?”

“Not what?” Hinata asked, tipping his head to the side, confused as to how that seemed to make Tsukishima even more annoyed.

Tsukishima clicked his tongue, rolling his eyes. “You’re such a tryhard.” And once again, he walked away.

But Hinata didn’t understand. “What’s so wrong with being a tryhard?” Working hard was important! In volleyball! In making friends! In looking after yourself! How could someone ever phrase ‘try-hard’ as an insult? He tried asking the others.

“You’re barking up the wrong tree,” Kindaichi tried to tell him.

“He’s a dick,” Kunimi agreed solemnly.

Goshiki only scowled. “Why are you wasting so much time on him, anyways?”

Koganegawa was the only one who understood him, giving Hinata an encouraging thumbs up. “Keep trying, Hinata-kun. See if he wants to stay after practice with us.” Hinata gleamed and gave him a thumbs up back. He and Koganegawa were going to be friends for life, he swore it.

Every time Tsukishima rebuffed him, it just seemed to resolve Hinata even more to get Tsukishima to like him. There wasn’t a challenge in the world he wouldn’t try and conquer.

It was on the third day of camp that things finally came to a head.

They were playing a scrimmage, and Hinata was absolutely delighted to go up against Tsukishima. Practicing against great blockers always got his heart racing and made him more determined than ever to score that next point. He’d discovered during the Hyougo Prefectural Qualifiers that he really liked making the blockers pay attention to him. Really, really liked it.

Hinata had just managed to score a point off Kindaichi by blowing the ball away off his hand, giving Kindaichi a cheeky wink for all his ‘help’. When he figured he’d try the same thing on Tsukishima. Koganegawa put up the ball for him, a little too close to the net, but that was okay. Hinata found the perfect angle on Tsukishima’s fingers — his ring and pinky fingers not as stable.

Hinata reeled back, struck, and watched in horror as Tsukishima jerked his hand out of the way at the last second — the ball rocketing out of bounds to the back of the court.

Hinata’s heart was rabbiting in his chest, unable to comprehend what had just happened. He looked up at Tsukishima across the net, smirking at him. Hinata gaped. “D-did you mean to do that?”

Tsukishima tilted his head to the side, smirk going toothy. He looked like a manga villain! “What, like it’s hard?”

Hinata made a sound and it was obviously loud and embarrassing based on the way Washijou glowered at him.

Tsukishima shrugged, averting his gaze like Hinata was some kind of boring gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe, turning to rotate to the back row. “You’re not that special.”

Hinata gaped at his back, never having felt so offended in his life. Not that special? Not special? Him? Not special.

Hinata was going to prove Tsukishima wrong.

He just needed to figure out how to do that first.

Goshiki tried to comfort him, sort of, after the match. “Don’t listen to him. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. You’re special—” And then Goshiki seemed to choke on his spit, his face getting all red as he looked everywhere but at Hinata. “Well, err— Not as special as me, of course. But still kinda—” He swallowed, taking a breath. And then he mumbled something under his breath.

Hinata frowned, looking at him. “Huh?”

Goshiki just got redder for some reason. “Shut up! It doesn’t matter. Just don’t listen to him!”

Hinata watched Goshiki walk away, feeling a peculiar sense of missing some key component of the conversation, but he shrugged it off. He could worry about Goshiki’s peculiarities later. For now, he had to find some way to kick Tsukishima’s butt, get him to acknowledge Hinata, and then they could become friends.

Maybe even best friends.

On the morning of the fourth day of camp, Hinata finally got to be reunited with the exact person he’d been waiting for. Maybe someone who could help.

Coach Anabara called for their attention. “You’re all very fortunate today. The Shiratorizawa third years have agreed to take time out of their very busy schedules to help you all train. Please express your gratitude.”

Hinata practically glittered as he watched Tendou and the others walk in. He beamed at Tendou’s little finger wiggle and Ushijima’s nod. After he’d bowed along with the rest of the camp attendees and they were all getting set up for their match, Hinata had skipped over to say hi.

Tendou planted both of his hands on Hinata’s head and started scruffing his hair in greeting. “Fennec-kun, have you perhaps gotten taller?”

Hinata gasped delighted, pleased that Tendou had noticed. “Yeah!” He held a hand to his chest, trying to play it cool. “I grew almost two centimeters since I saw you last.” Technically, only 1.5cm, but if there was one thing Hinata had learned from math class, it was that you could round up when it was most convenient to you... He thought?

Tendou’s eyes were squinted like he knew Hinata wasn’t being very honest, but decided to let it go anyway. “Soooooo, didya bring anything for us?”

Hinata gave them a thumbs up. “A carton of eggs each.” Ushijima lifted his own thumb in acknowledgement, face not shifting in the slightest.

“Tendou-san, did you have a chance to watch—” Hinata frowned when he noticed Tendou leering at a point behind Hinata’s head. The rest of the camp attendees were staring at Hinata in a mute sort of horror. All wide-eyed, like they’d encountered a bear in the wilderness and were trying to figure out how to get away. Only Goshiki seemed unbothered — maybe kinda over it.

Hinata tilted his head. “What’s their problem?”

“They probably think you’re a bit of a weirdo, Hinata.” Semi leaned around Ushijima to give Hinata a friendly smile. “Don’t let them bother you too much.”

“A weirdo?” He repeated.

Tendou looped his arms around Hinata’s shoulders, bending to smush their faces together, giving the camp attendees an open mouthed smile. “They’re just jealous because you know how to talk to big scary third years, Fennec-kun.”

Hinata scrunched his brow, casting a glance up at Ushijima, who seemed entirely unbothered by the scrutiny. Hinata always thought it was kinda cool how aloof Ushijima-san was. Like he was used to all the attention and it didn’t phase him at all. Hinata hoped one day he could be so cool. “I think Kita-san is way more intimidating than you guys.”

For some reason Tendou seemed to find this hilarious, giggling as he rocked Hinata back and forth. “I agree. Fox McCloud is waaaaaaayyy scarier than I could ever hope to be.”

Ushijima tipped his head up, thinking. “I believe Kita is moderately intimidating.”

After the scrimmage, which the first years lost handily, and they were all allowed to leave for the evening, Tendou dragged Hinata and Goshiki to the Shiratorizawa cafeteria, demanding his payment in eggs now, please. Also catching up over dinner would be nice, ne?

After Hinata had given the short version of Inarizaki’s performance at their last tournament, Tendou leaned forward on the table, chin cupped in his hand as he grinned at Hinata. “So have you been making friends, Fennec-kun?”

Hinata beamed, ignoring the way Goshiki rolled his eyes across from him — Hinata had no idea what his problem was. It’s not like Hinata was behaving any differently than he had at summer camp. He didn’t belong to Goshiki.

“Yeah! There’s a lot of amazing players in Miyagi. It’s been great to get to know them.” Unbidden, Hinata’s eyes strayed to the farside of the dining room where Tsukishima sat with a notebook and his headphones on, eating his own dinner quietly.

Tendou tracked the movement, smile curling mischievously. “Ah, Tsundere Moon-kun, yes.” Tendou nodded sagely. “I bet he’s just as pleasant as always.”

Hinata got the distinct impression that Tendou was being very sarcastic. “Was he not very nice when you played him?”

Tendou rolled his eyes, Goshiki clucked his tongue, and even Ushijima shifted in his seat. Hinata blinked at all of them, confused. “What?”

“I wish to defeat him, I am glad he’s at the camp.” Ushijima leaned forward slightly, expression serious.

Tendou tutted. “At least I only had to play him that once. He’s more annoying than me~” Tendou oozed over to Goshiki, batting at his arm like a kitten. “Unlike poor Tsutomu-kun who has to deal with him for two more years.”

Goshiki flushed, mouth setting in a grim line. “Yeah, well he’s not as annoying as Kageyama, and I’m going to be better anyways, so—”

“Who’s Kageyama?”

Tendou, Goshiki, and even Ushijima all paused to stare at him. Hinata bunched his shoulders, looking at them defensively. “What?”

Tendou let out a sigh, shaking his head. “I thought your team was working on your volleyball literacy.” Hinata pouted at him. They were! He’d even started watching some beach volleyball matches because they were so interesting. How was he supposed to know every player under the sun?

“He’s Karasuno’s first year genius setter. Very good. Very uptight. Very annoying,” Tendou explained.

Hinata tipped his head to the side. More Karasuno first years, huh? Cool. “If he’s so good, why wasn’t he invited to this camp?” Unless maybe he was sick or something?

“He was invited to the All-Japan National Youth camp, I believe,” Ushijima said.

Hinata nodded his head, understanding— and then it all sank in. He jerked and stared at Ushijima in surprise. “They have a nationally ranked setter on their team too!?”

“Yes.”

“So he’s in Tokyo at the training camp with Atsumu-san then?” Hinata asked, mouth gaping a little. Oh man, he couldn’t wait to talk to Atsumu about this when they got home. They could compare notes! Hinata about Tsukishima, and Atsumu’s assessment of Kageyama. Cool!

Tendou laughed, chin now propped up by both hands as he beamed at Hinata. “I hope Twin B-kun treats the little birdie with care~”

Hinata blinked at Tendou before his mouth slanted into a rueful smile. “Eh, I dunno about that, Tendou-san. Atsumu-san isn’t really the best at making friends.”

Hinata was pleased to see his observation had its intended effect: Tendou rocked back in his chair, hooting with laughter, drawing the attention of everyone else in the dining room to their table.

Hinata grinned. Hopefully, Atsumu wasn’t getting too competitive with this Kageyama guy.

“I dunno what his problem is, but that Tobio-kun is kinda a brat, huh?”

Atsumu watched as his roommate looked up from the tablet balanced on his chest, sprawled on his narrow bed in their shared Ajinomoto National Training Center dorm room. Atsumu was perched on the edge of his bed, feeling kind of restless after the first day’s practice. Maybe he should go for a walk?

Hoshiumi squinted at him, not putting his tablet away. “What are you complaining about?”

“Who,” Atsumu corrected. “Tobio-kun, the first year setter with the—” he scrunched up his face, pointing at the crease between his eyebrows.“Y’know, the face.”

Hoshiumi stared at him unblinkingly. “What’s wrong with him?”

Atsumu clicked his tongue. “I get the feelin’ he isn’t offerin’ me a ton of respect. He’s not bein’ a very good kouhai.” He was the best high school setter — Iizuna be damned — and Atsumu rightly felt that entitled him to a healthy dose of respect from the other setters around him. Kageyama so far had been a little cold and awkward.

It was kinda cheesing Atsumu off.

Hoshiumi finally blinked. “Didn’t you tell him earlier today that he’d make a better wing spiker than setter?”

Atsumu pursed his lips. “Yeah, and?”

Hoshiumi finally set down his tablet, sitting up in his bed to look Atsumu straight on. He was squinting now. “Miya, how exactly would you feel if someone told you that you shouldn’t be a setter?”

Atsumu scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. “No one would ever tell me that. I’m too good.”

“Yeah, but he’s a setter too, so I bet he probably thinks—”

Atsumu decided to barrel through whatever response Hoshiumi had. “I was just tryin’ to help him. Poor Tobio-kun seems real uptight and stressed about his tosses. I bet he’d be way happier as a spiker.”

Hoshiumi looked unmoved. “Well, if you’re wondering why he’s cold with you, it’s probably that.” He flopped back down on the bed, lifting his tablet to his chest again, conversation apparently over.

Atsumu harrumphed, leaning back against the wall, momentarily considering how smart a decision it had been to ask to room with Hoshiumi for the next year of these camps. Atsumu’s old roommate from last year, a third year from Kyoto, had moved on, and Atsumu was given a new registration form to fill out with a spot for requesting room assignments. When he considered the other second years at the camp, there was only one name out of the list who he thought he’d have no trouble getting along with.

The first thing Hoshiumi Kourai did the first time Atsumu had seen him after Nationals in the summer, was to stomp up to Atsumu, glower in his face, and demand: “How is Hinata Shouyou doing?”

Atsumu decided then and there he and Hoshiumi were going to be friends.

So far their little arrangement worked for them. Hoshiumi was friendly enough. Extremely competitive and chippy about it, which was super entertaining. But he was also generally quiet and laid back in the evenings after practice. So far their roommate situation was great.

Atsumu could do with a little more moral support though.

It’s not like he’d come to camp intending to pick a fight — quite the opposite. He was the senpai now at the All-Japan camps. He had a year of experience under his belt here and he was ready to be the amazing senpai Atsumu knew he could be. He’d had visions in his head of taking all of the new first year setters attending the camp for the first time under his wing. Showing them the ropes. Maybe evaluating if they were scrubs or not — and then, of course, helping them. Probably.

If they deserved his help.

The only person he’d confided his grand designs in, was the only person he knew wouldn’t judge him for it. Hinata had just patiently listened the week before they left for their respective camps — though a not insignificant part of Atsumu was still unbelievably bitter Hinata hadn’t been invited to the national camp.

When Atsumu was done explaining himself during lunch one day in late November, Hinata had just tipped his head to the side, offering up his extra bento full of tamagoyaki for Atsumu to sample. “So, you’re going to support the new setters after you’ve decided they’re worth your time or not?”

Atsumu finished chewing on his piece of rolled egg before he answered. “Nah, I’m gonna help either way. Though I’d probably enjoy it more if they were worth my time.”

“Atsumu-san, I think you need to fix your attitude a bit.”

Atsumu gasped, outraged. Placing a hand over his heart, he gave Hinata a wounded look. “I can’t believe ya just said that to me, Shouyou-kun.”

Hinata shrugged, nonplussed. “If you’re going to help people, then you should just do it. Not just because they’re worth your time.”

Atsumu rolled his eyes — Shouyou-kun could be such a goodie goodie, it was so gross. He was about to say as much, when Hinata continued. “Though, for what it’s worth, I think anyone would be really lucky to have you teach them.” Hinata paused, giving Atsumu a warm smile. “I know I was.”

The gushing warmth that statement filled in Atsumu’s chest was almost enough to make him lay on the ground and want to roll around in the grass. Instead, Atsumu laughed and scruffed a hand through Hinata’s hair. “Aww, look atcha bein’ so sweet to me. Now gimme some more eggs, Shouyou-kun. I’m starvin’!” And laughed when Hinata tried to tug his egg bento out of Atsumu’s reach.

It was a little ember of that warmth that had Atsumu committed to helping any setter he could at the All-Japan camp. At the very least, he could make friends and maybe learn a thing or two from whatever new setters got recruited this year.

Though for some reason, in December of 2012, there was only one new first year setter: Kageyama Tobio. Had Atsumu known what Kageyama was like beforehand he might’ve been a little less committed to helping.

It wasn’t that Kageyama was bad. Quite the opposite. Atsumu on a good day — after a match where he had successfully crushed an opponent — might even be willing to admit there were things Kageyama was better at than he was. But only just barely. Atsumu had never seen another kid with a more intuitive sense of the court. His tosses were precise and sharp as a knife. The first time Atsumu had gotten to spike one of those tosses he’d been impressed. Kageyama didn’t seem to really need much time at all to sync up with a spiker. It was almost cool.

Too bad Kageyama was anything but.

Atsumu had never met a more uptight and terminally anxious player on the court — which was saying something, Atsumu had met an awful lot of squirrely players in his time. It was like you could practically hear Kageyama grinding his teeth on the court every time he put up one of his tosses. Like he was waiting for a spiker to fail him — only to be almost shocked when the spikers here actually met him where he was.

Like, yeah, Tobio-kun. Duh. Best players in the country here and all.

Atsumu wasn’t even particularly bothered by how unfriendly Kageyama was. He was just awkward as hell. Atsumu could work with that, even if sometimes Kageyama stared at him like he was waiting for Atsumu to yell ’SIKE!’ in his face and walk away laughing. Awkward and uptight. That was fine. At least he was talented and as volleyball-obsessed as Atsumu’s favorite type of people. He could work with that.

Hell, Kageyama had even apparently dropped a sick burn on Sakusa during their first night here — Atsumu had regretfully gone back to his room to call Hinata about his first day and missed it. He got a truncated summary from Hoshiumi. Something, something, Omi-kun was pissy about Wakkun losing. Kageyama asked why Sakusa wasn’t trying hard — ended up scaring Sakusa into running away to the baths. Atsumu chose to embellish that last part, but he figured it made for a better overall story.

He’d be delighted to take Kageyama under his wing. Teach him everything he knew about good tosses and bothering Sakusa. Maybe they could even be friends?

But there was one problem. One thing that kinda grabbed Atsumu’s goat maybe a lil too much. Kageyama was painfully, awfully, sickeningly deferential to spikers. It was always “How was that toss” this, and “Please give me feedback” that. It was disgusting. Awful. Just really fuckin’ gross, and not in a good way.

For as talented as Kageyama was, this streak of grovelling at the feet of his spikers was a bridge too fuckin’ far for Atsumu. It’s what he’d been getting at when he tried to tell Kageyama that maybe he’d be happier as a spiker — being a setter obviously weighed on him. The kid looked borderline strung out on the court half the time, and when he wasn’t, he was kissing the feet of his spikers like that’d make him any better at setting.

It was so antithetical to everything Atsumu believed about their role on the court. Every time he watched Kageyama word vomit seeking confirmation about the quality of his tosses, Atsumu would momentarily rage blackout. Or gag.

What the fuck was wrong with this kid? And was he even really a setter if he let all the players around him dictate the speed at which they played? Because from where Atsumu was sitting, this was someone who was extremely talented, but he lacked the iron in his spine required to successfully hold the position he wanted.

Atsumu would watch Kageyama execute the most ridiculous plays with pinpoint precision, and he would stand there gaping for a moment. It was so frustrating! So much talent! Stuffed into the body with the worst possible personality for a setter. It made Atsumu want to puke.

It was why Atsumu really couldn’t help himself on the third day, when he let Kageyama know what he really thought of him. Partially out of a sense of benevolence, wanting Kageyama to genuinely fix his attitude and get his shit together. Partially because there was only so much ass kissing Atsumu could witness before he needed to say something.

Atsumu got the distinct impression that Kageyama reeeeally didn’t like being called a “Goody Two-shoes.”

At least Atsumu got to feel some vindication after Kageyama had inadvertently stomped on Hoshiumi’s toes.

“A great reference? A reference? How dare he say that to me! What does that even mean!?” Hoshiumi snarled at Atsumu across their table in the cafeteria, hand slapping against the table at each new, increasingly irritated question he asked.

Atsumu blew on his miso soup, shrugging like he hadn’t been complaining about Kageyama to Hoshiumi for the last two days. “Don’t let it get to ya, Kourai-kun. I’m sure Tobio-kun still thinks yer amazin’.”

Hoshiumi banged his fist into the table hard enough to make both their dinner trays rattle. “Don’t patronize me, Miya! Just because you’ve been unsuccessfully bullying him for three days—”

Atsumu scoffed. “I would never.”

Hoshiumi gave him a flat stare, throwing his arms into the air. “A reference to what!? To who!” Hoshiumi squinted at Atsumu accusingly. “I already have to deal with the existence of Hinata Shouyou. He can’t be saying there’s more, can he?”

Atsumu blinked, setting down his soup, suddenly offended at the implication that anyone could even touch Hinata in terms of skill, passion for the game, commitment. Hoshiumi and Hinata were different, but both very good in their own ways. “Doesn’t matter. Whoever the heck Tobio-kun was talkin’ about, he can’t touch ya.” And especially not Shouyou-kun.

Hoshiumi muttered some expletives under his breath, taking a large bite of his food as he glowered down at the table. Seeing the expression, Atsumu wondered if there wasn’t something he might do to remedy the situation. Like maybe showing off the message Hinata had sent him earlier.

“Oi, Kourai-kun.” Hoshiumi glanced up, one cheek stuffed full of food as he chewed. “Wanna see some pictures Shouyou-kun sent me? They’re from our training camp this summer.”

Hoshiumi perked up, scooting his chair over so he was closer to Atsumu to better see his phone. “Didn’t you say he was at some special camp in Miyagi or something?”

Atsumu scrolled through his phone, pulling up the message to find the pictures Hinata had sent him earlier in the day. “Yeah, he was invited special.” He was allowed to brag. It was fuckin’ cool, right? What other first year got invited to a special first year training camp halfway across the country. Only Shouyou-kun. Suck it, All-Japan.

“Tendou from Shiratorizawa gave them to him, and he sent ‘em to me.” Atsumu turned the phone around so Hoshiumi could see.

Hoshiumi didn’t hesitate, plucking the phone out of Atsumu’s hand and beginning to scroll. “You guys got to do a pizza party? I’m kinda jealous — we usually only get a store bought sushi party at ours.”

“Yeah, it was pretty tasty. The coaches like to go all out at the end of camp, probably to make all the college kids feel better, gettin’ their asses kicked by a buncha high schoolers.” Atsumu smirked, leaning forward on the table, cupping his chin in his hand as he watched Hoshiumi’s reactive face shift and smirk at each new photo.

Eventually Hoshiumi’s brows pinched together, pulling the phone closer to his face. He squinted, zooming in on the picture. “Why does this guy look so familiar?”

A Shiratorizawa player maybe? Atsumu gestured for Hoshiumi to show him. Hopefully it wasn’t one of the college randos. Atsumu barely knew any of them.

Hoshiumi showed him the picture, one of Hinata during the pizza party, laughing at something Annika had said. Hinata’s face was too scrunched up and he was doing that embarrassing unrestrained donkey bray laugh. The one that always brought a smile to Atsumu’s face even when he was at his grumpiest. It was just so goofy—

Hoshiumi tapped the screen. “The guy drinking a beer. In the sling. I think I recognize him.”

Atsumu blinked, looking at the smaller figure of Inunaki in the corner of the picture, looking faintly amused at the antics going on around him. “Oh, that’s Wan-san from—”

Atsumu’s phone was abruptly ripped out of his hand from behind, making him jump. He glared viciously over his shoulder, ready to deck whatever asshole thought it was a good idea to steal his shit. “Motoya-kun!? What the fuck?”

Komori had the phone pulled close to his face, mouth gaping open in shock. Finally he cast Atsumu a wide eyed look, licking his lips. “Is this— Is that—” Komori sucked in a breath, a weird little smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Atsumu, why exactly do you have a picture of the Inunaki Shion in your phone?”

Hoshiumi frowned. “Inunaki... Who is he?”

Komori wheeled around on him, staring at Hoshiumi like one might an alien. “You don’t know who Inunaki Shion is!?” Atsumu had never heard Komori so shrill. Was he another weird libero otaku? First Akagi, then Yamagata. Now Komori too? Had they met Inunaki? Did they know he wasn’t that great? Atsumu kinda thought Inunaki was a bit rude and aloof — seemed to like Hinata well enough but that didn’t really mean much. Everyone liked Hinata.

“He looks familiar, but I don’t know why?” Hoshiumi was sucking on his teeth, squinting at Atsumu’s phone screen, still clutched in Komori’s little thief hands.

Atsumu felt himself dissociate a little as Komori started to rhapsodize his undying love for Inunaki. All the ways he was soooo coooool~ And how, did ya know Inunaki refused to attend All-Japan camps because he wasn’t allowed to miss his own schools training camps? And how he has the best receives in all of Japan, and probably even something about how Inunaki’s shit don't stink. Atsumu didn’t much care. He’d heard this all before, and he had no interest in learning more about all the ways in which Inunaki Shion was the second coming of the messiah. A messiah whose favorite word was ’bitch’.

Atsumu was just starting to contemplate how exactly he could get his phone back from Komori, blithely searching through Atsumu’s pictures like he had any business doing so — he was getting dangerously close to Atsumu’s collection of embarrassing selfies where he tried out different ways of styling his hair. A voice cut through Komori’s ramblings.

“What are you doing?”

Grrreeeat. And with Sakusa, they were a party. Rolling his eyes to the ceiling, Atsumu tipped his head back to look at Sakusa, looming at them like a masked face looming... loomer. “Hi, Omi-kun.”

Sakusa gave him a menacing glare, before tearing his eyes away to glower at Komori. How Komori put up with grumpy pants over here was beyond Atsumu. They seemed like such polar opposites. For one thing, Komori knew how to smile. For another thing— actually, Komori had been pretty glib about taking Atsumu’s phone. Maybe Komori and Sakusa were just on different spectrums of the asshole axis?

“Hey, Kiyoomi! You’re not going to believe whose photo Atsumu has in his phone.” And then without asking permission, Komori turned the phone to show Sakusa. It was another photo of Hinata — this time with Ushijima as they each ate a half of orange chuupet, their cheeks hollowed out as they sucked. Both of them looking up cutely at the camera Tendou held aloft to get the three of them in the picture. It was from right before their pizza party, if Atsumu recalled correctly.

Sakusa’s eyes narrowed.

Komori pulled the phone back, swiping through it, a gleeful expression lighting up his face. “And I couldn’t believe it myself, but apparently Inunaki Shion was there too! I’m so jealous. I would give anything to get to play against him. Or with him.”

Sakusa turned his attention back to Atsumu. “What exactly is that thing doing hanging around Wakatoshi-kun?”

Atsumu felt his hackles rise. Maybe this’d be the day he finally smacked Sakusa for talking shit. Fucking no one got to talk about Shouyou-kun like that, not while Atsumu was around. Hoshiumi beat him to the punch. “Are you talking about Hinata Shouyou?”

Sakusa gave him a withering glare, clicking his tongue. Komori’s round brows bunched on his forehead, already predicting where this conversation was going. He let Atsumu’s phone drop to his side, before sliding it across the table to Atsumu, which he picked up.

Hoshiumi provided Atsumu a moment to gain some clarity though, for which he was grateful. “I’m confused, Omi-kun. I thought you ‘n Wakkun,” he emphasized Ushijima’s nickname, relishing in the way Sakusa stiffened, “were best buds. Shouldn’t ya know him and Shouyou-kun are good friends?”

Hoshiumi tipped his head to the side. “Waka— Are you guys talking about Ushiwaka?” He turned his bird-like stare to Atsumu. “Hinata Shouyou and Ushiwaka are friends?”

Atsumu gave Hoshiumi a friendly smile. “Of course. They trained together at summer camp. I thought I toldja back in September. Ya know it’s hard to resist Shouyou-kun’s charms.” Atsumu waved a hand airly, like it was no big deal.

The other three stared at him blankly like he’d just said something weird. Finally Sakusa scoffed. “What, like you?”

Atsumu stared at him blankly. “Haa?”

Sakusa, the absolute prick, titled his chin up for maximal condescending glower down at Atsumu. “You can’t resist his charms either, right?”

Atsumu really didn’t understand what the heck Sakusa was getting at. He gave a baffled half laugh, shrugging his shoulders. “Well, yeah, obviously. Me ‘n Shouyou-kun are best friends.” He gave Sakusa a mean smile, “I know it’s hard for someone like ya to understand. But most people have these things called ‘friends’, ya know—”

“That isn’t what I meant.”

Atsumu rolled his eyes, pursing his lips in mock sympathy. “Then speak more clearly, Omi-kun, ‘cause yer kinda bein’ a bit annoyin’. Wastin’ my time—”

Finally Sakusa scoffed loudly, apparently losing patience. He arched one well-maintained eyebrow, giving Atsumu his most condescending look. “You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

Atsumu stared back at him, mind going momentarily blank. In love with who? and then his mind caught up and he realized: Shouyou-kun!?

Atsumu sucked in a breath just in time for his chest to buck with laughter as he kicked his head back. When Atsumu’s laughing fit subsided, still chuckling in fits and spurts as he wiped under his eyes, snorting to himself.

“Omi-kun, yer a real funny guy, huh?”

Sakusa just gave him a withering look.

Atsumu waved it off. “Just ‘cause ya don’t have any friends, Omi-kun, doesn’t mean that every close friendship are two people bein’ in love with each other.” He plopped his chin in his hand, giving Sakusa his most patronizing smile. “I’m sure you'll learn that eventually.”

Sakusa rolled his eyes, sliding a look at Komori before he stomped away. “I’m going for a bath before any of the rest of you infect it with your germs.”

Hoshiumi finished chewing his salad and looked at Komori. “He must be real fun at parties.”

Komori snorted, shrugging. “He’s an acquired taste.” He turned to look at Atsumu, giving him a curious look and a thumbs up. “I better go check on him, but I’m gonna come bother you for more Inunaki stories later.”

Atsumu watched him go, curbing the urge to roll his eyes. In love with Hinata? Please. What the heck would Sakusa know? If he wasn’t off being weird as hell about germs, he was sniffing around Ushijima. That was probably all it was. Sakusa was salty that this was the first camp since Ushijima’s last one, in addition to the news that Shiratorizawa wasn’t going to be coming to Nationals. That was all.

Atsumu flashed a grin at Hoshiumi. “Anyways, as I was showin’ ya earlier, Kourai-kun, yer not gonna believe what Shouyou-kun can do now. We gave him like a week in the summer, and he learned a butt load.” Hoshiumi continued to listen, munching on his dinner, interjecting with a few of his own Kamomedai stories here and there.

It was a good distraction from what Sakusa had said. Not that Atsumu needed distracting. Because it wasn’t true. It was just— Hinata was Atsumu’s best friend. Just ‘cause Sakusa didn’t have one of those, well, he didn’t know what the heck he was talking about!

Yeah! Omi-kun didn’t know shit.

It was just kinda weird how Atsumu couldn’t stop thinking about it though. Like, every time he tossed a ball in the air, he thought about how Hinata could hit it better or how they’d sync up more smoothly. But that didn’t mean he was in love. People thought about their friends all the time! And he was a setter used to a very specific kind of spiker. Kinds of spikers! He had lots of talent to work with.

...So why was he only imaging Hinata like that and not Aran or Osamu?

People loved their friends. Obviously. Atsumu had heard Akagi say it to the other third years plenty of times. ’I love you guys.’ And like, yeah. Atsumu loved his brother. So it made sense that he’d love Hinata too, especially ‘cause he liked Hinata waaaaay more than ‘Samu.

That didn’t mean he was in love.

Why the fuck did he keep thinking about it then?

This was all Sakusa’s fault. Trying to fuck with him in the lead up to Spring Nationals. What an underhanded shitty trick. Because now Atsumu kept thinking about it for the rest of camp. And then he kept thinking about it on the train home. And he thought about it over dinner while his parents kept asking him questions about how Tokyo was.

Atsumu kept right on thinking about it up until the moment his mom asked if he was excited to see Hinata tomorrow, and those familiar giddy Shouyou-kun stomach bubbles hit him, pulling an easy smile from his face. He gave his mom a grin and a “yeah.”

But then, what the fuck had that been? And then he started to consider what the heck the Shouyou-kun stomach bubbles even were.

Atsumu kept right on thinking about it so hard that he tripped over a stack of manga next to his and Osamu’s bunk bed, as the two of them got ready for sleep. Osamu squinted up at him from his lower bunk, brows knit in concern. “Are ya okay? Ya seem awfully distracted, ‘Sumu.”

Atsumu blinked down at his brother, before he shrugged irritably and switched off the light, climbing up to the top bunk by feel alone. He gave an overburdened sigh when he’d settled. “I’m fine. I think I didn’t sleep well the last two nights,” Atsumu said to the ceiling. That was true. Mainly because his mind kept right on buzzing with thoughts about Sakusa’s words. And thoughts about Hinata, and all the different ways Atsumu apparently thought of Hinata.

Osamu was quiet for a moment before his voice sounded from beneath him. “That’s not like ya. Yer not gonna get sick, right?”

Atsumu snorted. “Fuck no. Not before Nationals.”

Osamu hummed. “Good.” Then after a beat he tacked on, “Night, ‘Sumu.”

Atsumu rolled over onto his side, facing the wall. His eyes slid shut. “G’night, ‘Samu.”

The next morning he was still thinking about stupid Sakusa and his stupid words, but in like a faintly irritable way. He’d actually had a good sleep last night in his own bed, and it had provided him with some much needed clarity. Sakusa was a mean little shit, incapable of experiencing human empathy. Trying to throw a wrench in Atsumu’s finely-tuned volleyball apparatus. That was all.

Well, not to-fucking-day, Satan. Atsumu was in peak condition. So was his whole team. They were going to rock practice and get ready to kick some ass in two weeks’ time. Hell yeah.

He was so fired up that morning that he dragged Osamu out of the house early for practice, hoping to get some extra warm up time in before everyone else arrived. Find his equilibrium. Get all zen and shit.

He was just getting some ball touches in as Osamu went to get changed in the locker room when the door clattered open, and in walked Hinata, a wide gleaming smile on his face. “Atsumu-san! You’re back!”

Atsumu felt that familiar warmth suffuse his limbs, feeling a smile tug at his lips as he watched Hinata start rooting around in his bag for his court shoes, pulling them on. Sakusa didn’t know what the heck he was talking about. Him and Hinata? Best goddamn friends. No one could take that away from him. They got each other, better than anyone else. Just ‘cause Sakusa was a lonely ass weirdo who affixed all his hopes and dreams on one person like a pathetic duckling, didn’t mean Sakusa knew shit.

Hinata had been chattering the whole time as he pulled on his shoes, saying something about a tall setter, and other tall guys, and a two meter dude. But his words abruptly cut off when he finished tying his laces. His eyes scanned the gymnasium, searching for something before they alighted back on Atsumu, grin going toothy.

“Kita-san isn’t here?” Hinata asked, eyebrows waggling.

Atsumu felt a giddy laugh pull from his chest. “Nah, he’s—”

Hinata didn’t let him finish, grin going impish as he held out his hands at Atsumu making grabby motions. “Then toss to me, I missed your tosses more than anything.”

Atsumu stared at Hinata a moment, feeling his face slacken a little bit. The Shouyou-kun bubbles were starting to pop and fizz all down his limbs and up his spine— and that wasn’t usually what happened when you saw your friend, was it? He watched Hinata’s tongue dart out, flicking against his teeth in anticipation and normally your stomach didn’t swoop when you saw your friend’s tongue, did it? And your heart probably shouldn’t race at the sight of his hungry little grin, right?

Hinata took a step forward, plucking a ball out of the cart, and giving Atsumu a wink. Then he affected a near perfect kansai-ben. “C’mon, ya wanna toss for me, dontcha?”

Atsumu nodded, still staring at Hinata stunned. Even as Hinata put up the ball and Atsumu moved to receive, his brain was going two hundred kilometers a minute, while simultaneously feeling sluggish and slow. Hinata was in the air, a wild feral grin blooming across his face. Atsumu watched him, thinking ’this is my favorite view in the whole world.’ and then tossed his heart up along with the ball.

When Hinata hit the ground, hands in the air, dancing around a bit as he looked at his spiking hand, he breathed out a deep, relieved sigh. “Oh man, I love your tosses. That’s the best feeling in the world,” he slid Atsumu a sidelong look, smile all slow and easy. It made Atsumu’s heart trip and fall on its face in his chest. “Dontcha think, Atsumu-san?”

Holy fuck. Atsumu was in love with Shouyou-kun.

He hesitated long enough that Hinata had stopped to look at him curiously. Atsumu licked his lips, trying to find words. His tongue was a heavy, overlarge wiggly thing in his mouth. “I—”

“Hinata-kun.” Kita’s voice rang out sharply from the farside of the gymnasium.

Hinata tensed and grimaced, turning to look at Kita as he tucked his hands behind his back. “Hey, Kita-san! I didn’t know you were here.”

“We’ve talked about you leaving your bag and coat on the ground before. Please go put them away in your locker,” Kita said with a fond sigh. Hinata gave an awkward laugh, shooting Atsumu an eyeroll before he scurried over to collect his things and haul them into the locker room.

Atsumu was still standing shell shocked with his revelation when Osamu found him a minute later. “Hey, didja see Shouyou-kun? He was complainin’ all yesterday ’bout missin’ yer tosses—” Osamu frowned when he saw Atsumu’s face. “‘Sumu, are ya okay?”

Atsumu let out a wheezing breath, trying to order his thoughts. How did one explain the collision of galaxies and ideas and philosophies in his head that was this revelation? How did he sum up a year and a half of friendship, and all the little special and not so special moments that led to this big overflowing feeling in his chest. He didn’t have words.

It’d be like trying to explain how volleyball made him feel.

Atsumu could only shrug helplessly at his brother, staring down at his hands, wondering if his tosses had understood his feelings before he had. A part of him had to have known, right?

Why else had he chased after that terrible little middle schooler and dedicated a year of his life just so he could play with him?

Osamu’s expression pinched. “Okay, then. Yer bein’ real fuckin’ weird.” He raised a hand to clamp down on Atsumu’s shoulder. “Don’t be useless in practice today.”

That at least snapped Atsumu halfway back to normal. “Fuck yerself.”

Osamu greased him a mean smile. “Nah. No, thanks.”

Atsumu sucked in a fortifying breath, thankful for his brother — even if he’d rather die than tell him that. He could practice. It would be fine. He had time to sort out his feelings and figure out what to do with them. Yup. No need to rush or panic. It was cool. Focus on the now and Spring Nationals. Everything else could come later.

Which is why he asked Osamu if he wanted to alternate serves before practice started.

That was what he was doing when the locker room door opened and Hinata walked out with Suna. “Yeah, it was really funny. No one’s ever said anything like that to me before,” Hinata was saying, embarrassed grin on his face.

Suna looked way less bored than he normally would. Atsumu might even say he looked intrigued. “So what exactly did you say to him?” Suna asked.

Osamu was setting up for his jump serve, but Atsumu kept watching Hinata and Suna out of the corner of his eye. Good god, was this just going to be his life now, where he was permanently distracted by Hinata? Was there anything he could do to not do that?

He watched as Hinata flushed, flapping a hand. “I mean I got kinda embarrassed and said so, and then Goshiki-kun leaned in and kissed me!”

It was like a stab straight to Atsumu’s heart. He was so distracted by the way Hinata was clasping his blushing cheeks between his hands that Atsumu missed the moment Osamu smashed the ball. Right up until that ball smacked him in the clavicle, rolling up and nailing him under the chin, knocking him back onto his ass.

When he opened his eyes, rubbing at his poor abused chin, giving Osamu the stink eye across the net, Atsumu suddenly found Hinata standing over him, eyes wide with concern.

“Atsumu-san! Are you okay?”

Atsumu looked up at the boy he was apparently in love with — had been in love with, for who the fuck knew how long — and sighed. He flopped backwards on the court, covering his face with his hands. “No. No, I’m not, Shouyou-kun.”

Because the boy he was in love with had apparently gone and kissed bad-haircut-first-year in the time it took him to figure it out. The boy in question pursed his lips. “You’re still going to be able to toss for me today, right?”

Atsumu cracked his fingers open enough to peer up at Hinata, terrified at the fact that it was apparently possible for him to love Hinata more than he already did. Osamu wandered over, clucking his tongue as he poked Atsumu with his shoe. “Don’t be such a crybaby. It didn’t even hit ya that hard.”

Atsumu didn’t respond, merely groaned into his hands and contemplated all the choices that had led him here. Goddammit. Fuck.

What the fuck was he supposed to do now?

Chapter Text

Hinata walked through the halls of the Tokyo Metropolitan Gymnasium looking for a bathroom.

He had managed to shake his escort — Atsumu, Osamu, Riseki, and Kita had all offered to come with him. Hinata had turned to his friends, gave them his best impression of a Suna-Withering-Look™ and told them in no uncertain terms that he would be fine. He needed to take care of his own business, and he did not want, nor did he need, a babysitter. Not when he needed to poop.

They finally let him go on two caveats: 1) He had to go to the furthest washroom on the concourse — under the absurd hope that Hinata wouldn’t run into anyone there, and 2) He had to keep his stupid white track pants on.

“Shouyou-kun, yer always havin’ weird as hell encounters outside of bathrooms,” Osamu tried to explain.

“Someone is gonna try to bully ya.” Atsumu looked absolutely peeved at this thought.

“We just want to make sure you’re a-okay.” Riseki wasn’t really looking a-okay himself. Nationals jitters were getting to him again. They didn’t even need to play today. Stupid tournamnent seeding... What Hinata wouldn’t give for an extra game. To play today.

Kita though— Kita was the most firm. “Why don’tcha start the tournament off on the right foot?” Hinata had groaned his acquiescence and almost managed to make his escape, all for one measly little poop, when Kita held out Hinata’s track pants. “Ya almost forgot, Hinata-kun.”

It was Kita’s most pleasant smile that could be his most terrifying.

So Hinata was stumping past all the teams and fans and all the vendors just so he could go to the furthest bathrooms in the whole darn place. With hot legs! Hinata hated hot legs. Hated that overly warm clammy feeling of having his legs encased unnecessarily. The stadium was heated after all — he would much prefer to wander around in his shorts. Just because he was on a team with a bunch of cold-blooded babies who thought 5°C was freezing didn’t mean that Hinata found that same temperature cold at all.

If Hinata had to hear one more complaint about how much colder Tokyo was than Kobe he was going to start throwing ice water at his teammates.

Hinata once again tugged at his tracks pants, pouting down at the white fabric, taunting him. Daring him to spill food on them. If Kita made him wear them when they got lunch later, then his captain was just going to have to deal with the inevitable stains he was going to have splattered over the pristine white. What genius thought it was a good idea to give a bunch of teenage boys white pants, huh?

He was so distracted by his stupid pants and his stupid hot legs that Hinata didn’t notice how close he’d strayed towards the wall, and he definitely didn’t see the figure tucked into a corner, or the bag in his path — At least until it was too late and Hinata’s foot hooked into the bag strap, and he went pinwheeling forward, about to land on his face. At the last second, he rocked his momentum forward, catching himself on his hands and executed what he thought was a pretty decent handspring, landing crouched on the balls of his feet, arms out to keep his balance.

Still perched in his crouch, he turned to look at the person he almost crashed into, pressed his hands together and gave a grimacing smile. “Sorry about that! I wasn’t paying attention and I tripped over your bag.”

The boy seemed to curl in on himself more, folding deeper to his overly large hoodie, averting his gaze from Hinata. He shrugged. “It’s okay.” His fingers curled around something tucked protectively against his stomach.

Hinata’s eyes widened in delighted recognition. He turned to righten the knocked over duffle bag, before settling into a squat facing the shy boy. “Hey! Is that a PSP? What are you playing?”

The boy’s eyes flicked to Hinata’s face before skittering away. “Yeah.” And then he mumbled something Hinata didn’t quite catch.

He leaned forward trying to hear better. “Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that—” the screen was still on and it had the distinct blue colouring of— “Are you playing Persona 3?”

The boy turned to finally look at him, blinking slowly. “Yeah.”

Hinata beamed. “That’s awesome. My senpai is playing it right now. He says he prefers this version than the one on the Playstation ‘cause you can save the best character in the game.” Akagi sometimes let him watch — it’s what he spent most of the Shinkansen ride from Kobe to Tokyo doing.

Hinata got the distinct impression that the boy’s expression had opened up a bit. “Shinjiro. Yeah.”

Hinata pat the red duffle bag between them. “I am really sorry about knocking over your bag,” he laughed, scruffing a hand through his hair. “I probably gave you a pretty big shock leaping out at you like that.”

The boy looked between the bag to Hinata before he blinked again, PSP no longer clutched protectively to his stomach. “It was kinda cool though.”

“Huh?”

“When you turned it into a flip,” the boy answered, the ghost of a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

Hinata rubbed his chin. “It probably would have been cooler if I’d jumped over it at the last second without looking up though, like in a spy movie or something.”

The boy stared at him with wide cat-like eyes before his brow twitched slightly, and he huffed a breath that Hinata was pretty sure might have been a laugh. He had lots of experience from Ushijima that summer — he was used to reserved people. Kinda.

It was at that moment that Hinata finally made out the writing on the side of the boy’s pants. N-E-K-O-M-A. Why was that so familiar? Who had been talking about a summer training camp when they’d run into each other before the opening ceremony? It struck Hinata a moment later. Bokuto!

“You play for Nekoma!?”

The boy jumped, looking startled. Maybe Hinata should have modulated his volume a bit. Whoops. The boy nodded, still looking a bit alarmed.

“You must know Bokuto-san and Akaashi-san from Fukurodani then, right?”

Another blink. “Yeah.”

Hinata grinned. “Cool! Do you play? What position do you play? How long have you been playing volleyball? Is this your first nationals? It’s my second!”

Hinata took in the overwhelmed expression on the poor guy’s face and he grimaced. “Ahah, sorry. I got overexcited.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Hinata Shouyou. I’m a first year playing for Inarizaki.”

The cat-like yellow eyes stared at his hand a moment before the boy slowly lifted his hand, taking Hinata’s in a limp-wristed grasp. “Kenma. I guess I play setter.”

~~~

What a small world! Or maybe, not so small — it kind of figured that people in the volleyball world would run into each other a lot at Nationals. It was still really cool to meet people who knew the people he’d met last time he was here! And Kenma was really nice and willing to talk video games, which was super cool. And! He’d even revealed that along with Nekoma training with Fukurodani, they also trained with Karasuno!

Apparently, they were long-time rivals, which was so cool! Inarizaki only really had boring national-level semi-rivals. And even then, it’s not like they had a shared history or anything, it was just Atsumu being salty over the fact that he kept losing to Sakusa.

Well, not this time! Not if Hinata could help it.

As he finished washing up his hands, Hinata hummed his bathroom song under his breath, making sure to scrub between his fingers.

It really was so silly for his friends to worry about him going to the bathroom off on his own. Oh sure, he definitely kept having fateful bathroom encounters. Just a few months ago during the Prefectural Qualifiers, he’d encountered Rui from Yokosuka High in the bathroom again, and Rui had tried trash talking, but it’s not like anything came of that. It had just been funny. And it’s not like only bad things happened from his fateful encounters. Like when he got to meet Tendou for the first time. Or when he found out that cheerleader had a crush on Gin.

Or this time, when he got to meet Kenma.

Atsumu and Osamu worried for nothing. After drying his hands, Hinata pulled out his phone which had been buzzing while he’d been doing his business to see a bunch of text messages from Osamu and Atsumu. Hinata rolled his eyes, scrolling to the most recent texts in the group chat as he shouldered through the door.

Atsumu
Shouyou-kun, where the heck are ya? Ya been gone like an hour now.
I’ll come find ya!

Osamu
‘Sumu, stop.
It’s been 30 minutes.
How big a shit didja hafta take?

Hinata pursed his lips, squinting down at Osamu’s message. Why was he always so concerned with Hinata’s poops? He was just about to tap out a reply when Hinata bumped into someone taller than him, sending the unsuspecting guy flying.

More specifically the carton of milk in his hand flying.

Hinata watched the rectangle arc in the air, as if in slow motion, not a drop spilling. Until it landed on the ground a few feet away sloshing its contents onto the floor. Vanilla-scented milk spreading like a blood splatter in a crime scene.

Hinata cringed, watching the guy’s shoulders tense, ratcheting up to his dark hairline. They were alone in the hallway — the quiet part of the stadium. Okay, Hinata felt genuinely bad about that. He should have been looking where he was going. He could offer to buy the guy a new milk.

Hinata reached forward, fingers brushing against the black fabric at the guy’s elbow. “Hey, I’m sorry about that. I wasn’t looking where I was going. Please let me buy you a new one.”

The dark haired guy’s shoulders abruptly dropped — that was when Hinata finally made out the white writing on the guy’s black track jacket. Oh! ‘Karasuno High’. One of Tsukishima’s teammates!

The dark-haired player spoke, voice gravelly. “You’re sorry?”

Kinda excited now, Hinata grinned, nodding his head despite the fact that the guy wasn’t looking at him. “Yeah! I am! I’ll buy you a new one—”

Hinata couldn’t finish as the Karasuno player whirled, grabbing Hinata by the front of his track jacket, yanking him up and forward to glare down into Hinata’s face. He had the impression of very blue, very angry eyes. “You’re sorry?” He snarled.

Hinata frowned, not particularly intimidated — but no less irritated. Who just went around grabbing strangers? “Yeah. It was an accident.”

Blue eyes flashed, lips curling in a sneer. “Offering to pay doesn’t do me any good. That was the last vanilla milk in this whole stadium!”

Hinata’s eyes drifted to the milky pool a few feet away, before looking back into the Karasuno player’s face. “Ooookay. I can buy you a banana or strawberry milk then.”

Hinata was beginning to suspect this guy was kinda unhinged, because the grumpy jerkface actually shook him, going red in the face like he was trying very hard not to yell. “I don’t want other milk. I want vanilla milk. You runt.”

Hinata reared back as far as he could with the guy still holding him. Runt? Did this bastard just call him a runt? Barring his teeth Hinata’s hands swiped forward to grab the fabric of the asshole’s jacket, toes scrabbling for purchase as he was hauled up higher. “What’d you say?”

It briefly looked like this asshole was going to headbutt him, before his lips curled one final time and he shoved Hinata away hard. If Hinata’s balance was any worse, he would have been sent sprawling on his ass. What the heck was his problem!?

The asshole clicked his tongue, sneering down at Hinata. “Useless.”

Hinata saw red. He promised Coach Kurosu he wasn’t going to get into any fights with any other players this tournament, but sometimes you just had to tell someone off. He felt himself go cold and still, staring this asshole dead in the face, rage burning in his chest. That seemed to pull up the jerk short. “Are you saying I’m useless?”

The jerk lifted his chin defiantly. “Yeah, I am—”

“Kageyama-kun!” A high breathy voice called from down the hallway. They both paused and turned to see a nervous looking blonde girl peeking around the corner at them. Her fingers twitched as she looked half-panicked between them. “Uhm, Coach wanted me to get you so we could get to warm ups.”

Kageyama stood frozen for half a second before he glanced over his shoulder at Hinata and actually fricken “tch-ed” at him! Kageyama jerked his chin at the milk splattered on the floor. “It’s your fault this all spilled. So clean it up.” He caught Hinata’s eye, giving him a mean little twist of his mouth. “Runt.”

With that Kageyama turned to walk towards the blonde girl. Hinata stood gaping at his back for a second before his fury returned. He pointed a finger at Kageyama’s retreating back. “My name is Hinata Shouyou, and if I ever see you on the court, I’m gonna kick your butt!”

Kageyama glanced over his shoulder at him but didn’t slow down. Hinata kept glowering at him until he was out of view, before he returned his gaze to the mess sitting in front of him.

What an absolute jerkwad!

If that jerkface had a better grip on his stupid milk, it wouldn’t have been sent flying. They should have both cleaned this up — though Hinata really couldn’t bring himself to just leave it... Sighing, he retreated back into the washroom, grabbing a bunch of paper towels to blot the mess.

He was still fuming as he finally made his way back to his team. Wasn’t Kageyama the name of that setter everyone in Miyagi kept talking about? He was the one who went to the national training camp, right? Maybe Hinata could ask Atsumu about it. A small mean part of Hinata’s heart kinda hoped Atsumu had bullied that big gaping jerkhole. Kageyama undoubtedly deserved it.

“Shouyou-kun!” Hinata snapped out of his grumpy thoughts by Atsumu’s sharp voice. “Where the heck have ya been?”

Ooooh, he sounded kinda mad. Hinata grimaced, guess he hadn’t actually answered their texts earlier before he’d stopped to clean up the milk. “Fateful bathroom encounters?”

Osamu rolled his eyes, clamping a hand over Atsumu’s mouth before he could say anything. “Was about to let ‘Sumu run off lookin’ for ya. Answer yer messages next time.”

There was something about being called ’runt’, being made to clean up milk he didn’t even spill, and then getting scolded that left an extremely bitter taste in Hinata’s mouth. Pursing his lips, he shrugged his shoulders at Osamu, feeling petulant. “Or what, you’ll have to hold my hand every time I go to the bathroom for the rest of the tournament?”

Atsumu and Osamu exchanged a look, Atsumu batting Osamu’s hand away. “What’s got ya so salty?”

Hinata shoved his hands in his pockets. “Nothing.” Pointedly ignoring the second look the twins shared. “Hey, I wanna go watch the Karasuno match.”

Atsumu blinked. “Yeah it’s startin’ in a bit. I was gonna go watch the first set at least.”

“Good, let's go then.” Hinata didn’t wait for his answer, merely plucked up his bag and went walking in the direction of the main gym — chances were good Karasuno would play there, right?

Atsumu and Osamu caught up to him, bracketing each of his shoulders. “Shouyou-kun, what’s gotcha in such a spicy mood?” Osamu asked, looking a little concerned.

Hinata ignored the question. “Atsumu-san, what’s Kageyama like?”

Atsumu stared at him blankly for a second before he tipped his head to the side. “Eh, he’s pretty good. Very uptight... Not very cute at all.” Atsumu pursed his lips. “He didn’t like it when I called him a Goody Two-Shoes.”

Osamu snorted. “Why the heck would anyone like bein’ called that, ‘specially by you?”

“Oi, what’s that supposed to mean?”

Hinata ignored them as they made their way up to the upper viewing level. Reaching the concrete railing wrapping around the gymnasium, Hinata leaned against it, watching the warm ups unfolding below him. The blue and yellow uniforms versus the black and orange. One thing Hinata would say about watching the game from on high, outside of seeing the whole court clearly: You get a better sense for how cool the contrast in colours is. The blue and yellow versus orange and black was good, but pure black against yellow-green-white was going to be sooo much cooler. Hinata couldn’t wait to see it on TV after they beat the crap out of Itachiyama.

“There he is,” Atsumu said, coming to lean up against the railing with him, pointing at the black haired number nine, lining up a serve. Hinata grit his teeth upon seeing how good Kageyama’s serve was.

“Doesn’t look like a Goody Two-Shoes,” Osamu said from Hinata’s other side, leaning forward with his hand on his chin.

“Just wait ’til ya watch his tosses. You’ll seee~” Atsumu said, sticking his tongue out at Osamu.

Hinata’s eyes scanned the rest of the figures clad in black. A lot of gawking up at the high ceilings, and nervous fidgeting — something he and Riseki did a lot of last summer. It was interesting though, it didn’t seem like Karasuno had a ton of depth. There were good players here and there — the tall man bun guy, Tsukishima, their cool-looking libero — but for the most part everyone seemed kind of average.

How exactly had they beat Shiratorizawa?

And what the heck was with the smaller guy off to the side not wearing any shoes?

Atsumu and Osamu were still going back and forth, making sometimes mean, sometimes borderline impressed commentary on both Karasuno and Tsubakihara’s warm ups. Atsumu eventually returned his attention to Hinata. “Shouyou-kun, ya sure ya wanna stay for the whole thing? There’s gonna be way better matches goin’ on elsewhere—”

“Eh, let him stay if he wants. If Karasuno wins the next two games, we’ll see ‘em on Day 3,” Osamu said through a yawn.

That wasn’t a bad reason all things told. But Hinata also needed to know how these guys bested Shiratorizawa. And maybe where the heck Kageyama got off being such a jerkwad.

The small guy finally got his shoes while Hinata wasn’t paying attention, hopping around the court while the teams tidied up to get to the game started. Too bad, Hinata was curious about that guy, seeing as how he was the only person he hadn’t seen warm up — maybe he was inexplicably the reason why Shiratorizawa lost?

The announcer was introducing both teams' starting lineups, starting first with Tsubakihara, moving onto Karasuno. First there was Sawamura Daichi, the captain; then the ace, Azumane Asahi; the cool libero, Nishinoya Yuu; wing spiker, Tanaka Ryuunosuke; middle blocker, Tsukishima; their setter, Kageyama...

The one who blew Hinata’s mind though was Karasuno’s other middle blocker. “And #10, the smallest middle blocker in this year’s tournament: the Little Giant, Nakashima Takeru.”

“Haa?” Hinata’s mind reeled. Middle blocker? He was a middle blocker! Nakashima was just barely over 170cm, and he was a middle blocker? On either side of him, Atsumu and Osamu were laughing at his reaction, but Hinata couldn’t get over it. He kept gaping at the court even as the whistle blew and the play started. A middle blocker? Really? Why!?

As if hearing his question, Kageyama put up a razor sharp, pinpoint toss. Nakashima was in the air, slamming the ball down before the other team could react.

“Uwah!” The twins burst out as one, leaning forward on the railing.

Hinata just kept staring, even as a small family led Karasuno’s cheer section in celebrating the point. “Go! Fight! Takeru! Go! Go! Takeru!!”

Hinata recalled what Tsukishima had said to him weeks ago, after dodging Hinata’s attempt at tooling him. ‘You’re not that special.’

Hinata finally sucked in a breath, feeling at once discombobulated and kinda giddy. But like, in an annoyed way. Was this how Hoshiumi felt when he first met Hinata?

Hinata finally broke his silence. “Haaaaa?” Peeved as the twins kept laughing at him.

“You all played incredibly well today. I have never been prouder of you than I was today,” Coach Ukai told Kageyama and the rest of his team late that evening, after Karasuno had finally, after months, managed to beat Nekoma in a hard fought three set match.

Around him, Kageyama watched the faces of his teammates glow with pride. They’d never played sharper. The entire game felt like something akin to one of their endless practice matches more than the second round of the Spring Nationals. Noya and Sawamura had shown everyone that it wasn’t just Nekoma who were masters of defense. Tanaka had been as steady and reliable as ever. Asahi pulled them along behind them as their tireless workhorse.

Kageyama could even admit that Tsukishima had given Kuroo as good as he gave, the cornerstone of Karasuno’s blocking. Kageyama had thought he’d played some of the best volleyball of his life — Nekoma was always an interesting challenge for him, trying to find the nearly non-existent cracks in defense. But they all knew who to attribute their win to — the one who even Nekoma’s guardian deity couldn’t keep up with.

Nakashima let out a delighted laugh as Suga pounced on him, ruffling his close-cropped hair with a vicious grin. Without Nakashima-senpai to lead them on the court, Karasuno might have been up river paddleless. His impeccable ability to tool any block, his steadiness on defense, and even a few spot emergency sets had saved them all from getting crushed under the overwhelming pressure of Nekoma’s defense.

Kageyama was pretty sure they wouldn’t have made it to Nationals without him.

He was also pretty sure that Kageyama wouldn’t be where he was without Nakashima-senpai.

When Kageyama had walked into Karasuno High’s gymnasium for that first practice, a complex ball of emotions were roiling in his stomach, half numbed after a year of disappointments — ready for yet another team to let him down. The spike of anxiety when Tsukishima’s eyes had lit up in malicious recognition and his first sneered ”King”. The expectant eyes of his senpai: At once delighted for him to be there, but wary — they’d heard about his King of the Court title and were likely waiting for him to blow his lid.

So it was with a great amount of surprise after their first scrimmage when Nakashima approached him. During the match Kageyama had failed to sync up over and over with the other players around him, finding himself getting frustrated, tempering his tosses — hating himself, slowly starting to resent everyone around him. Volleyball was never supposed to be this painful. What would Kazuyo-san say—

“Hey, Kageyama-kun.” Kageyama jerked out of his spiral of self-hatred to find Nakashima watching him with a peculiar expression on his face. It was weirdly intent.

“Y-yes, senpai?” At the time, Kageyama couldn’t remember his name — only thought it was weird that someone shorter than him was playing middle blocker.

Nakashima narrowed his eyes. “You were holding back during the game, right?”

Kageyama suppressed the urge to fidget his fingers. He looked down at the ground between them. His heart was beating fast, that pit of shame opening up in his stomach again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

Nakashima cuffed a hand through his short hair, heaving a big sigh. “Yeah. I thought so.”

Kageyama pressed his lips together, silently praying Nakashima didn’t use that awful nickname.

Nakashima continued, “Which is really too bad, y’know? We have this amazing setter who has to hold himself back because none of the rest of us are good enough to meet him where he’s at.”

Kageyama stared blankly at Nakashima, not comprehending what he was saying. “Huh?”

Nakashima rolled the volleyball clutched between his palms, giving Kageyama a wry smile. “I’m gonna let you in a little secret.” His smile was conspiratorial, voice dipping low, making Kageyama inadvertently lean in closer. Nakashima’s eyes glittered — it almost reminded Kageyama of Kazuyo, the thought squeezing his heart. “I wanna make it to Nationals before I graduate.”

Kageyama stared at Nakashima in disbelief, his mouth gaping open. Before he could stop himself, he blurted the first thing that popped into his head. “That’s not possible.”

He promptly grimaced, feeling awful. Even if what he said was true, he could have been nicer. More delicate about it. Karasuno as they were from that first practice? There was no way. This wasn’t a nationally ranked team. They’d be fortunate to place top three in the prefecture based on what he’d seen today. Kageyama was well aware of the strength of Seijoh and Shiratorizawa. They couldn’t compete. Not as they were.

Surprising Kageyama, Nakashima kicked his head back and barked a laugh, giving Kageyama what he interpreted as a wry grin. “Well, yeah. Not yet.” Nakashima spun the ball on his finger, pursing his lips. “Which is why we’re gonna practice together.”

Kageyama stared at him blankly, eyes skittering around the gym. They were alone now, everyone else getting changed in the clubroom to go home. “Practice?”

Nakashima tossed the ball gently at Kageyama for him to catch. “Yep, practice. You and me, we’re going to practice until I can hit every single one of your best tosses.” His grin turned competitive. “Once we have that, there isn’t any way we can lose.”

He hadn’t even realized it then, but Kageyama had put an awful lot of faith into Nakashima-senpai in that moment. For the rest of the season, the two of them would stay late after practice, usually for an hour or so, and practice all kinds of approaches, gradually increasing speed. Nakashima would hunt Kageyama down during lunches, asking if he wanted to practice ball touches.

Nakashima helped Kageyama find a place within the team. Helped him make friends — learn to sync up with other spikers, learn to communicate, learn patience. Nakashima-senpai was kinda awe-inspiring in that way — everyone belonged, no matter their attitude. He was also the most determinedly upbeat person Kageyama had ever met. As Vice-Captain under Sawamura, he consistently kept an optimistic attitude about even their most embarrassing losses. It’s not that he wasn’t frustrated; it was just he was so concerned with everyone else that he pushed his feelings to the side first.

He’d always give them a rueful grin and say, “Welp, at least we learned for next time.” Nakashima’s favorite saying was ’no same mistake twice’.

He’d worked with Kageyama tirelessly after their loss to Seijoh and Oikawa last summer, gradually improving their quick until it was the deadliest thing at their summer camp. Keeping the entire team’s spirits up. It was only right that Nakashima had scored the game-winning point against Shiratorizawa, securing Karasuno’s path to the Nationals for the first time in years.

And it was Nakashima who had helped lead them to victory against Nekoma — if it weren’t for the shoddier blocks from Lev and Inuoka, the result might have been a different story in the end. But there wasn’t a person in the world who could keep up with their quick and Nakashima’s ability to smash the ball off any blockers.

Coach Ukai allowed them to cheer and laugh for a few moments more before he held up his hands to quiet them. “Alright, alright. Now it’s time to get down to business.” Everyone sobered almost immediately as Coach Ukai turned on the TV behind him. “You guys all played some of the best volleyball I’ve ever seen today, but it’s time to focus on our biggest challenge to date.”

Ukai turned on the DVD player and a team clad in black jerseys appeared on screen. “Tomorrow in round three we face Inarizaki High — widely considered the favorite to win this year’s Nationals.”

Kageyama took in the grim faces around them, feeling at ease when he saw Nakashima’s eyes glitter in anticipation — no challenge too great for his senpai. His eyes turned to take in the screen, Ukai was fast forwarding to a certain part of the game. “We have a number of problems we’re going to tackle throughout the game, so let’s get cracking.”

Ukai detailed the problems of Ojiro Aran, one of the country’s best aces, up there with Bokuto. Of Suna Rintarou, a middle blocker who consistently racked up points for Inarizaki with his killer tilted spike — Tsukishima’s eyes narrowed in what looked like calculation during that segment. Of Akagi Michinari, Inarizaki’s experienced libero who’d really come into his own during Hyougo’s most recent qualifiers.

Of the problem Kageyama knew was coming: Miya Atsumu. “He’s ranked as the number one setter in the country right now,” Ukai said, eyes resting on Kageyama for an extra beat. Kageyama felt a stab of— something almost like frustration, but not quite jealousy, before Nakashima’s hand patted his shoulder, giving him a wink. “And he is a dangerous opponent all on his own.”

Kageyama recalled the mean twist of Atsumu’s mouth, his words, the way he seemed to zero in on Kageyama specifically at the All-Japan camp. Kageyama kept up with Volleyball Monthly. He had known about Miya Atsumu well before ever meeting him. Atsumu had been featured numerous times ever since he was in middle school, but that hadn’t prepared Kageyama for the reality of Atsumu.

He was kind of awe-inspiring. Kageyama still couldn’t believe how easy and natural it felt to hit one of Atsumu’s tosses on the first try — like he and Atsumu had been playing together for years and not minutes. Atsumu could do that with anyone, even the people he didn’t seem to like very much. Kageyama had the distinct impression that Atsumu and Sakusa had a relationship not too dissimilar to his and Tsukishima’s. But that didn’t stop Atsumu from giving Sakusa his very best.

That was why it stung all the more when Atsumu tried to tell him he should be a wing spiker — preposterous. Kageyama was a setter. Nothing else. It was the position he was meant to play. But that paled in comparison to ‘Goody Two-Shoes’. That one had Kageyama ruminating well into his return home — had him snapping at his team. It took Nakashima and Suga and a little help from Coach Ukai to snap him out of it.

The prospect of playing Inarizaki and Atsumu tomorrow both thrilled him and terrified him a little bit. Kageyama wanted to prove just how much of a Goody Two-shoes he wasn’t. Wanted to prove to the world how amazing they all were, him and his team. Inarizaki wasn’t the only great challenger in this tournament.

Ukai gave them a grim smile. “Which is why it’s my regret to inform you that he has a twin — unfortunately just as talented as his brother, Miya Osamu.”

Tanaka leaned back on his hands, head tipped up to the ceiling as he scrunched up his face. “Okay, we get it. They’re all amazing. No weak points.” The rest of the team around them grumbled, some faces going white with nerves.

“Don’t worry about it, Ryuu,” Nakashima gave Tanaka’s socked foot a solid whap, making Tanaka yelp. “Everyone has their weaknesses.”

Ukai laughed, nodding. “That’s right, and we’ll get to strategies for dealing with them shortly but we have one more player to talk about.” Ukai fast forwarded once again, pausing in the middle of a run up by an annoyingly familiar mop of orange hair. Kageyama felt his brows pinch.

“Finally, we have the most surprising addition to Inarizaki’s lineup — their only first year starter, Hinata Shouyou.” Ukai unpaused the video and they all watched as Hinata leapt into the air — shockingly quick and high, smashing down the rapid fire bullet Atsumu sent his way before the team they were playing could react.

Ukai paused the video as Hinata and Atsumu were in mid high-five, a wide toothy grin lighting up Atsumu’s face in a way Kageyama hadn’t seen at the All-Japan camp. He’d have thought Atsumu would be more haughty and arrogant with his team, like he was with the other national players.

“He’s small, and he might not seem like much,” Ukau gestured at the screen behind him, “but during the Hyougo Prefectural Qualifiers, he netted close to a quarter of Inarizaki’s points.” They all sat in stunned silence, staring wide-eyed at Ukai.

The little runt who’d knocked Kageyama’s milk out of his hands two days ago — his pregame relaxation ritual since their first practice match against Date Tech — was one of Inarizaki’s best players? How?

Tsukishima shifted in his spot, lips pressed together like he was smelling something gross. “He was at the Miyagi camp. I don’t know why he was there — but he was pretty good.” Tsukishima shrugged dismissively. “He wasn't anything special, it’s not like we don’t have our own surprising short guy.”

That cut some of the tension in the room as they all let out breathy laughs; Nakashima sticking his tongue out at Tsukishima. Ukai cleared his throat, grabbing their attention once more.

Coach Ukai crossed his arms, lips pursed. “We’ve come up against strong opponents before, and we’ve won. I know you all take this as seriously as I do. We can beat Inarizaki if you all work together. But,” he looked each player in the eye before he turned back to the screen, “if you underestimate this Munchkin tomorrow, we may as well pack our bags now.”

They all watched Ukai with deadly seriousness, before nodding their heads. “Yes coach.”

Ukai cracked a grin. “Alright, now let’s talk shutting Inarizaki down, yeah?”

On the morning of the third day of Nationals, Osamu had the unprecedented, regrettable luck of running into Akaashi Keiji outside the vendor stalls.

Osamu momentarily froze when he saw the Fukurodani white long coat out of the corner of his eye, hanging out near the side of the hallway — reading a book? Why did it have to be Akaashi out of everyone who played for Fukurodani? Why not their libero, or that tall first year? Why did it have to be the pretty one? The one Osamu couldn’t ignore.

Osamu had not forgotten the ball to the face the last time they met.

In fact, he kinda thought about it a lot.

Osamu didn’t even have time to make sure his hair looked okay — why had he sleepily styled it this morning? Why hadn’t he been like Atsumu, squinting in the mirror for fifteen minutes while he carefully shelacked his hair into their preferred style. Not Osamu, no, he was too busy thinking about breakfast to bother with his hair. Why was he like this?

Akaashi, standing next to a pillar, lifted his head just as Osamu was thinking of slinking away, making eye contact with Osamu. He blinked once, expressionless.

Osamu willed himself not to be a fucking weirdo and raised a hand in greeting. He should just not walk over, right? Leave it at that? Too late, he was walking over. Goddammit.

“Hey, ‘Kaashi-kun.”

Akaashi looked nonplussed by the shortening of his name. “Hello, Miya-kun.”

Osamu struggled to find a topic of conversation, suddenly unable to act like a normal human person despite all his struggles over the years to be nice. If it were his brother — well, Atsumu would probably either shit talk poor Akaashi-kun, make a fake friendly snide comment about beating them later, or just walk away because he was disinterested. Oh god, why was he thinking of Atsumu now of all times?

“Ya made it to Nationals,” he finally blurted, feeling his cheeks heat slightly.

Akaashi blinked. Nodded. “As did you.”

Now, if Osamu were his brother he’d have rolled his eyes and scoffed something like ‘obviously’ before walking away. But Osamu was not his brother — he was waaaay nicer — Akaashi didn’t deserve that behaviour at all. In fact, Osamu might even go so far as to say that Akaashi deserved plenty of nice things.

“Yep. We made it to Nationals,” Osamu agreed, his tongue feeling thick and his brain going too slow. Compliments! People liked compliments. He could give a compliment, right? “Kinda glad we ain’t playin’ ya today on Third Day Hell.”

Akaashi just kept looking at him with those stupid pretty eyes of his. It was making Osamu’s brain all hot and less smart than he was—

Akaashi’s mouth quirked in an amused half-smile, and Osamu felt his brain do the extra stupid false start thing it did in the summer when he’d last seen Akaashi smile. Was he always going to associate this feeling with getting smacked in the face by a volleyball?

Osamu watched Akaashi tip his head to the side, just so, and felt his heart start thrumming hard in his chest — oh shit, oh fuck, was Akaashi about to tease him? “I never would have figured you for a coward, Miya-kun.”

Osamu’s cheeks were too hot and this was all very embarrassing, and he thanked every god who could possibly hear him that his shitty friends and even shittier brother weren’t here to witness this. “It ain’t cowardly. Just smart. Beatin’ ya would make me tired.” He gave Akaashi a lopsided smile, trying to convey he was also capable of teasin’.

Akaashi stared at him a beat before he blinked. “I hope you’re not underestimating your opponents today, Miya-kun.”

Wrong-footed again, Osamu hesitated. “Ah, well—”

Akaashi’s eyes flashed with amusement. “Because teams that underestimate Karasuno tend to lose.”

Osamu gawked at him — less and less confident about where he stood in this conversation. Were they ribbing each other, or what? “Right, I forgot ya had a special little trainin’ camp with ‘em or somethin’, huh?”

Akaashi looked amused, which was increasing Osamu’s confidence a bit. “Or something.”

Osamu tipped his head to the side, giving Akaashi what he thought was a pretty-cool-guy smile. “Can ya share any tips on beatin’ ‘em? I betcha have plenty of good insights, ‘Kaashi-kun.”

Akaashi didn’t blink, just stared at Osamu impassively. “Are you mining me for details on how to beat my friends, Miya-kun?”

Well, when he put it like that, it did sound kinda sleazy, didn’t it? Osamu’s smile faltered. “Uhhh...”

“I’ll have you know that of the two of you, I’d much rather see Karasuno win today.”

Unbidden, Osamu felt his cheeks heat again, this time feeling ashamed of himself. Duh. Of course, Akaashi wanted his friends to win.

“But,” Akaashi continued. “Either way, I’m sure it will be a very exciting match to watch.”

“Yer gonna watch?” Fuck, he sounded a little overeager, didn’t he?

That seemed to amuse Akaashi once more. “Yes. How else will I see my friends exact retribution on you?”

Osamu grinned. “Wouldn’tcha rather do that yerself, ‘Kaashi-kun?”

Akaashi blinked and then gave one of those abbreviated, breathy laughs that made Osamu’s stomach all wiggly. Akaashi’s eyes met his. “Perhaps you’re right. Who better to hit you with a setter dump while you’re distracted than me?”

Osamu gaped at him — Akaashi really was just a lil’ bit meaner than you ever expected him to be. Osamu had it baaad. “Yer right. No one better.”

Akaashi gave him another one of those half-smiles. “I need to return to my team. I’m looking forward to your match, Miya-kun. In the unlikely event you win, I look forward to crushing you myself.” And with that, Akaashi turned to leave, starting to walk past the vendor stalls.

“Oi! ‘Kaashi-kun!” Osamu watched Akaashi pause and turn to look at him with a raised eyebrow. “Ya can call me Osamu if ya want.”

Akaashi blinked once. “I prefer not to be overly familiar with players I plan to beat.” Just like that Akaashi turned and was on his way again.

Fucking eviscerated, Osamu watched him go, a big stupid goofy grin taking over his face.

Yeah, he had it stupid bad.

When Osamu made it back to his team, just getting ready to head to warm ups, Atsumu squinted at him suspiciously. “The heck is wrong with ya? Why’re ya smilin’ all creepy like that?”

Osamu lifted a hand to his face to feel that, indeed, he did have a small smile curling the edges of his mouth still. He shrugged. His brother and his shitty personality weren’t going to rain on his parade today. No, siree.

“I think you have a nice smile, Osamu-san!” Hinata chirped, popping in between the two of them before they could start beefing too badly.

Osamu lifted a hand and ruffled Hinata’s hair. “Aww, aintcha sweet, Shouyou-kun.” That was when he noticed the sour look on Atsumu’s face. What the fuck was that for? Atsumu getting jealous at Osamu receiving compliments and not him? What a big fucking baby.

“He probably thinks yer smile is nice too. We have the same face, dipshit,” Osamu told him.

The pissy expression on Atsumu’s face promptly evaporated, replaced by a giddy shit-eating grin. Atsumu lifted his chin, mugging for Hinata. “That true, Shouyou-kun? Ya think I got a nice smile too?”

Hinata tipped his head to look at Atsumu. “Yeah? Obviously?”

Atsumu caught his tongue between his teeth, his smug grin widening into something more genuine. What the heck was up with him today? Atsumu had been all over the place squirrely all morning, and it was starting to freak Osamu out.

First, there had been Atsumu yelping out of his futon, waking the rest of them up because Hinata had rolled over in the night and was wedged into Atsumu’s side. Then, there was the whole extra fussing with his hair thing. And Atsumu being a fucking weirdo when Hinata had offered his train seat to that nice old lady — Atsumu couldn’t launch himself out of his own seat fast enough, standing next to Hinata, as if he’d catch the lady’s oldness if he wasn’t careful.

Was this ‘cause they were playing Karasuno? Osamu would have figured Hinata to be the one jittering around. But nope, put a rival setter in front of Atsumu and apparently he lost his goddamned marbles.

“Whatever, quit smilin’ like that. Yer face might freeze that way.” Osamu planted a hand between Hinata’s shoulder blades and shoved him towards the warm up gym doors. “Let’s go get ready to kick some ass.” Hinata whooped and jogged forward, disappearing through the doors.

Osamu slid a glance at his brother, now looking kinda dreamy and a little stupid. More stupid than usual at least. “Did someone drug ya earlier or somethin’?”

Atsumu jerked his head around to stare at Osamu. “No! Why would ya think that?”

Osamu rolled his eyes. “Just try and be more normal when we play our games today, yeah?”

Atsumu stuck his tongue out at him — his telltale sign that he had absolutely nothing to say, but he didn’t want Osamu to think he’d won. What a child. He better play good today. ‘Kaashi-kun basically promised he was gonna come watch Inarizaki’s game— Karasuno’s game for as long as he could.

Osamu kinda really wanted to impress him.

~~~

Alright, squirrely wasn’t the right word for Hinata and Atsumu playing against Karasuno. It was more like they were two toddlers unleashed in a candy store, fucking vibrating at all the possibilities that laid before them — before they’d even gotten a taste of the sugar rush.

It started with Atsumu greasin’ his way over to the grumpy-looking setter for Karasuno — Osamu figured that must be Kageyama — already trash talking during warm ups. Not that Kageyama seemed bothered in the slightest, merely stared at Atsumu with a blank sort of curiosity that Osamu knew for a fact was probably infuriating his brother.

Hinata for his part had laid eyes on a tall, glasses-wearing kid and immediately started flailing around shouting, “Tsukki! Hey, Tsukki! Tsukki! Hey! It’s me! Hey, Tsukki!” It made Suna guffaw out loud when Glasses-kun abruptly turned, shoulders hunched, and fled to the far side of the court away from Hinata.

That must be the Tsukishima that Hinata had gone on endlessly about when he’d returned from camp. He was one of those self-serious kinda people who didn’t think they liked Hinata all that much, huh? Well, that was going to be a hoot to watch throughout the match.

Or, at least it woulda been if Tsukishima weren’t also an extremely competent middle blocker. Osamu and Hinata had just shared sniggering laughs at Atsumu’s expense for his serve out at the start of the game — which he summarily blamed on loud fans, making Hinata laugh harder — when during the very next play, Tsukishima smacked down Hinata and Atsumu’s quick.

Osamu would have laughed at the perfectly synchronized offended and surprised shouts those two made, if the block hadn’t shocked Osamu so much too. Normally, it took a team a moment or five to try adjusting to Hinata and Atsumu; whereas Tsukishima looked like he had been expecting exactly that and honestly found it kinda mundane.

Tsukishima glanced down at Hinata like he was staring at a tedious bug. “I already told you. You’re not that special.” Then looked away to get ready for Karasuno’s next serve.

Hinata’s mouth gaped open, and Osamu could just feel the warning Hinata was about to get from the referee, when Hinata’s jaw clicked closed and his eyes lit up with fiery determination. Oh? That was kinda new.

Osamu had watched the Karasuno game tape with the rest of his team last night. He knew exactly what to look out for. Samurai-kun was their strongest spiker. Kageyama’s serves and sets were vicious. Tsukishima was the lynchpin on their blocking defense. Their libero was uncommonly good — maybe even better than Akagi. Their wing spikers, baldy and captain-kun, were the steady backbone for the whole team. Their weird-as-hell, small middle blocker, who’d be much better suited to a wing spiker position, was a marvel at tooling his opponents.

Unfortunately, watching tape didn’t actually prepare you for the reality of playing Karasuno. Halfway through the first set, Osamu was pretty sure this was not a team that was going to go down easy.

If Itachiyama was a well-oiled machine, Fukurodani was all steady consistency no matter how Bokuto was playing, and Shiratorizawa was stability to prop up their single best strength — playing Karasuno was like sitting in the ocean on a particularly choppy day.

You never quite knew how and where they were going to hit you, but it was always going to be a bit of a surprise. It was Kageyama not having a single fucking tell and smugly dumping the ball. It was Samurai-kun giving the best goddamn feints Osamu had ever seen for his dinks. It was Tsukishima looking like he couldn’t be assed to try hard at anything but blocking, only to leap over a block and spike high. It was Nakashima nailing the ball off every fucking block he came up against.

It was that stupid synchronized attack.

Osamu hated that synchronized attack.

But not everyone did.

“I never know exactly where the ball is going to go. Every time I think they’re going to rely on their ace, the ball goes to their captain or—” Hinata flailed, forcibly made to sit down on the bench during an Inarizaki time-out to break Karasuno’s momentum. They’d just scored back-to-back points on Inarizaki.

“I know!” Atsumu squawked back, gesturing with his water bottle, but never actually managing to take a drink. “It must be exhausting for them to keep going at the net like that—”

“But it’s so cool!” Hinata cried, hands clapped to his cheeks as Atsumu nodded emphatically. On Hinata’s other side, Osamu watched a part of Suna’s soul leave his body at Hinata and Atsumu’s continued enthusiasm.

Hinata and Atsumu both paused, turning to look at each other wide-eyed — oh, god. “Atsumu-san! Should we—”

Atsumu gasped, delighted. “We absolutely should!”

“No.” Osamu glowered at them. He already felt tired just thinking about all the run ups he’d need to do. Why was it that sometimes Atsumu and Hinata seemed to amplify the other’s stupidity to a painful degree?

“But Osamu-san! It’ll be so cooooool~” Hinata was giving him his best puppy dog stare.

“Don’t be so lazy, ‘Samu.”

Suna was rubbing his face with his towel, his voice coming muffled through the fabric. “Y’know what they call a synchronized attack that only two people participate in?”

“No?”

“What?”

Suna lifted his head from his towel, giving Hinata and Atsumu a profoundly unimpressed look. “A fucking normal attack, you idiots.”

Hinata and Atsumu looked tremendously put out, but Osamu soon realized he probably should have said something to them two rallies later. They were making a weird sorta eye contact that left Osamu with the impression that they were speaking telepathically or something.

Next thing Osamu knew, he was going up for what he thought was a quick, Atsumu rocketing the ball towards him. Only Osamu realized the angle was off at the last second, his swing missing by millimeters. What the fuck—

Hinata was in the air behind him, a gleeful, savage grin on his face as he nailed the ball down, not a single blocker on him. When Hinata touched down he beamed, pointing at Atsumu and shouting, “Harmonized twin shadowed decoy attack!”

That pulled Atsumu up short. “Is that what we’re callin’ it? ‘Cause I was thinking we’d call it somethin’ cool like—”

Osamu looked across the court at Aran, feeling himself dissociate for a moment as he recalled every single time he and Atsumu were ever this obnoxious on the court over the years they’d known him. With his eyes he tried to convey, ‘Aran-kun, I’m so sorry that I was part of something that probably made ya feel tired all the time. Me ‘n ‘Sumu were a lot. I get it now. Ya deserved better.’

Aran just gave him a funny look in response.

Karasuno was still very annoying though. Akaashi wasn’t kidding. Underestimate Karasuno, and you were likely to get an ass whooping. Osamu had kinda assumed Inarizaki would be able to breeze right by these guys, hadn’t really thought it likely they’d provide enough of a challenge to actually worry about. And then he got tooled for the first time by Nakashima.

And then it happened to Suna. And Aran. And Omimi. Even Hinata did. They were really going to need to figure out how to deal with that — especially given that when push came to shove, Kageyama seemed to trust Nakashima with the ball most.

Worst yet, they dropped the friggen set. Not that one certain idiot seemed particularly bothered by it.

“Did you see that cross shot!? Did you see it? It was perfect. You could cut a sheet of paper with it, it was so sharp.” Hinata's hands were in his hair, mind apparently blown, still gaping over at the Karasuno bench where the baldy with his very heroic cross shot was getting congratulations from his teammates.

Atsumu pursed his lips, crossing his arms. “It was like a scene straight outta a movie.”

Hinata nodded emphatically, eyes sparkling. “Right!? I wanna do one next!”

At least Shouyou-kun was having a good time — in fact, Osamu might even go so far as to say he was having the time of his life. Hinata had played well in their match against Kiyokawa High yesterday. But there was an electricity and sharpness to him today that was downright magnetic. Not the intensity he’d had over the summer. It was more joyful than that.

It was like Hinata was here to play the best volleyball he could — no matter the outcome. It certainly explained why every time he was stopped or he missed, he seemed absolutely determined to do better next time. Mistakes and misplays were rolling off his back in a way that was kinda awe-inspiring. Not for the first time today, Osamu mused about how lucky they were that Hinata was on their team. This energy and drive he had going on today would have been annoying to deal with.

Though Osamu could really do without Hinata exclaiming in delight every time Karasuno did something cool. It wasn’t just baldy’s cross shot or those fucking synchronized attacks. It was their libero making a cool save and Hinata exclaiming “Woah!” even as he scrambled back on defense.

Or Hinata turning to give the rest of the team a wide-eyed stare after a missed receive off Samurai-kun’s serve. “Are those actually getting stronger as the game goes on?” Staring in an open-mouthed — Atsumu-like in its childish glee — grin. “Cooooool!”

Or every time the captain managed to score during one of those goddamned synchronized attacks. Hinata would practically gleam. “I never know who they’re going to pick, and then they pick Captain-san, and I still feel surprised every time!”

Nakashima seemed to excite Hinata the most though. He probably was not intentionally making fun of his poor teammates every time the small bastard played one of their blocks, but sometimes Hinata couldn’t seem to help it. “Ahh, he can just outsmart any of your best blocks, huh, Suna-san?”

Lucky for Hinata, Kita was on the court at that moment otherwise he likely would have been throttled.

The only person who didn’t seem to elicit any sort of dreamy fan reaction from Hinata was Kageyama. In fact, Kageyama got to be on the receiving end of a few of Hinata’s most feral grins every time one of them scored. The strange thing was that Kageyama was doing it back. Like both of them were competing for who was better on the court.

Osamu expected this behaviour out of his own brother. Not Hinata. Hinata hadn’t even done this against Hoshiumi last summer, though that probably had more to do with the whole Hinata having an intense fever and playing through it until he passed out, than because he wasn’t excited to play Hoshiumi.

They found out near the end of the second set why exactly Hinata kept on having such spicy interactions with Kageyama.

“Oh, he picked a fight with me on the first day of the tournament over spilled milk,” Hinata said, popping his water bottle back in his mouth and taking a sip.

Osamu and his brother, sitting on either side of him nodded, before they froze, jerking their heads around to stare at Hinata in confusion. “What?” Atsumu asked sharply.

“Spilled milk, like a metaphor?” Osamu was trying to figure what exactly he could be getting at.

Hinata looked between them. “No, I mean like literal spilled milk. He was drinking some and I bumped into him, spilling it.” Hinata heaved a sigh, like ‘c’est la vie’. “Then he tried to throttle me.”

“What?” Atsumu repeated, face going murderous as his voice turned icy.

“Is that why ya took so long?” Osamu mused. Hinata seemed perfectly fine. Osamu had no idea why his brother was getting so damn twitchy about it.

“Yeah and like I told you—” Hinata didn’t get to finish as Atsumu clamped a hand down on his head, forcing Hinata to turn to look at him.

“Whatcha mean, ‘throttle ya’, Shouyou-kun?” Atsumu was wearing his worst pleasant guy smile — the one that was all teeth and scrunchy eyes. The one that promised someone was about to get an ass kickin’.

Hinata batted Atsumu’s hand away, raising his other hand and putting on his ’aren’t I a cool guy’ expression. “Don’t worry, Atsumu-san. I gave him as good as I got.”

Atsumu made a noise in the back of his throat. Like a raspy sort of ‘oh?’ Osamu wondered briefly if he was gonna have to stop his shitty brother from mauling the opposing team’s setter.

“Oi, don’t be stupid, ‘Sumu.”

Atsumu gave him an eye-crinkling smile, downright freaky, eyebrows tipping up innocently. “I dunno whatcha mean, ‘Samu.”

Of course, the very next time Atsumu came up for a serve, he entirely forgot about his death by 1000 cuts plan for Karasuno’s libero via his jump floater. Instead he whipped out his jump serve to send a missile at Kageyama. That led to a hard fought rally instead of the easy point it was supposed to be.

Atsumu looked like he was gearing up for another when Kita made eye contact with him from the other side of the court, face completely placid. Atsumu was shortly back to his jump floaters from there.

They clinched the second set off another whack-a-doodle Hinata and Atsumu play — though Osamu really couldn’t fault them. They had technically been practicing this since they got back from summer camp.

They were in the middle of a pretty desperate rally, Inarizaki had been sitting at set point for a bit, with a slowly dwindling lead over Karasuno — they really, really did not want to go down easy — when finally, an opportunity presented itself: a chance ball sailing in a clean little arc towards Osamu — getting tired, he figured he’d end it fast, and Hinata was already sailing towards the net. He flung the ball hard and sharp at Hinata at the first touch.

Hinata whipped back his arm, looking to Osamu like he was going for a straight — fucking Karasuno reacted though, Tsukishima and Kageyama both in the air. At the last possible second Hinata shifted his weight midair, his arm coming back not for a spike, but an overhand set. Back. Straight into Atsumu’s waiting palm at the farside of the net, toothy grin wide because there wasn’t a single person to block him.

Atsumu scored. The rest of them hooted and hollered with a baffled sort of joy. Holy shit! After they secured the final point of the set, Hinata was literally mid cheer when he took in Kageyama’s decidedly pinched expression. Osamu kinda thought maybe he looked a bit offended. Disgusted? That pulled Hinata up short — in fact, Osamu might even say he was kinda indignant.

“What!?”

Kageyama clicked his tongue walking off the court. Hinata made another offended sound, and Osamu briefly wondered if he’d need to grab Shouyou-kun to stop him from trailing after Kageyama, demanding an explanation. Luckily Atsumu was there, clapping a hand on Hinata’s back, making him pitch forward.

“That was so cool, Shouyou-kun!” Atsumu cooed, a wide grin on his face, making Hinata smile back up at him, pleased. Atsumu sliced a hand through the air decisively as they walked back towards Inarizaki’s bench. “I just have a few notes,” Atsumu started counting off his fingers, brows tilted thoughtfully as he went through a mental list. “Like, four things.”

Osamu wasn’t sure how his brother missed Hinata’s exasperated eye roll, but it sure made Osamu laugh.

Inarizaki finally seemed to fully hit their stride in the third set — their entire offense coming together spectacularly with phenomenal defensive plays to boost them. Osamu was pretty sure neither would have been true without Hinata.

If it wasn’t Hinata and his downright alarming presence and willingness to make more run ups than anyone else — no matter where he was on the court — Suna, Aran, and Osamu likely would have had a tougher time scoring. Now that Karasuno knew Hinata could technically set, Atsumu and all his notes be damned, they were an awful lot more twitchy anytime the ball looked like it was going to Hinata — jump or don’t jump? Doesn’t matter, Inarizaki was going to score on ya.

But the real beauty was some of the pretty as hell receives Hinata kept making.

Sure, he had nothing on that phenomenally heroic moment of Karasuno’s libero finally picking up Atsumu’s jump floater — Osamu was going to need to remember to tease Atsumu about his weird little fixation on their libero. A little bit like love, huh? But Hinata was picking up ball after ball like it was easy, like someone was handing him easy peasy lemon squeezy tosses to bump up. And not the fucking nuclear missles from the palm of Kageyama and Samurai-kun’s hands. The coolest one, Osamu thought, had been when he dove, foot first for a ball smashed off Omimi’s block, knocking the ball in the air over his head in a kinda pretty A-pass straight to Atsumu.

It was the closest Osamu had ever seen Akagi to crying. Akagi’s lip wibbling, eyes shining as he scruffed Hinata’s hair, nearly sobbing, “My protege.”

The real fucking clincher — and like, the sickest fucking thing Osamu had ever seen, was the moment Hinata made Karasuno collectively shit their pants. Karasuno had switched up their rotation for the third set, meaning Osamu and Suna were coming up against Tsukishima more, and Hinata was facing off against Nakashima. He got tooled twice early on, and Osamu could just see Hinata getting frustrated. Hear his teeth grinding.

And then Nakashima went up to do it again. Only this time as Nakashima was connecting with the ball, Hinata jerked his hand away at the last second — something none of them had ever seen Hinata do — making Nakashima spike the ball out of bounds, no hand in front of him to smash the ball off of.

The stadium was silent for half a second before the band went screaming to life, Inarizaki fans going crazy, as the whole lot of them dogpiled Hinata — apparently all of them had strong feelings about Nakashima playing all them all for fools. They still had ten points to go before they could feasibly call the game over, but Inarizaki collectively lost their minds at the sheer gall and badassery of that play.

When asked by Aran where the heck he learned to do that, Hinata had beamed, pointing across the net at Tsukishima. “I learned from the best.”

Atsumu and Osamu collapsed on each other, laughing hard at the expression on Tsukishima’s face. He looked so affronted; it was like Hinata had just said Tsukishima was going to give him one of his kidneys to eat later.

They wrapped up their match in short order after that — Nakashima now hesitating to dick them around. Hinata gleefully nailed his spikes off the blockers, and Atsumu took the opportunity to do a setter dump or three while Karasuno’s defense panicked over the many different potential avenues of attack from their side of the net.

With the final point scored, Karasuno collapsed to their knees as Inarizaki cheered their win. Osamu looked over at their crestfallen opponents. It was really too bad. They were pretty fucking worthy, all things considered. After having played them, Osamu could honestly say he understood how exactly Karasuno had beaten Shiratorizawa.

It wasn’t overwhelming force. It was persistence.

Karasuno were some of the most persistent bastards Osamu had ever seen on the court.

Not unlike Inarizaki.

It was just that today they had been a little more persistent than Karasuno had been. Osamu glanced over at his brother and Hinata, arms looped around each other’s sides as they chattered excitedly with Gin before the team did its end of game ceremonies.

Yeah, Inarizaki had been more persistent. Hinata and Atsumu wouldn’t allow for anything less.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of white and gold jersey, Fukurodani playing their next match. It looked early game, so maybe after he grabbed something to eat he could take the time to return the favor to Akaashi. Osamu felt the corners of his mouth curl up — he was pretty sure he saw a few of those white puffy jackets courtside during the first set.

After the end of match ceremonies were all said and done, just as the teams were dispersing after shaking hands, Kageyama called out to Atsumu and Hinata. Osamu paused, turning to watch the exchange with some confusion. Osamu had kind of gotten the impression during the game that Kageyama was one of those socially awkward kids who kept to themselves for the most part.

Atsumu was his usual greasy self. “Ah, Tobio-kun. Ya wanna give us extra special congratulations for our victory?” Osamu rolled his eyes. It was like his brother was angling to get Kageyama to call him senpai or something equally gross.

Kageyama jerked his head in a short bow, a pinch between his brows — though maybe that was just his face. “It was a good game, Miya-san.”

Atsumu grinned, waving a hand in front of his face. “Yeah, yeah. I know. Y’know I said ya can call me Atsumu, right?”

Kageyama looked at Atsumu, blinked once, before ignoring that comment to look at Hinata. Osamu smothered a snort, curious as to what the most socially awkward first-year could possibly have to say to their most prosocial one.

“Hey, runt.”

Hinata and Atsumu both bristled — and ah, maybe Kageyama wasn’t just awkward and he was a bit of a bastard too. Hinata balled his hands into fists, shaking one at Kageyama through the net. “I told you my name is Hinata Shouyou!”

Atsumu’s patented mean guy smile was spreading across his face. Goddamned, Osamu was gonna have to go intervene, wasn’t he? Wouldn’t do for Atsumu to get kicked out of the tournament for hitting another player. “If ya can’t be nice be nice, Tobio-kun, then—”

Kageyama still only had eyes on Hinata, a small intent smirk pulling at one corner of his mouth. “You move pretty fast.”

Atsumu looked apoplectic. Osamu knew his brother hated being ignored more than anything. Hinata’s expression was still thunderous, glowering across the net at Kageyama. “Yeah?”

Kageyama lifted his chin. “I guess you could probably keep up with me.”

Hinata’s lip curled. Osamu never really saw him this antagonistic. A continuation of their interactions on the court earlier. “Yeah?”

“Maybe one of these days you can deserve my sets.” And with that Kageyama turned on his heel walking off the court, joined by their tiny little blond-haired manager, looking over her shoulder at them deeply concerned. Smart of her. Because Osamu was pretty sure Atsumu might explode—

While Hinata looked equal parts baffled and offended, seething a half growled “D-deserve?” between his teeth, Atsumu looked shocked and afraid and maybe a bit downright murderous. Like someone had just threatened to take away his favorite thing in the world. The last time Osamu had seen Atsumu like that—

Wait.

Osamu blinked, jerking his head back. That didn’t make sense.

The last time Osamu had seen that particular expression on Atsumu’s face, they had been twelve and their coach at the time had announced that Osamu would be playing setter in an upcoming game. It was a mix of utter betrayal and frustration, anger, and resentment — but underneath all of that was fear. Something that Osamu didn’t realize until much later, after Atsumu had taken his destined spot as setter. It was a fear born of not getting to have the one thing he wanted most in the world. The one thing he loved above all else.

Atsumu wanted to be setter so bad that when Osamu got it first, his brother’s heart broke into pieces, and he was fucking mad about it.

So why the heck was that same goddamn expression on his face right now? ‘Cause Kageyama wanted to toss to Shouyou-kun?

Why would—

There ain’t anything Atsumu loves as much as volleyball.

Osamu felt his eyes widen, undoubtedly cartoonishly, with the force of his realization. He watched as Atsumu threw an arm around Hinata’s shoulder, both of them complaining to each other about what a salty jerk Kageyama was, turning to walk off the court towards Osamu.

“Oi, ‘Samu, quit gawkin’. We got food to eat. Yer favorite.”

Osamu waved a vague hand at his brother, watching Atsumu and Hinata walk away, their heads bowed together as they continued complaining at each other.

There ain’t anything Atsumu loved as much as volleyball. Except maybe Shouyou-kun.

Holy shit.

Suna eventually came to collect him. Osamu stood on the edge of the court so long, the next game’s teams were starting to spill out around him to warm up.

“Suna,” Osamu wheezed as he pulled on his jacket, staring at his friend, wild-eyed. “Suna, I think ‘Sumu is in love with—”

Suna shoved a hand into his face, eventually settling for clamping it down over Osamu’s mouth. Suna gave a long suffering sigh, eyeing him like he was looking at a particularly disappointing grade-schooler. “I told you this like a year ago.”

Osamu batted Suna’s hand away before thrusting his fingers into his own hair. He stared at nothing as Suna led him out of the gymnasium. “I didn’t think it’d happen. I didn’t think it was possible.”

“I know.” Suna gave him a too hard pat on the shoulder. “You and your brother are both fucking idiots.”

“Wait! Does ‘Sumu know?” Osamu needed to know desperately. What was he supposed to do with this information? Oh god, what if Atsumu and Hinata kissed!? Gross.

Suna rolled his eyes, shoving Osamu out into the hallway to join their team. “Never mind, Atsumu is right. He’s the smarter twin.”

Chapter Text

On November 3rd of 2012, volleyball became a whole lot less interesting for Sakusa Kiyoomi.

Sakusa’s relationship with volleyball had always felt quite tenuous when he was a kid. It was fine. It was even periodically interesting — there were new things to learn and master, people to beat, plays to try. There was his ever-increasing growth curve. The more serves, spikes, and receives he made, the better and better he got. Small gains accumulated gradually over time.

Volleyball had been satisfying, but it had never been truly fun for him.

Not until he met Ushijima Wakatoshi when he was twelve years old.

Until that moment of his first ever loss at the hands of a handsome, stoic young boy who was better than Sakusa in almost every way that mattered, Sakusa had never truly been invested in volleyball. He was good at it, this he knew. But he would never go so far as to say he loved volleyball. That it was fun.

One boy, with his well-maintained hands and his neatly folded pocket hanky were all it took for Sakusa to finally fully commit himself to volleyball. He had a purpose. A new zeal. A driving fire in his stomach to catch up to and surpass Ushijima. Practicing hours upon hours, dragging Komori with him to the gym to try new things.

All that hard work paid off by the time he was fifteen. He attended Itachiyama, seeking a team that could help him overcome the overwhelming force of Shiratorizawa. They did that and so much more, though nothing could quite beat that perfect moment of triumph that was finally winning over Ushijima. Getting to see his rare and fiery competitive smile that Sakusa earned.

Since entering high school, Sakusa had only lost one match — the finals of his first ever Nationals tournament held in Kyoto that year. Itachiyama earned second, and Sakusa redoubled his efforts so that it would never happen again.

It had felt like a no-brainer when both he and Komori were invited to the All-Japan Youth Camp — something Sakusa might almost say he’d been eagerly anticipating. A full year of attending high level training camps, getting to practice with and against Wakatoshi-kun. Sakusa honestly couldn’t think of a better way to spend his time.

Sakusa had long thought that nothing felt quite as good as beating Ushijima — that was until he was able to play on the same side of the net as Ushijima. Working together to become an unstoppable force was a sensation Sakusa would never be able to forget — it was going to be a high he chased for the rest of his life, he was sure of it.

Given that the only two people he knew at camp — outside of a passing acquaintance with a very irritating Miya twin — were Komori and Ushijima, Sakusa felt no compunctions about staying close to Wakatoshi-kun, lest he had some wisdom or ideas to impart. Though Ushijima was frequently rather pensive, it didn’t bother Sakusa at all. In fact, he could honestly say that he much preferred Ushijima’s quiet and contemplative company more so than his cousin’s.

Halfway through the camp Komori pulled him aside to point out that maybe he was clinging a little too hard to Ushijima — that Sakusa bafflingly reminded him of some lost, little duckling. Sakusa found that quite insulting and chose to ignore any other distractions Komori might try to toss his way. Not when he would much rather be getting to know his greatest rival of all time.

There weren’t still other irritants outside of Komori to deal with at these quarterly camps. It would be one thing if they were just prickly loud mouths, but no, they needed to be unmanageably competitive about it too. Sakusa chose to ignore it when Komori pointed out they were all just loud about what Sakusa was quiet about.

At the first camp after Inter-High Nationals last September, Sakusa had fully anticipated Miya Atsumu to accost him, flailing about for some sort of insult and declaration that next time Inarizaki was going to kick Itachiyama’s ass, or something equally juvenile. It was what he did during their first ever camp in December 2011 when they’d still been first years, attempting to sour Sakusa’s overall excitement at finally getting to attend camp with Ushijima.

Instead, Atsumu walked into the Ajinomoto Training Center, headphones in, looking absolutely normal and like he wasn’t aiming to pick any fights. Sakusa immediately had his guard up. That was wrong and did not meet his anticipated model of Atsumu’s behaviour in the slightest.

Worse yet, Hoshiumi, who up until that point had been a relatively steady, if intense, force on the court — mostly keeping to himself, immediately descended upon Atsumu during warm ups. “How is Hinata Shouyou doing?”

Each head was made to swivel around to watch the interaction. Partly because Hoshiumi did not believe in volume modulation, and partly because there wasn’t a person attending camp who wasn’t aware of Inarizaki’s ‘Fever Boy’, too stupid to take care of himself, falling in the middle of a match. The same one who’d upset Wakatoshi-kun during Nationals, as if he had any right to breathe the same air as Ushijima.

Sakusa watched Atsumu’s face relax and open into a wide and genuine smile — it was sickening, seeing such an open and vulnerable expression on Atsumu’s face. Where was the condescension? The mean-spirited competitiveness? The manic glee of volleyball? The warm, gooey expression on Atsumu’s face as he explained to Hoshiumi just how great ‘Shouyou-kun’ was doing was enough to make Sakusa want to vomit.

Sakusa noticed Ushijima, stretching at his side, was watching the exchange between Hoshiumi and Atsumu with some interest. He figured Ushijima had already seen enough of this kind of behaviour, attending summer camp with Inarizaki. Sakusa could only imagine the indignity of needing to be friendly with someone like Hinata Shouyou and his fanboys after his behaviour at Nationals.

“You’d think he’d get bored talking for so long about one kid who can’t even take care of himself,” Sakusa remarked dryly.

Ushijima blinked, slowly turning to look at Sakusa, expression pensive. “Hinata Shouyou?”

Sakusa nodded, trying to convey with his eyebrows how stupid he figured the topic was.

Ushijima blinked at him again, a slight smile pulling up one corner of his mouth, making Sakusa’s heart skip a beat. “Hinata Shouyou is more interesting than you think.” Ushijima turned, sinking back into his stretch.

Sakusa stared at him speechless, a hundred different questions bubbling up his throat and sitting on the tip of his tongue. First and foremost, what the hell had happened at that camp?

After his stretch was finished, Ushijima turned to look at Sakusa once more, that tilt of his mouth the competitive grin Sakusa knew and loved so much. “Do not underestimate Hinata or he will take you unaware.”

Sakusa reeled back, feeling like Ushijima had unwittingly offended him for the first time — not that Ushijima had insulted him, but because some upstart sick boy had apparently wormed his way into Wakatoshi-kun’s regard. Ridiculous. Disgusting.

Irritating.

Sakusa now wished that he had taken more time to enjoy their final camp together in September. That he had known it would be the last time he would see Ushijima until the Youth National team try-outs in April the following year, which felt like forever from now. Sakusa had just naturally assumed, as it had been true the entire time Ushijima had been in high school, that Shiratorizawa would represent Miyagi on the national stage. Sakusa would see Ushijima once more, get to play against him — get to win.

Instead, on November 2nd, 2012, Shiratorizawa was knocked out by a dark horse no one saw coming. Worse yet, Sakusa was made to deal with the first year setter who was partly responsible the following month — flippantly pointing out that yes, Karasuno had won, despite Ushijima playing at his best.

No one could blame Sakusa for finding himself losing interest in volleyball, just a little. It wasn’t as if Ushijima was the only reason Sakusa played volleyball, but he was certainly the one person who made it most fun for him.

So perhaps Sakusa came into the All-Japan camp with a chip on his shoulder. And maybe he was actively dreading playing what felt like some pretty meaningless volleyball in the upcoming Spring Nationals. The only thing he was looking forward to in the upcoming year was the Youth National try-outs, and those were a despicably long way away.

So perhaps that was why Sakusa found himself unable to bear another second of Miya Atsumu gloating about ‘Shouyou-kun’. Every time Sakusa heard that name he remembered the competitive tilt to Ushijima’s mouth, the light in his eyes. Remembered a stupid boy falling in a game he shouldn’t have been playing in.

Remembered that another unexpected force had surprised Ushijima. Just like Karasuno had.

Perhaps, maybe something about that stupid little sick boy who Atsumu couldn’t shut the fuck up about had something to do with Ushijima being unable to focus on winning like he was supposed to.

Perhaps it was unreasonable to blame one stupid little first year. Sakusa didn’t care.

His heart was broken, and he was mad about it.

After he’d dropped the apparently shocking bombshell on Atsumu that yes, he was in love with Hinata Shouyou, obviously, Komori tried to scold him.

“You know that wasn’t very nice, Kiyoomi.” Komori was stuffing his things haphazardly into his suitcase, in a way that made Sakusa want to grind his teeth. “Besides, I wanted to know more about what Atsumu knew about Inunaki Shion.”

Sakusa rewrapped his toiletries case, satisfied that his toothbrush was dry enough to be stored for the night, not looking at Komori, nor bothering to acknowledge his cousin’s stupid crush on an old Libero neither of them would likely ever get to play. Who cares? “If it gets him to shut his trap about his teammate, I don’t particularly care how nice it was.”

Komori heaved a sigh, leaning back against the wall of his bunk, squinting at Sakusa. He was gearing up for a lecture, was he? “Kiyoomi—”

“Spare me.” Sakusa ripped his neatly tucked blanket off the bed and threw himself down onto the mattress, turning his back on his cousin. “I’m not in the mood.”

Komori sighed again, grumbled something about ‘never being in the mood’, before shuffling over to flick off the lights. Sakusa heard him get into his own bed and roll onto his stomach. Sakusa stared at the wall in front of him, waiting for sleep to overtake him, needing it to mute the shattered thing beating weakly in his chest.

He was never really going to be happy ever again, was he?

~~~

Spring Nationals. Looking out over the crowds of teams and fans flooding the concourse, the halls, the very stadium itself, Sakusa found he struggled to even feel as disgusted as he normally would. The press of bodies and the eyes tracking him and his supposed notoriety were usually all he could feel for the first few days of nationals before teams were thinned out, like a plant in desperate need of pruning.

Now, all Sakusa felt was nothing.

...Well, maybe not quite nothing, but everything certainly had a muted edge to it. He still despised the opening ceremonies. And he found the first day as tedious as usual without a match to distract him. Playing in a game would probably help take the edge off considerably.

Only it didn’t. After their first game, first thing in the morning on the second day, Sakusa could still feel a telltale itch under his skin that nothing was helping.

Volleyball had never made him feel so misanthropic before.

Sakusa couldn’t believe he still had another whole year of this rigamarole to deal with. Two Prefectural Qualifiers, Inter-High Nationals, and Spring Nationals a year from now to go before he and his volleyball career could be put out of their misery. If Komori would never forgive him for it, Sakusa might just up and quit after this tournament .

And the national team try-outs. Don’t forget about the national team try-outs.

He could play with Wakatoshi-kun again. He just needed to wait.

It was only Spring Nationals that felt utterly pointless and stupid.

“Oi, Kiyoomi!” Komori’s voice cut through his thoughts, making Sakusa look up from his spot far down the concourse, tucked neatly into a wall. Komori waved from a few feet away, which was also pointless and stupid — Sakusa could clearly see him. “Let’s go watch the Inarizaki match.”

Sakusa’s response was instantaneous. “No.”

Komori took a few crowding steps closer, round little eyebrows pinching on his forehead. “We should go watch them because they’re our biggest competition this year.”

“I don’t care,” Sakusa said tightly, leaning further back into his corner, not quite touching the wall. “I’ve already seen them play — I don’t need to keep watching them.”

Komori gave an exasperated eyeroll. “First, you don’t know how much they’ve improved over the last few months, and—” Komori’s eyes narrowed calculatingly. “We haven’t seen them all play.”

Sakusa looked back at his cousin fatly. “Spare me your weird little fixation on Inunaki Shion.”

During their December All-Japan camp, Komori had finally managed to corner Atsumu over breakfast to grill him for as many details as he could about Inunaki. Sakusa had the misfortune of them sitting at his table while they did so. Komori peppered Atsumu with dozens of questions, all while Atsumu sat there staring into the middle distance looking like more of a slack-jawed, country rube than he already was. Sakusa might’ve said he looked a bit shellshocked.

The only moderately useful information Atsumu could impart to Komori, eyes never leaving the far wall across the cafeteria was, “Ask Shouyou-kun. Wan-san trained him special.”

Sakusa had never seen his cousin so fixated before — from the moment they stepped into Tokyo Metropolitan Gymnasium, Komori was like a Hinata-seeking-missile, constantly on the lookout for a mop of orange hair to ask his myriad of libero fanboy questions. It was utterly disgraceful and downright stupid. What could one fever-laden boy from Inter-High Nationals, possibly have to teach Komori? Or anyone, really?

If Sakusa took a certain, specific kind of malicious glee in the knowledge that many people at the tournament were quietly referring to Hinata Shouyou as ‘Fever Boy’, he didn’t say anything about it. Merely smirked under his mask, letting the terrible nickname make him feel just a modicum better.

Komori had blown out his cheeks, giving Sakusa a squinty-eyed look before he shrugged, arms in the air in capitulation. “Fine, fine I’ll leave you to your little baby sulk in the corner.” Sakusa knew exactly what he was doing, but it didn’t stop the thread of irritation from winding up his spine. “I just heard from Ushijima-san himself that he personally trained with Atsumu-kun and that little guy — I bet he learned an awful lot of cool things.”

It wasn’t going to work. Komori and his self-satisfied egging on couldn’t work when Sakusa knew it was coming. The only reason why he stepped away from the wall was because the air was getting stuffy over here and it would do him some good to get a walk in — and it may as well be productive. He could see a thing or two. Komori need not look so self-satisfied that Sakusa was following after him.

They found Inarizaki in the main gym, Court 2, and two courts away it looked like Karasuno was having the fight of their lives against Nekoma. Sakusa looked down at the sea of black uniforms, easily picking out the players of interest — they’d done him the courtesy of having absolutely ridiculous hair colours, after all.

They watched two rallies from on high before Komori broke the silence. “They’re playing well.”

“Hnn.”

Komori leaned forward on the concrete railing, small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “The little guy, his receives have gotten pretty good.”

Sakusa didn’t feel the need to address that with an answer, so he didn’t. Hinata’s receives were adequate. Where someone ought to be if they were going to play on the national stage. They weren’t anything special.

“Ooooh! He’s coming up for a serve.” Komori leaned forward further, and Sakusa briefly wondered if he should pull his cousin back, before Komori made the stupid decision to touch the railing, brushing countless disease-laden germs onto his track suit.

Below them Hinata approached the service line, a lone trumpet playing something in the background, smacking a plain ass beginner’s serve. Sakusa clicked his tongue, utterly disgusted. Wakatoshi-kun trained with that?

Komori was giving him an amused side eye. “Aww, you jealous cause the lone trumpet sounds cool, Kiyoomi?”

Sakusa didn’t feel the need to dignify that with an answer, glowering down at the court below them. Inarizaki earned the point — Sakusa had wondered if perhaps the basic serve had meant to target the setter for the first touch, but he very much doubted some creature like Hinata could be capable of such thinking. He was like an untamed beast.

On the court, Hinata gestured something at Inarizaki’s brass band as he lined up for his next serve, a few steps away from the line this time. The music started up — only it wasn’t just one trumpet like before. It was a trumpet leading a series of other instruments on a bunch of different loops and twists. Sakusa might have said the music was ‘joyful’.

Komori was staring at the band, wide-eyed. “Cooool!”

Courtside, near the tail end of his allotted serve time, Hinata tossed the ball up ridiculously high and then moved forward — was he doing an approach like he would for a spike? On his serve? Hinata leapt, stupid high, smashing the ball with as much force as his tiny frame could muster, firing the ball into the opposing teams backcourt. Service ace.

Sakusa wasn’t the only one who hadn’t expected that.

“Woah-ho!” Komori cried next to him, a big stupid grin on his face. “Who knew the little guy had it in him?”

Sakusa glowered down at where Hinata was getting his hair mused by Atsumu. “It was just okay.” It was a waste of energy was what it was. And undignified. Why waste so much energy on a serve when he ought to focus on spiking and receives? The little fool was likely going to tucker himself out.

Again.

Komori elbowed him in the side, making Sakusa jerk away with a snarl. “Don’t be jealous, Kiyoomi, just ‘cause he looked awfully cool with the music backing him up.”

Sakusa rolled his eyes. As if he would ever be jealous of something like that. Even if he did kind of find himself hoping they’d play that tune again. It sounded almost familiar...

It wasn’t jealousy that Sakusa was feeling over the next couple of days as he was made to hear more and more about “Hinata Shouyou!” If anything, he was a bit miffed that he could no longer take a malicious glee in people referring to him as ‘Fever Boy’ — because now everyone was talking about the tiny little spiker from Inarizaki and just how cool they thought he was.

The general consensus from fans and other teams alike was that Hinata was scrappy. The scrappiest on a team of already scrappy players.

In between games on Third Day Hell, Sakusa had gotten so fed up with the crowd around him singing Hinata’s praises that he’d actually ventured outside for some fresh air. He’d missed the Inarizaki versus Karasuno match — his own taking place at the same time. Apparently Hinata’s performance had been heart racing for enough fools that most of the concourse was abuzz with how exciting a player they found him.

Stepping out into the cold air, Itachiyama winter jacket and his own scarf fixed around him, Sakusa felt he could finally breathe again. It was absolutely ridiculous for people to be hero-worshiping some idiot who didn’t even know how to take care of himself. The only reason why they were doing it was because stupid Karasuno — who had just been knocked out themselves — had inexplicably triumphed over a more deserving team back in Miyagi.

If Ushijima were here, they’d all be talking about him. Like he deserved. And not some ridiculous, tiny, casual about his own health, upstart—

Who was sitting on a low wall a few feet away from Sakusa. He nearly jumped in surprise at seeing the little bastard, eyes closed, spine ramrod straight as he— as he what? What the hell was Hinata doing? Outside? In nothing but his track jacket and a scarf to insulate him from the cold.

Who just came outside to sit by themselves like a complete and utter creep?

Sakusa blinked, realizing that thought might also apply to him. But he’d come for fresh air and some alone time. Not to creepily take an upright nap. He was so distracted by his thoughts, staring at the unmoving form a few meters away from him that he didn’t notice someone coming up behind him.

“Whatcha doin’, Omi-kun?”

Sakusa flinched, turning his head to look over his shoulder at Miya Atsumu. If Sakusa could name the expression, he’d say it was antagonistically curious — an expression only Atsumu would be capable of pulling off.

“Nothing.”

Atsumu looked skeptical, thrusting his hands into his pockets, breath puffing in front of his face in the cold air. “Ya better not be thinkin’ about interruptin’ Shouyou-kun’s meditation, ‘cause then you n’ me are gonna have words.”

Meditation, huh? How incongruous.

Sakusa cocked an unimpressed eyebrow at him. “Is that so?”

Atsumu’s face stretched into his most pleasant, fakest smile. “Mhmmmmm.”

Sakusa couldn’t believe this moron hadn't been aware of his own feelings up until a few weeks ago. “I came outside for a breath of fresh air, but I can see now that the air out here is even more disgusting than inside.”

Atsumu’s grin spread wider, flashing teeth. “Yer always just the sweetest, aintcha?”

Sakusa scoffed, turning on his heel to walk back inside. Would he never be rid of goddamned Inarizaki and their number one, most specialest boy, Hinata Shouyou?

Apparently not. It wasn’t even twenty four hours later, a short while before their semi-finals match against Fukurodani, that Sakusa was forced to interact with the small bastard again.

“Have you seen Komori?” Iizuna asked him, brows knit with something approaching concern. Itachiyama was getting settled into the locker rooms semi-finalists were given. With any luck and an awful lot of hard work, they’d have the same room for tomorrow’s finals match.

Sakusa looked up from where he was wiping down his locker stall to shrug his shoulders at his captain. “No.”

“It’s not like him to just disappear right before warm ups.” Iizuna’s eyes scanned the room, taking stock of the team around them.

“Warmups aren’t for another hour and half.” Sakusa pointed out.

Iizuna sighed, hands on his hips. “Do you mind going to look for him? He’s not answering his phone.”

Sakusa honestly did not understand why his captain was always so jittery before big games. He’d been a nationally ranked athlete for nearly six years — champions at the high school level four times. “I’m not going to go look for him in every washroom in the entire stadium.”

“Just—” Iizuna sighed, giving Sakusa the kind but firm captain eyes. Had Sakusa not decided at twelve years old he was in love with Ushijima, it would have been one of many reasons he’d have given Iizuna his heart. “Sakusa, can you please just do a loop? For me?”

Sakusa scowled down at the alcohol wipe in his hand. He already knew his answer. “Fine.”

Which is how he found himself walking around the stupid fucking concourse looking for his stupid fucking absentee cousin. He didn’t have to go very far actually. As Sakusa was making his way around the curved corner towards one of the numerous ‘rest’ areas, he could overhear Komori’s laugh ring out down the hallway.

Eugh, he was off making friends. Of course.

Sakusa rounded the corner, ready to give Komori a flat and rude ‘let’s go’ without acknowledging whoever the hell his cousin had decided to befriend today, when he pulled up short. Sakusa stared in an abject sort of horror at the sight before him: his cousin tipping his head back and laughing, hand reaching out to hold the shoulder of the person who undoubtedly just made him laugh.

Hinata Shouyou.

For fuck’s sake, was Sakusa ever going to be rid of him?

Komori curbed his chuckling, a grin smeared across his face. “So when she talked about butter volleyballs, did she—” Komori blinked, finally noticing Sakusa. “Oh! Hey, Kiyoomi!”

Sakusa grimaced as he watched Hinata’s head cant from looking up at Komori to looking across the little seating area at Sakusa, all wide-eyed innocence. Sakusa clenched his fists in his track jacket pockets, contemplating just walking away and telling Iizuna he couldn’t find his useless traitor of a cousin and leaving it at that.

“Don’t be rude, come say hello.” Komori beamed, smacking Hinata on the shoulder. “Hinata Shouyou, this is my grumpy cousin, Sakusa Kiyoomi.” Komori’s smile tilted mischievously, knowing full well Sakusa would rather catch the flu than have a conversation with Inarizaki’s most specialest small bastard. “Kiyoomi, this is Hinata Shouyou. But you already knew that, huh?”

Komori had found it very funny last summer upon Sakusa's offense on Ushijima’s behalf when Hinata had picked a fight with him.

Sakusa didn’t move. But that didn’t matter, Hinata was suddenly wearing a megawatt smile that probably should have hurt his cheeks, aiming it directly at Sakusa. “Hi, Sakusa-san! It’s nice to meet you. I’ve heard a ton about you.”

Sakusa scowled at him. Komori waved a hand in front of his face, giving Hinata a conspiratorial wink. “Don’t listen to everything people tell you about him. He’s grumpy, but he’s a lot nicer than most people give him credit for.”

Sakusa gave his tongue a disgusted cluck, contemplating just walking away. Who cared? Not him. No, he’d go back to his locker stall, finish wiping it down and then focus on nothing but volleyball until he could go to sleep that night—

“Oh, I know that. Ushijima-san only ever says nice things about Sakusa-san.” Hinata gave Komori a warm smile.

Sakusa froze, feeling his jaw unlock in surprise — he hadn’t realized he’d been clenching it. He stared a bit dumbly at Hinata, unable to even process the gleeful expression on Komori’s face as he asked, “What kind of things, Hinata-kun?”

Sakusa found himself taking a few steps forward, unbidden. What kind of things, indeed.

“Oh, hmm. Like how you always work hard, and you’re the best volleyball player in the country, and that he wants to beat you, and...” Hinata squinted, lips pinching as he tried to recall. “That he wished he’d gotten to play against you one more time.”

Sakusa sucked in a breath, his chest feeling tight. A liar. He was a fucking liar. When would Wakatoshi-kun have possibly told him that. “When?”

Komori blinked, surprised at his tone. The amusement slid from his face, and Sakusa knew he was preparing to intervene before Sakusa did something too mean to a stupid, little first year, unable to mind his own business.

“Oh, in December. I got invited to a training camp at Shiratorizawa and I stayed in the dorms there.” Hinata’s grin bloomed wide, his eyes crinkling. “I got to see Ushijima-san, and Tendou-san, and the others a bunch.”

“Oh.”

Sakusa tried to ignore how relieved Komori looked. The tension in his muscles let go gradually, a sense of calm overtaking him.

“Yup,” Hinata beamed. “He made me promise to kick your butt though, so watch out.”

Sakusa blinked in surprise, Hinata’s happy little grin spreading into something a little more feral and competitive. What a strange little creature this was. Sakusa was about to say as much when a chorus of female voices washed over them. The next thing Sakusa knew they were boxed into their corner of the seating area, surrounded on all sides by a women’s team, looking wilted and sweaty from their own game.

Sakusa felt an instantaneous spike of anxiety as the girls around them started crowding into their space, tossing themselves down on chairs, dropping their Niiyama bags and coats across the seating area. Sakusa frantically glanced back at where he’d been standing a minute ago, to find his exit blocked off by two girls, their legs splayed out. They were trapped. Sakusa felt his heart start to thrum in his neck.

“Aw, hell,” Komori muttered, head swiveling around, looking for the easiest exit.

The worst of it though was that it was Hinata fucking Shouyou, standing there staring up at him, eyes all wide and innocent. Curious. No judgement yet — but Sakusa could just imagine the awful fucking giggle fit Atsumu was going to have when Hinata told him later about Sakusa’s weakness and building panic attack. Boxed in, sweaty bodies, no escape. Sakusa was absolutely weak.

It was going to be a funny little story, wasn’t it? All of Inarizaki was sure to laugh.

And then something in Hinata’s expression shifted, just a little. He whipped around, hopping up to stand on one of the nearby coffee tables, startling the girls around him. He pointed to the far side of the hallway where a pair of fashionably dressed men in knit hats were walking away from them.

“Holy crap!” Hinata’s shout was shrill, grabbing everyone’s attention, making them stare up at him, and then following where his finger was pointing. “Is that international best selling recording artist and actor MatsuJun!?”

All heads now swiveled to look at where Hinata was pointing. And then several of the Niiyama girls team looked at each other, seemingly to silently communicate, before most of them were scrambling to their feet and peeling off down the hallway towards the two men who’d just disappeared — despite their visibly irritated captain’s shouts.

When they were gone, leaving only a flustered manager to look after their things, Hinata leaned back, tipping his head back to look down at Komori and Sakusa, a lopsided little grin on his face. “I can’t believe that actually worked.”

Something about the heroic action, the lopsided smile, and Hinata standing taller than them, looking down at Sakusa warmly, had Sakusa’s heart do a small little unintended doki doki.

What the fuck.

Hinata’s eyes flicked to Sakusa’s, the amused tilt of his mouth widening, and Sakusa’s heart did it again. Fuck. Hinata was opening his mouth to say something, eyes warm, but a voice called from across the concourse.

“Hey! Hey! Hey! Hinata!”

And just like that Hinata’s slow and easy smile that made him look so cool and a little heart racing abruptly shifted into a wide and open mouthed grin. A more expected expression on his face. He whirled, arms thrown above his head. “Bokuto-san!”

Hinata shifted, ready to make a beeline towards where Bokuto and it looked like their setter, Akaashi were standing, before he paused, rocking forward on his toes to look back at Komori and Sakusa. “It was nice meeting you! Inunaki-san said he’d be coming to the finals, so I’ll try to introduce you.” Hinata’s eyes slid to Sakusa and something in them burned him, making his heart thump in his chest once more. “So you better win. I wanna beatcha there.”

And with that, Hinata practically skipped away, arms in the air as he squawked a delighted greeting at Bokuto. Sakusa watched them interact, the two of them bouncing on their toes as they exclaimed loudly at each other. Extremely unappealing, the both of them.

Komori’s fingers brushed his elbow. “We should probably skedaddle before the girls team comes back.” Sakusa grunted, following his cousin out of the seating area, the two of them walking back towards their locker room.

Sakusa cast one last look over his shoulder at Hinata, in the middle of an overblown spiking motion as he explained some play or another to a delighted looking Bokuto. Sakusa didn’t fully understand what Atsumu saw in Hinata, but he also kind of, maybe just a little bit, did.

~~~

Itachiyama beat out Fukurodani by the thinnest margin — Sakusa couldn’t believe how on point Bokuto had been throughout the game. In his two years at Itachiyama, he had come up against Bokuto three times before: twice at Prefectural Qualifiers and once at Nationals in his first year. Bokuto had always struck him as a wildly inconsistent player incapable of playing through an entire game without his emotions vacillating — throwing his whole team off.

Not yesterday. Bokuto had led Fukurodani into taking the first set from Itachiyama, and helped drive up the score in the next two sets well into the thirties, before Itachiyama had managed to pull ahead to score the winning points.

It was enough to make Sakusa genuinely excited to watch the bronze medal game on the final day of Spring Nationals, prior to his own game against Inarizaki.

When it was finally his turn to step out onto the court for his third National Championship game of his high school career, Sakusa had the idle thought that perhaps this was almost boring for the spectators to watch — another Itachiyama versus Inarizaki match. Structure, disciple, effort versus freewheeling joy, or whatever the hell philosophy Inarizaki claimed to operate under. Inarizaki had won only two sets out of seven against Itachiyama in Sakusa’s time. The outcome felt inevitable, in its way.

During the warm up, his gaze trailed across the net and he made eye contact with perhaps the only unknown variable on the whole court. Hinata flashed him a wide toothy grin.

He made me promise to kick your butt, so watch out.

Hmph. We’ll see.

Warmups completed, ceremonies finished, Sakusa made his way to the line for the first serve of the 2013 Spring Nationals Championship game. Looking out beyond the backs of his own team across the net at the anticipatory looks on Inarizaki’s faces, Sakusa could only hope they managed something interesting. In seven sets in the last two years, Inarizaki had never managed to keep Sakusa under three serves.

Spinning the ball in his hands, Sakusa thought starting the game on a service ace might be sufficiently acceptable. He tossed the ball up, took his three steps, lifted into the air, and wheeled his arm forward — wrist snapping at the end for a perfectly vicious spin.

The ball went sailing over the net, already curving slightly left of center, perfectly placed between where Atsumu and Hinata stood. Good, it was likely that— Hinata shifted, seemingly to flow through the air as Atsumu took off towards the net. What? The ball hit Hinata’s outstretched arms, lifting in a lovely little A-pass straight to the spot Atsumu was now occupying. The ball rocketed across court the moment it hit his fingers, straight into the waiting palm of Ojiro Aran.

Point for Inarizaki.

Itachiyama hadn’t even had time to react. Sakusa stared blankly across the court, watched Inarizaki celebrate, their libero scruffing Hinata’s hair as they shared grins. Sakusa’s entire team still seemed half-frozen. When was the last time Sakusa hadn’t started his serve with a service ace? Had it happened once since middle school?

Their coach called for them to shake it off, to secure the next point, but Sakusa still couldn’t believe what had just happened. Had— How had Hinata just picked that up like it was nothing? Even Komori had trouble with his serves now and again.

Speaking of his cousin, Komori rotated onto the court for Atsumu’s serve, smacking Sakusa’s shoulder as he went. “Snap out of it, Kiyoomi. You’ll get him next time.”

Sakusa blinked, before he nodded, sinking into a lower receive stance. Glowering across the net at Hinata’s eager little grin. Yes, the next one.

Only it wasn’t the next one. Nor was it the next one after that. Worse yet, it wasn't just Hinata who seemed particularly attuned to picking up Sakusa’s spikes. Their libero, Akagi, was even better, picking them up with more consistency, handing off even better passes than goddamned Hinata Shouyou.

Though Inarizaki fans need not worry, over the course of the first set, Hinata didn’t just show off his ability to pick up more than half of Sakusa’s spikes — to the point where Sakusa was beginning to avoid him, funneled into better defensive formations by Inarizaki. No, Hinata had also picked up on Hoshiumi’s most frustrating talent — something Sakusa was certain hadn’t been covered in the game tape they’d reviewed from Hyougo’s prefectural qualifier in November.

Hinata was particularly gifted at tooling blockers. The second time he did it, on Sakusa no less, he gave Sakusa such a saucy little wink, that Sakusa had turned to look behind him to make sure he had meant to aim that at him. He had, the smug little shit.

The real clincher though happened towards the end of the set, when a chance ball had Iizuna blasting a quick off the first touch at Sakusa from the back row. He had been certain that there was a perfect opening near the back right side of the court. He threaded the needle, the ball mere inches to contact with the ground — it would be enough to put Itachiyama at match point.

Only seeming to materialize out of thin air, Hinata took a flying leap, his hands finding their way under the ball — it had more than enough spin on it, there was no way from that position he should have been able to lift it, but lift it cleanly he did. Osamu got under it, sending the ball to his goddamn brother, Itachiyama’s blockers closing the gap too slowly. Atsumu scored.

The next play was something their team had been more or less aware of, but that they hadn’t honestly thought was a reliable tool in Inarizaki’s belt. A missed receive had the ball too close to the net, but as was typical, Hinata was already in the air, ready to spike. Sakusa watched his senpai leap up to close off the cross shot, leaving only the line where Komori was waiting.

Only Hinata barred his fucking teeth in a half manic grin, twisting in mid air and set the ball across court to where Miya fucking Osamu was waiting to spike the ball down, completely unchecked because who would have thought that play was possible? Inarizaki point.

Their coach called a time out at that moment, trying desperately to cut off Inarizaki’s momentum. Inarizaki was neck and neck with them at 24 - 24.

Iizuna sat on the bench, wiping his face with his towel, sending baffled looks towards the Inarizaki bench where they were still celebrating that ridiculous damned play. “That’s a bit of a problem.”

Their captain always was one for understating things.

Sakusa wiped at his face and hands, handing the towel off to their team manager once he was done, trying to move and slot pieces into a configuration to compensate for Hinata’s ability to apparently set with some accuracy. He was no Atsumu, nor was he an Osamu, but having three different people, fully capable of attacking, who could set on the court, was a problem. Their rotation in the next play would be—

“You okay, Kiyoomi?” Komori’s water bottle was hovering inches from his mouth, like the question had occurred to him mid sip.

Sakusa blinked down at him. “Yes?”

“Okay, it’s just you’re looking awfully,” Komori gestured between his brows to indicate a frown line, “pinchy.”

Sakusa took another sip of his water bottle, wiping it. “I’m thinking.”

Komori still looked a bit skeptical, but he shrugged. “Ooookay.”

It wasn’t just that Sakusa was thinking though. After they’d dropped the set to a stunning play by Suna two rallies later, Sakusa thought he might have figured it out.

The electricity buzzing through his limbs. The fire in his stomach. The downright savage glee he took in getting a spike or serve past Hinata. The time Sakusa managed to smash one of Hinata’s spikes back down into his face. The satisfaction at not being taken in by Hinata and his freakish decoy abilities.

Sakusa wanted to win.

He wanted to beat him.

After Itachiyama managed to take the second set, Sakusa thought he might even be having fun.

Komori told him as much. “It’s kinda nice seeing your creepy little weirdo grin when you’re playing again.”

Sakusa didn’t dignify that with an answer as they lined up for the third set, but he didn’t disagree. The feeling permeating his entire body truly put into contrast just how unfeeling and unexcited he had been all tournament long. Ever since he’d sent Ushijima a text message on November 3rd, asking his friend, his rival, the boy he’d idolized for five years, how he’d played; only to learn that he’d lost.

Watching Hinata and Atsumu come together for a high five as they hollered their excitement at one another after another scored point, Sakusa wondered if he was always going to feel like this going forward, or if this was a uniquely Inarizaki experience now.

Hinata flashed him a toothy grin through the net, eyes still and predator-like.

Sakusa found the corners of his mouth pulling up, glaring right back.

Or maybe this feeling was the work of one person in particular.

For the first time ever in a finals match, Itachiyama was in dire straits by the fourth set. Inarizaki picked up the first and third set. If they managed to take this one, it would be all over for them. The thought itself sent a thrill up Sakusa’s spine. This wasn’t just a game to show off their supremacy over every other team. They were fighting tooth and nail with every spike, block, and receive, just like anyone else in this tournament.

It was the most fun Sakusa had had in a game in what felt like forever.

The desperation in Iizuna’s sets. The grit of Komori’s teeth. The way Sakusa’s fingers tingled each time the balls hit his hands, either in a spike or a block.

He never wanted this to end.

Inarizaki fought back as hard as they could in the only way they knew how. Tooth and claw, shouted joy, snarled regret. Each point as they exchanged volleys across the net was hard-fought. Each one deserved. Inarizaki and their speed and willingness to try downright insane things in the middle of a game — there was no universe where Hinata Shouyou had ever done a limbo set like Atsumu was wont to do periodically. It scored them the point all the same, though Sakusa was sure that only happened because of Suna’s skill as a spiker, and not because Hinata had an excellent set from that angle.

In what felt like the two hundredth rally of the day, they were at a punishing 27 - 28 with Inarizaki leading off one of Atsumu’s goddamn setter dumps — looking all too pleased with himself. Itachiyama would not break, however; every time the ball came crashing down, whether at the hands of Hinata, Osamu, Aran, or Suna, they would pick it back up and try to secure their own point.

Sakusa finally got the ball off a beautiful pass from Iizuna and he drove his hand down, ready to cut through Inarizaki’s chances with a whip crack of a spike. Only their damned libero was there, the ball veering slightly off. The only one there to get the ball from out of bounds was Hinata.

Sakusa’s eyes flicked and in a half second he knew exactly who Hinata would send the ball to. He scrambled back and to the side, there just in time for Atsumu to spike the ball down. Sakusa picked it up, giving it to Iizuna to work a quick with their Vice Captain. Only the damned libero heroed himself again, picking this ball up — Sakusa was tired. This rally was endless. Exhausting. Too much.

Sakusa would not let them win.

Atsumu got the ball, and Hinata blasted off towards the net in the telltale motion of his broad attack, arms pumping, leg swinging in the air. Sakusa knew that Atsumu would use him. How could he not? Sakusa leapt, ready to funnel the spike to somewhere Komori could pick it up — only the ball didn’t go that far and Sakusa had committed himself. He was in the air. Instead Atsumu tipped it just off to the side, where Aran was laying in wait.

The block couldn’t form fast enough as Aran rocketed his arm back. Like the most powerful whip in the universe, Sakusa watched him make contact with the ball. It was almost as if in slow motion, the ball threaded through the collapsing block, a perfect trajectory just half a step out of Komori’s reach.

The ball hit the floor with an audible THAM.

Sakusa could barely hear the referee’s whistle, two blasts indicating the set was over. Another indicating the game was done. It was drowned out completely by the thunderous roar of the crowd.

Sakusa watched his teammates collapse to the ground around him, faces stricken. He found himself momentarily confused — why were they so sad? Didn’t they also just play the best volleyball game of their lives?

Sakusa looked across the net at the boy who pulled Sakusa’s block away from the center, the giddy and open smile on his face as he watched his team crash together in ecstasy. His eyes were shining. Sakusa watched large brown eyes flick to the side, where the scoreboard laid and a little micro-frown pinched his brows. Sakusa was confused as to why— didn’t he realize he just won?

Sakusa strained to hear him, but Hinata glanced up and over at him as he muttered, “Aw, but that was only four sets.” Before Sakusa watched him get smothered by half his team, absorbed into the mass of joyous volleyball players. The gymnasium cacophonous around them.

Sakusa watched them for another moment, before he turned back to his team, allowing himself a small huff of amusement.

There were ceremonies to have and disappointing medals to take, but when it was all said and done, Sakusa was going to find Hinata Shouyou. He was going to shake Hinata’s hand, looking him in the eye as he promised to beat his butt next year.

Sakusa found he was kinda looking forward to it.

~~~

Later, after the ceremonies were finished, they’d been awarded their second place medals, and he had given Hinata his promise, Sakusa drifted down the hallway after his team. He was ruminating on one of the best matches of his life. Perhaps the best?

“Yo, Kiyoomi.”

Sakusa lifted his head to find his cousin staring at him. He furrowed his brow, indicating he was listening.

Komori pursed his lips, squinting at him. “What’s up with you?”

“Hmm?”

Komori wrinkled his nose. “It’s just, we had our team meeting. We’re heading back to the bus.”

“And?” Sakusa asked, too tired to bother getting annoyed.

Komori was looking at him awfully funny. “And you haven’t put your mask back on yet? Are you feeling okay?”

Sakusa blinked, lifted his hand to his face in an aborted gesture, before curling his hand into a fist, and stuffing it into his pocket to pull out a fresh face mask. Once he donned it, he glanced at Komori, still regarding him skeptically for some reason.

“What?” Sakusa asked flatly.

“You’re also not as grumpy as you are usually after a game.” Komori leaned in close, eyebrows pinched together. “And we just lost the national title.” Whispered like it was a secret.

Sakusa tipped his head up, considering a moment, before he shrugged. “It’s fine.”

Komori stopped walking, just short of the doors leading outside. He gawked at Sakusa, lifting a shaking finger to point at him accusingly. “Fine!? Who are you and what have you done with my cousin?”

Sakusa gave him an annoyed look, before shoving through the doors. The team was already lining up to get on the bus. No one had better take his seat. It was only twenty minutes back to the school, but Sakusa swore if anyone foolishly thought to sit their dirty, sweaty ass down on his seat he’d—

“Kiyoomi!”

Sakusa stopped, giving Komori a long suffering look. “What?”

Komori squinted at him once more, standing a few steps above Sakusa so he was actually looking down at him. “Is this a weird ‘you’re depressed about Ushijima-san and I’m not supposed to talk about it’ thing?”

Sakusa pressed his lips into a line, before rolling his eyes. “No.” Then he kept walking because it was cold, he was still coated in sweat, and he didn’t want to catch a chill.

When he made it onto the bus, Komori scrambling in after him, he was pleased to see that his depressed teammates had elected not to sit in his spot. Unfortunately, Komori was apparently not done with him and felt entitled enough to take the spot next to Sakusa’s window seat.

A withering look had never been enough to deter Komori.

“Okay, you’re kinda freaking me out now. Should I come over for a sleepover? Your parents are out of town, and I don’t mind.” Komori was leaning unpleasantly close to Sakusa and he really wasn’t a fan.

Heaving a sigh, Sakusa gave Komori a flat look. “I’m fine. We lost, and I know exactly what I need to do to make sure I never lose again.”

Komori blinked. “Oh,” he replied, squinting. “You haven’t been very interested in extra practice for awhile though.”

Sakusa slid his gaze out the window to watch the Tokyo streetlights whiz by. “I am now. I have someone I need to beat again, after all.”

Not for the first time Sakusa was grateful he wore his mask so regularly, so that Komori couldn’t see the small smile tugging at his lips. Thoughts of that half feral grin flashed at him through the net and a streak of orange outpacing him on the court were going to be plenty of motivation in the next six months before he got to face Hinata Shouyou again.

The next time, Sakusa was going to be sure to beat him.

All around him bodies pressed together, fans, the brass band, the media, other teams. Hinata could even see Annika looming over the crowd, a broad smile on her face as she chatted with Akagi. There was confetti everywhere, Hinata found he almost kept slipping on it, the shiny plastic making the surface of the court they’d just won on slippery.

They won. They had won.

Inarizaki High — National Champions. The best high school team in all of Japan.

The moment kind of didn’t feel real. All the people — some of them crying, all of them smiling, surged around him in a rush. He’d had more hugs and shoulder pats and more hands scruffing his hair than Hinata was pretty sure he’d ever had in his life. Total.

Hinata nearly bumped into Gin and his girlfriend making out in the middle of the crowd. Off to the side he could see Riseki making moon eyes at Fumiko, who looked extremely embarrassed to be there, but no less happy.

It was amazing. It was overwhelming. Hinata was pretty sure he’d cried at some point. Though it was hard to know, maybe that was just sweat. A brief afterimage of Goshiki lunging at his face from a few weeks ago popped into his head, unbidden. That hadn’t been wanted at the time, but Hinata had to wonder how good it would feel to press his mouth against—

More hands gripped him and started pulling. Hinata never wanted to leave this loud hurricane of joy and happiness and triumph. Hinata tried to pull away, the golden medal dangling from his neck thumping against his chest. The hands were insistent. Then a puff of warm air on his neck had his spine tingling all funny and a voice said, “Shouyou-kun, c’mon.”

Hinata tilted his head up and to the side and found Atsumu grinning at him, his own gold medal catching the light. Hinata’s head still felt all fuzzy from all the happiness around him, but it was Atsumu, so he let himself be pulled. They exited the swirling mass of people — Hinata could see confetti in people’s hair.

Atsumu bumped his shoulder. “C’mon, we gotta go find Kita-san and Aran-kun. Coach wants to do a big team photo of everyone.” He tipped his head down, voice still loud so he could be heard through all the songs and cheers around them, “Can’t get started without the captains.”

Hinata nodded and allowed himself to be led away, still feeling dazed. Like he was drunk on victory. Is that a thing? They made their way out into the corridor and when the doors clattered shut behind them, Hinata was struck with how much cooler it was out here, and the way his ears rang at the absence of sound. He could still make out the muffled hum of joy leaking through the doorway.

Hinata lifted his head to find Atsumu watching him, looking punch-drunk amused. Hinata felt laughter bubbling up from his stomach into his throat. Not quite hysterical, just unfathomably happy. “Atsumu-san, we won.” He was breathless. He was too happy. He got to watch Aran and Kita and Akagi and Omimi crumple with tears and joy the moment Aran spiked that last point. Got to watch Atsumu and Osamu turn to each other, perfect mirrors for each other’s incandescent happiness. Suna standing stunned, looking out at the court like he couldn’t believe it, while Gin and Riseki and all the others crashed out onto the court screaming, tears already in their eyes.

Hinata wanted to live in those seconds forever.

Atsumu’s smile spread wider and wider, and Hinata didn't think he'd ever seen Atsumu this happy. The gold medal swinging from his neck almost matched his hair, Hinata thought half delirious. 'Cause gold suits him. It does. “Fuck yeah we did, Shouyou-kun.”

There was the familiar and welcome weight of Atsumu’s arm around his shoulders as they made their way into the corridor, feeling the cool air on their skin. Hinata looked down at the unfamiliar heaviness of gold on his chest and felt laughter finally escape his throat and curl his tongue — and it was not ‘cause it was funny. It was because it was the most amazing thing that had ever happened to him. And Atsumu was laughing too, their heads bowed together as they giggled and snorted and laughed, walking down the hallway looking for their captains.

They hadn’t had their debrief yet. Hinata thought it would be the best in the world. The best one ever. Hinata wondered if maybe they should get snacks. It just made him laugh harder, tears started to form in his eyes. He was tired, but he felt kinda euphoric, like he was floating in a swimming pool of pure joy.

Atsumu was still giggling, trying to get a hold of himself, the arm around Hinata’s shoulders tightened. “S-Shouyou-kun,” he gave a hissing little giggle through his teeth that made Hinata laugh harder, “Shhhh-shhhh. W-wait, lemme say somethin’.”

Hinata tried to control his face as they stopped walking near the end of the hallway, just before a turn off — what were they doing out here again? Hinata had trouble remembering. His brain was happy soup. His muscles ached so good, and Atsumu was trying to put a hand over his mouth where he kept peeling into laughter.

Finally, they both sighed deeply, calming enough. Their chests periodically shook as they caught their breaths. “Okay, lemme say it,” Atsumu repeated, his face not quite going serious. He was still warm, but Hinata was pretty sure Atsumu was about to mean every word out of his mouth.

“Shouyou-kun, we wouldn’t have gotten here without ya.” Hinata made a ‘nnnn’ sound in the back of his throat to disagree, but Atsumu held up a hand to cut him off. “I’m serious. Yer one of the reasons we got this far, and without ya—” Atsumu searched for words, eyebrows pinching. “Ya fuckin’ lift us all up, make us all so much better.”

Hinata felt his lips wibble a bit and he really, really, really, didn’t want to cry. Not now.

“Ya make us all play the best volleyball in the world, and—” Atsumu sucked in a breath, face going a little more serious, but no less warm. “And the fuckin’ best day of my life is when me n’ ‘Samu metcha.” Atsumu swallowed, his cheeks flushing, his eyes shining and Hinata just stared at him, feeling like his heart was going to explode in his chest.

“And I need ya to know—”

Atsumu was abruptly cut off by two very distinctive, very breathy chuckles from around the corner. They both blinked at each other, stunned, before they crept closer to take a look.

The sight that greeted them took Hinata a moment to fully parse. It was Aran and Kita. Only they were standing really close. Aran had his back up against the wall with Kita in front of him and they were hugging, only— they weren’t just hugging. Kita had his face tipped upwards, pale fingers pressed against Aran’s jaw. Their mouths were touching and— And they both looked so happy and consumed with each other and— the clink of Aran and Kita’s gold medals hitting each other snapped Hinata out of it.

He scrambled backwards, grabbing the back of Atsumu’s jersey as he went reeling back, tugging him further down the corridor. They stood staring at each other blankly for a moment, Atsumu’s eyebrows high on his forehead, before he let out a small guffaw. Hinata couldn’t help the slightly hysterical giggle that bubbled up his chest as he leaned forward to start laughing, trying to keep quiet, placing a hand on Atsumu’s shoulder for balance.

But the more they shushed each other, the harder they laughed, Atsumu pressing a hand into Hinata’s face to get him to stop, Hinata pushing right back, fingers grazing over his lips as they both tried to muffle their giggles.

“Didja know?” Atsumu finally hissed when they’d calmed enough. He’d trapped Hinata’s fingers in his larger hand, and something about that had Hinata’s brain go into full static mode.

Hinata blinked up at him. “No! Did you?”

Atsumu snorted, leaning backwards. He let Hinata's hand go — the loss of warm calloused palm making the air in the hallway feel even cooler. “Nah, I ain’t good at noticin’ that sorta thing.” Atsumu gave a wry smile and tipped his head to look back down the hallway where Aran and Kita were currently tucked away with each other, his profile in sharp relief under the fluorescents.

Hinata’s lips parted, his eyes caught on the sharp line of Atsumu’s jaw. Unbidden, the image of Kita’s fingers pressed to Aran’s jaw washed over Hinata’s brain like an overwhelming tidal wave. His fingers twitched with— Did he want to press his fingers there too? What would Atsumu’s jaw feel like? What would it feel like to breathe in Atsumu’s breath and—

“There ya are!” Atsumu called cheerfully, a teasing grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. Hinata jumped at the suddenness, turning to see Aran and Kita walk around the corner of the corridor. Aran looked absolutely flustered. Kita’s eyes widened but betrayed no other outward reaction.

“Was there something you two needed, Atsumu, Hinata-kun?” Kita asked, completely unbothered. That was when Hinata noticed he was holding Aran’s hand.

Atsumu grinned. “Coach wants a whoooole Inarizaki party photo. Ya comin’?” He gave Hinata a conspiratorial wink. Hinata just stared blankly back at him.

Aran eyed them both suspiciously before he shrugged, walking in step with Kita. Like he usually did. Only this time they were joined by their interlaced fingers. Atsumu laughed, holding up his hands like someone completely, totally, definitely innocent, and trailed after them, Hinata following in their wake.

Why exactly had he wanted to press his fingers to Atsumu’s jaw so bad? And why exactly did his mouth kinda taste like regret now because he hadn’t?

Chapter Text

Last August - After Summer Training Camp

Atsumu squinted up at the towering, only slightly lopsided, Hinata family outdoor net — much nicer to play when the ground was dusty and dry, sunbaked throughout the day, than it had been in the early spring. He slid a glance to look at Hinata, lips pursed.

“Well, I think yer tosses are gettin’ more consistent at least.”

Hinata’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I don’t need you to spare my feelings, Atsumu-san. Give it to me straight, what do I need to do?”

If it were anyone else, Atsumu would have bluntly just told them that their sets were shit and they should just give up and go home. But as it was Shouyou-kun who was tossing to him, Atsumu felt he owed his best friend a little more delicacy. The thing was, Atsumu wasn’t sure what the heck he could say to fix Hinata’s tosses. He’d hit about twenty of the thirty or so sets Hinata had put up, and it was hard for him to put a finger on what exactly was wrong with them.

No, that wasn’t true. Atsumu knew exactly what was wrong — too slow, the arc too high, too fast, short, too close to the net, and on and on.

Truth was, Atsumu just didn’t know how to fix those problems. He wasn’t very good at describing his own process. He knew exactly what he would do to fix it, but how did he explain the minute angles in fingers and the snap of a wrist to compensate when it was so goddamned innate to him? Muscle memory or some shit.

He’d been grateful last year when Aran, and then Kita and Akagi had joined their practices. Osamu was much the same as he was. There was a reason they mostly only did spiking practice — Hinata liked it, and it was the one thing Atsumu and Osamu didn’t really have to explain. Kita and Akagi and Aran were waaaaay better at explaining processes than Atsumu was.

Atsumu sucked on his teeth, looking back at the slightly lopsided angle of one of the poles, distending the net juuuust slightly off to the right — maybe that was his problem? He was getting distracted ‘cause the net angle was slightly off.

Behind him, Natsu sat on the veranda, kicking her legs as she sucked loudly from her straw, glowering at them from under her wide-brimmed straw sunhat. She stopped sucking when Hinata and Atsumu turned to look at her. “Whatever the problem is, can Atsumu start setting again?” Natsu wrinkled her nose, squinting at her older brother. “Your tosses stink, Nii-san.”

Hinata gasped, offended. “Natsu! That wasn’t very nice. If you can’t be nice, then you don’t get to play with us—”

Atsumu waved him off, feeling a smug smile pull at his lips. “Hey, what cannya say, Shouyou-kun? Yer sister’s got taste. If Nacchan wants to hit my tosses, I don’t see why... not...” He grimaced as he realized he’d used the overly familiar nickname for Natsu. She hated when he slipped up and did that. Would lord it over him, complain loudly. Call him gross and any other number of colourful insults she’d picked up from the local farm kids in the area.

He was going to get pelted with ice cubes again, wasn’t he? Atsumu turned with a grimace, an apology on the tip of his tongue as he faced Natsu. She was sitting rigid, drinking straw lifted halfway to her mouth, before she set her drink down. She looked down at him, as if from a throne, assessing his value. Natsu was definitely the more terrifying of the two Hinata kids, no matter what Suna said — he’d never even met Natsu, how the heck would he know what a terrifying menace this little girl was?

Finally, Natsu heaved a put upon sigh, delicately removing her sun hat and hopping down from the veranda. She gave Atsumu a haughty stare, before she jerked her head once in a nod. “You can call me Nacchan, so long as ya toss for me.” Her expression grew severe. “But only when you’re tossing.”

Atsumu bit the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning. Just nodded cooly like it was no big deal. Oh man, he was gonna rub this in ‘Samu’s face tonight, he was gonna be so jealous. Serves Osamu right for visiting Baa-chan when he could’ve been here, ingratiating himself to Natsu.

“Oi, Shouyou-kun.” Hinata was giving him an unimpressed look, which Atsumu soundly ignored. “Go play ball boy for us.” And then grinned wider at Hinata’s scoff, stumping over to the other side of the net to try and pick up all of Natsu’s spikes, muttering under his breath about ’my setting practice.’

They settled into a rhythm pretty quickly, Hinata lifting the ball and sending it back to Atsumu to reset for Natsu. It was getting kinda repetitive so Atsumu chose to break the silence. “Ya got any message for Kourai-kun?”

Hinata blinked, nearly missing Natsu’s spike, which had her roaring in triumph at nearly tripping up her brother. “Hoshiumi-san? You’re in contact with him?”

“Nah, the Fall All-Japan camp is in two weeks. So if ya wanted me to say anything to him.” Atsumu shrugged, letting the sentence hang.

Hinata’s brows creased in thought for a moment before he grinned. “Tell him we’re gonna kick his ass next time we see him.”

“That goes without sayin’,” Atsumu laughed, throwing the ball up for Natsu.

When she landed she looked at both of them, furious. “Nii-san! Language!”

Hinata waved a hand. “Yeah, yeah, sorry.” Hinata returned his gaze back to Atsumu to throw him the ball. “This’ll be Ushijima-san’s last camp too, right?”

“Mmmyup.”

Hinata rolled his eyes. “Well, tell him hi for me.”

Atsumu smirked at him, shooting him a look. “Gonna use me as an egg mule for Wakkun?”

Hinata blinked, as if the thought hadn’t occurred to him. “Oh! Should I?” He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Or are you just trying to get your hands on more eggs?”

Atsumu grinned, gasping in mock outrage. “Shouyou-kun! How couldja accuse me of such underhanded deviousness? I am an honest to god saint compared to that food thief of a brother I have the misfortune of sharin’ a face with.”

Atsumu flicked his tongue against his teeth, trying and failing to look innocent. “Besides, ain’t I goin’ home today with some eggs for helpin’ ya with yer tosses?”

Hinata looked unmoved. “I dunno, Atsumu-san. You might have to actually help me with my tosses to earn those eggs.” He jerked his chin at Natsu, lining up for her next spike. “Natsu probably owes you more for helping her with spiking practice.”

Natsu paused mid-run up to look at Atsumu horrified. “I’m already lettin’ ya call me Nacchan. I’m not giving you anything else.”

Atsumu paused in his release to level Natsu with a teasing look. “Ah, see. My tosses don’t come for free, Nacchan.”

Natsu looked mulish, lips all puckered in irritation before she harumphed loudly, brushed her hands on her shorts and flounced towards the door to the farm house. “Whatever, I’m going to go get ice cream with Rei-chan. And none for you, Stingy-Tsumu!”

When she was gone, Atsumu threw an amused glance at Hinata. “Is she seriously gonna go buy ice cream for you’n her and not me, the guest?”

Hinata snorted, shaking his head. “Nah, she likes you too much. She’ll probably get you something crappy though, like chocolate ice or something.”

Atsumu wheeled on Hinata, delighted. “Wait, does that mean she likes me better’n ‘Samu?”

Hinata rolled his eyes, swiping the ball out of Atsumu’s hands. “Osamu-san hasn’t ever tossed for her before.”

Atsumu whooped, pumping a fist in the air. “And my tosses are way better, so I guess this means she’ll always like the better Miya twin, huh?” It was then that Atsumu noticed the expression on Hinata’s face. “Everythin’ okay?”

Hinata was gnawing on his lips as he looked down at the ball in his hands. “I dunno. What if I don’t get it?”

Atsumu blinked. “What? Yer tosses?”

Hinata shrugged and nodded, not saying anything. Atsumu gaped at him. In all their time together, he’d never actually seen Hinata lack confidence in his ability to pick something up. He usually forced himself to learn new skills, bullheaded as ever. Sure, there were things he used to complain about. Like receives. But that was different. He was different.

Atsumu looked at the ball in Hinata's hands, his fingers splayed over the Mikasa lettering, fingernails worrying the edges. Atsumu blew a sigh out of his mouth, smacking the ball downwards, so that it bounced on the ground out of Hinata’s hands and he could grab it — holding it out of Hinata’s reach when he went to swipe it back.

“Shouyou-kun, if ya recall, I toldja like a month ago that as long as we’re together, there ain’t anything ya can’t do.”

Hinata tried to leap up to grab the ball, but Atsumu pulled it away at the last second with a laugh, holding it behind his back. Hinata scowled at him. “Yeah? And?”

“Welp, I think this is another one of those things. We’ll figure it out.” Atsumu shrugged, feeling the truth of the statement sink into his bones. “Worse case scenario: I bike over that stupid mountain a’ yers and practice tosses with ya every day until it clicks.”

Hinata blinked, pausing his ongoing struggle to get the ball back to stare up at Atsumu wide-eyed. “You’d do that? Really?”

Atsumu looked at him like he was stupid. “Shouyou-kun, obviously. Don’t be dumb.” His mouth took on a mean slant as Hinata’s guard went down, face going all touched. He whipped the ball forward, beaning Hinata in the forehead, making him squawk. “Just don’t be a scrub about it, right?”

Hinata didn’t react how Atsumu would have figured — by launching himself at Atsumu in retaliation, it was what Osamu would have done. Instead he turned on his heel walking towards the side of the house. “Shouyou-kun, where ya goin’?”

Hinata gave him a sour look over his shoulder as he kept stomping forward. “To let Tama-kun out.”

Atsumu felt the colour leave his face as he scrambled after Hinata. There were few things that instilled fear in Atsumu. Kita-san being one of them. The rooster from hell being the other. “Shouyou-kun! I’m sorry! I won’t do it again! I promise. I’ll buy ya ice cream! Please!”

September

Gin walked across the Inarizaki campus to meet his friends for lunch. They were gathering at the top of the sloping hill overlooking the practice field — hopefully under the shade of one of the trees, if Kosaku had actually done what he said he would and booked it out of class to get here. It wasn’t as hot as it had been over the summer, but long enough in the sun and he'd undoubtedly burn.

Lucky for him, Kosaku was as good as his word and had nabbed them one of the better trees with lots of shade. Perfect for viewing the cheerleading team’s practice. If one were so inclined.

Gin was absolutely inclined.

“Took ya long enough,” Kosaku told him around a bite of sandwich as Gin plopped down on the outer edge of the group. A bit strategically. From here, he’d have an uninterrupted view of the practice field. And the Inarizaki Cheer Team.

“Yeah, almost got held up,” Gin said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Where’s ‘Sumu?” Osamu asked, not even pausing his chewing.

“Yeah, about that...” Gin explained what had nearly held him up and had left Atsumu stuck in their classroom, dealing with their prickly class rep. The culture festival was coming up, and they had all voted on a butler cafe — their class had more girls than boys, so any requests for cute maids had been overruled. Atsumu was currently trying to weasel out of participating, whereas their Rep had a vested interest in getting Atsumu to participate, as he was perennially considered one of the “hottest” boys at their school.

Their class rep had rightly assumed Atsumu in a butler uniform would be a draw.

Atsumu, as was his wont, didn’t give a shit and wanted no part, claiming he’d have club duties. He’d undoubtedly find some way to weasel out of those like he had last year too.

The others found poor Atsumu’s predicament absolutely hilarious, pausing their eating to laugh at his expense. Gin felt the need to defend him a little. “It’s not like he voted for it!”

“That’s whatcha damn twins get for bein’ so good lookin’,” Kosaku teased, nudging Osamu with his foot. Osamu gave him a sarcastic smile, showing off the seaweed stuck in his teeth from his meal.

“What’re you guys doin’ for the festival?” Gin asked Osamu and Suna. Their class was notorious for having the laziest, low commitment display or set up at these kinds of events.

Suna, splayed flat on his back, feeding himself bits of oranges piece-by-piece, didn’t even open his eyes to answer. “Karaoke.”

There it was. Gin rolled his eyes at Kosaku, who snorted. Of freaking course. Set up the machine and a screen and you really only needed one person manning the booth at a time. Last year, they’d given out ‘warm towelettes’, which were just plastic-wrapped alcohol wipes warmed on an electric heating pad.

That was when Gin noticed the brightly coloured bento, undoubtedly filled with tasty eggy treats, sans its owner. “Wasn’t Shou supposed to join us?”

Suna snorted, lifting an indolent hand to gesture at the practice field — ah, Gin had been so caught up he forgot to watch the cheer team! He’d been meaning to see if Inoue Sakura was practicing. The new vice cheer captain was Gin’s longest running crush — a whole four months now, and he was always thrilled to see her at all their matches.

Gin turned to look down at the field and his eyes nearly bugged out at what he saw down there. Was that— What on earth was Hinata doing?

Down on the practice field, in front of Inoue and a few other cheerleaders, Hinata was balanced on his hands trying unsuccessfully to lift one for a one-handed pose, still managing to catch himself every time he almost fell on his face. Inoue and her friends were— Were they giggling? Gin couldn’t see Hinata’s face, but he would swear on his granny’s good health that Hinata probably had on his crummiest, smugest smiles.

Oh god, did Hinata like girls now?

Gin jerked to a stand, not knowing what to do with himself, ignoring Suna and Kosaku’s snickers. Should he go down there? Should he leave? He should probably sit back down and take his friends mean-spirited ribbing. They all knew he had a thing for Inoue. He never shut up about it. In fact, Gin distinctly recalled having a conversation with Hinata before that godforsaken Kamomedai match about his infatuation with Inoue and how the bow in her hair looked extra pretty.

At the time, Hinata had stared up into the bleachers, before wrinkling his nose and going, “I guess.” That had been the closest Gin had ever gotten to smacking the kid. Given how all that turned out, it was probably for the best. Gin probably would’ve felt extra guilty given all that happened after that game.

Gin was just thinking about making some flimsy excuse that he should go see what Atsumu was doing, and if he needed saving or something equally lame when Hinata’s voice called from the field, “Oi! Gin-san! There you are! Come down here.”

Gin froze, feeling like a deer in headlights as he watched Hinata beam at him, and the cheerleaders looked at him curiously. Including— Oh jeez, Inoue was looking at him. Gin gulped, trying to steady his racing heart and cool the heat in his cheeks — not that he had a chance. Suna planted a foot on his ass and shoved, sending Gin peeling forward, nearly landing on his knees at the bottom of the slope.

Straightening his summer uniform, Gin surreptitiously gave Suna the finger before he walked over, a tentative smile on his face. His cheeks felt too hot, and he was now a little sweaty. He kept his eyes firmly on Hinata’s grinning face, his eyes practically vibrating with the need to steal glances at Inoue. Don’t be weird, don’t be weird, don’t be weird—

“Hey Shou, whatcha need?” His voice was definitely too high. Gin cleared his throat, trying to shove his hands into his pockets and missing, making it look like he was trying to clap his thighs or something equally weird. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—

“Gin-san! I was just telling Sakura-chan here all about how cool and strong you are, and how like, you’d be the absolute best at doing lifts.” Gin was still reeling from Hinata’s cavalier use of ‘Sakura-chan’, that he barely parsed the back half of what the heck Hinata said.

Inoue was looking at him expectantly, a small smile curling her pretty, pretty mouth.

Gin managed a dignified “Bwuh?”

Inoue tucked an errant piece of hair behind her ear and Gin, a little light-headed, briefly thought maybe he would kill to be an errant strand of Inoue’s hair. “Hinata-kun was just sayin’ thatcha can do lifts better’n anyone else we got on the cheer team.” Her nose crinkled a little as her smile widened and Gin was in love. “I wanna see.”

Gin blinked stupidly at her before he turned his head to look at Hinata, giving him a knowing wink. Gin managed a less dignified “Mmmgnuh.”

Which was how he found himself lining up across from Hinata in front of a quarter of the cheer team to demonstrate Gin’s lifting abilities. Which boiled down to the one time a volleyball got wedged into the grating around the clock in their gym, and Gin had helped Hinata get it down. Standing here now, this all seemed like a very bad idea. Gin had no experience catching Hinata from a run, nor did he have experience flipping someone midair.

Also— He was kinda worried about his nads. There was going to be nothing less cool than the girl you liked seeing you get kicked in the nads by a shrimp. In plain view of his kinda mean best friends. Oh god, Suna was almost certainly filming this right now.

Before Gin could call it off, Hinata was already launching himself pell-mell at Gin, and it was either sink or swim. Gin managed to think one last please, not in the nads before Hinata’s feet were suddenly in his hands and Gin snapped his arms upwards, helping Hinata execute a near perfect backflip mid air.

The cheerleaders all “Ooooh-ed” impressed.

Okay, okay. Maybe Gin was kinda hoping Suna was actually filming now. Thank god for all that extra weight training. Hinata was not as light as he looked.

Inoue in particular was eyeing Gin with an appraising light, her eyes practically twinkling. “Okay, that was pretty good. Now show us a base lift.”

Which basically just amounted to Gin lifting Hinata into the air, helped by Hinata’s leap, balancing Hinata’s feet in his hands. Hinata dismounted a little uncleanly, but Gin thought the overall effect was kinda cool. Damn, he was stronger than he thought.

Hinata gave a flourishing bow, enjoying the claps and whoops from the cheerleaders. “I know, I know. I make it look easy.” Hinata really hung out with the twins too much. He could be so obnoxious sometimes.

Inoue was beaming at him. “Okay, Hitoshi-kun,” Good god, she knew his name. “Do me.” And then her lip curled, because she definitely, definitely 100% understood that double entendre. Based on the coquettish giggles, the other cheerleaders did too.

Gin managed a “Hnnnnghk. Uhuh. Yup. Sure. Practice.” Which had Inoue smiling even wider at him.

Hinata bumped Gin with his elbow, giving him a wink and a thumbs up. “Good luck.”

Gin flashed him his own thumbs up, nearly feeling the need to tear up at the picture perfect nakama moment — but held himself back because the girl Gin liked, was in love with, was willing to let him toss her in the air. “Yer a real one, Shou.”

Hinata just laughed, shoving his hands into his pockets and making his way back up the hill, shaking his fist at Atsumu, who’d finally joined after all. “Atsumu-san, don’t eat all my food.”

Before Gin turned back to face his hopeful high school sweetheart, he watched Atsumu, voice muffled from the amount of egg he had stuffed into his mouth, make a complaint that sounded suspiciously like, “I ain’t eatin’ nothin’!”

October

Riseki sat across from the super powered tri-fecta homework group nervously wiggling his pen while Hinata and Fumiko frowned down at their English homework. Hinata was balancing his pencil on his upper lip, looking absolutely ridiculous. Beside him, Fumiko was perilously close to sticking the eraser end of her pencil in her mouth as she rolled it across her chin.

God, she even made the doofiest looking things cute.

“I don’t think I understand what the difference between a metaphor and a simile is,” Hinata finally said, leaning forward enough to rest his chin on the table between them. They were in a quiet corner of the library after volleyball and band practice. Riseki was in the process of trying to get Hinata and Fumiko ready for exams, otherwise both of them might be banned from participating in the upcoming Prefectural Qualifiers.

Riseki was pretty sure Fumiko wouldn’t care — even if it meant missing a performance. Or “performance” as she would say, with an exaggerated eye roll and a snide curl to her lip.

Riseki was so in love with her it wasn’t even funny anymore.

Hinata on the other hand was determined to bypass make up exams altogether. Riseki wished him all the best on his path because he had some steep inclines to overcome— Hey! A metaphor!

Riseki opened his mouth to explain when Fumiko beat him to the punch. “They’re the same thing, basically.” Wrong. She was so wrong. Fumiko slid him a look, eyes expectant, waiting for praise. “Right, Heisuke-kun?”

As they always did when she used his name, Riseki felt his cheeks heat. Flustered, he gaped at her for a beat too long, entirely forgetting about his great teachable moment example from a few seconds ago. “Uhhh, well. Not quite.”

Fumiko frowned, eyes darting to the textbook. “Then I don’t get it either.” Her eyes flicked up, looking over the rim of her glasses at him. “Can you explain it, Heisuke-kun?”

Riseki briefly felt himself ascend to the plane of nearly-requited crushes, his heart racing at that unexpectedly coy look. She was like a librarian, or a teacher asking him a stern question and— He needed to get a grip. He was turning into Gin-senpai, and no one needed that.

This was all Hinata’s fault. When they’d gotten back from summer camp and the team dispersed to go their separate ways, Hinata had pulled Riseki aside to inform him that he would be doing his best to help Riseki and Fumiko get together.

Riseki had been too flabbergasted at the moment to ask Hinata to please not, instead watching him pedal away on his bike, a sense of dread growing in Riseki’s stomach. Why was it when Hinata said he was going to help, that it sounded kind of like a threat?

It started with Riseki’s return to school at the start of term to find Fumiko scowling near his shoe locker — waiting for him? She’d glowered at him, face scrunched up even as her cheeks flushed, before finally spitting out, “I hope you had a good summer, Heisuke-kun.” And then promptly fled, likely to her and Hinata’s classroom.

Hinata had beamed at him later at practice, telling Riseki that he asked Fumiko to start using their first names, because they were good friends after all, and that Riseki should start calling her Fumiko now too. “Maybe Fumiko-chan?” Hinata said with a wink and an eyebrow waggle, giving him a finger gun as he walked away.

It didn’t stop there. There were also times Hinata would make plans with both of them, and just ‘forget’ to show up. Once to the movies. Many times at lunch. Even once at an impromptu trumpet practice session, Fumiko invited them to while she prepared to submit an application to the Tokyo Philharmonic Junior program.

That last one had genuinely been a mistake — Riseki had found Hinata afterwards tossing a ball back and forth with Atsumu in the courtyard, laughing. When Riseki scolded him, Hinata had been stricken, very worried Fumiko was mad at him. She wasn’t. For some reason, she never seemed to get mad at Hinata.

Like when they sat down at their table earlier and Hinata had snatched one of her pencils, claiming he’d forgotten his. If it had been anyone else, Fumiko likely would have reamed him out. But it was Hinata, so she just rolled her eyes, dropping into her seat.

Riseki spared Hinata a glance, seeing his friend eyed on him intently, a mischievous pull to the corner of his mouth. Oh no, Hinata. No. His very scholastically challenged friend desperately needed to study. Now was not the time for Hinata’s matchmaking shenanigans.

Hinata smacked a hand on the table, making both Riseki and Fumiko jump. His chair scraped as he pushed to a stand, a determined set to his shoulders. “I need to poop.” He declared with all the gravitas of someone announcing they were quitting their job.

Riseki and Fumiko stared at him. Fumiko tipped her head to the side, squinting at Hinata. “But you don’t understand the difference between metaphors or similes either.”

Hinata stuck his nose in the air. “I can learn it on my own.”

Fumiko gave him a dubious look. “I doubt it, but whatever. Stop announcing every time you need to go. You’re so crass.”

Hinata laughed, turning on his heel and walked towards the exit. After Fumiko had turned back around to her textbook, Riseki watched Hinata give him a wink and a thumbs up, mouthing ‘good luck’ at him.

Riseki cleared his throat, his face on fire, suddenly feeling very awkward. “So, uh. Metaphors. It’s the concept similar to—”

“Why does he keep leaving us alone together?” Fumiko tipped her head up to look Riseki in the eye, looking suspicious. “If it were anyone else, I’d say it felt strategic.”

Riseki waved his hands in front of him frantically, trying to prove his innocence. “I have no part in it, he’s doing it on his own.”

Fumiko rolled her eyes. “Obviously. So why does he keep doing it?”

Riseki gulped, taking a moment to breathe to steady his racing heart. “Uh well—” He swallowed again. It was now or never.

“Fumiko-san.” He was proud of the way his voice didn’t waver as he said her name. “If— If we win the Prefectural Qualifiers I would like to ask you out on a date.” His voice cracked just a little bit on the word ‘date’, but overall not bad. He’d give himself a B+.

Fumiko stared at him blankly, before her eyebrows titled skeptically as she leaned back in her chair. She crossed her arms, looking profoundly unimpressed. “If you win the Prefectural Qualifiers?”

Heck! She was right. Who was he to ask her such a thing just for the Prefectural Qualifiers? Inarizaki had won the last ten— It needed to be bigger. More important. Worthy of her! “Nationals! If we win Nationals. I would very much like to ask you out on a date, please.” And then embarrassing himself further he dipped low into a bow, his nose nearly colliding with his notebook on the table in front of him.

He was met with silence for five heart-stopping seconds. Oh god, he’d bungled this all up. She was going to hate him forever. She would never talk to him again and—

“I’m sorry, you’ll ask me out if you win volleyball.” Fumiko’s voice oozed disgust on that last word, making Riseki tilt his head up to look at her startled. She looked like she was smelling a particularly foul piece of garbage.

Riseki swallowed, his heart breaking into a million little pieces. He kind of hoped Hinata would come back now to either put him out of his misery or diffuse the tension in the air. “You’re right, I’m sorry—”

Fumiko clucked her tongue, plucking her pencil up and flicking it in between her fingers. “Honestly. Asking me out because of volleyball, as if it matters. Who cares about volleyball.” She sniffed, looking away from him. Riseki blinked. Were her cheeks a bit pink?

Fumiko glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes, the flush on her cheeks deepening. “Don’t ask me out because of stupid volleyball. Ask me out because you want to.”

Riseki gaped at her, not quite believing his ears. He licked his lips. “Uh, Fumiko-san, will you go out with me?” His voice definitely cracked at the end again. Stupid puberty.

Fumiko turned to look at him, her lips pursed as she shrugged and then nodded, her cheeks burning bright red. She looked impossibly cute right then.... Wait, was Riseki allowed to tell her those sorts of things now?

He opened his mouth to inform her how stunning he’d always found her, but a voice cut in from the doorway. “Wait! Was that a yes? That was too quiet!” Hinata whined as he popped his head around the doorway.

Fumiko and Riseki stared at him, watching Hinata approach from the doorway. “We can still be super powered trifecta homework group, right? You guys dating isn’t going to change that, right? Because super powered duo sounds stupid.”

“Were you listening the whole time?” Riseki asked, utterly baffled.

Hinata nodded. “I pooped before practice. Now seriously, are we still a homework group because I’m not gonna pass on my own?” Hinata eyed them both suspiciously. “Unless you’re going to hold hands the whole time, in which case I’ll find someone else to tutor me.”

Fumiko beaned Hinata in the chest with her pencil. “You’re an annoying little perv.”

“And you’re not getting your pencil back,” Hinata said smugly, waggling her pencil at her.

Honestly, outside of getting Fumiko to agree to go on a date with him, there was really nothing he’d change about this group at all. When they’d finally settled back down, Riseki couldn’t keep the stupid doofy grin off his face as he watched Fumiko smile back at him, tucking her hair behind her ear.

October

“Ta-da!”

Akagi looked up from his 3DS to find Hinata standing over him, a very special, little box cradled in his hands as he beamed at Akagi. Akagi’s eyes lit up when Hinata opened the cardboard revealing a dozen eggs stacked neatly together.

Akagi snapped his 3DS shut, stuffing it into his pocket and holding out his hands for Hinata’s gift. “Eggs? For me?” He stroked the box lovingly, already imaging all the tasty-as-heck egg things he was going to make. Normally, Hinata wasn’t this generous. “What’s the occasion, Shou?”

Hinata plopped down on the bench next to Akagi, grinning. Akagi had found his favorite bench outside — now that it was starting to get cooler, fewer and fewer people ate their lunches outside, which suited Akagi just fine. Lately, he was finding he needed a place to chill out on his own, away from the chatter of other people, or the invasively concerned looks of his friends.

Hinata brought his legs up so he could cross his legs on the bench, facing Akagi fully. “I thought maybe you needed cheering up.”

Akagi looked up from his beautiful, bountiful box of eggs to give Hinata a funny look. “Cheerin’ up?”

Hinata flapped his hands in front of him. “Uh, well. Y’see— I overheard Aran-san talking to the other third years about you being a bit stressed lately and I uh, wanted to help?”

“By givin’ me eggs?”

Hinata’s fingers fiddled with the cuffs of his blazer, shrugging. “Yeah. Uhm. I know you really like my eggs and they’re really good protein and I thought maybe they’d help you study a bit and—” He cut himself off, biting his lip.

Akagi kinda wanted to smoosh his cheeks a bit. What a cute little kouhai. “Why exactly do ya think I’ve been so stressed?”

Hinata shrugged. “I dunno, you’ve been playin’ a lot of games outside by yourself lately.” He pointed up at one of the windows of the building behind them. “My classroom looks out onto the lawn, and I see you out here a lot and I was thinking maybe—” He shrugged again. “Good grub always helps, right?”

Akagi snorted, setting the eggs down between them — thinking better of it, and tucking them on his otherside, lest Hinata got it into his head he’d take the eggs back once he realized Akagi was fine.

“Food for studyin’, huh?”

Hinata’s eyes lit up, nodding his head. “Yeah, that book Ushijima-san’s dad wrote, ‘I had a lot of—’”

Akagi waved him off. “Yeah, yeah. I know. The one with the stupid long title.”

Hinata pursed his lips like he wanted to argue, but Akagi shooed him on. “Anyways, it talks about the way your diet impacts the whole system of your body and how when you’re working your mind hard you need to give it protein like you would for your muscles because your brain is basically a muscle—”

“Grey matter and white matter and a whole lotta blood vessels.”

Hinata blinked at him. “Huh?”

Akagi sighed. “Yer brain. It ain’t a muscle. It’s composed of grey matter and white matter. Basically a whole whack of neurons and—” At Hinata’s blank stare, Akagi chose to give up. “Alright, maybe that’s a little heavy for you when ya failed first year science.”

“I didn’t fail!”

Akagi gave him an unimpressed look. “Didja have to take make up exams?”

Hinata’s mouth was a firm line. He did not confirm nor deny.

“Mhmm. Thought so.”

Hinata’s face scrunched up all cutely like he was desperately trying to bite his tongue. “Why do you know so much about brain things anyways?”

Akagi shrugged. “Needed to know it for entrance exams.”

Hinata nodded thoughtfully before he stilled, head tilting in confusion. “What do you mean ‘needed to know’, aren’t your entrance exams in December?”

Akagi smirked, giving Hinata a sidelong look. “Nah, had ‘em last month.”

Hinata stared at him blankly for a beat before his eyes bugged out and his mouth flapped open. “Bwah!?”

Akagi reached down and pet his carton of eggs. “Yeah, yer a bit late, but I won’t say no to free eggs.”

“You already had your entrance exams!?” Hinata’s voice could get so ear-piercingly shrill sometimes.

Akagi hissed, rubbing at his poor, abused ear. “Yeah, jeez Shou. Couldja chill? Frick.” Akagi turned to look at Hinata, crossing his arms. “Chuo University had early entrance exam sessions at the end of September and I figured why not? No point in waitin’ and stressin’ when there’s good volleyball to be played.”

Truth was Akagi had made his decision halfway through camp. During one of Hinata’s ‘let Annika boot balls at his face in an attempt to get really, really good at receives’ training, Inunaki had asked him more about college.

Up until that point Akagi had kinda figured he’d stay somewhere in the Kansai region. Figured the furthest he’d go for school was maybe Kyoto — maybe to learn computer programming or something. That seemed useful. Maybe he could go work in games or something? Most people told him he was smart enough and worked hard enough to do anything he wanted. But when so many doors were open to you, how were you supposed to choose when you weren’t really passionate about anything?

“Have you thought about Chuo University?” Inunaki asked, a small smirk twisting his mouth as he watched Annika throw her arms in the air to cheer wildly at Hinata, who’d actually managed to lift the ball half decently.

Akagi turned to give him a funny look. So the guy wouldn’t let Akagi talk about idolizing him, but Inunaki was totally cool talking futures? “No? Ain’t that in Tokyo?”

“Yeah. It’s in Tokyo.” Inunaki slid that smirk at Akagi now. “What, country boy afraid of the big ol’ city?”

Akagi gave him a flat look. It was kinda annoying how cool he still found this asshole. “More like don’t wanna deal with any shitty city slickers, y’gettit?”

His exaggerated drawl had the intended effect; Inunaki kicked his head back and laughed. When he calmed, he gave Akagi a grin. “Sure, maybe you don’t, but they have the second best University team in the country.” He turned to watch the court once more. “And if you want to stand a chance at beating me...”

He let the sentence hang between them, but Akagi got the gist of it. It was kinda stupid to upend his whole plan, such as it was, just to play one dude, right? Really stupid. Right? He returned his gaze to the court just in time to watch Hinata take a ball to the family jewels, guffawing when Hinata collapsed face first onto the ground with a groan.

So Akagi kept thinking about it, looked up different program offerings and testimonials by various student athletes online. He looked up classes and dorms and a whole swack of different things that by the time he got back to Kobe he’d already made his decision. He found when the next entrance exam sessions would be and planned accordingly.

He traveled to Tokyo at the end of September and over two days wrote a fuck ton of long-ass exams and walked out feeling pretty good about himself. Worst case scenario, he’d re-take them in December now that he had a feel for them. But Akagi had honestly wanted to get them out of the way before Prefectural Qualifiers and Nationals. Figured he could relax and coast the rest of the school year.

“Isn’t Chuo University in Tokyo?” Hinata asked, brow furrowed.

Akagi laughed. “Ya think the brain is a muscle, but you know that!”

Hinata scowled at him. “I know because Wan-san was saying they’re the biggest competition Waseda gets—” Hinata’s whole expression lit up, looking like an excitable puppy dog. “Is that why you want to go!? To face Wan-san on the court?”

Akagi squinted at him. “Y’know I don’t think he’d like ya adoptin’ Annika’s nickname for him.” Akagi looked at a point over Hinata’s shoulder, the kid’s eyes were too intense sometimes, even now. “And maybe.”

Hinata beamed. “I knew it! That’s so cool, Akagi-senpai! They have a really good volleyball team! It’s so awesome you still want to play after high school.”

Akagi held up a hand. “I’m not like Aran and the other guys. I ain’t gonna play till I’m old, and my knees go to crap. But it’d be cool to go a bit longer I think.”

“Well, I think it’s really great,” Hinata said with excessive gravity, crossing his arms, leaning back against the bench. “Do you know what you’re gonna study?”

Akagi shrugged, once again averting his gaze. “Yeah, I do.”

Hinata watched him impatiently.

Akagi rolled his eyes. “Chuo also has a pretty good Phys Ed track in their education department,” Akagi said, fingers twiddling the sliders on the 3DS in his pocket.

Hinata stared up at Akagi, mouth gaping open. “You want to become a PE teacher?”

Akagi sighed, tipping his head back on the bench, staring up at the clouds. “Yeah, I think I do.” He shrugged. “I guess some crummy little shrimp taught me how cool it is to watch someone learn and grow. To help him develop and stuff, or somethin’. I thought it might be cool to teach other kids too.”

That statement was met with silence. Akagi eventually dragged his head around to look at Hinata, curious as to why he was being so damn quiet. Only to find Hinata staring at him, his lips screwed shut as his eyes glistened with unshed tears.

Akagi jerked, holding his hands out. “Woah, woah. Why the heck are ya cryin’?”

Hinata’s fingers curled into the fabric of his uniform pants, lip wibbling a bit. “I’m not,” he mumbled, obviously lying.

“Shou, what the heck? Are ya cryin’ ‘cause I’m goin’ away?”

“No!”

Akagi leaned back, surprised by the outburst. He grimaced, never very good at dealing with fraught emotions like these. “Then why—”

“Because!” Hinata cried, savagely wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. “You finally realized that you are good at being the best senpai!”

Akagi blinked, tilting his head to the side, before he narrowed eyes, sliding closer so he could pull Hinata into a headlock. Hinata squawked, trying to pull away. “And ‘cause ya think it’s sweet ya inspired me, huh?”

“No!” Hinata squealed at Akagi as he began savagely scruffing Hinata’s hair.

Akagi laughed. “Just admit it! Ya look up to me, and it means the world to ya that ya inspired me.” Abruptly Hinata stopped resisting, going still. “Er, Shou?”

“Well, yeah, obviously,” Hinata mumbled in a small voice. Akagi could see the tips of his ears turning pink. Akagi was so overcome by the huge, grateful, affectionate feeling swelling in his chest that he very nearly cried himself.

But that would be lame.

So instead Akagi laughed again, grin going a bit savage as he continued ruffling Hinata’s hair. “Awww, lookatcha. Ya love me soooo~ much. I must be yer favorite senpai of all time. Ooooh~ Yer gonna cry so hard when I graduate in the spring. Ya gonna ask for my button, Shou, huh?”

Akagi continued to laugh, bullying his favorite kouhai for another few minutes until Hinata was laughing too, trying to reach up and mess with Akagi’s hair. Not that Akagi would ever let him.

November

“Are you going to actually eat your lunch or are you just going to keep sitting there sulking?”

In the seat in front of Fumiko, Hinata’s shoulders rocked in a facsimile of a shrug — not bothering to peel his stupid face from the surface of his desk. She sat at her desk, leaning back in her chair as she plucked up another piece of karaage to stuff into her mouth. Hinata and his moods were going to eat into her lunch hour practice time if he didn’t snap out of it.

Hinata mumbled something against the laminate of his desk, not lifting his head.

Rolling her eyes she reached a foot forward to kick the bottom of his seat, making him grunt in displeasure. “At least eat your lunch, you big baby.”

It was Wednesday, which Hinata had unilaterally decided back in May was the Hinata-Fumiko joint lunch meeting, before they went off to go do other things — Fumiko to trumpet practice; Hinata undoubtedly to hang out with those annoying Miya twins. If Fumiko left before Hinata finished his lunch, he was going to be pouty with her for the rest of the week, probably calling her ‘Stingy-ko’ or something equally stupid.

Fumiko held the tips of her chopsticks between her teeth as she leaned forward on her desk, propping her chin in her hand. “Hinata, I’ll go tell your stupid volleyball friends that you’re depressed and not eating if you don’t—”

Hinata jerked upright in his seat, throwing her a resentful look over his shoulder, before he reached down to collect his bento, turning in his seat so he could face her while she ate. “I’m eating. Jeez.”

Fumiko smirked. Nothing quite like the threat of a team full of volleyball playing mom-friends to make Hinata do what she wanted. Heh. She watched Hinata peel open his bento, looking at its delicious contents glumly — like ho hum, it’s so sad I have to eat this amazing food.

He was going to make her ask, wasn’t he? Fumiko’s teeth clenched down hard on her chopsticks, likely marking grooves that were going to get her yelled at by her mom later. She really hated asking about volleyball. Guh.

But this was probably another stupid ‘Hinata can’t talk to his actual volleyball friends because he was embarassed about it and felt bad’ thing. Rubbing a knuckle to her forehead, Fumiko blew out a sigh. “It wasn’t that baaaad—”

“I messed up every single jump serve!” Hinata burst out, in a show of frenetic movement he hadn’t, until now, demonstrated all day.

Fumiko pressed her lips together. She’d gotten used to Hinata’s outbursts and his constant need to interrupt, but that didn’t mean she found it any less annoying. “Isn’t your solution to usually just practice endlessly until you get it?” She made a dismissive gesture with the chopsticks in her hands. “Go do that.”

Hinata looked at her like a wounded animal. She curbed the urge to roll her eyes — at least until he slumped forward on her desk, face pressed into the laminate wood. “But I aaaammm~”

Fumiko’s lip curled. “Go talk to that bastard, Atsu—” And then she recalled what Hinata had said about the nickname his camp friend had called the bane of her existence. “—Twin B-kun, and have him fix it for you.”

Hinata did not lift his head. “But we’re spending all our extra practice time working on my sets, and I can’t make him do everything for me. And it’s serving! It’s the thing you absolutely do by yourself on the court. I have to figure it out myself.” He sounded awfully determined for someone whose cheek was smooshing into the surface of her desk.

Fumiko picked up another piece of food, chewing thoughtfully as she tried for another angle. She could always take the nuclear option and threaten to go to his captain — though that left her open for retaliation. Hinata had a lot of brass band blackmail on her that would get her in trouble. There was nothing for it. She’d have to be supportive.

“What exactly is the problem?”

That at least made Hinata roll upright and start shoving food in his face. As usual, all he wanted was to vent. She would begrudgingly oblige him. For now. As long as she could get some practice time in.

Hinata laid it all out. He was doing a ton of serving practice on his own, both before practice, after practice, and even at home at the net he had set up outside — even as it got colder because Hinata apparently doesn’t get cold. But it didn’t matter. Even as he started finding his rhythm when it came to scrimmages and matches, he just couldn’t manage his jump serve. It didn’t matter — either his toss would get away from him or he’d put too much power in his spike, or any number of terrible things.

Fumiko frowned. “Your non-jumpy serve is fine, right?”

Hinata once again looked wounded. “But it’s not as cool and amazing and I never get service aces and I need to be able to get points in all the ways I can!”

Fumiko leaned back, crossing her arms as she regarded Hinata. This sounded like a tempo problem to her. “What are you listening to when you practice?”

Hinata stared at her blankly. “Nothing? My breathing?”

“Except during games when I play for you,” She pointed out cooly.

“Well yeah, obviously.”

“It’s a cognitive switching problem.” Closing the lid on her bento, fastening the strap and stowing it in her bag, she gestured for Hinata to eat his lunch more quickly. “Hurry up, I have an idea.”

Hinata obligingly stuffed his face in three big gulps, likewise stowing his bento and trailing after her as she led him towards the band room in the practice building. “Fumiko, what’re we doing?”

Fumiko pursed her lips, trying to decide how much information she needed to convey to him. It was likely going to go in one ear and out the other, like usual when she talked about cognition and the effects music had on it. “You’re learning a new thing, but your body is using the old music as a reference, throwing off your tempo so you can’t get into a rhythm when tossing the ball up to do a jumpy swerve.”

“Jump serve.”

She scoffed. “Whatever, c’mon.”

There wasn’t anyone else in the band room when they got there, thank god. At some point between Nationals when Hinata had gotten sick and their last tournament, a few of the band members had decided they were Hinata fans — he was the underdoggiest of Inarizaki’s perennial underdogs, making him a bit of a folk hero to her club. It was extremely annoying.

She plucked up an aux cord and plugged it into her phone. This piece was best heard with the high quality speakers, if not live through her instrument. She hit play, carefully watching as Hinata dutifully closed his eyes as he liked to, listening to the music carefully.

The first notes cried out triumphantly, joyfully leaping and twirling over themselves, picking up speed as several instruments joined in — turning the bubbly call to action into a fast paced, heart racing jazz piece. It was the thing Fumiko was most proud of— well, second most proud of now, she guessed.

When the song ended Hinata looked up at her, eyes bright, grinning. “That was so cool! What’s it called?”

Fumiko hesitated a moment, suddenly feeling a bit bashful, before she set her shoulders and stared him straight in the eye. “Solar Winds.”

It was the piece composed by her, performed with a few of her carefully-chosen senpai. She’d been working on some iteration of it for well over a year, but it was after meeting Hinata and deciding volleyball wasn’t the worst thing in the universe that it really began to take shape in her head. The soul of the music was heavily inspired by the boy in front of her. It was after he came back from that training camp — bright-eyed and ready to fight his way back to the top that Fumiko finally finished the piece.

Just in time, too. She submitted it to the Tokyo Philharmonic Junior Musician program, in hopes of joining their ranks as one of the best trumpet players and amateur composers in the country. She snappishly explained to Hinata around the deadline that it was like getting recruited to the national team, only for musicians and not volleyball — he’d been suitably awed when she told him that.

Hinata blinked. “Wait, is this the one you submitted to—”

She nodded. “It’s the song that got me admitted to the Tokyo Philharmonic Junior Musician program.”

Hinata stared at her blankly for a beat before he launched to his feet, gripped her hands and started bouncing them around in a circle. “You got in!? You got in! Holy wow! You got in!”

She giggled, allowing herself to be spun. “You’re not the only hotshot now, huh?”

Hinata didn’t stop beaming at her. “I already knew that though. Fumiko! You’re so amazing!”

She stuck her nose in the air, taking back her hands so she could put them on her hips. “I already knew that.”

Hinata looked like he was about to leap into more effusive compliments — which, while she loved them, she wouldn’t be able to get a word in edgewise for a bit, and she really did actually want to practice.

“From now on, when you practice your jumpy swerve—”

“Jump serve.”

Fumiko rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Practice your thing, listen to Solar Winds. From now on, every time you serve, me and the band will play that for you.” She could expand on the finer details of cognitive conditioning and training the mind with Pavlovian cues to create a headspace ideal for serves, but Hinata would stop listening halfway through.

He trusted her, that was going to be more than enough.

Before Hinata left her alone so she could get some trumpet practice in, he turned to her, phone with a new mp3 on it clutched in his hand, giving her his most winsome smile. “You’re the best, Fumiko.”

She grinned at him, hefting her trumpet up, watching the light glint off the brass. “I know.”

November

Aran stared down at the phone resting in his palm, feeling his stomach twist with anxiety. 5:37pm. He should go back inside — rejoin his team. Finish up practice. Help clean. But his dad had promised he’d call. He’d promised. 5:30pm on the dot. That was when he’d call his son to let him know the result of a very important phone call with a very important recruiter.

It was halfway through his second year that Aran started to think about volleyball in the long term — shortly after, he’d joined the twins on their quest to make Hinata good enough for Inarizaki. The day before they’d won third place during that Summer’s Inter-High Nationals, Aran got pulled into a meeting with Coach Kurosu.

A recruiter from the Warriors was in attendance at their semi-final match, and wanted to express his admiration for Aran’s play. The Warriors were very interested in a player of his talents and wanted him to please consider them when he graduated — if that was something that would interest him.

Aran found the idea of playing volleyball professionally incredibly appealing.

Since then he’d received a ton of acknowledgement from a wide variety of teams. The Adlers had asked if he’d like to attend their Summer Training Camp — he couldn’t, it overlapped with the Inarizaki camp. The Hornets wanted him to grow into an opposite hitter position. VC Kanagawa wanted him at their next try-outs in April. But it wasn’t just the V.League. Colleges from around Japan had expressed their interest in him joining their volleyball programs.

Most notably, the head coach from Waseda University during their summer camp had informed Aran that Waseda was not only the winningest volleyball team in college ball, they were also looking for a player exactly like Aran to fill a gap they’d have next year. That conversation had been followed up shortly by Inunaki Shion demanding Aran’s presence at one of Hinata and Akagi’s weird little receive practices.

While Annika continued to boot cannonballs at her two ’students’, Inunaki had given Aran an appraising look — way more intimidating than he ought to be given he was shorter than Aran and wearing an arm brace. “You’re coming to Waseda next year?”

It had the inflection of a question, but certainly didn’t feel like a question. Aran shrugged. “I’m thinking about it.”

Inunaki looked unimpressed. “Don’t be stupid. Come to Waseda. Win some games, get an education. And then figure out the rest of your life.”

Aran watched as Hinata finally managed to pick up a ball, he and Annika executing a coordinated victory dance across the court from one another. Huffing a laugh, Aran shrugged. “Waseda is awfully far.”

Inunaki gave him the most condescending pitying look of Aran’s life, before clicking his tongue and ignoring Aran for the rest of the silly little practice.

Up until October, Aran and Coach Kurosu had been in agreement: His surest bets were likely the Adlers in Oita City and Waseda in Tokyo. Something about both options left him with an unsettling feeling in his stomach. Something that it took him literally searching up the train schedules from both places to Kobe to figure out.

Three hours to Tokyo. Four to Oita City. Not crushingly far. The length of a movie or two, maybe. But far enough that he wouldn’t—

He wouldn’t see his friends regularly, and Aran wasn’t sure he was ready for that.

Then the most improbable thing had happened after Inarizaki secured their spot at Nationals. After the Prefectural Championship game, Kurosu had introduced Aran to an old colleague of his. One of the junior coaches for the Tachibana Red Falcons. She had been impressed by Aran’s work ethic. How steady he was on the court. Was he aware that the Falcons ace, a player from Italy, was going back home after this season was over?

She couldn’t offer any promises, but she thought Aran would be a perfect fit for the team. She was heading back to the Falcons with some game tape and she was going to do her darndest to advocate for him.

Osaka was a fifteen minute train to Kobe. It was another twenty minutes by car over a mountain to a little farm surrounded on all sides by rice fields.

Today was the day of the phone call. The Red Falcons would be calling his house — his dad working from home today, ready to accept the call — to confirm whether or not they’d be making Aran an offer. His dad was supposed to call him at 5:30pm.

It was now 5:39pm.

Aran sucked in a shaky breath, feeling absolutely ridiculous. He was staring at his phone so much he was starting to feel like Suna.

“Aran-san?”

Aran jerked, wheeling around to find Hinata watching him from the doorway. “Oh, uh, hey Shouyou. What’s up?”

Hinata blinked, taking a step further outside, sliding the door closed behind him. “Aran-san, are you okay? You’ve been out here awhile and...” Hinata tugged on his t-shirt, giving Aran a very worried glance. “It’s pretty cold out.”

Aran gave a slightly unhinged hysterical laugh, before he clicked his mouth closed. Unbidden, his eyes drifted down to the phone in his hand. His fingers were kind of cold, weren’t they? “I’m uh, waiting for a phone call.”

Hinata blinked once more. He was doing his eyebrow scrunchy thing that meant he was confused. “Can’t you take it inside?”

Aran grimaced. He could. He could take it inside. He could go to the locker room and have one of the twins come tease him while he waited for the most stressful phone call of his life. He could sit in the foyer and have Akagi or Suna pepper him with questions about why his face was doing that. Or he could sit in the gym and have Kita’s too knowing eyes on him, while Aran waited to learn whether or not he’d be moving far, far away from Kita, or staying close enough to matter.

Aran glanced down at his phone. It was now 5:41pm.

“I wanted some fresh air.”

Hinata squinted like he didn’t quite believe that. “Do you want some company?”

The duality of Hinata was that he could be at once unceasingly brainless in his single-minded pursuit of all things volleyball, but he could also be the most caring and empathetic person on their team too. It was a coin toss for who you were going to get on a given day. Usually a weird mishmash of both.

Aran let out a sigh. “Yeah. I guess some company might be nice.”

Hinata smiled, taking a few steps closer, stuffing his hands into his shorts to warm his fingers. It wasn’t a bad idea. Aran was in nothing but his track jacket and shorts. He wished he’d remembered to grab his pants.

“What’s the phone call about?”

Aran ran his tongue over his teeth. There was probably little harm in telling Hinata. Worst case, Aran didn’t get the Falcons and he’d be going off to Waseda, most likely. “I’m waiting for my dad to call. We’re expecting a call from the Tachibana Red Falcons.”

Hinata nodded — Aran could see the exact moment it sunk in. Hinata’s eyes widened and his mouth popped open, and he started making a shrill sound in the back of his throat—

At the exact moment Aran’s phone rang.

Heart thudding in his chest, Aran flipped it open, and gasped a breathy, “Dad?” Aran could only feel static suffusing his brain as his dad spoke to him, watching out of the corner of his eye as Hinata danced from foot to foot, hands clamped over his mouth, watching Aran intently.

“Okay, Dad. I gotta get back to practice. Yeah. Thanks.” Aran clicked the phone shut, feeling his heart pound in his ears. He kept staring at the phone in his hands — not quite able to believe this was real.

Hinata flapped his hands, practically vibrating as he watched Aran anxiously. “And! What did he say!?”

Aran looked at his little friend, feeling himself wanting to match Hinata’s intensity. To dance around and shout too. “The Falcons want me to join their team right after I graduate. No training camp.”

Hinata made another ungodly, garbled shriek before he launched himself at Aran, arms wrapping around his torso as he proceeded to try and climb Aran in his jubilation. Aran found himself laughing, his arms pinned so he couldn’t hug Hinata back. Yeah, that was kinda the response he was hoping for.

“Aran-san! Aran-san! You’re amazing! I knew it would happen! You’re going to be the next great ace of the V.League! I’m gonna buy your jersey!” Hinata was talking a mile a minute, his face had to hurt with how wide he was smiling. Aran could only give him a baffled laugh in answer.

“What the heck is all the racket out here?” Atsumu grumped, throwing the door open and glowering at them. Hands on his hips, looking every part the disapproving senpai that Atsumu most certainly wasn’t. It was almost a funny enough sight to make Aran burst out into laughter again.

Hinata still had his arms hooked around Aran’s shoulders, legs wrapped around his chest. His lips pressed together firmly as he shook his head. “Ask Aran-san.” He wheezed, trying desperately hard to contain his excitement. Aran could practically feel Hinata’s over-excited vibrating in his bones.

Atsumu’s brows pinched, not liking being left out of the big secret. “What?” By then, Atsumu had attracted the attention of the others; Akagi peeked out the door, Gin close behind, and Osamu gave them sleepy looks. Aran could see Riseki and Kita walking over to the open door too — probably to complain about letting the cold air in.

Aran sucked in a breath, trying to school his face from the wide smile that was kinda hurting his cheeks. “I, uh, got a call from the Tachibana Red Falcons...” He let the rest of the sentence hang there.

Atsumu was sucking on his teeth, so sulky to be left out of whatever got them so excited that it took him a second to realize what Aran had just said. Aran watched the information sink in like a thundercrack across Atsumu’s face. First slackening it of expression, before his eyebrows went high, his eyes wide and excited. His mouth an open grin. “Wait!”

Aran beamed at him.

Atsumu gasped, starting to bounce on his toes, like he used to when they were kids at camp — the news was finally sinking in for Osamu, also doing the same. “Did you—”

Aran nodded.

Osamu shoved forward to stand next to his brother, his expression growing in excitement. “Aran-kun. Yer gonna play for the Falcons?”

Aran couldn’t contain it anymore. He laughed, his face opening into such a wide grin he felt his cheeks hurt. The next thing he knew his team was whooping and hollering and shrieking and suddenly he — with Hinata still attached to him like a limpet — was tackled onto the cold ground, a team of loud, unruly volleyball players dogpiling him as they shouted for joy.

Aran let it happen, continuing to laugh, watching Atsumu and Osamu both trying to hide the fact that they were crying, and Akagi laughed madly, and Hinata chanting, “V.League! V.League!” in his ear, Riseki asked him a hundred questions. Gin and Kosaku just incoherently yelling. Aran tipped his head back, a wide grin on his face. Man, he loved his team.

A shadow blotted out the late afternoon light, making Aran open his eyes, only to find Kita looking down at him, a fond smile on his face. “Hey, Shinsuke.”

Kita’s smile grew warmer. “I guess ya won’t be goin’ that far then, yeah?”

Aran felt his own smile go a little gooey, feeling an anxiety he’d been living with — since the first offer he’d been given had been a solid six hours away — disappear. He could stay. It wouldn’t be far. Just a quick train ride away. “Yeah, guess I’m staying close to home.”

Though maybe home was starting to be less where he grew up, and more about warm, reassuring presences. He had a few months to figure that one out though.

And it’s not like he was going very far, after all.

December

“So do you know what you want to do after high school yet, Tendou-san?” Hinata asked, leaning forward across the table, looking targetedly enraptured. Tendou knew exactly what the clever little fox thought he was doing. The longer Hinata talked to him and Ushijima, the less time Goshiki had to rope Hinata into homework.

Clever, but painfully obvious.

Though Fennec-kun was lucky. Tendou was in a particularly indulgent mood, especially after talking about Wakatoshi-kun’s future in the V.League on the Schweiden Adlers.

Tendou leaned forward on the table, mouth curling as he squinted at Hinata to let him know that Tendou was onto him. “Mhmmmmmmmmmm.”

Hinata did his patient blink thing that Tendou always found so endearing. It kind of reminded him of Ushijima’s own patient blink, only about 2000x more expressive. Out of the corner of his eye, Tendou watched Goshiki shift in his seat — the only one decidedly uncomfortable with the excessively patient silences.

Poor Tsutomu-kun. Tendou decided to take pity.

“I got accepted into Le Cordon Bleu. I’ll be starting my program in May next year.”

Hinata stared blankly at him. “Co-Cor blah?”

“Le Cordon Bleu,” Tendou corrected him, drumming his fingers on his cheeks bones, watching the way Hinata’s brows pinched when he still couldn’t parse the words. He must have been in an incredibly magnanimous mood tonight, because Tendou chose to end his suffering prematurely too. “In Paris.”

Hinata nodded. “Ah.” And then his eyebrows shot up as he stared at Tendou, stricken — the reaction Tendou was definitely looking for. “P-Paris!?”

“Yup.”

“The Paris!? Rose of Versailles, Paris!?” Hinata squawked too loudly, making several heads in the cafeteria turn in their direction. Goshiki stiffened next to him, his face flushing in embarrassment. Poor Goshiki — he wouldn’t be able to live out his fantasies of holding Fennec-kun’s hand if he couldn’t stand a little bit of extra attention. Hinata was loud and conspicuous.

“The one and the same.” Tendou nodded, surreptitiously stealing a glance at Ushijima, who was watching Hinata with mild curiosity.

Hinata's mouth flapped open and shut, reminding Tendou of a particularly challenging mini-golf course he once took Ushijima to where they both failed to get their balls past the chomping mouth of an alligator. Hinata finally wheezed in a breath. “That’s so far.”

“It is,” Tendou agreed, still watching Ushijima out of the corner of his eye. No shift in expression. Tendou wondered if he had any change in breathing or if Wakatoshi-kun thought it was just fine that he was going away to the other side of the world. Tendou really, really, really hated that he couldn’t tell.

“What’re you going for?” Hinata asked, eyes all big and concerned.

Tendou wanted to reach across the table and smoosh his cheeks together, like play dough. “Culinary school.”

Hinata sat back in his chair, head tilting to the side as he absorbed that information — as if he angled his head just so his brain would suck up information better and faster. It made Tendou want to boop his nose. It was easy to see why Inarizaki was so obsessed with their little monster fox. If he were Tendou’s teammate, he wouldn’t have been able to contain himself.

“Huh,” Hinata finally said, giving Tendou a smile. “That’s really cool.”

Just like that. So accepting. Tendou shifted the hand under his chin, so he could press his finger tips to his lips — pressing and pulling at them as he squinted across the table at Hinata. “What, no further questions, Fennec-kun?”

Hinata shook his head. “No. I think it’s really cool. It fits.”

Now it was Tendou’s turn to blink. “Fits?”

“It sounds like it’ll be lots of fun to experiment and try new things.” Hinata’s eyes lit up. “I bet you’ll learn a whole bunch of new ways to eat chocolate!”

Hinata was going home to Hyougo in two days, and for the first time Tendou felt a painful little lurch in his chest at the thought of him leaving. He was going to miss this strange little boy an awful lot. Perhaps before Tendou boarded his flight to Paris, in the intervening weeks between graduation and moving to France, he’d stop in on Hinata.

Tendou bet the twins would just loooove to see him.

Goshiki placed his hands on the table, giving Hinata a significant look. “It’s time for us to get to homework if you’re going to be all caught up.”

Hinata sent Tendou a half-panicked, pleading look — Tendou’s face was implacable. Hinata’s shoulders slumped, giving Goshiki a half-resentful pout and a nod. Before he slid out of his chair, Hinata cast Tendou one last look. “I’m going to miss you a lot, Tendou-san, when you go.”

Tendou felt his tender little heart twist a bit in his chest, affection wanting to wiggle out of all his limbs to wrap Hinata up in a nice little hug. Instead Tendou settled for stretching across the table to jab Hinata with his fingers. “Can’t miss me before I go though, ne? Now go study before Tsutomu-kun starts scolding you, Fennec-kun.”

Tendou kept half lying across the table, watching his favorite little kouhai, and his newest, most special little friend make their way out of the cafeteria. Tendou saw the furtive little glances Goshiki kept sneaking at Hinata while they chatted. Oh, poor Tsutomu-kun. He didn’t stand a chance. Not against Twin B-kun when it came to the number one spot in Fennec-kun’s heart.

Tendou’s lip curled into an amused smile when they rounded the corner out of the cafeteria. Without looking he said out loud to Ushijima, “That Fennec-kun sure is a popular little boyo, hmm?”

Ushijima said nothing, didn’t even change his breathing. Which wasn’t so strange, but Tendou might’ve expected him to shift his weight at the very least. He turned his head enough to rest his ear on his arm and look back at Ushijima, still draped over the table.

Ushijima was frowning to himself. Tendou blinked. “You okay, Wakatoshi-kun?”

Ushijima looked up, the slightest furrow resting between his brow. Tendou sat up straighter to get a better look at him. He waited for Ushijima to speak as he searched to find his words.

Tendou didn’t have to wait as long as he thought he would have. “Tokyo and Paris are a long ways away from each other.”

Tendou nodded. He knew this. An eight hour time difference. He was going to have to figure out when it was best to call Ushijima in between practice and training and all other manner of things that would keep Japan’s ace busy in the months and years after they graduated. Tendou hoped dearly that Ushijima found someone else to touch him casually while Tendou was gone — a life without touch would be pretty barren and awful.

Tendou certainly wasn’t looking forward to it.

Ushijima held Tendou’s gaze. “I think it’s possible to miss someone before they are gone.”

Tendou tipped his head to the side, leaning forward a bit, trying to figure out what exactly Ushijima meant by that. “Don't you mean you’re just not looking forward to them going.”

Ushijima’s mouth shifted minutely to purse in thought, eyes flicked up to the ceiling — Tendou adored this expression more than any other. It was just so cute and purely Wakatoshi-kun, to seriously think on something as if he was reading his own brain. “Perhaps.”

Tendou shifted back just so, giving Ushijima a teasing little smirk. “If that’s the case, then you should make sure to spend as much time as you can with them, Wakatoshi-kun.”

Ushijima stared at him for a beat, before he jerked his head in a nod. “Very well. Tendou, would you like to go get ice cream with me?”

Tendou stared at him blankly, not quite understanding what dots he was supposed to be connecting. “Wakatoshi-kun, it’s winter outside.”

“But chocolate ice cream is your favorite.”

Tendou opened his mouth to reply, when realization hit him like a ton of bricks. Oooooh, sometimes even he could be kind of dense too, huh? Giving Ushijima his most winsome smile, Tendou reached his fingers out to curl around the hand Ushijima had resting on the table.

“I would love to get ice cream with you, Wakatoshi-kun.” And felt his heart do a little excited pitter patter when the corners of Ushijima’s mouth pulled up in a real, genuine smile.

January - Before Spring Nationals

“Shin-kun, what do you think of my kimono?” Hinata Natsu asked for the fifth time since Kita’s Obaa-chan lent it to her that morning. She executed a perfect little twirl, despite her geta — Kita had to marvel at the innate athleticism of the Hinata siblings. Whatever sport Natsu chose, if she chose, she was going to be just as much of a natural as her older brother.

“Ya look lovely, Nacchan.” Which was the same answer Kita had given her each time, but the answer was no less genuine. The deep purple with the yellow obi looked far nicer on Natsu than it ever did on his older sister, Shinobu — not that Kita would ever admit that out loud. People thought he was scary, but they’d just never met his older sister.

Natsu positively glowed, her smile every bit as effervescent as her brother’s as she wheeled around to race up the shrine steps — how she managed in a kimono, he would never know. Beside him Hinata had his face scrunched up in annoyance, obviously wanting to give his little sister a brotherly scolding. Only stopping himself because he was currently guiding Kita’s Obaa-chan up the stairs for their New Year’s shrine visit.

“It’s too bad,” Yumie said, one hand gripping Hinata’s arm, the other on the railing. Kita positioned himself behind them, just in case. “I think ya would have looked lovely in Shinsuke’s old yukata, Shouyou-kun. Ya never know who is watchin’, which is why we should look our best for our first shrine visit of the year.”

In front of him, Kita watched Hinata’s head dip to take in his outfit, probably trying to assess if anything was wrong with it. It was his usual puffy winter vest and a light jacket underneath with jeans. Hinata had been adamant he wouldn’t wear kimono for the shrine visit because he had ‘no time’. Apparently, he’d been invited to the extended Miya family mochi pounding, and it was imperative he wasn’t late.

Kita decided to intervene as they made it to the top. He scooped up Yumie’s other arm, giving her a gentle smile. “Hinata-kun knew he couldn’t compete with how lovely Natsu and ya look today, Obaa-chan.”

Yumie swatted at him with the hand that had been holding Hinata’s arm with a laugh. It had been her idea to bring the Hinata siblings to their first shrine visit of the year. Hinata’s mom was working today, and Hinata and Natsu would have otherwise spent the day under the kotatsu eating oranges and reading without Yumie’s intervention.

They offered their prayers, took their fortunes, and Yumie brought Natsu with her to introduce her to some of their neighbours milling around catching up with each other — it had been a long time since Yumie had gotten to show off a cute little girl to her friends, and Natsu was only too happy to preen for strangers.

Kita and Hinata found a bench, eating some dorayaki, watching Natsu execute another perfect spin, striking a pose to the impressed coos of the adults around her. Kita watched as old Mrs. Sano bent stooped to eye level to say something at Natsu with a smile. Natsu blushed and beamed.

“Yer kinda lucky to have such a cute younger sister,” Kita mused out loud, glancing at Hinata out of the corner of his eye.

Hinata blinked, cheeks puffed out with dorayaki. He finished chewing and swallowing before he spoke. “I guess.”

Kita gave him a small smile, returning to look at his obaa-chan and Natsu. It really was nice, no matter how dubious Hinata was about it.

“How come your younger brother didn’t come out today with you?” Hinata asked, eyeing the dorayaki he was supposed to be saving for Natsu.

Kita plucked it up and put it on the other side of the bench away from him, ignoring Hinata’s pout. “Shinji ain’t much for tradition.” An understatement if there ever was one. His little brother was actively condescending when it came to traditions. When Kita had said he was going to travel to the other side of the mountain to spend New Year’s, taking their grandmother to the first shrine visit of the year, Shinji had scoffed and then gone out with his friends. He was truly an excellent sampling of the worst type of middle schooler.

Kita chose to change the subject, rather than ruminate on his frustrations with his brother. “Ya ready for Nationals?”

Hinata’s head jerked up, eyes blazing with excitement. Kita would have laughed if it weren’t for the fact that it might hurt Hinata’s feelings. “Yeah! I can’t wait! Tendou-san sent me home with a lot of Shiratorizawa game tape that I’ve been watching.”

And just how likely was it that Washijou-sensei approved of Hinata going home with what was undoubtedly pirated video footage from Shiratorizawa’s collection of game tape? Knowing Tendou — extremely unlikely.

Kita smiled at him. “That’s good, but make sure ya get yer rest.”

Hinata nodded. “I am, don’t worry.”

It was the assuredness Hinata was carrying himself with lately, especially ever since he’d come back from his Miyagi training camp. that had Kita confident that he needn't fret.

Hinata looked him straight in the eye, smile gleaming. “I’m gonna get the gold for you, Kita-san.”

Kita blinked once before he kicked back his head and laughed, making Hinata jump and stare at him wide-eyed. “Hinata-kun, it ain’t just me yer playin’ for.”

Hinata nodded emphatically. “I know! I just thought it’d be a cool thing to say.”

Kita curbed the urge to snort but only just barely. “Ya been hangin’ out with the twins too much.” Kita allowed himself a small smile when he saw Hinata pouting, watching Yumie and Natsu laugh and chat with the people around them.

After a moment of quiet, Hinata hummed, toes drawing wiggly patterns in the snow dusted dirt beneath them. “Hey, Kita-san?”

“Hmm?”

“Akagi-san was saying you weren’t taking any entrance exams.” Hinata was staring intently at the curvy squiggle his toe was carving into the ground.

Kita looked at Hinata. Akagi making Hinata do his dirty work, huh? “That’s right.”

“Is it ‘cause you wanna go be a farmer?”

Kita knew exactly where this line of questioning was coming from. After Akagi had found out he’d been admitted to Chuo University and Oomimi knew he’d be attending Kyoto University, both of his friends had decided to become interminable busybodies. Kita was still the top of his class, and Akagi and Omimi could not fathom why he wouldn’t take his scholastic achievement and carry that over into a good university — how else was he going to get a good job?

Informing his friends that he wished to take over his Great Aunt’s farm was apparently not a satisfactory answer for them.

The only person who had accepted Kita’s choice right from the get-go had been Aran. When Kita had told him, a few weeks before Aran would learn he’d be playing for the Tachibana Red Falcons, Aran had just looked at him, smiled and nodded and said “Yeah, that fits.”

The only reason Kita may have regretted his choice was if Aran had ended up in Tokyo or Oita City like they thought he might at the time. But now that he was just in Osaka? Kita could work with that.

“It’s ‘cause I wanna be a rice farmer, Hinata-kun,” Kita said, looking at Hinata out of the corner of his eye.

Hinata pursed his lips, thinking on that, before he nodded. “That’s cool.”

Easy as that. No pressure. No additional questions. No dubious looks. If only everyone could be as kind and accepting as Hinata Shouyou. Kita huffed. Hinata really was his favorite kouhai by miles and miles. When the time came for Hinata to decide his own future, no matter what the decision was, Kita would try and remember this moment and try to do as Hinata did. Smile. Accept. Support him in his choices. It’s what he deserved

“Hey, Kita-san?”

“Yes?”

“When I leave in a few years,” Hinata began, eyebrows furrowed as he watched Natsu tell some story or another with a lot of emphatic gestures, “can you make sure to check in on Natsu, my mom, and the girls for me?”

Kita blinked. Or maybe that day was barreling at them way faster than Kita would have thought. Kita turned to watch Yumie and Natsu share secret little smiles. “Yeah, I think I can do that for ya.”

Hinata grinned, eyes crinkling as he looked at Kita. “Thanks!”

“Just so long as ya can promise me somethin’,” Kita said voice going serious.

Hinata sobered, watching Kita intently.

“When yer poundin’ mochi with the twins later, don’t let either of ‘em smack yer fingers. We need ya in top condition in a few days.”

Hinata barked a laugh, leaning back on his hands to give Kita an impish grin. “Pft, they’ll have to catch me first.”

Kita smiled. He supposed they would.

January - After Spring Nationals

There was a knock on his office door making Kurosu look up. Hinata stood in the doorway, school uniform a little sloppy like it always was, his bag slung over his shoulder. Kurosu might say he looked a bit jittery.

“Hey kid,” Kurosu gestured at the seat across from his desk. “This is kinda a surprise. Ya never been one to visit my office before.” Hinata was also generally a very good, well-mannered kid, so he’d never had to pull Hinata in for a chat about his behaviour before either. Was this maybe the first time Hinata had ever actually been in the room before?

Hinata slid into the seat across from him, an almost hesitant smile in place of his usual bright one. “Hey coach. I wanted to talk to you about something.”

He sure sounded awfully serious. “Yeah, sure. Anythin’.”

Hinata hesitated for a moment, before he seemed to steel himself. “Coach, I want to figure out how to play beach volleyball.”

Kurosu stared at him blankly, not quite sure he’d heard the statement correctly. “Huh?”

Hinata just seemed to puff up, more determined. “I want to learn how to play beach volleyball.”

Kurosu pursed his lips, squinting at the kid. “Ya mean instead of regular volleyball?”

Hinata frowned. “No, to like, help regular volleyball.”

Human curveball Hinata Shouyou, showing once more you could never sit on your laurels around this kid. Otherwise, he’d get one up on you, easy peasy.

“Sorry, I think I’m confused.” Kurso adjusted his glasses. “Ya wanna play beach to supplement yer indoor game?” Hinata nodded at him. Kurosu sighed. “What, ya conquer the National stage and now ya gotta go beat up some beach boys?”

Hinata, bless his heart, actually considered that question seriously. “I mean, I guess kinda? In beach volleyball, it’s just you and one other person, right? Like our two-on-two training from last summer. I want to be good enough to do that.”

Kurosu scruffed a hand through his hair. There really was no expectin’ when it came to Hinata Shouyou, huh? “Alright, kid. Let’s talk options, and whatcha want outta this.”

Hinata beamed, pulling out a tablet, apparently ready for Kurosu’s questions.

February

Something Suna had always figured to be true but never had confirmed for him until now, was that getting everything you wanted didn’t really make problems go away.

Like getting to be the National Champs. Something Inarizaki had been pushing towards for a good long forever — something Suna had wanted to give to their thirds years, to their captain—

Well, they got it. But that didn’t automatically make them all better people. Or get along better. Or worry less about their futures and shit.

Like the twins going for each other’s throats last month when Osamu made the announcement that he would not, in fact, be continuing to play volleyball after high school. Instead, he’d be going into food service. Apparently, he dreamed of that. Suna kinda wanted to pull him aside and tell him to have bigger dreams, but given Atsumu’s reaction, Suna had thought it would be more prudent to hold his tongue.

See, Atsumu had been operating under the assumption that he and Osamu would grow old and die together on a volleyball court. So when Osamu had informed him otherwise, it was like Hinata falling at Nationals again, only instead of being extremely depressed, he was absurdly, malevolently, all encompassingly angry.

The cherry on top was that apparently Hinata knew — betraying Atsumu in some convoluted way only Atsumu understood.

The shouting, the fights, the cold shoulders, and the black eyes were all behind them now though. This was partly due to Hinata’s increasingly fierce “Jetpack Attacks!” against both twins, and partly because apparently at some point in the last year, the two big idiots with the same face had figured out how to talk to each other. Sort of.

So now all that was left was the changing of the old guard, and getting ready to see their senpai off. One more month and Suna wouldn’t be seeing the calm, reassuring presence of Kita in the mornings. Or in the hallways. Or in the— anywhere. Nowhere. He’d be up and graduated, choosing farm work over literally anything else he could have done if he’d put his mind to it.

But not to worry, Kita’s true love, best-friend-forever, boyfriend extraordinaire wasn’t going to be too far. Only in Osaka chasing his dreams of playing pro. True love would persevere.

Suna really ought to be less bitter about that. He’d make a terrible farm husband — he hated manual labour, and Aran was literally the best person any of them knew. Besides, Kita and Aran made for a ridiculously handsome couple.

As before, like he’d been doing for the past two years, Suna squashed every feeling he had about his now former captain, Kita Shinsuke, stuffing it away to maybe be looked at fondly when he was old and well-loved and happier than he was at seveneen.

Though it had been a near fucking thing when they’d handed out jerseys today. Watching Kita himself hand out the mantle of captain to Atsumu, eyes shining with a calm sense of pride as Atsumu clutched the jersey to his chest, thanking him.

Fuck, Suna was going to have to do something cool with his life if he was ever going to get Kita to look at him like that, huh? Grreeeeat.

It had been kind of endearing, the way Atsumu sat back down, holding the jersey open in front of him, his face alight with wonder and joy — actually smiling an honest, genuine smile full of pure fucking volleyball love or something equally gay.

If he cried though, Suna was gonna lose it.

Suna still wasn’t quite sure what the hell their coaches were thinking though — giving vice captain to Osamu. Either of the twins were an excellent choice as captain, both of them had way more fight in them than any of the rest of them did. Though Atsumu would certainly complain more if he didn’t get king shit, so Atsumu as captain made sense.

What didn’t was putting Osamu in as second in command. If the idea was that Osamu would be wrangling his twin, everyone had another thing coming. Atsumu and Osamu brought the best out in each other sometimes. More often than not, the two of them amplified the other’s crazy like no one else. Suna would know, he’d had the misfortune of both their friendships for two years now. God, how was Suna gonna survive a full fucking year of those two dickheads leading their charge?

It’d be like giving Hinata vice captaincy. Pray help the team if Kurosu got ideas long after Suna was gone.

Now that he thought of it, it was Friday, which meant he and everyone’s most darling gremlin had a date with a weight bench in the fitness center.

Suna looked over his shoulder from his locker to find Hinata sitting on the bench across from him, a blank expression on his face. Weird. Was their little alien broken?

“Quit moonin’ at yer damn jersey, ya fuckin’ sop. We got a dentist appointment,” Osamu grumbled, lacing up his shoes. At the locker next to his, Atsumu was still reverently stroking the number one on his brand spanking new jersey.

“‘M not moonin’,” Atsumu mumbled, reluctantly grabbing a hanger for his jersey, placing it with utmost care in his locker before shutting it. “Just ‘cause yer jealous—”

Osamu groaned, lifting up his bag and hanging it over his shoulder. “I ain’t jealous. In fact, I’m grateful I don’t hafta deal with ya cryin’ at me ‘cause I got the damn captaincy.”

Atsumu’s face scrunched up. “Well, ya don’t deserve it if yer gonna go make food instead of volleyball next year, ya fuckin’... ya fuckin’ food otaku!”

Osamu looked unimpressed, his tone mocking when he threw Atsumu’s words back in his face. “‘Make volleyball, not food’. Get yer damn shoes on and let’s go.”

Atsumu finished shoving his shoes on, waving his brother off. “Yeah, yeah. I’m comin’.” He threw a look at Suna and Hinata — the only other people in the locker room now, rolling his eyes for effect. “See ya, Sunarin, Shouyou-kun.”

Suna tipped his head in acknowledgement. Hinata stayed silent, not so much as twitching. They all paused to look at him — Hinata still had his gaze fixed on the tile beneath his feet, unmoving.

Atsumu frowned. “Shouyou-kun?”

Hinata blinked, his head lifting, still looking a bit dazed. “Mm?”

Atsumu’s brow pinched, taking a hesitant step deeper into the locker room towards him. “Are ya okay—”

“Yup! I’m fine! All good. Just thinking about exams. That’s all,” Hinata said too quickly, waving a hand, his usual bright smile not quite reaching his eyes. “Go to your dentist appointment, or your mom’ll yell at you again.”

Atsumu looked dubious, but let Osamu drag him out of the locker room all the same.

Whatever the fuck it was, Suna had no interest in managing whatever was going on with Hinata. A workout was probably all he needed. That was support-adjacent, right?

“You coming? I thought we were gonna train today?” Suna had just planned a simple core routine, nothing too strenuous, not that Hinata would be bothered in the slightest — the little freak and his hideous stamina made Suna tired just thinking about it.

Hinata once again didn’t move. He still sat on the bench, legs splayed in front of him, his eyes trained on the toes of his sneakers now. Suna blinked. Now that was weird. Anytime Hinata was still for too long it freaked him the hell out, especially when it was just the two of them. It always meant something creepy was gonna come rolling off his tongue, or he had some stupid, lofty goal swirling around that head of his.

Suna moved closer, nudging one of Hinata’s feet with his own, ready to spring back if Hinata finally went full feral and tried to bite him.

Hinata jerked, legs drawing back as he stared at Suna in wide-eyed astonishment — like he couldn’t believe that Suna was here existing. “Huh?”

Suna frowned. “What the hell is up with you? You look like you’re having a fight with an existential ghost and you’re losing.”

Hinata stared up at him blankly. “Ghost?”

Suna rolled his eyes. “We were gonna go train, because I am far too kind and thoughtful for some stupid reason.”

Hinata was looking at him like he was speaking another language. In fact, Suna might even say the kid kinda looked a bit shellshocked. Which was— It was weird as hell. Already regretting his decision, Suna plunked down on the bench opposite Hinata, lips pursed as he squinted at the little gremlin. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Hinata stared blankly at him for a moment, before he blinked and shrugged, averting his gaze. “N-nothing.”

Suna pressed his lips together, desperately trying not to ask a follow-up question. The little bastard didn’t want to talk. Don’t make him talk. Suna wasn’t into this sort of thing. He wasn’t a kind and thoughtful ear. He was the slightly acerbic, cool, and aloof senpai — or so he told himself.

If Hinata wanted a shoulder to cry on, he needed Aran. Maybe even Kita would let their favorite gremlin— but they were gone. Well... not for a few more weeks officially. They were still allowed at practice, but now it was all about working with what they had for next year. Kita and Aran could comfort Hinata. But they weren’t here now. And Suna was.

Fuck.

Unbidden, the words came tumbling out of Suna’s mouth. “Did something happen today?”

Hinata’s gaze flickered to him and then back to the floor, and then back to Suna once more. “Maybe?”

If emotional support was going to be like pulling teeth, Suna knew exactly why he never did this kind of shit. Gross. “Do... you...” Suna’s nose wrinkled, the words feeling stiff and awkward on his tongue. “Want to talk about it?”

Hinata had the audacity to look a bit mystified by Suna’s question. He was really regretting this decision now. Suna would much rather be doing literally anything else. Pull off his finger nails, shave his head, make him chew glass. Any-fucking-thing else.

Hinata licked his lips, eyes periodically darting away from Suna as his jaw worked, trying to find words for whatever the hell had turned him into the particular brand of weirdo he was being right now. Finally Hinata sucked in a breath and stared at Suna’s knees. “Suna-san, how do you know... what your type is?”

Suna blinked. That— was not what he’d been expecting. “You mean type, like the kind of person you like?”

After a moment's hesitation, Hinata’s head dipped in a nod, looking up at Suna through his lashes with a hound dog expression.

Suna returned it with a flat stare of his own. “I dunno, most dudes like big boobs.”

That did not elicit the reaction Suna thought it would. He figured Hinata would jerk back, flustered and embarrassed, the conversation over. Not stare back at him, his mouth curved into a small, thoughtful frown. “I don’t think I’ve ever really thought about boobs much,” Hinata pursed his lips, tipping his head to look up at the ceiling. “I mean, I’ve seen them in dirty mags and stuff before, but I don’t think I’ve ever really focused on the size. More like the nipple, I guess?”

Suna sat mute for a moment, overwhelmed by the information that Hinata apparently not only knew about dirty mags, but had apparently seen them before? And! He’d just said the word nipple? Without even blinking? He really was a tiny, weird little alien.

Suna had an embarrassing amount of affection for him.

“What makes you ask about types, anyways? I thought you were only interested in volleyball.”

Hinata looked back down at the floor, toe scuffing on the tile, brow pinched. “That’s what I thought too.”

They were probably definitely not getting to their workout today, huh? Figuring it was best to just let Hinata talk, Suna waited. He would open his mouth eventually, right?

After a moment, Hinata glanced up at Suna through his bangs, fingers curled around the bench. “Someone confessed to me yesterday, one of Fumiko’s band friends.”

Suna nodded, he figured the brass band was probably filled with a few Shouyou-kun otakus too. Made sense. “Okay, and?”

“I told her no.” Hinata’s brow pinched like he was confused by what he was saying. “And she said something about her not being my type — and then I said no, she’s cute, but I just wanted to play volleyball.”

Suna rolled his eyes. Him and Atsumu both. Guh. How many confessions had Atsumu gotten over the years and he’d just snorted and walked away — nothing gets in the way of volleyball. Not girls. Not anything.

Hinata was gnawing on his lip. “And then—”

Suna wished he wore a watch, just for the dramatic flair of going to check it and sighing. “And then?”

Hinata’s cheeks were flushing, and his eyes darted to the doorway like he was waiting for someone to come bursting in. No one was coming. Everyone had gone home. Like they should be because of their lack of workout time dammit.

Hinata exhaled shakily. “Today, when we were all getting our jerseys and Atsumu got his—” He sucked his lip right back into his mouth, brows pinched anxiously. Suna sat up straighter. Oh? Hinata’s eyes flicked to the door again, before he leaned forward, voice pitched low. “And I, uhm. I think— I don’t know—” He seemed to choke on the words, fingers worrying at the edges of his shorts.

Suna blew out a sigh. Maybe Hinata wasn’t ready to talk about feelings he was only just starting to realize, but maybe Suna could help a little bit. “You ever heard of a sexual orientation called ‘pansexual?’”

Hinata blinked, shaking his head no once.

Suna rolled his shoulders, hooking his foot over his knee as he settled in. They were probably going to be here for a while. “Well, for one thing, I’m pansexual. If you’re willing to listen, I can explain a bit of what that means.”

Hinata gave him a wide-eyed stare, nodding once and leaning forward, looking almost desperately hungry for more information. Poor little hick, Suna could set him straight—

Or well... Or not.

Chapter Text

April

Hinata’s favorite thing in the world right now might be the fact that Atsumu finally, officially had a key to the Inarizaki gym. As captain, he earned himself his own very special copy, retiring the copy of a copy of the key he’d been hiding from Kita since before Hinata had joined Inarizaki. Kita had asked for Atsumu’s “borrowed” key back when they were still doing secret practices. Atsumu, thinking two steps ahead, had apparently already made a copy of that key. Not that they’d ever been brave enough to use it. Kita would have known.

But that was all behind them now. Atsumu was captain, and he could come into the gym whenever he felt like it. At least, if you asked him. Hinata was pretty sure Coaches Kurosu and Oomi might have different ideas about what constituted appropriate use of the gym key.

Well, maybe Hinata’s actual favorite thing wasn’t that Atsumu had a key. Maybe it was the mischievous little grin he’d give Hinata after practice, cocking his head to the side and asking, “Ya wanna stay to work on yer spikes, Shouyou-kun?”

Obviously.

He always wanted to work on his spikes. And his tosses. And his receives and his serves and his anything, as long as he was doing it with Atsumu.

So it had become pretty regular for the two of them — staying late after practice, coming in on Sundays and just playing volleyball. Never going crazy hard, but pushing each other just a little bit further. A little bit more.

Today was a little bit different though. Today, Hinata had something to tell Atsumu. It was important.

They’d just wrapped up setting practice — Atsumu, like usual, had about a hundred different notes for Hinata, when Atsumu noticed him rubbing the pad of his thumb over the jagged edge of his middle fingernail. Atsumu reached over, plucking Hinata’s hand up in his own and squinted down at Hinata’s fingernails. Hinata felt his breath catch in his throat as his heart stuttered in his chest.

Atsumu clucked his tongue. “Shouyou-kun, what the heck have I said about takin’ care of yer nails?”

Hinata felt he did a good job of keeping his voice level when he answered. “I’ve been clipping them short like normal.”

Atsumu flicked his eyes up from Hinata’s fingers to look him in the eye, a profoundly unimpressed look on his face. “What happened to the nail files I gave ya?”

Hinata felt the familiar, almost comforting feel of annoyance overtake the squirminess in his stomach. “I don’t like the texture of the nail file on my fingers, and I don’t know how to use it.”

Atsumu rolled his eyes, releasing Hinata’s hand and made his way towards their bags, nestled along the wall. “Go sit down, and I’ll show ya.”

Hinata did as he was told, plunking himself down on a nearby bench, waiting for Atsumu to retrieve whatever fussy hand care things he used on a daily basis to maintain his perfect setter hands. Hinata looked down at his own fingers, with their short blunt nails. He didn’t think they were that bad.

Atsumu set his bag down near the edge of the bench and slid in across from Hinata, straddling the low wooden bench and placed his little collection of hand care items down in between them. Nail files, clippers, lotions, and a nail buff.

He wrinkled his nose, hooking his leg over the bench to face Atsumu. “You’re always so fussy with your hands, Atsumu-san.”

Atsumu was testing the texture of his various nail files — and honestly, who needed that many? — before he decided on one, picking it up and smirking at Hinata. “Of course, a setter’s hands are his most important tool to support his teammates.” He wiggled the nail file at Hinata teasingly. “Something ya better learn if I’m gonna letcha toss for me during games.”

Hinata rolled his eyes. “But you already do let me—”

Atsumu held out a hand, clicking his tongue once more. “Yeah, yeah, now gimme yer hand. I’ll take care of ya.”

Hinata scooted forward a bit, their knees almost touching, as Atsumu hooked his foot over his knee and pulled Hinata’s right hand forward, almost into his lap. For a few nearly heart-stopping seconds, Atsumu’s thumb brushed over his fingertips, assessing the nails there before he began to work, starting with Hinata’s pinky.

They sat in silence, the scuffing of the nail file the only sound permeating the empty gymnasium. Hinata watched as Atsumu’s practiced hands slid over his own, gentle and careful, but no less certain for it. It was something he did for himself almost every day — it was funny to think about whether or not he’d ever done something like this for anyone else. Osamu would certainly never tolerate it.

Atsumu looked so self-assured doing this for another person, but that didn’t stop Hinata from hoping that Atsumu only did this for him.

The quiet stillness, the tenderness with which Atsumu was looking after Hinata’s hands. It’d be stupid to break the silence, right? To say out loud what he wanted to. Needed to. To ruin the peace. To watch the warm, soft expression on Atsumu’s face shutter and close. He was going to hate Hinata, wasn’t he?

Hinata swallowed, trying to find his voice.

“So ya know how I’ve had a buncha recruiters sniffin’ around me?” Atsumu beat him to it.

Hinata swallowed again, hoping he didn’t need to clear his throat. “Mhmm.”

Atsumu didn’t look up from his work, moving on to the next finger, apparently satisfied with the shape and length of the pinky nail. “Welp, I think I finally have a team I’m interested in.”

Hinata snorted, he couldn’t help himself. “Atsumu-san, you’re interested in any team that thinks you’re cool.”

Atsumu scoffed, flicking a glance up at Hinata through his bangs. “Which is all teams, Shouyou-kun.” And grinned when Hinata rolled his eyes, his gaze drifting back down to his work. “Anyways, the MSBY Black Jackals promised to send a few players and recruiters to our prefectural tournament.”

Hinata blinked. “The Black Jackals are the ones based in Higashiosaka, right?” If Hinata recalled they were still a pretty new team with younger talent — a few guys out of college. Not bad, but not amazing, kind of middle of the road. Why was Atsumu bringing them up? He’d had interest from the top three teams in the league, why settle for something so middle of the road?

Atsumu didn’t look up. “Yeah, it’s pretty close, huh?” He moved onto Hinata’s next finger. “They also promised I’d be startin’ next year — that I’d get to play whatever volleyball I wanted.”

Hinata thought on that for a moment, considering. The Adlers had basically explicitly told Atsumu that he’d be their reserve setter for his rookie year, as they got ready to retire their veteran. The Raijin had said they were excited about his skill and enthusiasm, but that they needed Atsumu to support the spikers they had, not the other way around. The Green Rockets hadn’t said what they wanted, just that they liked Atsumu as a player.

“That’s pretty cool. And it’d probably suit you too — having a team willing to let you shine your best.”

Atsumu’s smile was wide and genuine as it bloomed across his face. He flicked a glance up at Hinata again, before returning to his work. “Aw, Shouyou-kun. Yer gonna make me blush.”

Hinata almost bit his tongue, instead making an interested sound in the back of his throat as Atsumu switched to his next finger. They were silent again, the scuff of the nail file filling the space between them.

Atsumu broke the silence, his tone light and casual, meaning he was very invested in what he was saying. “Besides, the Black Jackals will likely have a slot open for a wing spiker in another two years.”

Hinata stared blankly at him, not comprehending what Atsumu was saying. “Okay?”

Atsumu paused, giving Hinata an amused smirk. “So when ya graduate ya should come play with me. We gotta start takin’ on the world somewhere, right?”

Hinata gaped at him, his heart hammering in his chest, feeling a swell of too many emotions at once. Excitement and eagerness. Dread. Fear. Joy. A giddy sort of electricity that began where their hands were joined and buzzed up his arm to wrap around his spine; it made him want to roll on the floor. Like a heart racing version of wrapping yourself up in a warm blanket on a cold day.

Atsumu shrugged, tone casual once again as he returned to looking at Hinata’s fingers, continuing to file and clean them. “But that's something we can talk about later. I still got a year to make a decision after all.”

Hinata had to say it. He had to say the words. Say them. It was going to hurt and suck and Atsumu was going to be furious with him. But they had time to get over it. They could work through it. They could. It would be fine.

Atsumu let out a gusty sigh, a small smile lifting the corner of his mouth lopsided. Hinata felt the breath on his fingers and it made him want to wiggle and twitch. “All I know, Shouyou-kun, is that I wanna play with ya. No matter what happens.”

Hinata was going to cry.

So instead he blurted, “I’m going to Brazil.”

Atsumu paused, mid-practiced motion of his hands. Hinata watched his eyebrows pinch as his head slowly lifted to give Hinata a profoundly confused look. “Huh?”

Hinata already ripped off the bandage, so he may as well let the wound gush. “I’m going to Brazil. After I graduate. To play beach volleyball.” Hinata was terrified by the careful neutrality of Atsumu’s face. “I need to learn to stand on my own. I can’t always be supported by everyone around me. I talked to Washijou-sensei and Coach and we’re working on a plan that will take me to Brazil after I graduate, so I can play beach volleyball and—”

He clicked his jaw closed because Atsumu’s face was still so carefully blank it was making his stomach twist and heave. Atsumu hated him. He had to. The last thing Hinata had wanted was for Atsumu to react in the same way he had to Osamu’s news. Hinata wouldn’t be able to live with himself if Atsumu gave him that utterly wounded look Hinata had received when Atsumu found out that he knew about Osamu’s plan to quit volleyball and hadn’t shared it with him.

Hinata was going to be sick. Or maybe he was going to faint. He was feeling awfully light-headed. But he needed Atsumu to understand. More than anyone else. Wanted him to support him. To tell him it was okay. That maybe it was even a good idea. That maybe—

“Huh.”

Hinata watched Atsumu’s face tilt and shift, not quite thoughtful, but not entirely blank either. “Huh?” Hinata repeated.

Atsumu wasn’t looking at him, more at a point over Hinata’s shoulder. Was he about to get yelled at? Was Atsumu going to get up and leave and they’d never speak again? Were they never going to do secret practice just the two of them ever again?

Atsumu finally spoke. “Are ya comin’ back?”

Hinata stared at him blankly, not anticipating that question in the slightest. “Yeah. After two years.”

Atsumu nodded, lips pursed. “And yer goin’ to train, just for ya?”

Hinata licked his lips. “Yeah.”

Atsumu finally made eye contact with him, and he didn’t look furious or wounded or even confused. Just curious. “Cool.” And just like that, Atsumu titled his head back down and resumed the work of filing Hinata’s nails.

Hinata sat staring at him, his heart thumping hard in his ears. Adrenaline making him twitchy. It’s like he just had a fight-or-flight reaction only to feel wrong-footed and stupid for thinking he needed one in the first place. He finally plucked up the courage to break the silence between them. “You’re not mad?”

Atsumu’s hands paused for a second. “Why would ya think I’d be—” before he shrugged, moving on to Hinata’s thumb, turning his wrist so it would rest more comfortably. “Yeah, fair. I’m not mad, Shouyou-kun. Can’t be mad atcha. Yer doin’ it for volleyball, right?”

Hinata sucked in a stiff breath, nodding his head before he realized Atsumu wasn’t looking at him. “Yeah. Because I want to be good enough to stand next to you.”

That pulled a real smile from Atsumu, small as it was. “Then ya better make sure it’s worth it.” Atsumu lifted his head, handing Hinata back his hand, looking him in the eye. “Though I gotta say, goin’ halfway around the world just to play volleyball? That’s pretty heckin’ cool.”

Hinata made a noise, not entirely sure how to name the enormous feeling filling his chest. It was similar to the one Hinata felt when they got their new crop of first years for practice, and Atsumu had stood in front of them, hands on his hips, smirking at them — telling them that no matter where they were today, Atsumu’s job was to let them hit the ball nice and easy.

“Though ya had better come back. Because I’m gonna toss for ya again, if it’s the last thing I do.” Atsumu grinned, dropping Hinata’s right hand before picking up his left and getting to work on his other pinky, the thread of tension Hinata had only just noticed in his shoulders dissipating.

Hinata watched Atsumu do his quiet work, with his soft, genuine smile. Hinata lifted his right hand, looking down at the neatly trimmed edges of his nails, perfectly rounded — just like Atsumu’s hands. He felt kind of stupid now, building up this interaction so much over the weeks since Washijou had told him about a contact he had in Rio. About an opportunity to train in two years’ time.

About Hinata’s greatest fear in the world being Atsumu’s face, crumpled and wounded. Disappointed in him. Hurt.

As Hinata looked down at his fingers, his mind produced an image, from a too hot and hazy electric moment from just a few months ago, when they’d stood in a hallway, gold medals dangling around their necks. Fingers pressed to a jaw, faces leaning in—

Hinata looked back at the boy, almost a man, sitting across from him, doing the work of taking care of Hinata’s hands because he still wasn’t very good at it, nattering mostly to himself about the types of hand lotions that worked best for volleyball players.

His friend.

Of a loudmouth who liked to pick fights because he was too awkward to ask someone to pay attention to him. A competitive idiot who was personally offended that Hinata could outrun him. The delighted toothy grins every time they figured something out, and they got to try it again and again at practice. The loud, full tilt laugh that made him rock his head back that always brought a smile to Hinata’s face. The careful and quiet way he would look after his hands before and after practice.

The nose wrinkle anytime he thought someone said something stupid, but he didn’t want to say it out loud, proving he could be tactful when he wanted to be. The sarcastic looks slid to Hinata when they both knew something was absolutely silly. The persistent need to seek each other out — phone calls in the evening, text messages throughout the day. Arms reaching up to bracket the doorway of Hinata’s classroom, a lopsided grin on his face. Sharing food, eating lunches together — even when his experiments failed, but he still wanted Hinata to try them anyways.

His partner.

Biking over a mountain just to see him. The giddy relieved smile on his face every time Hinata walked into practice. The grin that egged Hinata on to try new and sometimes stupid things. Countless jokes and stories. Shoulder-to-shoulder on buses, sharing headphones, watching something cool. Doing something cool. Saying something cool.

The magnetic feeling of being perfectly in sync on the court.

The magnetic feeling of his smile first thing in the morning at school.

A dark-haired boy in a red and white and black tracksuit coming to find him after the worst moment of Hinata’s whole life, a smug little smile pulling at the corners of his mouth even as his eyes were wide with curiosity. An easier, more natural smile just a short while later. “I’ll letcha hit it nice and easy.”

The wide, just slightly surprised smile on his face as Kita handed over the number one jersey to their new captain. The way he sat back down, the reverence in his fingers as they glossed over the number, eyes shining and bright and happy. Hinata had never been happier for another person in his life. Felt his heart twist and lurch and butterflies bombarded his stomach. He wanted to reach out and bury his face in Atsumu’s neck and never let go ever again. Wanted Atsumu to always feel that way.

His Atsumu.

Hinata was pretty sure he’d been a little bit in love with Atsumu ever since that first moment he’d called out to Hinata the first day they met. He just hadn’t realized it until the moment Atsumu got everything he ever wanted and was recognized for it.

All these thoughts flipped through his head as he continued to stare at Atsumu’s handiwork. Hinata desperately wanted to take Atsumu’s work, to press his fingertips into Atsumu’s jaw and— And—

“Just make sure ya avoid lotions with beeswax in ‘em,” Atsumu was saying, working on Hinata’s middle finger, apparently entirely unbothered by Hinata’s continued silence. “I find they leave a residue on yer fingers that makes the ball slip juuuust a little bit, but it’s annoyin’ as hell.”

Hinata watched his mouth, resolve creeping up his spine. If Atsumu wasn’t going to hate him for going to Brazil, he probably wouldn’t hate Hinata for this either, right?

“My favorite though, is definitely—” Hinata cut Atsumu off by taking his now nicely manicured hand and gripping the side of Atsumu’s face. Atsumu paused, jerking his head up to look at Hinata startled. “Uhhh, Shouyou-kun?”

Hinata looked into Atsumu’s eyes, enjoying that they were warm even as Atsumu looked confused as hell. His fingers weren’t exactly in the right place, more gripping Atsumu’s face than holding his hand there — but Hinata needed practice, what could he say? His only kiss so far had been a sudden invasion of his space. He didn’t have a lot of experience to work off of.

Atsumu’s brows pinched, concerned. “Shouyou-kun—”

Hinata cut him off by surging forward, ending up in an awkward crouch as he thrust his face towards Atsumu, their noses bumping just a little as he remembered at the last second to tilt his head to the side and to scrunch his eyes shut because last time he’d had his eyes open and it had been freaky and—

Atsumu’’s lips were on his and it was warm and Hinata wondered if both of them were a little chapped but it felt good and nice and it was sending little happy, wiggly warmth up his spine and into his scalp, and Hinata got to breathe the air that Atsumu breathed, and it was the single best, most intimate thing he could think of and he liked it. He loved it. He loved Atsumu—

Atsumu’s hands grabbed Hinata’s shoulders and pushed, just enough to unseal their mouths. Pushed him inches away. He was staring at Hinata wide-eyed. Like he couldn’t believe what had just happened. Perhaps the risk Hinata had taken was more poorly calculated than he thought. He really wasn’t very good at math.

“S-Shouyou-kun?” Atsumu's voice came out hoarse and strangled. They were still inches apart, and Hinata decided he hated this limbo. He either wanted more electricity generating kisses or to go back to normal. He wanted the kissing more but would take normalcy too if he couldn’t have it. Just none of this between bullcrap they were currently doing.

“I’m in love with you,” Hinata blurted, feeling his face go hot. Maybe that was too sudden? When Hinata received confessions people tended to explain themselves. Should he explain? Was that what you were supposed to do? “I think I have been for awhile, but I’m kind of dumb about that sort of thing. But definitely for a while. Maybe the whole time? Anyways, if you want me to list off reasons why, I’m kind of drawing a blank right now, but I know there’s lots. From like, how cool I think your hair is and how good you are at volleyball. I definitely love your tosses. Oh! Also you have the best laugh in the world and—”

The grip on Hinata’s shoulders changed — from being held at bay, Hinata was suddenly thrust forward and his face bonked into Atsumu’s. Then their lips pressed together again. Hinata’s thoughts got to go on mute again, which was nice. The hands holding Hinata’s shoulders were kind of shaking, but Hinata was so happy that Atsumu had chosen kissing instead of limbo — or worse yet, no kissing — that he didn’t mind.

They both kind of forgot to breathe though, so Hinata eventually pulled back — if he’d known, he would have taken a bigger breath, so they could kiss longer. Hinata was about to say as much when Atsumu’s hands moved again, looping around Hinata’s back and pulling him into a bone-creaking hug. Atsumu flopped backwards, taking Hinata with him so they were sprawled on the bench, Hinata’s face mashed between Atsumu’s neck and his collarbone. It smelled kind of sweaty, but in a way that made Hinata want to smoosh his nose there for ever and ever.

Underneath him, he felt Atsumu shake momentarily, taking in a ragged breath, arms tightening around Hinata. Another ragged breath, this time tinged a little bit wetly. “Atsumu-san, are you crying?”

“No!” Atsumu’s response was sharp and immediate.

He was definitely crying.

“Okay,” Hinata said, trying to sound sincere and obviously failing based on the way Atsumu grunted beneath him.

“I’m in love with ya too.” Atsumu let out in a big whoosh of breath. Hinata could feel it ruffling his hair a bit.

Hinata could feel a stupid, doofy grin stretch across his face, and he couldn’t help himself from thunking his forehead into Atsumu’s collarbone. His arms were currently pinned, so it wasn't like he could give Atsumu his own squeeze.

“I think I’ve been in love with ya since the moment I laid eyes on ya.”

Hinata lifted his head to look at the underside of Atsumu’s chin. “You mean the moment I did that broad attack.”

Atsumu laughed, and Hinata found he loved getting to feel it reverberate underneath him. “Yeah, maybe.”

The hugging was awfully nice and the touching was great and getting to feel Atsumu’s voice was wonderful, but Hinata found he was really very interested in more kissing. “Hey, Atsumu-san?”

Hinata could practically hear the big stupid grin in Atsumu’s voice. “Yeah, Shouyou-kun?”

Hinata idly wondered if he was going to feel all warm and gooey from now on every time Atsumu said his name. “Can we kiss some more?”

Atsumu made a sound somewhere between a nasally whine, a choke, and a ‘yup’, and then his arms loosened, so Hinata took that as his cue to shimmy upwards a bit until Hinata could look down into Atsumu’s face. Atsumu looked back up at him, eyes all soft and excited, a big stupid smile on his face too.

Hinata licked his lips, suddenly feeling very silly and a little stupid. “Hi. I’m in love with you.”

It was definitely worth it for the way Atsumu flushed and beamed back at him. “Yeah, I’m in love with ya too.”

Hinata managed one mumbled ‘cool’ before Atsumu’s hand snaked behind his neck and yanked him down, their mouths meeting in the middle. It was nice and it was good and it was wonderful and they both kept smiling during the kiss which made it kind of hard. They were also both overly ambitious, trying a thing with tongues, but it was awfully wet and Hinata ended up with spit smeared on his chin. He decided to take a momentary break the second time their teeth clacked together.

Pulling away, Hinata smeared at his chin with the back of his wrist, wrinkling his nose. “Atsumu-san, I don’t know if we’re very good at this.”

Atsumu looked summarily offended, the hands at Hinata’s sides clenching. “Speak for yerself, I think I’m doing—” Atsumu’s mouth pinched as he lifted a corner of his t-shirt to blot at a smear of their combined spit on his chin. “Fine, we’re not very good.”

He looked downright mulish. Hinata couldn’t keep himself from snorting, quickly smothering it at Atsumu’s betrayed look. He gave Atsumu’s chest a consoling pat. “It’s okay. All we gotta do is practice.”

Atsumu’s mouth eased into a good-humoured smile. “I guess we are pretty good at practice.”

Hinata grinned, eyes flicking down to Atsumu’s mouth as he leaned in again. “Yeah, the absolute best.”

June

Osamu shouldered open the front door to his house, delicately carrying the large lavender box in both hands, filled with one of the best cakes Osamu had ever had in his goddamn life. He’d taken the train special to Osaka to pick it up. Why Aran couldn’t have gone to get it, given he actually lived in Osaka, was beyond Osamu. But it wasn’t all a wash, Osamu had managed to grab some Kushiage and Takoyaki for his trouble — and he’d gotten the cake, which was most important.

In the genkan, Osamu found Atsumu and Hinata’s shoes tucked haphazardly into the shoe rack. Osamu rolled his eyes. Goddamn, ‘Sumu. He was supposed to keep Shouyou-kun occupied while everyone ran around getting ready for today. The lump of a human Osamu had the misfortune of sharing a face with had one job, so of course, he brought Hinata home.

Y’know, the place where Osamu was currently trying to stash Hinata’s special secret birthday cake.

Osamu toed off his shoes. Calling out into the hallway, “Ya better not be in the livin’ room or the kitchen or I swear to god—” He rounded the corner, frowning when he didn’t find Atsumu and Hinata sprawled in their usual spots around the coffee table. Peeking around the corner he saw they weren’t in the kitchen either.

Shrugging, Osamu figured it was probably for the best. Now Hinata could actually be surprised by his birthday cake instead of knowing exactly what was coming. His phone buzzed just as he was stashing the cake in the fridge. Osamu pulled it open, having missed several of the last messages in the surprise party planning group chat.

|Gin 3:35pm|
Where we going again?

|Riseki 3:37pm|
We told you this a bunch already: Tanuki Sushi near Chinatown

|Suna 3:38pm|
Quit being salty to your senpai just ‘cause your girlfriend can’t come

|Riseki 3:38pm|
Suna-san!

|Gin 3:39pm|
Aw, Fumiko can’t come? That’s too bad.

|Aran 3:40pm|
Moving on. Me and Shinsuke are grabbing a table for all of us at 5pm

|Akagi 3:42pm|
I won’t get there until 5:30! I don’t want to miss the surprise!

Osamu snorted, scrolling past all the reassurances from everyone else that he’d be fine, to type out his own message.

|Osamu 4:16pm|
Don’t worry. Me n ‘Sumu will bring him when ur all ready.

Looking around the kitchen, Osamu couldn’t see any sign that his brother and Hinata had been by. No water glasses out. No snacks. No nothing. Weird. Osamu had seen their shoes in the genkan, right?

Maybe Atsumu had decided to just squirrel Hinata away and play Pro-Evolution Soccer in the bedroom. Which, fine, whatever. But could Atsumu really not think of anything better to do with his goddamn boyfriend on his birthday? You only turned seventeen once, eesh.

Eh, Osamu still had a bit of time before they had to leave. Maybe not enough to shower but to at least get changed. Maybe he could play a round depending on who lost. That was what Osamu was thinking about as he turned the knob to his shared bedroom — in his last moments of sweet blissful naivete. He wished he had cherished those ‘before’ times more.

As he started to push the door open, he heard a quick little giggle and a shushing followed by more giggling. Osamu had a moment to think ’that’s weird, that ain’t what ‘Sumu normally sounds like when he plays games’ before Osamu was assaulted by a sight he was going to have burned into his eyeballs for the rest of his life.

From the doorway, he was perfectly eye level with Atsumu’s upper bunk. So he got to look his twin in the eye as he took in the sight before him. Atsumu laying on his back, hair disheveled, mouth looking all red and puffy, eyes kinda glazed. Hinata on top of Atsumu — straddling him — fingers tugging at Atsumu’s belt — no. He’d already managed to get that open, he was definitely working on the fly of Atsumu’s uniform pants.

In the next heartbeat, Osamu managed to take in the fact that Hinata was equally disheveled as Atsumu, with what definitely looked like a hickey near his collarbone — which Osamu could tell because Hinata was shirtless. So was Atsumu, or at least nearly. Hinata — because it was most definitely Hinata — had rucked up Atsumu’s shirt, exposing his stomach.

Oh god.

Their hands. Hinata’s were lewdly frozen on Atsumu’s zipper. Atsumu’s were clenched around Hinata’s hips as if— as if—.

Oh god.

All three of them sat still. Osamu’s eyes darted between them frantically, willing the sight to go away to no avail. Atsumu and Hinata just stared at him blankly, their faces getting redder and redder. This was the longest five seconds of Osamu’s life. Could he just die? Please? Someone? A mercy killing, surely.

Atsumu broke the silence, his voice strained and thready. “Uh, hi ‘Samu. Yer home early.”

His voice kicked something into gear in Osamu’s head and he wheeled around, collided with the doorframe and tripped out of the room. Before he reached to slam the door shut with his eyes screwed shut he managed to shout, “Living room. Now.”

The door now closed, Osamu scrubbed his face, trying to wipe the horrible image out of his head. In their bedroom!? With Hinata! This was Atsumu’s idea of distracting Hinata!?

“Uh, Osamu-san?” Hinata’s voice sounded tiny, muffled through the door. Osamu scowled at it as if it had betrayed him. “Is it okay if we take a minute to uh...”

“Get presentable?” Atsumu filled in, apparently barrelling past embarrassment and decidedly amused with the situation now.

Osamu was going to commit fratricide before the end of the day, mark his words. Happy fucking birthday, Shouyou-kun.

Osamu groaned, relocating to the living room, head in his hands. This was going to be the most awkward conversation of his life. Hinata and Atsumu didn’t make him wait long — though maybe Osamu wished they had. They were both still flushed, and their mouths looked like they’d drank too much cherry Kool-Aid. Atsumu had misbuttoned his Inarizaki summer uniform, so it was sitting at a weird angle on his chest. Hinata had tried to put his tie back on for some reason, and looked like a salaryman after a night on the town.

Osamu made them sit seiza in front of him. He probably should have had them sit on opposite sides of the coffee table from each other, because Atsumu was very obviously reaching behind himself to goose Hinata’s butt.

Osamu decided to start out simple. “Why?”

Atsumu and Hinata stared at him blankly before sharing a look that Osamu couldn’t for the life of him decipher — he recognized that smarmy look on Atsumu’s face though.

Hinata at least looked thoughtful. “Well, I’m seventeen now too, so we thought... y’know.”

Atsumu on the other hand was all insufferable smugness. “Well, ‘Samu, when two people like each other very much and they find one another attractive, they tend to wanna—”

Osamu held up his hand, giving his brother a pained look. “I meant in our bedroom, ya dipshit.”

Hinata put up his hand, at least aiming for polite and respectful, swatting at Atsumu when he went to poke Hinata in the side. “Well, my house takes forever to get to, and Atsumu-san said we needed to stay in Kobe today.” Hinata’s brows pinched as he thought about it. “Also, the walls in my house are really thin, and Natsu is always there before I get home, and—”

Osamu smeared his face around with his hands, feeling a headache come on. “And there ain’t anywhere ya two horny teenagers can go instead?”

Hinata and Atsumu looked to actually be thinking about it, throwing goofy expressions at one another. Atsumu turned, lips pursed. “I mean, I guess we could in the gym now that I officially got the key and all.”

Hinata nodded. “But that didn’t seem very romantic for the first time—” He cut himself off, an idea occurring to him. Probably the same one occurring to Atsumu based on his thoughtful expression.

Osamu needed to put a stop to them now. “No. No! Dontcha fuckin’ dare try and— and bang at the gym. Or I won’t ever be able to set foot in there again, so I may as well quit volleyball now.”

Both Hinata and Atsumu gasped in horror, shouting, “No!” at the same time.

Osamu rolled his eyes, flopping back into the couch. “Look— y’know what? I don’t wanna talk about it. Ya gotta do whatcha gotta do. But can we please work out a system where I don’t have to hear it, let alone see it?”

Atsumu and Hinata once again exchanged glances, and Osamu had to wonder if people found it annoying when he and Atsumu did this. Because heck, they were kinda obnoxious.

“Ya willin’ to make yerself scarce after school every day?” Atsumu asked, chin going up defiantly as he eyed Osamu.

“No, ya fuckin’ horny lunatic.”

“What if I give you like, a dozen eggs every week,” Hinata asked, eyebrows tilted hopefully.

“Shouyou-kun, there ain’t enough eggs in Japan to make me okay with ya doin’ ‘Sumu in my fuckin’ bedroom.” Osamu let out a tired sigh. Could he go back to earlier in the day when all he’d been thinking about was eating jiggly cheesecake? Because he missed that moment of naivety and ignorance. Bliss.

Atsumu looked like he was working himself up into a tizzy, because of course he had to defend the honor, or whatever, of his interest in being a gross little horndog. Hinata, however, looked thoughtful. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone.

“What if I gave you Akaashi-san’s phone number?” Hinata asked, looking up at Osamu, all wide-eyed innocence. Osamu felt his own face heat as Atsumu’s most maliciously gleeful expression lit up his face.

“Yeah, ‘Samu. If we getcha a boyfriend, ya can stop nosin’—” Hinata clamped a hand over Atsumu’s mouth, giving Osamu a serene smile.

“I know he’s coming to the Black Jackals versus Red Falcons pre-season game in two weeks. I can ask if maybe he has anyone he’s sitting with.” Hinata looked just sincerely hopeful enough that Osamu felt his resolve weakening. Hinata jerked his head to look at Atsumu, face scrunching up. “Atsumu-san, can you not lick my hand for a second, please?”

Atsumu rolled his eyes, making a muffled sound that kinda resembled an ‘okay’.

Clicking his tongue, Osamu crossed his arms. “Shouyou-kun, when the heck didja get so good at coercin’ people?”

Hinata gave him a wide-eyed stare, as if to say ’who me?’, before his grin turned impish as he removed his hand from Atsumu’s mouth. “I learned from the best.” And then if it were with anyone else, Osamu might’ve said it was cute, but because it was Atsumu’s shoulder he placed his head onto, Osamu had to control the urge to gag.

“Fine,” Osamu bit out, heaving off the couch, pointedly ignoring Atsumu’s and Hinata’s delighted hoots. “But we get to reevaluate after that game. I swear to god if I find any telltale signs of whatcha been doin’ in that room, I’ll kill ya both myself.”

Atsumu rolled his eyes, waving a dismissive hand. Hinata nodded once, grinning. Hinata hopped up to a stand, holding a hand out to pull Atsumu up; Osamu quickly walked to the front door, having no interest in watching Atsumu crowd Hinata’s space. They were so fucking gross. Just like he knew they would be.

When Atsumu and Hinata finally deigned to join him at the door, they were once again looking a little flushed and doe-eyed. Yuck. Hinata grinned. “So where are we going for food?”

Osamu considered his nails, so he didn’t have to watch the way Hinata hip checked Atsumu to make room for them both to tie their shoes. “Sushi.”

Hinata looked up, a little taken aback. “Wait, I thought we always let the birthday boy decide.”

Osamu rolled his eyes. “Ya were gonna pick sushi anyways to make ‘Sumu happy, so we took out the middleman.”

Hinata’s face scrunched up. “Well, what if I said I wanted curry for my birthday instead?”

Atsumu helped lift him up, swinging an arm over Hinata’s shoulder as they walked out the door. “Mmm, too bad. We’re gettin’ sushi.”

Hinata stuck his tongue out at Atsumu, and Osamu had the misery of watching Atsumu’s face get all dopey and gooey, bend forward to kiss Hinata. “Yer both so fuckin’ gross with yer PDA. Fuck.” Osamu shoved his hands into his pockets. He never did get to change. And Atsumu’s shirt was still buttoned poorly. They probably looked like a bunch of delinquents walking around together. Or as Natsu would say, ‘Street Toughs’.

“Sorry, Osamu-san!” Hinata said brightly, not moving away in the slightest from Atsumu as they started walking to the restaurant. He didn’t seem very contrite at all.

“Aww, ‘Samu,” Atsumu cooed at him. Osamu sent him a hateful look. “See it’s for the better that ya sit with ‘Kaashi-kun during the match.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Betcha don’t wanna sit next to us when we’re gonna be soooo gross.”

Hinata nodded gravely. “Sooo gross.” Before the two of them devolved into delighted sniggers.

Osamu tipped his head to the sky, listening to his brother and best friend laugh together. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Atsumu had his head dipped low, a slow and easy smile lighting up his whole face. Hinata had a small happy grin on his face, reaching forward trying to fix Atsumu’s buttons for him.

They really were very much in love. Osamu was happy for them, as annoying as they could be.

He was glad that at the end of the day, the two of them had found each other. He didn’t think there were any two people who deserved each other more.

“Oi. ‘Samu! Why ya got that creepy look on yer face?”

Hinata lightly tapped Atsumu in the chest. “He’s probably thinking about how pretty Akaashi-san’s eyes are.”

Osamu sighed. “No—”

Without seeming to even need to speak, Hinata and Atsumu simultaneously burst out into song, to the tune of ‘Uptown Girl’. “Green-eyed boy! Living over in Tokyo! Playing volleyball~!”

Osamu pressed his lips in a thin line, giving his brother and best friend a withering look. “Ya two assholes deserve each other.”

Atsumu and Hinata beamed at each other. Apparently, they agreed.

- 

- 

Fin.