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and i find it goes around like the hands that keep countin’ the time – circles, mac miller
The day Kageyama Tobio’s heart is returned to him goes like this:
He wakes up at 5 AM, brushes his teeth. The sun is just beginning to peak above the bruised and inflamed horizon – groggy to rise too, sympathetic to the tired scream of his marrow, a siren song begging him to go back to sleep. He prods at the dark circles under his eyes in the mirror; flexes his jaw. Gets dressed in running shorts, a light pullover, and one of the new pairs of sneakers he received for his sponsorship.
He contemplates the weather outside as he fills his water bottle at a fountain; the air is stiff, still, the sky blooming blue above him, it tastes like cotton in his mouth and he decides to run indoors to avoid the oncoming heat wave. As he jogs to the track facilities, he thinks he sees a flash of orange turning a corner the other way; shakes his head because it was probably the doing of wistfulness, a fluffy head of hair conjured in memorized realness for his mind’s eye: memory overtop reflecting light.
Gym B is empty for the most part, ringed by old fashioned wooden stands, offering a torn up green felt track under a vaulted peeling ceiling, probably left out of the renovations because it was only an extra rec centre. Kageyama places his bottle and phone on one of the metal benches by the locker doors, nods at Aran who’s stretching under Iwaizumi-san’s tired supervision, then starts his laps.
It’s 2021, the summer Olympics are in Tokyo and Kageyama’s on the national team, as the country’s number one setter like he’s been pushing to be, surrounded by the rivals he’s beaten and worked with in equal measure to get here. It’s a Tuesday morning, pre-games camp has just opened, bubble imposed – he does four kilometres, showers, picks up the breakfast he ordered and then goes to eat in the team communal area.
Hoshiumi joins him, his own plate of nutritionist approved breakfast discarded in favour of a bowl of fried doughnuts. Somehow over the years they both played on the Adlers, he’s gotten the impression that Kageyama is actually listening even if he’s not paying much attention, and proceeds to natter on about his cousin’s western baby shower, like he has many a morning before, content that Tobio will retain a general gist if not specifics.
The familiarity in it isn’t as off putting to Kageyama as it once would have been.
Other players are gathered around them, in various states of wakefulness and dress, some post workout like Kageyama, some preparing for one. The huge windows facing the rest of the sectioned village let in bright summer sunlight that has Kuroo-san in particular wincing into his coffee mug, Bokuto a stark contrast at his side, gesturing with his usual gusto.
It’s then that Hinata bursts in, fluffy orange hair in actualization, two cups of cavity inducing iced coffees sloshing in his grip.
At the sight of him, windswept and breathless, Kageyama feels a familiar sense of half irritation half fondness well up within him, expects it, given it’s been the normal for what feels like half their lives. He takes in Hinata, beaming grin and whip cream sticky finger, freckled shoulders on display under his tank top, thinks, there he is, the sun’s competition, despite himself and the history between them. Steels his nerves, as Hinata makes eye contact and visibly brightens, moving to approach their table, calling loud and varied greetings along the way because –
He’s everyone’s favourite, Hinata is.
Even Wakatoshi-san, who spares him a small smile on his way out, thin lips ticked upwards. Kageyama gets a warm nod on a good day and they worked together for years.
“You won’t believe what happened to me on the way here!” Hinata announces as soon as he’s within announcement range, dragging a chair behind him with precarious movements that set Kageyama’s teeth on edge.
Miraculously, he doesn’t spill anything, expression entirely too pleased as he carelessly sets his drinks on top of Kageyama’s newspaper and settles into his appropriated seat backwards like an complete douche.
He blinks at him, unamused, and Hinata stares right back with his huge hazel eyes, almost challenging the tilt of Kageyama’s head, arms crossing overtop the chair’s backrest.
Kageyama lets out a huffing breath, and drawls, because he has to at this point, after all these years, “I don’t recall asking.”
Hinata rolls his eyes, “Good thing you’re not the only one sitting here Kageyama.”
He turns to Hoshiumi who has so far been watching them in silence with that unnervingly amused air of his, “You want to know what happened right Hoshiumi-san?”
Yellow eyes practically glinting as they quickly dart between Kageyama and their pouting – the bastard – guest, Hoshiumi coos, “Of course Shoyou-kun.”
Hinata sticks his tongue out at Kageyama.
Kageyama lifts a hand to flick him in the nose, hard.
“Ow fuck Tobio!”
Face scrunched up an angry red, he pinches Kageyama’s knee which is just within reach under the table, exposed by his running shorts, and then he scoots his chair back very loudly, moving closer to the relative safety of Hoshiumi and his still untouched breakfast.
Where he’s promptly offered a doughnut, ever the favourite.
“As I was saying,” he sniffs, immune to Kageyama’s incensed glare, “I went to get coffee after my run this morning like I usually do,” (so maybe Tobio did see him turn that corner) “and luckily they have a cafe on campus and it was kinda packed with swimmers so it took awhile to get into line proper, which was fine cause I kinda wasn’t sure if I wanted tea or a refresher but when I finally got to the counter I still hadn’t decided so I asked the cashier and she was like – “
It’s at this point that Kageyama zones out, indoctrinated to Hinata’s rambling same way Hinata’s no longer susceptible to his ire; sheer exposure has dulled them to one another over the years. He watches his pink mouth move all the same, following broad hands as they gesticulated with a spiker’s force, Hinata’s expression so intent on emphasizing his encounter with this one cashier that one would think it was a matter of life or death. Except Kageyama has seen it on his face more times than he can count: beside him on the bench, behind him class, on the other side of the ocean pixelated over a bad connection, more recently across the net just before a game that felt more like coming full circle than any other accomplishment in his life even though his team had lost.
“- told her I’m married ma’am, I can’t.” Hinata is impressing upon Hoshiumi when Kageyama deigns to zone back in.
Without thinking too much about the words, or his own, Kageyama sighs, “Idiot, for the last time you can’t marry the game.”
An automatic response, because he’s good at insulting Hinata if not listening at least.
Hinata pauses to scowl at him, exasperated, “I know that, jeez that joke got old the first time Tsukki told it and – “
A hand drops to grasp his chin, halting his words. Miya Atsumu, Kageyama’s rival setter is attached to said hand, eerily perfect cuticles on display as his fingers dig ever so slightly into the meat of Hinata’s jaw. He stands adjacent to Hinata, close enough to block out the sun completely, dressed in their burgundy practice jersey and smiling down at him in his own twisted smarmy fond way.
Kageyama eyes the press of the nondescript white gold band around his ring finger against Hinata’s cheek with disinterest, as Atsumu says, “Alas ya’ settled for second best didn’t you Shou?”
“Tswuwu’.” Hinata manages back through smushed lips before forcibly dislodging Atsumu’s hand and pointing at the second drink he had left untouched on the table, “You’re not second best dummy, just take your drink.”
It’s halfway to melted already, sweating a puddle, bright pink and topped with deflating whip cream. Atsumu grins wide and obnoxious like it’s the best thing he’s ever seen, “Thanks sunshine.”
“Yer welcome.” Hinata grumbles, a little bit of that Hyogo accent slipping into his voice as if he were mocking the blonde setter, except even Atsumu’s looming shadow overtop him can’t hide the sudden flush spread across his face.
Not annoyed, Kageyama notes but something softer, flightier he can’t quite name. Hinata puts a hand on Atsumu’s stomach in the meantime, and pushes a little, “Shoo, I was telling a story.”
Atsumu staggers back as if shoved, the arm not holding his drink coming up over his head with all the dramatics of a dive, “I see how it is, ya don’t want yer old lady embarrassing ya in front of the boys.” He turns away, as if struck, gaze pointed off at some make believe distance, “Oh I remember when our love was still fresh and I was the candy on yer arm.”
“Atsumu!” Hinata laughs and it rings like a phone. Clear and high, vibrating its way through Kageyama as if connected to him along some convoluted line.
Atsumu, satisfied, straightens up and begins to walk off, smirk stretching a mile wide, “Ok, ok, I’m goin’, Omi wants to run drills, I’ll see ya later. Bye Tobio-kun, Hoshiumi.”
“Behave!” Hinata hollers at his back and receives a middle finger for his troubles.
They watch him proceed to absently smile down at his own drink for a beat too long, Hoshiumi and Kageyama do, a little stunned, at least until Suna Rintarou squishes in next to him with a stolen chair of his own, sighing heavily.
“I’m taking that.” He declares without preamble, pointing at Hinata’s cup, “Atsumu would not shut up in the elevator.”
“Oh! Rin-san!” Hinata blinks and then frowns, “Tsumu’s the one who made you mad, why are you taking my drink?”
“Y’all are like one brain cell. Just give it here and tell your story.” Suna counters, and then turns to Hoshiumi, “He was telling a story over here with all that yapping right?”
Hoshiumi laughs, “Indeed he was, you were just getting to the part where you rejected the poor girl’s advances.”
Hinata perks up, “Oh yeah! So I was like you’re very pretty but I’m married see – “
And then he does the thing that Kageyama neither expected, could have honestly predicted, and will never forget as long as he lives.
Hinata Shoyou reaches below the high collar of his tank top and pulls out a chain. A thin silver medium sized thing on which a simple white gold diamond inlayed wedding ring hangs innocuous and apocalyptic – winking as it’s exposed in the light.
Kageyama chokes on absolutely nothing, mind blanking, lungs emptied, atoms still -
I’m married.
White gold ring against his cheek.
Settled for second best didn’t you Shou?
Y’all are like one brain cell.
Pictures and videos flash through his mind, from years of stubbornly scrolling past on social media to Hinata’s phone wallpaper – a selfie, two big grins, one half hidden by flyaway tufts of orange hair, the other more familiar than the back of his own hand. Years of Miya and Shoyou in his peripheral, on vacation, at the gym, cooking dinner in the evenings. Interviews and soundbites, having a partner on the court and in life – Atsumu said, what’s the secret to success – they asked.
The two of them, arriving places together, then leaving together, Atsumu’s voice sounding from somewhere off screen while Kageyama’s on facetime. Hinata pictured wearing clothes two sizes too big on grocery runs. Sugawara-san across a table trying to catch up, asking Hinata how his family is, then how’s Atsumu, that one summer he and Kageyama did a youth camp back in Miyagi.
Behave.
White gold winking on a silver chain.
When our love was still fresh.
A memory, once highlighted full circle, now underwater: Tobio-kun wouldja mind not pickin’ a fight with my wing spiker.
The thing is Kageyama Tobio was thirteen when his soul got stuck on volleyball.
Fifteen when his heart got stuck on Hinata Shoyou.
And he’s never needed to let go of either, not completely, even at his lowest when he was tossing to no one or Hinata was leaving him to become night to his day where they used to be in sync. He’s never stopped to reconsider where he’s placed these pieces of himself, even when they told him he was too single minded to really succeed on a team. When Hinata stood on the overgrown back field of their high school, crushed his graduation cap in his fists and told Tobio they needed to be their own people.
“You’re a lot!” He had burst, tears streaming his cheeks, choking a little, “Too much.”
Not something he hadn’t said before; something Kageyama hadn’t already heard in variation, built fixed as he was.
And they broke up, the sky blown blue and cloudless above them. Two different people, in two different frames of mind. Hinata the keeper of Tobio’s heart, Kageyama a branch for Shoyou to push off of, come back to maybe but not –
Not rooted, a part of his life but not a part of his self.
Hinata says, “I told her we don’t like to advertise it.”
And Kageyama thinks, well no fucking shit.
There’s a ringing in his ears long before Hinata’s actual cell starts buzzing a top the table. They watch him pick it up, rolling his eyes and flashing the caller ID at Suna who wrinkles his nose. There’s a flicker of a grin on his mouth when he answers it, “Hey,” voice soft, body reclining further into the seat rest, “the back court?”
That same flighty quality from earlier is back, Kageyama recognizing it for what it is – affection.
Wonders absently, if he’s the only one who didn’t know, word does travel rather fast through their circles. Hoshiumi at least, aside from cooing over the inscription in the ring Hinata deigned to hand over – I’ll always keep my promises – doesn’t seem the slightest bit surprised. Then there’s Suna who’s already treating them like a singular unit, like one brain cell; even Suga-san, way back when, expressive eyes glinting in hindsight, as he asked after Atsumu, because that’s what had been going on for Hinata.
What Kageyama never brought himself to see, stuck at thirteen with a tacky overused ball in his hands, fifteen and feeling lightheaded, eighteen and left all alone in a field – static in motion,
“It’s been like five minutes,” Hinata says rolling his eyes, phone squished between his shoulder and ear as he stands; wanna come practice he mouths at the three of them, to which Suna and Hoshiumi shake their heads.
“Alright, I’m coming, just stop riling Omi-kun up wouldja?” Hinata pleads before loudly pronouncing later Tsumu and hanging up.
“He’s picking on Sakusa again.” He explains to which Suna groans of course and Hoshiumi giggles. Hinata doesn’t look the slightest bit put upon even as he apologizes for interrupting their breakfast and having to leave; he looks like he’s already somewhere else, that same flightiness in his eyes, like he’s already in the gym, settling between Sakusa and Miya, already back with Atsumu – in holy matrimony.
Before he registers it Kageyama is standing,
Saying, “I’ll come with you.”
And then they’re in the hallway and Kageyama is looking at this boy he thought he knew inside out, taller, tanner, not looking back anymore; asking him, “So when were you going to tell me you got married?”
Like it doesn’t come up his throat like glass shards.
Hinata slows where he had been walking a little ahead of him, and then halts completely. He turns to Kageyama with his brow furrowed, confusion lit up by the blue of LED display of a vending machine beside them.
“Huh?”
“When were you going to tell me you got married? Engaged?” Kageyama hates the way his voice breaks thin, wonders, absurdly, if there’s just some rule about exes and marriage that keeps them exclusive.
Hinata squints at him, like he wants to check him for a fever, all concerned and assessing. He says, slow and deliberate, “Kageyama I did tell you, we – “licks his bottom lip, ducks his head a little, “we sent a mass text.”
He leans in closer, measures out a whisper at normal volume, “You said congrats.”
Kageyama takes a second, vision blurring pointed at Hinata’s nervously flexing fingers, begins to remember, a month and change ago, closing out an exhibition, sweaty and exhausted, his phone chiming in his bag; sitting in the cold of a locker room later, alone, opening a selfie captioned it’s official, the waves officiated ;), the same two grins from Hinata’s wallpaper captured, aimed at each other this time, one familiar, one practiced. Remembers not caring, not comprehending, shoving his phone back in his bag and blocking it out.
Like he did all the times their imbalance made itself known in high school, when one gave too little and the other too much. When he was twenty-two and Hinata started mentioning Miya, in his game, his space, his time. All the times people ask him if he’ll ever want more than volleyball, more than setting in the lines of his hands, more than games and sweat and victory. Whenever his mom tells him he’s not the same, hasn’t been in six years, not since you let that orange kid go. Like he did when he was fifteen, already stuck, having just lost what felt like everything when he promised Hinata he wouldn’t because he didn’t have Hinata and found him laid up in the nurse’s office squabbling softly with Miya Atsumu.
Blocking, blocking, blocking – even then.
“The caption wasn’t clear.” He says now, voice stripped numb.
Hinata sighs, “I texted the group chat.”
“I don’t read the group chat.” Kageyama says, obstinate.
“I know.”
They sit side by side on the cold floor of the Olympic village tunnel network. The sun doesn’t face this side of the building at this hour. Its all they’ve ever wanted, this stage, this level of competition, the ball being sent like a message from Kageyama’s hands to Hinata’s to deliver. When they were seventeen, leaning against a rusty bike rack and looking up at rustic constellations, Hinata had told him, you know we have the same soul me and you, eyes lit up gold with the same hunger that stoked Kageyama’s gut to this day; the reason he got stuck on him in the first place.
He trusted volleyball, thought he could trust Hinata too.
But Shoyou was built to fly, not for anyone but himself, he wasn’t a fixture to mold, to have or keep, he was his own gravitational pull, all will and might, the sun’s very own rival, his orbit a helpless pit that’s only extended the distance between them overtime rather than release him.
Kageyama isn’t special, he sets, he gets points and he stays.
The world – it’s boundless, like Hinata, bent for him, offers its sands for him to extend his height, its skies for him to set his goals, its stage for him to shine. Moves with him the way Kageyama couldn’t, eighteen and selfish, looking up at the constellations by himself, too much, too little, not right.
Stuck on a boy who didn’t want to need him anymore.
And unlike Atsumu, seventeen and making a virtual stranger laugh a fever off in a nurse’s office – he didn’t see the big picture, the elliptical wings built into the breadth of Hinata’s shoulders. Couldn’t play the waiting game, the compromise, he saw his next step and never stopped to check if Hinata was still beside him until he wasn’t anymore.
Hinata who breaks their silence now, on the brink of twenty-five; says, “I didn’t mean to keep it from you, Tobio. We just haven’t really talked in a long time.”
Six years, they’re both thinking, whose fault neither will say.
“It was hard to find the words, when it started, so I just didn’t try.”
A shrug, “It became a habit.”
Kageyama remembers texts about moving day; Bokuto doing the heavy lifting, Sakusa cleaning within an inch of his life, the cat lady next door who threatened them, but not the number of rooms Hinata and Atsumu’s Higashiosaka apartment had. Remembers seeing them dancing at Aran’s wedding two summers ago, but never talking to them that night. Getting a call at three am, one winter, Hinata blackout and sniffling, Kageyama tell me why I wasn’t enough for you to wait, I don’t want to lose him too, but not connecting the dots because –
It was hard. He didn’t really try.
“Idiot.” Is what he says now instead of the millions other things clamouring up in his brain, clogging his throat, because they’ve got this one thing if nothing else.
Hinata smiles at him, tremulous, “Wanna see pictures?”
Miya Atsumu proposed in an Osaka International departures terminal, half assed and without a ring, shouting overtop the heads of at least a dozen other people in line at the security check point. He came to visit Hinata three months later in Sao Paulo, after the jackals were knocked out of the playoffs. They took a road trip down the coast to Balneário Camboriú, where he proposed again and Hinata got a ring. Then they went all the way up to Rio, a week before Atsumu was due back, to haunt Hinata’s old stomping grounds. It was there, where he learned to be on his own, that Shoyou decided to tether himself to the ground again. In typical impulsive fashion, his friend Heitor got ordained, they facetimed their respective families, and made one more promise to each other on the beach at midnight with the waves as their witness.
Full circle like: Shoyou-kun I’m going to be setting to you one day.
Like: I’m going to marry you Shou.
Engraved: I’ll always keep my promises.
“We got sand everywhere, and my mom was super mad, Natsu cried like a baby.” Hinata grins, thumb tracing the corner of a blurry flash white photo of Atsumu in a white dress shirt, kicking up foam in the high tide. “It’s not like we could get married here anyway, it’s totally legal over there ya know.”
“Hmm.” Tobio hums, taking him in, orange head of fluffy hair, content and competeltely out of reach, “I’m glad.”
Hinata turns to him at that, all at once too close, the freckles across his nose from the summer sun each the slightest bit different in shape. His phone buzzes with notifications, they ignore it; he says, “You know I care about you right? I never stopped.”
Kageyama feels something loosen, dislodged, a part of him forever lost. Bears it, shoves Shoyou’s shoulder a little and grits his teeth, nodding, “I know.”
Even if it’s a lie.
“Good.” Hinata smiles, “Let’s go make sure my idiot husband hasn’t turned Omi-kun into a murderer.”
So they go to check on Hinata’s idiot husband. Enter the back court side by side, to find Atsumu, burgundy practice jersey and bad dye job in all, pacing in front of an apoplectic looking Sakusa. They both look up at the sound of the door opening, thunder storm expressions clearing at the sight of Hinata.
“Thank fuck you’re here. I hate him.” Sakusa says without preamble, seeming to not even notice Kageyama at all. From Atsumu he gets a once over, a subtle I know what you are in the narrowing of his hooded fox eyes, before he starts squawking about decency and respect.
Hinata leaves Kageyama’s side to approach him, meander contradictorily eager, distantly striking Kageyama as some sort of convoluted mating dance. It leaves them with the toes of their asics touching, black and white, both red laced. “Yo.” He greets, “I said behave.”
“Omi could pick a fight with the air if he wanted to.” Atsumu scowls, hands coming up to clasp behind Hinata’s neck, perfect fingernails against his nape,
“It does carry diseases,” Sakusa interjects, mask in place, “namely your voice.”
“He also has a new spin to show you for your second jump serve.” Hinata quickly says, glaring at Sakusa out of the corner of his eye.
Atsumu peers around Hinata at the outside hitter, skeptic, “He does?”
“Depends.” Sakusa drawls, “Are you done acting like an over large puppy with separation anxiety?”
Arms hooked around Hinata fully, drawing him to his chest, Atsumu simply replies, “Yes.”
Their feet are between each other’s now; black, white, black, white.
Sakusa drops his stiff shoulders into a shrug, “Fine, then come on.”
And they go off together, Atsumu peeling himself off Hinata with a barely there squeeze, as if they hadn’t spent the last half hour arguing to the point that they couldn’t even run drills. Kageyama assumes Shoyou will join them and makes to turn around and go back the way they came, on his lonesome this time.
Instead,
“Kageyama!” Hinata calls. He underhands a ball towards him that Tobio catches on instinct.
Their eyes meet, liquid hazel looking like a time capsule he forgot to bury. He thinks of the man they belong to, the boy he used to be, all the unspoken things between them. This tether of a stretched orbit that won’t disappear as long as they have this, a tacky ball, their souls; sewn from synthetic leather, two point four three meters of net, sweat and that unquenchable hunger for more.
Hinata grins, “Toss to me would you?”
“As long as you can hit them.” Kageyama returns, like, of course, lips twitching back.
And he wonders if it will ever stop feeling like he gives himself away when he does.