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It’s dark by the time they leave the gym. Evening practice ran later than usual, and then Kageyama and Yamaguchi were held back by Coach Ukai for a captains meeting. By the time Kageyama steps outside, it feels exceptionally late.
The rest of the third years are waiting for them by the gate. Tsukishima is smirking at something while Shouyou is frowning. Yachi just looks relieved to see Yamaguchi and Kageyama walking up to them.
“You guys really didn’t have to wait,” Yamaguchi says, a hand scratching the back of his neck. “I know you guys must be hungry.”
“I’m not that hungry,” Shouyou says, the frown sliding right off of his face at the mere mention of food. He points his thumb at Tsukishima. “But Tsukishima is grumpy, so I think he’s hungry.”
“I’m not grumpy, you’re just annoying,” Tsukishima quips, but then his stomach lets out the biggest rumble Kageyama has ever heard and the sound shatters any sort of bite Tsukishima’s words had.
They all burst into laughter, sans Tsukishima who just looks at the ground as if he’s waiting for it to swallow him whole. But then Tsukishima is laughing along too, and now that Kageyama really thinks about it, he’s really hungry as well.
The five of them walk to the convenience store together, Shouyou finding his way to Kageyama’s side and holding his hand. They haven’t been dating for a long time and they’re in that stage where holding hands feels incredibly natural but also still makes Kageyama blush. Despite the constant volleyball practice, Shouyou’s hands are soft, and Kageyama gets a little sad when they have to stop holding hands to buy their food.
“So what do you think of the first years?” Yachi asks, her mouth half full with food. Shouyou is still buying his food, but the rest of them are waiting outside the store, food already almost gone. There’s something about late nights after practice that makes Kageyama want to eat everything he can get his hands on. “That’s what the meeting was about, right? You guys were almost talking for like thirty minutes!”
Kageyama nods and swallows his food. “They’re okay.” Truth be told, Kageyama doesn’t really know the first years very well. He knows they’re all good players— they have to be good players if they want a chance to stand on the court. Karasuno isn’t a powerhouse school quite yet, but they’re so close to the top that if Kageyama reaches his hand out, he can feel it— but he doesn’t know them like he knows his third-year peers, or any of the graduated members.
It’s not that he doesn’t try. It’s just that Kageyama is still not very good at the friend thing. Before, the rest of the team took him under their wings with their constant jabs (Shouyou), their eccentric personalities (Tanaka, Noya), and their upperclassmen guidance (Suga, sometimes. Definitely Daichi.) But now as the upperclassman, he’s found it hard to step up. Kageyama knows that it’s to the benefit of the team that he becomes close with everyone, but he’s close with the other third years and is that not enough?
“Kageyama, do you really even know the first years?” Yamaguchi asks, a smile on his face. He has crumbs on the side of his face that probably won’t get noticed until one of them points it out to him. “You seemed kind of lost in the meeting today.”
Kageyama was lost at the meeting. Coach Ukai and Yamaguchi were using people’s names instead of their numbers and their positions and it was difficult to follow the conversation. But admitting that doesn’t seem like the proper vice captain thing to do.
“There’s the tall one,” Kageyama says and he kind of knows who he is talking about. The tall one has dark hair and even darker eyes. He skips practice often. “And there is the one that’s really good with receives and the one that’s really fast.” He nods as he talks, the images of the first years he’s talking about flashing in his head. The one that’s good with the receives has tanned skin and a buzzcut. The fast one has dyed blonde hair.
Shouyou walks out of the store as soon as Kageyama finishes talking. He bumps his shoulder against Kageyama’s and then stays there, pressed up against Kageyama’s arm as he eats his food. They usually aren’t overly affectionate in public, mostly because Kageyama isn’t really ready for that yet. “What are we talking about now?”
Tsukishima scoffs, “Bet our vice captain here doesn’t even know the names of their first years.”
Shouyou gasps and turns to Kageyama. “That can’t be true. Right? Right?”
Kageyama presses his lips together. If he responds and gets it wrong, that’s going to be bad. If he stays silent, that’s also going to be bad. It’s a lose-lose situation and Kageyama hates losing. “I know all the second years.” Kageyama does know the second years, even if he’s not exactly friends with them.
Yachi laughs, but it’s in that sweet, light-hearted way of hers that doesn’t carry an ounce of meanness. “Kageyama, if you need help learning their names, I can try to help you! How do flashcards sound?”
Kageyama flushes. He doesn’t need flashcards to learn their faces and their names— even if it actually does sound like a good option. Kageyama has always favored flashcards whenever he has to study.
“Just spend more time with them at practice,” Yamaguchi says. “They probably want to get to know you too.”
“Isn’t this a part of your vice captain duties?” Tsukishima adds. “You should at least know the ones that are literally on the court with us.”
Kageyama frowns. Tsukishima has a very valid point, but it’s not as if Kageyama doesn’t know them at all. On the court, he knows what kind of ball they all like hitting. He knows roughly how high they are able to jump. He knows their numbers. He knows all the important things.
But, the more Kageyama thinks about, names are pretty important too.
“I’ll try to get to know them,” Kageyama says.
Shouyou pokes him in the cheek “Don’t go trying to hang out with them with that face. You’ll intimidate them.”
Kageyama frowns, which causes Shouyou to poke him in the cheek again and go Now you’ll really scare them off!
The night ends with Kageyama kicking Shouyou in the back and then running off before Shouyou can retaliate. They don’t talk about the first years again, but Kageyama knows that if he doesn’t do something about it, he’s not going to hear the end of it.
And getting to know the first years, it can’t be that hard, right?
Karasuno has a legacy of going all out. Pushing the limits. Making you think about volleyball from a new perspective. No— not make.
Force.
Yoshimoto Katashi loves it. It was one of the things that drew him to Karasuno, sitting in front of the television two years ago, watching Karasuno send five attackers at once, the pure rush of braveness transcending the digital format and making Yoshimoto lean into the screen, hold his breath, and watch in complete awe.
Karasuno won that game and, as the National Tournament underdog, went further than anyone thought they were going to. But it was at that moment, seeing them do something so risky yet do it with confidence that Yoshimoto could only dream of having, Yoshimoto knew Karasuno was the high school he wanted to play for.
But now, actually on the team, Yoshimoto is having some regrets.
They’re not big regrets, but Yoshimoto really, really wants to know how to set. He’s the libero— he’s never put a thought to setting since he was five and mistakenly thought that the setter was the coolest person on the team. But it’s practically a given that the Karasuno starting libero needs to know how to set. It’s unusual, but that’s what Karasuno is all about.
It would be weirder if Karasuno followed the rule perfectly.
But the regret isn’t the setting itself. He made an agreement with the first year setter last week that they’d spend some of the individual practice time together so Yoshimoto could at least get a feel for it.
The regret is that the first year setter isn’t at practice today.
“Oh, well then why don’t you just go with Kageyama?” Coach Ukai says when Yoshimoto asks him about it. “I’m sure he’ll teach you.”
Yoshimoto nods, rocking slightly back and forth on the balls of his feet. It’s not that Kageyama is a bad guy— Yoshimoto doesn’t think anyone on the team is a bad guy, even if the team as a whole is a bit more intimidating than a normal team. But it’s that Kageyama is hard to get along with.
The third years are an eclectic assortment of personalities. There’s the manager Yachi, who somehow finds a balance between being overwhelmingly nervous and seriously tackling her responsibilities. And then there’s Hinata, who’s so loud and so talented that sometimes staring at him makes Yoshimoto’s eyes hurt, as if he’s staring at the sun. There’s Tsukishima, who is intimidating in his own right but is also a bit of a nerd (Yoshimoto is sure that he wasn’t supposed to overhear about Tsukishima’s adoration of dinosaurs, but it happened and now Yoshimoto and a few second years can’t look at Tsukishima in the same harsh light.) There’s the captain, Yamaguchi, who’s the nicest captain Yoshimoto has ever had, even if he makes them do an insane amount of flying falls each time they lose a set.
And then there’s Kageyama, who Yoshimoto hasn’t figured out yet.
Yoshimoto has seen the way Kageyama is not afraid to hit Hinata over the head over the smallest of issues. He’s seen the way Kageyama and Tsukishima exchange dirty looks every time one of them slightly messes up.
Kageyama isn’t a bad guy. But he’s probably not a good one either.
So when Coach Ukai calls Kageyama over, Yoshimoto isn’t sure what he's expecting. Maybe a sneer because a libero should already know how to set. Or an outright dismissal because as a third year who’s bound to go pro one day, he has better things to do with his time.
But all Kageyama does is agree and then guide Yoshimoto towards an open part of the court.
“Yoshimoto, right?” Kageyama asks, spinning a ball in his hand. He’s not making direct eye contact, but then he jolts, seems to realize he’s not looking at Yoshimoto, and then looks directly at him. Yoshimoto instantly wants to melt into the ground.
But then all Kageyama asks is: “Do you have any experience with setting?”
And then he does something with his face that Yoshimoto doesn’t know how to explain. It’s not a bad expression, there’s no disgust or contempt across his face. But it’s not exactly a happy expression either. His lips are pulled up a bit, showing parts of his teeth. It’s almost a smile, if you were given bad instructions on how to smile.
Is… Kageyama trying to smile at him?
Yoshimoto smiles back on reflex and then Kageyama nods his head and starts teaching him how to set. He’s an indirect teacher, explaining things in whooshes and dramatic hand signs. But if Yoshimoto squints his eyes and tilts his head, Kageyama’s explanations make an odd amount of sense.
Setting, at its most basic form, is not a horribly complex movement— Yoshimoto’s body already knows how to play volleyball and how to play it well, but it’s frustrating when every single time he jumps, Yoshimoto can barely get a finger on the ball. Kageyama tosses him over 10 balls before he gets a solid touch on it.
And between the frustration from not getting it right away (Which, why would Yoshimoto get it right away? That’s not how any of this works.) and the rush of joy from actually touching the ball one time, Yoshimoto forgets the most crucial about setting, about volleyball really:
He forgets to let go.
Yoshimoto lands with both of his feet, his arms outstretched and the ball held above his head. Yoshimoto finally lets go of the ball . The ball falls onto the top of his head.
“Uh,” Yoshimoto says, watching as the ball rolls away from the two of them. He slowly lowers his hands and pushes his blonde hair back. “I think I almost got it.”
Kageyama doesn’t laugh, but it’s something close to it. His eyes light up and he lets out a small puff of air that carries with it a sense of levity and amusement. It’s nothing like the whatever type of smile he was trying to do before. “It’s a good first start. Do you want to keep going?”
Yoshimoto nods. “If you don’t mind. I know you have other things to do than practice with a first year.” Yoshimoto would probably be annoyed if he was the third year vice captain and had to spend time teaching a rookie libero how to set.
“Anything that will better the team is important for me,” Kageyama responds. There is no hesitation in his voice. It’s just the truth, laid out plain and simple to see.
For the first time, Yoshimoto actually feels a part of the team. He thought this moment would happen when he stepped out on the court with the Karasuno jersey on his back. Or maybe when traveling to a game and being as rowdy and loud as they can be without getting yelled at, letting the spirit of camaraderie take over his senses.
Yoshimoto didn’t think it would be here, after letting the volleyball hit his head post failed setting attempt.
They start up again. Yoshimoto’s body surges with a new wave of energy. He’s not going to be perfect at it— he may never be perfect at setting, but he knows with enough work his setting will get good enough to be used in a match. A few tries later, Yoshimoto actually starts connecting with the ball.
The tosses themselves are a piece of work: some balls too lofty to ever be properly hit, some balls are just a straight shot across air without any lift to them. But it is better than it was at the start of practice and that’s all Yoshimoto could ask for.
“Let’s end on a good one,” Kageyama says towards the end of practice. Yoshimoto doesn’t know how long they’ve been practicing together, only that he hasn’t thought about the time at all. Both of them are sweating.
Yoshimoto bends over and tries to catch his breath. His legs are going to be sore tomorrow from all the jumping, but it’s the type of sore that’s a mark of a job well done. He wipes the sweat off of his forehead and nods.
Kageyama tosses the ball and Yoshimoto’s body is moving before he thinks about it. He can’t name what is different about this one than any of the ones before, but it feels different. His approaching jump is different, the way his fingers touch the ball is different.
The ball leaves Yoshimoto’s fingers in a curving arc that’s a step away from the net. It’s the type of toss Yoshimoto has been trying to do this entire time.
Yoshimoto lands on the ground, his eyes watching the ball take its course. The ball hits the ground, no one there to spike it to the other side of the net. But Yoshimoto did it. Yoshimoto pumps his fist, a small hiss of Yes escaping his mouth. He takes a deep breath and throws his head back. Setting is hard, but that’s what’s so fun about volleyball: nothing is ever easy, but almost everything can be done.
“That was a good one,” Kageyama says. “You’re getting it faster than I thought you would.”
“Thanks,” Yoshimoto says. He can feel the adrenaline leaving his body, making him tired and sated. He knows the second he gets home and out of the shower, he’s going to fall asleep. He might even fall asleep in the shower.
(It has happened before.)
“Now that you have a feel for it, you just have to hone on it. Just stick with one type of toss for now. It’ll make it easier that way,” Kageyama says. He sticks out his hand.
Yoshimoto stares at Kageyama’s extended hand, unsure of what to do. Does he want Yoshimoto to hit it? Or is he sticking out his hand for some other reason? Between Kageyama being an insanely talented player and his yelling at the other third years, Yoshimoto never realized exactly how awkward Kageyama is.
It’s hard not to notice it now, with Kageyama’s hand still extended out towards Yoshimoto and Yoshimoto having no idea what to do about it.
“Oh,” Kageyama says after another moment of nothing passes between them. His hand makes a fist. “Good job?”
Yoshimoto laughs under his breath. All of that and Kageyama doesn’t know how to properly fist bump? The awkwardness is cute, in its own Kageyama way. Yoshimoto makes a fist and they fist bump. “Thanks for today.”
Kageyama nods and then he smiles. Closed mouth, but a smile nonetheless. Yoshimoto feels like melting into a puddle of sweat and he’s not exactly sure why. “Let me know if you need more help.”
Maybe Kageyama isn’t as harsh as Yoshimoto initially thought. Yoshimoto doesn’t know if that’s necessarily a good or bad thing yet.
He’ll have to hang out more with Kageyama to figure that out.
Sakata Hiroshi has no idea how he made it on the Karasuno boy’s volleyball team. Sure, the team isn’t a powerhouse school quite yet. But it’s only a matter of time. They have multiple National appearances under their belt, and every day there’s a current of want that intertwines itself with every single player’s movements.
It’s the want to succeed. It’s the want to do better. It’s the want to win.
Sakata just wants to go home.
Sakata isn’t used to not being able to succeed in his blocking. But there is something different about playing high school volleyball that somehow makes all of his experience go out the window and into a dumpster fire. If he’s home, he can’t be messing up his blocks for everyone to see.
“Did you hear me?” Tsukishima asks, shaking Sakata out of his thoughts. One of these days he’s going to be so lost in his own mind that a volleyball will hit him in the face and he won’t even notice it. That’s what his mother says at least. “I have to leave practice a bit early. Coach said you can talk to him if you want to keep up blocking practice.”
Tsukishima tilts his head to where Coach and Yachi are talking about something over a clipboard. They’re probably discussing the newest lineup, shuffling around players until they get a startling lineup that will garner them the most wins.
And then Tsukishima is gone, only bothering to say goodbye to Yamaguchi and Yachi, but that’s because they're the ones to initiate it. It’s not as if Tsukishima is mean (Well, maybe his jeers to Hinata can be a little meaner than Sakata thinks is necessary, but everything Tsukishima says just rolls off of Hinata as if Hinata is made out of some Tsukishima-phobic material), but he is a bit of an enigma that Sakata doesn’t want to parse out.
But if Tsukishima is an enigma, Sakata doesn’t have words to describe what Kageyama is. Sakata and Kageyama have talked only twice— the first time when they all introduced themselves at the first practice and the second time a week ago when Sakata tripped and Kageyama asked if he was okay.
So when Coach tells Sakata (and Yachi) to go join Kageyama (and Hinata) for blocking practice, Sakata does not know what to expect.
Hinata is excited as Sakata walks up, bouncing up and down on his toes and telling Yachi Don’t worry! I’ll hit anything you toss straight through Kageyama’s arms!
Kageyama grins at Hinata’s words. Sakata has never seen him smile before and he knows that Kageyama is a normal human being with normal human functions and of course he must smile at things, but Sakata still stumbles as he walks towards a smiling Kageyama.
“Sakata!” Hinata yells, pointing his finger at Sakata. “Don’t let Kageyama fool you. His blocking is good but my spikes are better.”
“Shut up,” Kageyama says, but he’s still smiling and Sakata just knows that this is a recurring conversation between the two of them.
Hinata’s first two hits go right through Sakata’s arms. It’s embarrassing and his fingers were already sore from the spikes he tried to block with Tsukishima, but now they really hurt. Sakata doesn’t know where he’s going wrong. He was good at blocking just a few months ago during middle school. He was great, really. He has both the talent and the height for it, so what’s going on here?
“You’re nervous,” Kageyama says. Sakata is expecting his words to hit like a slap, the edge of it cutting. But it’s nothing like that. It’s just a statement, nothing else attached to it. “That’s what’s making it hard for you to block. Calm down.”
Sakata takes in a deep breath. Now that he is paying attention to it, his muscles are tense and his mind is whirling. It doesn’t do any good to play like this. Sakata takes another breath and shakes out his arms and legs.
“Better?” Kageyama asks and there’s something about his tone that makes Sakata know that Kageyama actually wants to hear his honest answer
Sakata nods.
It takes three more spikes before Sakata manages to get his full hand on one. It’s not a blockout— one day he’ll blockout Hinata and that’s a day he will remember— but it is enough to slow down the momentum and give their imaginary third player a chance to receive the ball.
It’s then, with Sakata a foot back into his groove, that Kageyama really starts talking. Sakata knew that Kageyama was smart on the court— this dude is going to play on the national team one day and Sakata will point at the TV and be able to say I knew him when!— but he’s never had all of Kageyama’s attention focused solely on him.
It’s overwhelming in a positive way. Right before they jump, Kageyama is telling him to do something with his feet that will make the jump higher. In the middle of the air Kageyama is telling him to brace, telling him where he thinks Hinata is going to hit the ball. They land and Kageyama is telling him what he did well and what he can improve on next time.
Kageyama tells him where to place his hands, what to look out for in a spiker, how to not give away any of your tells so the opponents can’t read you. It’s a lot of information for one singular practice and Sakata knows that not all of it will stick in his brain, but Kageyama is so smart and has so much advice to give that by the end of it all, Sakata is in awe.
Volleyball is a fast sport. One second the ball is in the air and the next it’s hitting someone’s arms and then back in the air again. There’s only a few seconds for you to think— it’s mostly a sport done through sheer muscle memory. You block, you serve, you spike time and time again in practice and hope that your muscles will remember what they’ve practiced. There’s only a split moment for thought, and for Sakata that moment is filled with Oh shit oh shit oh shit.
It works for him, most of the time.
But Kageyama seems to have more time than Sakata has ever imagined. Because Kageyama doesn’t just jump with his arms up high, bracing for the impact. Kageyama thinks. He has time to think and analyze and move.
Sakata wishes he could be as smart as Kageyama. (At least when it comes to volleyball.)
By the time Coach calls them in to do their cool-down stretches, Sakata is exhausted. But it’s that weird type of exhaustion where his body is sore and tired and his mind a tad bit overworked, but he’s excited and ready to go for another half hour of practice.
“You’re really smart, aren’t you?” Sakata says to Kageyama in the middle of stretching. They’re paired up for the partner stretches, Kageyama pressing down on Sakata’s back as Sakata tries to reach his toes. The pressure on Sakata’s back lessons and then comes back stronger than before.
Sakata turns his head and finds Kageyama red in the face.
He did not know his compliment was going to elicit such a response. If he thought Kageyama was going to reply like that, then Sakata wouldn’t have said anything at all! This is so embarrassing, making his upperclassman blush like that.
“I—” Sakata tries to say, but he doesn’t know where he’s going with that. He just knows that Kageyama is blushing because of something he said. And this is too much information to process at once. Kageyama is supposed to be the most taciturn of the third years, the one that’s shrouded in a bit of mystery. The one that Sakata does not know how to describe. He is not supposed to be the type of person that reacts easily to compliments.
And he’s not supposed to look cute when blushing.
“I failed math last year,” Kageyama says a moment later. He’s still flushing and now pointedly not looking in Sakata’s direction. Coach yells out that it’s time for them to switch and Kageyama puts out a hand for Sakata to grab. Either Sakata is lighter than Kageyama was expecting or Sakata pulled himself up too strongly, but Sakata grabs Kageyama’s hand, pulls himself up, and ends up directly in Kageyama’s chest.
Oh no, Sakata thinks as his heart does a little dance in his chest. Kageyama is broad and strong and Sakata is screwed. Oh no no no.
The biggest wonder of the week is the fact that Fukuda actually went to practice. The smallest wonder of the week is that he actually liked it.
Because deep down, Fukuda likes volleyball. He likes the way he wakes up in the morning after a hard practice, sore yet accomplished. He likes the way the ball feels in his fingers, even if he can only touch it for a second. He likes the rush of emotion he gets when his team wins.
Fukuda likes volleyball. Loves it, even.
He hates going to practice, though. He really hasn’t figured out why he hates it so much, only that when he steps into the gym with the intention of playing his best, there’s an instant curl of disgust that forms in the pit of his stomach and makes everything difficult. It weighs him down, making his limbs feel like lead. His jumps aren’t high, his spikes aren’t strong, his receives are sloppy.
And his sets— Fukuda hasn’t managed to set properly in over two weeks.
The rest of the students file out of the locker room together, chatting amongst themselves. Fukuda has noticed that the volleyball team tends to sort itself out by year. It’s not unusual— the third years have all known each other the longest and from what Fukuda has seen, they all know each other very well. The first years are still getting to know everyone and take solace in the fact that they aren’t the only new ones around. The second years are either getting into trouble or floating between both groups of people with ease.
And then there is Hinata, who somehow squeezes himself into every single little group the volleyball team has. Fukuda isn’t surprised when Hinata is the one to notice that he’s not tagging along with the rest of the group.
“Fukuda!” Hinata says, jumping over to where Fukuda has been waiting for the rest of the team to clear out. “Are you coming to get food with us? Yamaguchi said he’s paying.”
“I did not say that!” Yamaguchi, their captain, yells out as he walks down the steps leading out of the locker room and out to the street.
“No, my mom wants me home,” Fukuda says quickly. He’s found out that people respond much better to his disengagement when his reasoning has to do with his parents. “Maybe next time.”
Hinata pouts. “You said that last time.”
Fukuda stalls. He did say that last time, which was last week when the team all wanted to go out for dinner after a conditioning practice. Fukuda was in such a bad mood when he left that he didn’t even realize that was his excuse last time.
Hinata softens and puts a hand on Fukuda’s shoulder. Fukuda is the second tallest person on Karasuno, coming just short of Tsukishima. Hinata shouldn’t be able to put a hand on him or make it seem so comforting. Hinata does it anyway. “Get home safe, Fukuda!”
And then Hinata is bounding away, joining the rest of the group with a yell and a laugh.
Fukuda takes the long way home. His mom thinks he’s out with the team. His team thinks he’s home with his mom. This time alone is the best thing about actually going to practice. Fukuda likes being alone, likes the time to think.
But time alone is a double-edged sword. His mind wanders to volleyball, as it always does these days. Fukuda doesn’t know what’s wrong with him, why his love for volleyball has grown stagnant and chilling when it was so blazing hot that he could burn himself with it.
Fukuda thinks that there is something wrong with him. But he doesn’t know what.
Thinking too much about nothing and everything at the same time, Fukuda realizes he’s lost after ten minutes. He turns a corner that he thinks is familiar but then quickly realizes he has no idea where he is. He starts to take his phone out, dependent on the maps app to get him back home, when he hears a cat hissing.
Fukuda turns to the noise, not expecting to find Kageyama Tobio squatting in front of the stray cat, hand outstretched as he tries to pet it. The cat hisses again and swats at Kageyama’s hand.
“What are you doing?” Fukuda asks, staring.
Kageyama looks up, not at all seeming surprised to find Fukuda standing beside him. “I’ve been trying to pet this stray for the past three weeks.” Fukuda just now realizes that Kageyama has a bag of cat treats in one of his hands. “He won’t let me pet him, though.”
Fukuda sighs. He really, really doesn’t want to be talking to anyone right now. He should just nod and walk the other direction and never look back.
Kageyama sticks out his hand again and frowns when the cat slinks away from him.
Fukuda looks at his phone. A red battery sign flashes on the screen before his entire phone shuts down. Great, just great.
Fukuda sighs again and kneels down next to Kageyama. “You have to go slow,” Fukuda explains. He puts his hand out in front of Kageyama and Kageyama drops a treat into his hand. Fukuda slowly extends his hand towards the cat. The cat is a solid black in color, its eyes bright and staring through Fukuda.
Fukuda keeps his hand extended, waiting. He takes a breath, then two, and finally the cat takes the offered treat and allows Fukuda to lightly scratch under his chin.
“I like cats,” Kageyama says, watching everything take place, “but they don’t like me.”
Fukuda pauses and the cat notices the change in behavior and falls back. It takes a few more treats and a lot of holding still, but eventually the cat lets Fukuda pet him again. Then when it seems that the cat has enough petting, it hisses at Fukuda and then runs away.
Kageyama sighs and stands up. “Let’s walk back to the main street.”
Fukuda gets up. He has already spent enough time with Kageyama and he really should just leave now. But Kageyama is offering to walk him to the main street, where Fukuda will be able to regain his bearings and figure out how to get back home.
Neither Kageyama and Fukuda are talkative people. They pass the walk in silence, Kageyama leading them through street after street. Fukuda keeps looking around for a sign of something familiar, but he must have been really lost in his thoughts to get him this deep into this part of town.
Fukuda wonders what Kageyama was doing to make him find that one cat.
Finally, a little alleyway leads them to the main street. Fukuda turns to thank Kageyama for walking with him.
“You’re good at volleyball,” Kageyama says before Fukuda can say anything. “But do you like it?”
Fukuda freezes. Kageyama Tobio just told him he was good at volleyball. Kageyama Tobio, the main setter for their team. Kageyama Tobio, who is probably going to be called up to the U-19 Japan Volleyball team.
Kageyama Tobio, his vice captain.
It should feel good, this compliment. But all it does is make Fukuda feel cold. Fukuda loves volleyball. But it’s been hard recently. Everything has been hard.
“Sometimes taking time off is good,” Kageyama says after a moment of silence. This is the most Kageyama has ever said to Fukuda. “Gives you a new perspective. If you love volleyball, it will always be there.”
Fukuda nods. Yes, he might be skipping practices and not hanging out with the team, but he can’t actually see himself dropping volleyball. Volleyball is like breathing. Maybe Fukuda has asthma.
“If you leave and come back that’s fine. If you leave and don’t want to come back that’s also fine. Or if you don’t want to leave at all that’s fine,” Kageyama says. “The last year’s captain quit in his first year and then came back. It happens.”
Kageyama says everything as if they’re facts and nothing more. Fukuda appreciates the bluntness, but it still is jarring. Fukuda didn’t realize people were really noticing that he wasn’t at practice. The first years would bring it up sometimes in the form of jokes, but no one has actually reached out in a tangible way.
“Karasuno is going to win Nationals this year, so whatever you decide, make sure to take that into account.”
Fukuda laughs. “It’s not like I would get a chance to play anyway.” Fukuda already knows that as a setter, the only chance he’ll have to play a real game is when Kageyama is long gone. Fukuda is a great player, sure. But it’s Kageyama Tobio.
Kageyama shrugs. “One of my upperclassmen once told me that volleyball is a team sport.” He pinches his lips together, tight. He looks like he wants to elaborate, say something more, but can’t figure out how to put the words together.
Fukuda takes a step towards home.
“Volleyball is a team sport,” Kageyama repeats. “Karasuno will teach you that if you don’t already know. They’re good like that.”
“Yeah,” Fukuda says, mostly because he’s not sure how to respond at all. He knows volleyball is a team sport. “It would be pretty hard to receive, set, and spike all at the same time.”
Kageyama makes a face like he just smelled the inside of the boy’s locker room after one of the second years accidentally left their lunch there during a hot weekend. “That would be impossible.”
Kageyama says it with such a sincere tone in his voice that Fukuda can’t help but laugh. Fukuda has noticed that Kageyama always takes things quite literally. It’s humorous, even though Kageyama doesn’t mean for it to be funny.
Fukuda lets out another burst of laughter before settling himself down. The conversation comes to a natural end, and Fukuda takes another step home. By now, his mother has to be wondering where he is.
“Let me walk you home,” Kageyama says, noticing Fukuda slowly inching away.
Fukuda shakes his head. “You really don’t have to.”
“It’s fine. Vice captain duties,” Kageyama says with such finality that Fukuda knows that it’s no use trying to argue.
Fukuda leads the way this time and by the time they get to Fukuda’s street, Fukuda realizes that hanging out with Kageyama isn’t all that bad. Sure he’s a bit blunt and too talented for his own good, but he makes for good, quiet company. So far, Kageyama has proven to be the most tolerable out of all the Karasuno members.
“I’ll go to morning practice tomorrow,” Fukuda says in lieu of a goodbye.
Kageyama doesn’t smile, but it’s something close. He nods his head. “I’ll see you then.” Kageyama walks Fukuda all the way to his doorstep and then waves in goodbye. Fukuda watches Kageyama’s retreating figure until he turns the corner and disappears from view.
Fukuda goes through his nightly routine with ease. By the time he’s in bed, Fukuda realizes he hasn’t been to morning practice in a little under a month even though he knows he really should be going. He’ll be there tomorrow, though.
And with Kageyama there, maybe it won’t all be bad.
Kageyama thinks something must be wrong with him this week.
He’s not sure what exactly, but something is not right. Kageyama wakes up on Monday morning and everything is fine, great even. He beats Shouyou as they race to the gym, which tips their tie over to Kageyama’s favor. Morning practice goes as well as it could have.
But then Sakata is taking his time getting ready. Kageyama never knew that someone could be so slow when tying their shoes. Kageyama normally would not have waited for him, but Kageyama has the key to the locker room this week and has to wait for everyone to leave.
It is only after Shouyou had finally left for class (With a pout because they always walk to class together, but the bell was going to ring at any moment now and Shouyou could not afford another tardy.) did Sakata finish tying his shoes. He stands up, stretches a bit, and then smiles at Kageyama.
Kageyama smiles back and opens the door to let them out.
“Are you busy this weekend?” Sakata asks as Kageyama locks up. Sakata’s normally spiked hair is down, the bleached blonde strands a mess around his face. Kageyama wonders why he spent so long on his shoes when his hair was what really needed to be taken care of.
Kageyama isn’t busy this weekend, actually. Shouyou and him usually always have plans to hang out— dating didn’t really change the times they hung out, it only really changed the things they did while they hung out— but Shouyou has family things this weekend. “No, not really.”
“Great!” Sakata beams at him and this is the first time that Kageyama thinks something must be wrong with him. Sakata has never acted this friendly with him. “So do you want to go to the movies? I can pay.”
The bell rings.
“Uh,” Kageyama says. Why is a first year asking him to hang out?
Sakata holds up his phone. “I will message you about it, okay?”
Kageyama nods and Sakata runs off to his class. Kageyama barely makes it to class on time himself. He forgets about the entire encounter until it’s the next day and Kageyama finds Fukuda walking around the third year’s hallway.
Fukuda is easy to spot, being a head taller than most of the other students. He’s also incredibly lost, his face twisted into a picture of confusion and nerves. Kageyama doesn’t call out to him, but Fukuda’s eyes zero in on him and then he walks right over.
Then Fukuda also asks him to hang out. On Friday, after practice.
“If you want,” Fukuda adds at the end. He’s staring at the ground, then out of the window, and then at his hands. Everywhere that is not Kageyama. Kageyama relates to Fukuda the most out of the underclassmen. That doesn’t mean he gets Fukuda— Kageyama would never skip practice— but the awkwardness around him, like he doesn’t quite fit into the world around him. Kageyama relates.
That still doesn’t mean that he knows why Fukuda is asking him to hang out.
“Okay,” Kageyama says. It’s weird, but Fukuda is a setter. Maybe he just wants some setter-to-setter tips. Kageyama did hang out with Sugawara outside of school.
Sometime.
Like once.
(Kageyama never hung out with Oikawa outside of school.)
Something must be wrong.
On Thursday, Yoshimoto somehow manages to walk out of school with Kageyama. They don’t have practice today because the gym is going under inspection. Normally, Kageyama would show up somewhere else to practice anyway, but Coach had told everyone to rest and when he looked at Kageyama and Shouyou, it felt more like a threat than it did a suggestion. So home he goes.
Yoshimoto is waiting by the front gates, the sleeves of his shirt pushed up over his elbows and when Kageyama passes by, Yoshimoto joins him.
“Ice cream?” Yoshimoto asks in lieu of a greeting.
Kageyama shrugs. Now this is really wrong. Why are all the first years talking to him so much this week? Kageyama doesn’t know what’s going on with himself to warrant all this attention. Is it something that he did?
“Or not,” Yoshimoto says when Kageyama fails to respond. Yoshimoto isn’t frowning, but it’s a close thing. It’s probably not in the Good Upperclassmen textbook to make an underclassman frown.
“Later?” Kageyama says and Yoshimoto lights up. Yoshimoto is funny, with his buzzcut and his rowdy attitude, Kageyama expected him to be a troublesome first year— almost as if you rolled Tanaka and Nishinoya into one person and let them loose onto the world. But Yoshimoto is just a kid that tries very hard to look cool.
Kageyama has to admit that most of the time, Yoshimoto does look pretty cool.
Yoshimoto and Kageyama part ways at a crosswalk, and Kageyama’s walk home is filled with confusion. All Kageyama did was try to get to know the first years all a bit more, but the rest of the third years have done that as well and none of the first years are asking them to hang out outside of practice.
Something must be wrong, right?
But at the same time, hanging out with his teammates isn’t that unusual. It’s probably nothing.
Probably.
Two minutes after the bell rings for lunch, Kageyama’s desk is crowded with three different lunches. It would be five if Tsukishima and Yamaguchi didn’t choose to sit a few seats away, still involved but at the same time a little separate.
Kageyama doesn’t know when his classroom became the classroom to eat lunch in, but it’s been that way since their second year and has carried on until now. Kageyama knows that they still all meet in his classroom when he’s out sick.
“What did you do with the first years,” Shouyou demands before Kageyama can even say hello. “They’ve been talking about you nonstop and they didn’t do this a week ago.”
“Kageyama has been hanging out with them more during practice,” Yachi says. “So it’s probably that, right?”
Kageyama nods and takes a bite out of his sandwich. “I just did what you all told me to do.”
Tsukishima says, “I’m surprised you actually did it. Maybe you actually are vice captain material.”
“Kageyama is a great vice captain,” Yamaguchi says. “Hinata, what have they been saying? I haven’t really heard them at all, though they did seem to be scheming something today during morning practice. I’ve never seen Sakata look so… secretive.”
Shouyou scowls. “They’re inviting him to eat lunch with them. On the rooftop.” Shouyou says each word with emphasis, his voice getting more and more dramatic as he speaks. He leans back into his seat and exhales. Then he pops up and leans his elbows on Kageyama’s desk. “Well it’s lunch time and they aren’t here now, so I guess they chickened out.” He grins.
“They want to have lunch with Kageyama?” Yachi asks. “This makes so much sense considering Fukuda asked me where Kageyama ate lunch a few days ago.”
Kageyama has no idea what they’re talking about. Why would the first years want to eat lunch with him? When Kageyama was a first year the only time he ate lunch with the upperclassmen was when they were at a tournament and they all ate lunch in the stands between their games.
Kageyama takes another bite of his sandwich and doesn’t notice when Shouyou goes a touch too still to be normal. He does notice, though, when Tsukishima scoffs and says, “I told you to learn their names, not start a fanclub.”
“He was just being nice, Tsukki,” Yamaguchi says.
Confused, Kageyama turns and sees the three first years standing in the doorway. Fukuda is in the middle, his lunch in his hands. Sakata is on his right, looking around the classroom as if he’s afraid that someone is going to come over and tell him he doesn’t belong here. Yoshimoto is on Fukuda’s left, somehow looking even more nervous than Sakata is.
None of them make a move to enter the classroom before Yamaguchi calls out their names and waves them over. They quickly scurry over. Kageyama takes another bite of his sandwich.
“Nice to see you all,” Yamaguchi says. The first years are painfully awkward as they stand in front of the third years. Sakata is still looking around, on edge. Yoshimoto is clenching his lunchbox so tightly that Kageyama can see the way his fingers are turning white with the pressure. The only one that looks to have his wits among him is Fukuda, but even then Fukuda isn’t saying a word.
“Do you want to have lunch with us?” Yachi asks. Her voice wavers slightly, catching onto the anxiety that the first years have rolling off of them. Kageyama still doesn’t really know what they’re doing here.
“Um,” Sakata says.
“We just,” says Yoshimoto.
“Kageyama, do you want to have lunch on the rooftop?” Fukuda finally says. “We wanted to ask you that, but if you’re busy with the other third years, that’s okay too.”
Kageyama finishes chewing on his sandwich and swallows. This counts as getting to know the first years, doesn’t it? He looks around and sees that everyone is looking at him, waiting for him to answer. “Um,” he says. Shouyou is biting his bottom lip in that way of his when he really wants to say something but is holding himself back. “Can Hinata come too?”
The first years all look at each other and then Sakata nods and says, “Of course Hinata can come.”
Kageyama starts packing up his lunch, Shouyou a moment behind him. “Sorry,” Kageyama says to the rest of the third years as he realizes that he’s leaving them.
Yachi smiles. “Oh it’s fine, Kageyama! Have fun!”
“I didn’t know the King was capable of seducing the first years,” Tsukishima says. He tries to say more but ends up being shushed by both Shouyou and Yamaguchi. Kageyama is not really sure what Tsukishima means.
They make their way to the rooftop, the first years leading the way. They’re whispering the entire way, sneaking back looks at Kageyama and Shouyou when they think they aren’t paying attention. Kageyama doesn’t really get it, but he figures that he’s not ever going to get the first years.
“What did you do to them?” Shouyou whispers when they’re in the stairwell. “They like, love you more than they love Yachi. They’ve been talking about you so much and now lunch?”
Kageyama shrugs. “I’m hanging out with them this weekend too.” He didn’t really do anything but try to get to know them.
Shouyou scoffs. “I never knew you could be such a people-person. They aren’t going to steal you away from me are they?” His voice is quiet and light, but Kageyama knows that he’s not totally joking. Shouyou isn’t the most possessive person, but neither of them are immune to a bit of jealousy.
Kageyama frowns. “Of course not.”
The rooftop is a quiet place. They sit in a circle on the floor in a section that’s getting full sunlight. Kageyama tilts his head up to the sunlight and relaxes as the warmth settles over his body.
Shouyou leans his shoulder into Kageyama’s side, pressing himself close so the sides of their bodies are flush against each other. Shouyou grabs Kageyama’s hand and twines their fingers together. It’s nice, the sun and being next to Shouyou.
Kageyama smiles and all of a sudden he’s aware of the acute silence that has come over the entire group. The first years are staring at them, staring at the way they’re pressed up against each other. Staring at their hands.
Kagayama remembers that they haven’t formally told the team they’re dating.
Fukuda coughs and then the first years devolve into a very serious whispering match. Kageyama does not catch a single word of what they say.
“So, lunch?” Shouyou asks a minute later after Sakata leaned over and flicked Fukuda in the middle of his forehead, Yoshimoto staring at both of them, ending whatever conversation they were all having.
Kageyama nods and starts unpacking his lunch. “Lunch.”
The first years start eating and while it’s not the same as eating with the third years, it’s not bad. Kageyama could do this more often. The first years are nice, talented too. Getting to know them was the right choice, even if it took some poking and prodding (Mostly to himself). Kageyama eats his lunch and enjoys being out in the sun with his teammates. The first years are easy to talk to, all things considered, and they lead the majority of the conversation. Kageyama doesn’t really pay attention to what they’re talking to. He’s not doing it to be rude, but conversations normally pass by him with him only gathering bits and pieces of what is being said.
None of them seem to mind. Shouyou talks more than enough for the two of them combined anyway. They talk, they laugh, they eat their lunch. By the time the lunch period is over, Kageyama feels good, satisfied.
“Let’s do this again,” Kageyama says to the first years as they walk the first years to their floor.
“We’re still on to hang out this weekend, right?” Yoshimoto asks. The three first years look at Kageyama expectantly.
Kageyama nods. “Yeah, of course.”
The first years beam at him and Kageyama really does not know why they are all looking at him like that. But Kageyama knows that even if he were to ask, he probably would not be able to understand it. They say their goodbyes and when Shouyou and Kageyama part ways outside of Kageyama’s classroom with a gentle squeezing of their hands and a gentle teasing from Shouyou about your little fanclub!, Kageyama feels good.
Still a bit confused by the onslaught of attention, but good. The first years are nice and extremely talented too. Kageyama really should have gotten to know them sooner.
But, Kageyama thinks, better late than never.