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Tobio does not cry at his grandfather's funeral.
He's the only one who doesn't.
His mother’s hands shake as she brings the incense to her forehead before sprinkling it into the burner. Tobio can’t remember a time when he saw her lose her composure. She’s a proud woman, who holds her head high and bows with a straight back. But when she stands up and bows to the altar, her back is curved and her knees buckle, like she’s curling in on herself.
Tobio looks down at his own hands. Steady. Still.
His father's voice breaks as he addresses the other attendants. His mother's eye makeup is running down her face in thin black stripes. Tobio's stiff immaculate suit wrinkles as she squeezes his shoulder, like he's the one that needs comfort.
His uncle cries into his older brother's shoulder's, his father holds him close, it's the longest Tobio has ever seen them touch each other.
The grandchildren don't stay to hold vigil over Kazuyo-san's body. They quietly say goodbye to their father and uncles and aunts, before their mother walks them out.
Miwa is full-on bawling when they leave the temple, pressing her face into the sleeve of her kimono to muffle her cries. She trips and stumbles and wails and her whole face is distorted into a red blotchy mess.
As soon as they get home, she runs to her room, like she hasn't done since she was an angry 13-year-old, and doesn't come out again.
At night, she cries so loud that it's audible through the whole house.
Tobio sits on his bed, volleyball in his hands, and listens.
And listens.
And wonders if there's something wrong with him.
The next morning they both have dark circles under their eyes, but only hers are red and puffy.
He expects it to be different the next day. It's not. Tobio's back is straight, his hands are steady, his eyes are dry.
They close the chest, Tobio gets one last glimpse at his grandfather's face before the coffin is hammered shut.
He blinks and it's gone.
He stares at the inscription of his grandfather's new name. It's old kanji, he doesn't know how to pronounce it. The priest had said it aloud but he'd forgotten.
You're not supposed to say posthumous names out loud anyway. It's fine.
They get offered lunch as they wait for Kazuyo-san's body to be cremated. Old friends and family they haven't seen in years, talking softly as they eat. Some people are still crying, but there are smiles and hugs too, people catching up and finding joy in a moment of darkness.
Tobio doesn't speak. He sips quietly from his glass.
A woman he doesn't recognize comes up and hugs him, she tells him he's grown a lot taller. "Thank you." He mumbles. He doesn't wanna tell her that he doesn't remember her.
Tobio's father doesn't cry until they've picked the bones.
Tobio and Miwa carry small pieces of bones together with their chopsticks, as their family slowly fills the urn with what's left of their grandfather's body.
His father shares with his youngest sister as they pick up the nodobotoke and place it carefully in the urn.
And only after, when the crematorium staff finishes collecting the ashes and they're standing outside, does his father crumble. He sags down into one of the uncomfortable wooden chairs and hides his face in his hands.
Tobio doesn't see tears, but his shoulders are shaking.
He waits. For something similar to happen to him, maybe.
It doesn't.
He's the only one who hasn't cried.
It doesn't make sense. People cry when they're upset. Tobio cries all the time, even when he doesn't want to. Cries so hard that his nose starts running from all the tears that don't fall and his head keeps hurting for hours after.
Then why?
He stares unblinkingly at the picture of his grandfather at the shrine in his home. Fights the instinct to blink as his eyes sting and go dry. Just a little longer. Just one tear, that's all he needs.
His eyes water. His vision goes blurry.
He blinks at the last second. The tear doesn't fall.
It doesn't matter. It would have been fake anyway.
Maybe it's that he's not sad enough, he thinks.
That doesn't make any sense. He loved Kazuyo-san after all, and people are upset when those they love die. Tobio knows this.
So clearly, he should be upset. It's only logical.
He looks for it, inside of his chest, that awful terrible feeling hidden somewhere between his ribs, that place where your body decides to translate mental pain into physical when it gets too much.
He finds nothing.
It's like there's a void inside him where sadness should be. Something gaping in his chest. He knows where it is and he knows where it should be but when he searches for it there's just… nothing.
And as he looks and looks and looks Tobio realizes that, no… he's really not that sad.
"Hey, Tobio," his mother says softly, brushing his hair in the morning.
He looks up at her.
"I just wanted to say that you're very mature. You're handling this really well. I'm proud of you"
Tobio nods.
He doesn't know what to say. Doesn't know how to explain the emptiness inside of him. That something's wrong with him.
He goes to school. One of the teachers knows. And she takes him aside before class starts.
"If you can't focus today, I understand. You can always ask for help." She says kindly.
Tobio shakes his head. "I'll be fine," He says. It's not a lie.
She smiles. "That's good to hear, Tobio-kun. But the offer stands. I understand how hard this can be."
Tobio doesn't think she does. Or maybe she does, and he's the one who doesn't. She's in her late thirties, she must have lost her grandparents too. She probably did cry at their funerals. Or at least afterward.
Class goes perfectly. Better than average, even. That's probably a good thing, Tobio's grades aren't exactly stellar. He can't afford a drop.
Perhaps it would have been better, though. At least then he'd be able to point at it and say see? It does affect me. I'm not okay.
It would be comforting, to not be so alright.
Volleyball practice is loud. And hectic. Most of the third years have left, though a few are still on the team. It doesn't matter for Tobio, he's been the starting setter since the moment Oikawa-san stepped out of the gym last year.
The new team is good. Not good enough yet to beat Shiratorizawa, though. So they need to work harder.
He actually forgets, for a few hours, that Kazuyo-san is dead at all.
He forgets. Until he gets home and walks right past the shrine.
Every single muscle in his body freezes.
This is it, he thinks, almost hopeful in a truly awful way. It hadn't truly sunk in before, at the funeral. This is when it finally hits him that Kazuyo-san is gone forever.
He waits for it. For the emptiness inside him to finally cave in and make him crumble. For the tears to finally come spilling out.
Nothing happens.
Something in him wants to grab the nearest volleyball and serve it into a wall.
He doesn't. He doesn't feel angry enough.
He doesn't feel anything.
That practice is not the last time he forgets. He catches himself, too often, laughing or smiling or simply zoning out and forgetting that he's supposed to be mourning. Sometimes he comes home late and doesn't remember until he sees the picture on the shrine, that he's forgotten for a whole day.
That's not normal, is it? He's supposed to not be able to get Kazuyo-san out of his head, like the way his father has started staying late at work because it's his only distraction.
Is he that easy to forget? Did Tobio care that little about him?
That can't be. Because Tobio knows he loves him.
He wonders if he'd cry if his parents died. If Miwa did. Or if maybe he's so hollow inside that there'd still be nothing.
Volleyball isn't as enjoyable anymore. He and his teammates haven't been getting along for a while, and they're starting to get on his nerves more and more.
He still loves it. Still wants to score, still stays behind during practice, and plays long after everyone else has gone home.
But he's not having that much fun.
Good. A small part of him says. You shouldn't be. Remember? You're supposed to be sad.
His love for volleyball in exchange for his grandfather. He wonders if that's a large enough price to pay. If this is what he needs to be a good grandson, to properly grieve him.
Kazuyo taught him volleyball, after all. It makes sense.
He doesn't want to give up volleyball, though. He's selfish like that.
They've split up for a practice match, and Tobio is this close to winning.
The score is 23-24. And everyone on the other side of the net is getting tired. They're sloppier than they were at the beginning, their lead has evaporated, the last three points were from Tobio's team
If Tobio can get this to a deuce they're going to win.
So he sends the ball up to the far left. It's the perfect angle, the perfect placement. Kunimi is right there. The blockers will never get there in time-
Kunimi misses, his hand doesn't even touch the ball. It lands on the court just centimeters from Tashiro's fingers. The whistle blows. And they've lost.
Kunimi kooks at the ball, with that tired annoyed expression of his, and casually kicks it away.
It's just a practice match. He shouldn't care that much. But Kunimi's sheer apathy pushes Tobio over the edge.
But they had it! He had it! It was the perfect point, the perfect setup, the perfect toss. They were so so close and they would have won if he would have just hit it.
His heart pounds like it wants to beat out of his chest, his ears are ringing. He looks at Kunimi and everything else in the gym fades. It's him, it's his fault, if he had just been a bit faster, just a bit higher, they wouldn't have lost.
"What's wrong with you?" He spits out.
Kunimi stares back with a resentment that would bother Tobio if he wasn't so angry. "It was too far." He heaves.
"It was perfect! You could have gotten that!"
"No I couldn't"
"Yes you could! Stop being so lazy!"
"Alright, calm down" Hashikami steps between them, he pulls Tobio back by his jersey.
Tobio shakes him off. He sets a step towards Kunimi and pauses.
What's he gonna do? Hit him? How the hell is he supposed to fix this?
Kunimi bristles. "Lazy, king?" Tashiro grabs his arm as if to hold him back but Kunimi doesn't actually move. "Why don't you stop being such a tyrant? I'm sick of it. I'm sick of you."
"I refuse to lose because you couldn't bother to actually hit my tosses!" Tobio yells back.
"Oh, you refuse to lose. Typical. Only thinking of yourself."
"That's enough! Back off!" Hashikami pushes them apart and turns to Kageyama, frustration written all over his face.
"Kageyama," He sighs "If no one can hit your tosses, you gotta correct them instead of yelling."
"But he can-"
"I just said I can't!" Kunimi interrupts them.
"Shut up! Both of you!" Hashikami looks at their coach a little helplessly, he's only been captain for a month. "Can we take a five-minute break?"
"That's probably for the best," Coach says. "Everyone! Go drink something. And calm down."
Tobio tries to calm down, to slow his breathing, but it doesn't work. His head is spinning, he can't focus.
It wasn't his fault. It wasn't!
Hashikami is looking at him weirdly.
And with a sickening feeling he realizes that he's crying.
Goddammit. No, stop. Stop. Stop.
He turns around, trying to find a way to hide his face from everyone else, but he's in the middle of the gym, it's futile.
The humiliation seeps in. Why is he crying? It's not even that bad. Stop it.
The embarrassment only makes it worse. His head is pounding, he clenches his jaw so hard to hold in a miserable pathetic sob that his teeth hurt.
And in the middle of it all, he thinks: really? This is what does it? That's all it takes? Your grandfather is dead and you're crying because you got scolded?
He turns around and walks out of the gym. At least no one laughs at him, but he can feel their eyes on his back.
Coach finds him sitting in the changing room with his head in his hands.
"Hey, Kageyama." He says softly.
Tobio says nothing back. He doesn't think he can. His throat is closed up, he can barely breathe.
"I heard about what happened to your grandfather," Coach said. "And so I get it."
He doesn't. Just like his teacher, they think something is wrong with him but there's not and that's the problem.
"I understand that the last few weeks have been really hard for you," Coach says. "But try not to take it out on the others, will you? This behaviour is not acceptable."
It's not that, Tobio wants to say. It's not that at all. He's fine. Even though he shouldn't be, he's perfectly fine.
He shouldn't be using Kazuyo-san as an excuse, that's perhaps the worst thing he's done. He wasn't even upset. He's still not upset. He's angry at Kunimi, for being lazy and then blaming him. And embarrassed. For yelling, for losing, for crying.
The tears are still streaming down his cheeks.
King. Tyrant.
He bites his own tongue.
It's not like that's the first time he's been called that. He doesn't mind, even. If anything, he wishes his teammates actually listened to him like subjects would follow a king.
But the part about selfishness sticks with him. He lets it bounce around in his head.
Maybe he is like that. Maybe he only cares about himself. After all, only a self-obsessed narcissist would be more upset about something like a missed toss more than someone dying.
"Right." He says, finally finding his voice. "I'll be back soon."
Coach pats him on the back, and leaves.
Alone in the changing room, he sits with his head down
He's sweaty, it trails down his head and makes his hair hang in wet strings. His scalp itches and he fights the urge to tear his own hair out.
This one doesn't count. Just like the almost fake tears back home, they don't count. People cry all the time. It's not enough.
He's done nothing. He feels nothing.
No, it'd be better if he felt nothing. If he lost all his emotions. That'd be a decent price. No sadness, but no happiness either.
But he's still laughing, he has no problems in school, and he still loves volleyball. Everything is okay and therefore it's not okay because the only thing Tobio feels miserable about is not being miserable and all of this is so stupid and why can't he just be normal and cry for once!
He thinks of the void inside of him and wishes it would swallow him whole.
"He'd want you to be happy." Is a sentence Tobio has heard three times now. From his grandmother to his dad, comforting her son-in-law, from his aunt to all of them as she stepped on the train to Osaka, and his dad to Miwa as she left to go back to university.
He's been thinking about it a lot.
He's pretty sure you're only supposed to be happy after you're sad. But since everyone else gets sad like normal people, he supposes that part doesn't need to be said out loud.
Still, though. He thinks about Kazuyo-san. And he's pretty sure that Kazuyo-san has never wanted him to be sad, ever.
It's just how it goes. It's how it's supposed to happen. You're supposed to be happy eventually, but not now.
He can't argue with that. There are so many rules to being a person that Tobio has never quite understood, but that he has to follow anyway.
He can't shake the feeling that something is wrong with him. The void sits heavy in his chest, too big to ignore, too small to be a real problem, too small to be a comfort, to be wrong enough
Either way, he's gonna need to find a way to be a proper grandson, to make his grandfather proud.
Kageyama Tobio, 19 years old, Olympic athlete, kneels in front of his family grave.
He cried when he set the last ball in their match against Poland and Wakatoshi slammed it over, earning them their first win.
He also cried when three days the ball hit their side of the floor, Italy snatching away their hopes for gold right in front of them.
He looks at the picture of his grandfather, the way the wrinkles around his eyes become more prominent with that oh so familiar smile, and smiles back.
"Hey, grandpa, guess what?" Miwa elbows him in the side, she's smiling too, her eyes are dry. "He did it. Our Tobio-kun's done it."