Archive of Our Own

Hinata Shouyou is born different⁠—⁠marked across the soul with only one name. It’s a halfway decent name; the first name is old-fashioned and his parents don’t know how to read the combination of kanji, but the surname is most likely pronounced “Kageyama.” Shouyou’s mother laughs when she first sees it because it matches their own shared last name.

“Sun and shadow,” she says, touching a hand to the skin of Shouyou’s palm beside the soulmark because not even parental duty allows for her to be the first to touch it. “Look, Honey⁠—⁠oh⁠—⁠”

Shouyou has taken hold of her finger and is smiling, wide and unafraid. He’s still too young to understand anything beyond the fact that this person who gives him everything is also smiling, but already he is the embodiment of his own second kanji, reaching towards the curve of her mouth with a second chubby hand. He is six months old and always babbling, and he does not know what it means that his soulmark took this long to form into another person’s name. He does not remember the doctor’s visits, or the whispered conversations between his parents and his grandparents, or the months his mother spent worrying that the single bit of red on his left wrist wouldn’t even become someone’s name.

Shouyou is a child⁠—⁠a very loved, very happy child⁠—⁠and he does not even notice that he’s different until his third year of elementary school when a new boy transfers into his grade. The boy isn’t from Miyagi. He comes from one of the big cities far, far away. He takes one look at Shouyou’s empty right wrist and stares unabashedly, then refuses to share a table with Shouyou at lunch.

“You don’t have a soulmate,” the boy says. He says it like this is horrible⁠—⁠like Shouyou has some sort of contagious, terrible illness⁠—⁠and Shouyou looks down at the hand holding onto his lunchbox, confused.

He does have a soulmate. That’s what the words⁠—⁠what the name on his wrist is for. They were the fifth, sixth, seventh, and eighth letters of kanji that Shouyou committed to memory once he came home from his first day of elementary school and wouldn’t be punished for peeling the stickers⁠—⁠the soulguards, Shouyou reminds himself of the proper word⁠—⁠off of his wrist. Besides that’s not even the wrist with the name on it anyway. The new boy is staring angrily at Shouyou’s empty wrist; Shouyou hasn’t got anything written there for the kid to be angry about.

Yet he is.

Shouyou tilts his head. “I do?” he answers, and the new kid peels the soulguard off of his own right wrist before shoving the appendage right in Shouyou’s face.

“No, you don’t,” the new kid says, mad enough that the words come out in two sentences.

Shouyou reads the kanji for “big” and “mouth” before Kouji is pushing between the two of them, using his greater bulk to his advantage. Shouyou ends up pushed back a few centimeters, slippers skidding on the polished floor.

“What are you doing to Shou-chan?” Kouji says.

Shouyou is too confused to be embarrassed, but he tries poking his head around Kouji regardless. He doesn’t get far. Kouji is strong when he wants to be and stubborn to a fault⁠—⁠and he’s sort of protective, since Shouyou is “enthusiastic” and “easily excited” and has a tendency to knock over other⁠—⁠bigger⁠—⁠kids’ toys. It doesn’t help that Izumin has come to join them, sliding into place next to Shouyou looking very concerned.

Shouyou abandons his quest to get around Kouji, smiling at his other friend instead.

Izumin doesn’t smile back.

Shouyou frowns.

“He doesn’t have a soulmate,” the new kid tells Kouji, voice loud enough that it carries in the classroom. Shouyou winces, glancing nervously towards Sato-sensei, but the woman seems distracted with some of the other kids.

Shouyou is relieved. Once she notices, Sato-sensei will come over and frown. Shouyou hates it when Sato-sensei frowns. He tugs on Kouji’s shirt, but his friend still doesn’t move.

“He only has one soulmark,” the new kid says. “He only has an enemy.”

Shouyou knows what that word means, but he doesn’t understand why the new kid is saying it like it’s something important. Izumin clearly does, because at Shouyou’s side, he gasps.

“Izumin?” Shouyou starts to ask, but breaks off when Kouji⁠—⁠kind, happy, one of Shouyou’s favorite people Kouji⁠—⁠reaches out with both hands and pushes the new kid, sends him stumbling backwards until he overbalances, looking more startled than anything, and falls to land on his butt in the middle of the floor.

“Kouji,” Shouyou says, grabbing at his friend in earnest now and successfully managing to take hold. “It’s fine⁠—⁠I’m fine⁠—⁠”

“You’re wrong,” Kouji spits, ignoring Shouyou and still staring down at the new kid aggressively. Shouyou can see Sato-sensei disengaging from the other students and starting to walk quickly towards them without pause. “Shouyou doesn’t have an enemy. He only has a soulmate.”

Shouyou . . . frowns. That’s not what he had been expecting Kouji to say, honestly. He didn’t really know what he was expecting Kouji to say. He still doesn’t really understand why they’re having this argument, and once Sato-sensei gets within hearing distance and Kouji says, “And we don’t want to sit with you for lunch anyway,” he spends the entire telling-off that gets them thinking about it⁠—⁠about what Kouji could have meant, about what the new kid could have meant, the words “enemy” and “soulmate” tumbling about his brain.

“What do you mean I only have an enemy?” Shouyou says⁠—⁠an interruption he really should know better than to make at this age but one he cannot help himself from making anyway⁠—⁠in the middle of Sato-sensei’s speech.

Sato-sensei goes silent, eyes darting between Shouyou’s exposed wrists and the new kid’s accusingly, before she reaches out to to take hold of the new kid’s hand, unwrapping his clenched fingers to show the soulguard he tore off his own wrist. Immediately she turns over his arm, hiding his soulmark from view.

“Koichi-kun,” she says disapprovingly, and Shouyou curls in on himself automatically. He hates when Sato-sensei uses that tone.

“But he doesn’t have a soulmark on his right arm,” the new kid⁠—⁠Koichi-kun says, voice a quiet whine.

Shouyou drops his left hand to cover the empty spot, uncomfortable and confused. He doesn’t wear soulguards. His parents used to put them on him when he was younger, but he was always tearing them off and finally they stopped trying⁠—⁠forcing the issue for the first day of school and never again since. Kouji and Izumin both wear them and so do most of the kids in the class but it hasn’t ever been an issue⁠—⁠no one has ever felt the need to comment⁠—⁠and Shouyou feels raw and exposed.

Confused.

Maybe like he should be ashamed, though he isn’t.

“Koichi-kun,” Sato-sensei says.

She must call everyone’s parents, because Kouji has to miss soccer practice and Shouyou’s mother shows up at the end of the day to pick him up without Natsu, takes him out for a snack just the two of them, and explains in words that Shouyou can understand.

Most people have two names on their body⁠—⁠one for the person who is their soulmate and one for the person who is not. Most people have decided that that person is your enemy, but when Shouyou’s mother explains that, she scowls.

It turns out, when Shouyou was born with only one soulmark his parents took him to lots of doctors and fortune tellers because his grandparents were worried that he was cursed. All of them⁠—⁠the doctors and even the fortune tellers⁠—⁠scoffed at that idea.

“It just means that your soul has been touched by only one person,” Shouyou’s mother says, and Shouyou nods. That makes sense. He doesn’t feel . . . cursed. Or wrong. Or strange.

And he’s too young to understand what an enemy even is⁠—⁠what a soulmate even is⁠—⁠anyway, so it doesn’t seem very important. He’d much rather eat his food⁠—⁠his mom let him pick out two scoops of ice cream and eating too fast makes his teeth hurt but Shouyou can’t help himself.

Before the end of the third year, Koichi-kun moves away. Between Kouji and Izumin, Shouyou doesn’t care that he’s only marked with one name. Then at the end of sixth year, he bikes past a television in the window of an electronics store, and he has no more time to wonder about soulmates and soulmarks, the entirety of his world narrowing down to one simple, perfect game.

Volleyball.

Shouyou decides he’s going to play volleyball.

Thinking about what it means that he was born with only one name on his wrist can be for afterward⁠—⁠when Shouyou is simply too old to continue to play.

Though . . . he doesn’t understand any of the rules. And all the words the announcer uses just sound strange. But as Shouyou watches a boy as small as he is leaping high and winning he feels . . . entranced. Broken open and remade.

After all, really there have always been two things that set Shouyou apart from his friends; maybe if the television had been showing a documentary about people with only one soulmark Shouyou wouldn’t have imprinted on volleyball, but it wasn’t, and Shouyou does and not even the interruption of Izumin’s voice is enough to bring him back down to earth.

“Shou-chan! We’re going to lose the field!” his friend shouts, braking frantically somewhere at Shouyou’s side with a screech of tires. “What are you doing? Come on?”

Abruptly Shouyou remembers the baseball bat he has propped against his left shoulder and nearly dumps the glove hanging off the end of it onto the ground.

“Huh? I mean⁠—⁠right,” says Shouyou, wanting desperately just to keep watching, but he faces forward and starts pedaling earnestly to match his friend’s speed anyway. He knows nothing about the sport of volleyball but that is easily remedied, and once Shouyou gets to middle school in two months he’ll join the volleyball club, and then one day too Shouyou will fly on that magical, national stage.

It takes Shouyou three years to make it to a real volleyball competition and only thirty-one minutes for him to be ushered right back off of the court. It’s an awful, resounding sort of defeat⁠—⁠Shouyou glances at the score once when it’s over just to fully sear the feeling into his brain and sees 25-08. Only two sets, both painful near shut-outs, and neither time did Yukigaoka Middle School make it into the double digits.

What’s worse is the way the so called “King of the Court” looks at him, standing tall and imposing on the other side of the net and roaring on about how Shouyou’s three year journey to get here was a waste.

Shouyou thinks that Kouji attempts to come to his defense, that Izumin valiantly keeps him from taking things to the extreme and getting them banned from ever playing in this gymnasium again, that they line up next to each other and bow, thanking everyone for the opportunity for a game.

A burning, terrible feeling is starting in the pit of Shouyou’s twisted up stomach, and for once it has nothing to do with nerves. He leaves Kouji and Izumin gaping after him on the Sendai Gymnasium steps and shouts after him⁠—⁠at⁠—⁠at Kageyama Tobio⁠—⁠shouts that one day he’ll win.

Shouyou’s eyes feel hot⁠—⁠embarrassingly he thinks he might be crying⁠—⁠but the rest of him is cold, numb, unfazed.

Kageyama Tobio has his Kitagawa Daiichi jacket pushed up to show the twin black athletic sweatbands covering the soulmarks on his wrists. He’s a frowning, unaffected mass, and Shouyou is three steps up and taller than him, yet he still manages to feel small.

He says⁠—⁠the King of the Court says⁠—⁠Get stronger. Get better. Only the best stay on the court for the longest. First you need to win.

What have you even been doing for the last three years?

Shouyou knows. Shouyou has always known. Shouyou clenches both of his hands into tight, angry fists and breathes.

He stands there on the steps for what feels like hours but has to only be minutes, as Kageyama Tobio and the rest of Kitagawa Daiichi go on their way. His friends stand with him, silent and supportive.

They’ve moved out of the way so that they’re not blocking anyone else’s exit, but they’re still garnering more than a few odd looks from passersby. Shouyou thinks it’s only thanks to Kouji and Izumin that no one has stopped to ask if Shouyou is okay, the two of them brightly waving off everyone who pauses.

“He’s fine,” they keep saying. “Thank you for your concern. Thank you.”

“He’s not fine,” Kouji grumbles after one such exchange between the two of them and an older woman with three children. “Didn’t you hear him? He just threatened some guy called the King of the Court.”

“Shh⁠—⁠Kouji.” Izumin keeps smiling and waving until the family continues on their way.

Kouji looks like he’d like to keep speaking but retreats when leveled with one last glare.

“Sorry,” Shouyou tells the both of them, throat more than a little clogged. He wants to bow for the second time, but he’s pretty sure if he does that, they really will abandon him to his tears.

His friends exchange another look, before Izumin speaks. “It’s fine. Shou-chan⁠—⁠” He breaks off, clearly ill at ease.

Shouyou is too busy wiping his eyes to notice. He has no idea where the rest of their ramshackle team is, and as the captain, he should, so he throws his shoulders back and lifts his head to go back inside.

“Um. Shou-chan?” Izumin says before Shouyou can move, clearing his throat. He sounds . . . odd.

Shouyou blinks at him⁠—⁠a mistake, since it makes his already sore eyes burn.

Izumin and Kouji are once again looking at each other, and Shouyou is tempted to turn around with his arms spread to see what the fuss is about⁠—⁠to see whatever is behind him that’s causing both his friends to look quite so . . . concerned. It can’t be him. Shouyou is fine.

“Wasn’t⁠—⁠wasn’t that boy called . . . Kageyama Tobio?” asks Izumin.

Shouyou scoffs. As if he had somehow forgotten. Curse Kageyama Tobio, the King of the Court. May Kageyama Tobio never win at volleyball again. May he be terrible at volleyball from this point forward. Curse his stupid tall face and his pretty blue eyes and his dumb, badly cut dark hair. Shouyou hates Kageyama Tobio. He hates that they have to share the same Miyagi air. Shouyou would be perfectly happy if he never saw Kageyama Tobio again . . . although he’d allow for one more time when they meet on the volleyball court and Shouyou’s team absolutely destroys Kageyama Tobio’s and then afterwards, if Shouyou is extra lucky, the guy just . . . decides to leave the entire sport. Or dies. Shouyou’s not particularly picky.

Izumin keeps talking⁠—⁠either unaware of the murderous direction Shouyou’s thoughts have taken or (more likely) at this point too accustomed to Shouyou’s random bouts of intensity to be fazed. “I just mean.” Izumin stops talking and glances at Kouji, who seems to take pity on them both and sighs.

“Isn’t your soulmate named Kageyama⁠—⁠Kageyama something?” Kouji says, effectively capturing Shouyou’s entire attention with the tail end of that sentence.

Shouyou stares, open mouthed and thankfully no longer crying, before frantically lifting his own wrist and peeling back the soulguard his mother insisted he wear to the competition.

“You said the first character was ‘to fly’⁠—⁠almost like the ‘shou’ in ‘Shouyou,’ and that’s . . . well . . .” Kouji says, then trails off, all three of them now looking at the characters that make up the second half of Shouyou’s soulmark.

They could be pronounced “Tobio.” Shouyou had looked up all of the possible readings again just last week⁠—⁠they all had, because a boy in their class revealed a secret (but not really) older sister and everyone was pressured to check. The name on his wrist . . . it could be Kageyama Tobio, Shouyou knows. But it also could not be. Or the “King of the Court” might spell his name some other way.

“He⁠—⁠that’s⁠—⁠he can’t be⁠—⁠” Shouyou says, eyes tracing through the correct stroke order and writing out the name as he goes. “He’s”⁠—⁠unwillingly his mind conjures an image of Kageyama Tobio, haughty and talented and unerringly good with the ball; pretty like a manga character, and tall enough to match⁠—⁠“he must be my enemy,” Shouyou finishes, for once not feeling the need to protest the entire stupid⁠—⁠his brain puts on metaphorical glasses and he thinks only of his teacher⁠—⁠dichotomy between the left name and the right. “He is not my soulmate,” Shouyou continues, ignoring the look his best friends share as he talks. “How could he be? I mean, you saw what he was like.”

The King of the Court, Shouyou’s brain points out in a whisper. Really, really good at volleyball. Better than anyone Shouyou has ever seen play . . . maybe even better than The Little Gian⁠—⁠

Shouyou shakes his head, annoyed at the direction of his own thoughts. He straightens his bag against his back and turns on his heel to head back in to find the rest of the team, ignoring Kouji and Izumin and the fact that Kageyama Tobio’s name⁠—⁠if that even is how Kageyama Tobio writes his stupid name⁠—⁠sits not on his right wrist, but his left.

Later that evening he finds out his soulmark is in fact how Kageyama Tobio spells his name, and then he has to spend twenty minutes apologizing to his mother for nearly breaking the shared family computer.

Kageyama Tobio is Hinata Shouyou’s enemy. He had to be. The alternative is . . . the alternative isn’t even important, since Shouyou has absolutely zero plans of ever seeing the other boy again besides from when he fights his team at the Spring Tournament. Shouyou’s priority right now is graduating middle school and then getting into to Karasuno. He’s focused on convincing his mom that it’s fine if he has to bike over the mountain ever day because he really needs to go to Karasuno, so he can join the volleyball club where the Little Giant first began to fly.

He doesn’t have time for Kageyama Tobio.

Not once he’s gotten into Karasuno, not once he’s graduated middle school, not once he’s gotten onto his bike for his first day.

Shouyou doesn’t care about Kageyama Tobio⁠—⁠this is why he doesn’t fight when his mother insists he wears soulguards for at least that first day.

Shouyou is so excited he can hardly believe he’s not dreaming, until he bursts through the doors to the Karasuno gym and sees . . .

Him. Kageyama Tobio. The King of the Court. Holding one of the volleyballs, wearing the same school uniform, standing in the Karasuno gym.

The name on Shouyou’s wrist burns. “What are you doing here?” Shouyou says.

The soulguards end up being a blessing in disguise. Kageyama is wearing the same black sweatbands he had on when Shouyou saw him last. Shouyou is thankful⁠—⁠and then filled with sputtering rage upon finding out that Kageyama doesn’t even remember his name. Shouyou has never met anyone his age who knew a person whose name was one of their soulmarks before, but he thinks there would be some sort of reaction if Hinata Shouyou was one of the names on Kageyama’s wrists. And yet when Shouyou introduces himself Kageyama just sort of stares at him, expression unreadable, and Shouyou wants to shake him. Or write his name down so Kageyama can see how he writes it, in case that’s the problem.

But then the rest of the club comes in, and then the Vice President of the school itself . . . and Shouyou and Kageyama accidentally knock the man’s wig off his head. Sawamura Daichi, the captain of the volleyball team, kicks them out of the gym and tells them they’re not allowed to join the club until they learn to get along.

Shouyou decides that the fact that Kageyama Tobio, his probably enemy, has ended up attending the same high school as Shouyou, thereby making it impossible for Shouyou to defeat him in a volleyball match since they’re now forced to play on the same team, is totally inconsequential when faced with not getting to play volleyball period.

Kageyama clearly agrees. Which. Shouyou decides that means he can’t be all bad. At least he seems to care about volleyball as much as Shouyou does. If the universe was going to mark Shouyou’s soul with another person’s name, at least that person⁠—⁠at least Kageyama cares about volleyball the correct amount.

When Sawamura-san pulls open the gym doors and asks Kageyama if he means all the things he has been shouting, Kageyama looks back at him and says, completely serious, “Honestly, I would rather do everything⁠—⁠spiking, serving, receiving . . . everything⁠—⁠than play with him.”

“Wow . . . I can’t believe you actually said that out loud. But it’s good that you’re confident,” Sawamura-san says. “Unfortunately that’s against the rules . . . you physically can’t play by yourself.” He closes the door again, still laughing at Kageyama’s audacity.

Shouyou turns slowly to face Kageyama. For a brief second, he’s too stunned to be horrified that he’s marked with Kageyama’s name and now banned from playing volleyball. Then he snaps out of it. “Are you an idiot?” Shouyou says.

Kageyama looks back at him with a glare so scary that Shouyou backs up a couple of steps in automatic, fight-or-flight response.

“Never mind,” he says.

Kageyama actually lets him get away with it, although that might be because he’s too busy sulking to make more of a fuss.

Shouyou decides to ignore him and goes to peek in through one of the gym windows. He watches them playing, listening to the sounds of balls hitting palms, of the team yelling out encouragement to each other, of the screech of sneakers against the wooden floors. As he watches, he thinks of the two years he spent unable to play, carrying the club all by himself, and the year he spent terrifying Kouji and Izumin into giving him the chance to reach a real tournament. He thinks of the thirty-one minutes he spent on the court for that one real game, and of Kageyama’s terrifying, furious mastery of the ball on the opposite side of the net. He digs his nails into his palms⁠—⁠a cheap stand-in for the sting of a spike.

Shouyou would do anything to play⁠—⁠even learn to get along with the King of the Court. Although he shouldn’t call Kageyama that, because when Kageyama told Shouyou not to, he looked ready to commit a murder. So the first step to getting along has to be tabling that nickname, although Shouyou can’t imagine why. It’s an impressive nickname. Shouyou thinks of how many hours on the court Kageyama must have had, to be called something like that, and balls his fists even tighter, willing himself to remain.

He’ll just have to suck it up and make the first move. Somehow. Eventually. Once he manages to stop staring sadly in through one of the windows, watching everyone else play.

“I’m done with this⁠—⁠I’m going to make them let me in!” Kageyama says suddenly, and Shouyou turns to face him in a daze, confused. Has the other boy⁠—⁠against all odds⁠—⁠managed to get over himself long enough to think of Shouyou as his teammate? Before Shouyou has?

When he asks, Kageyama starts going on about how he’s an asset to the team and how they’ll play the upperclassmen to make them let them join. Shouyou’s all for that until Kageyama adds that Shouyou should just . . . not do anything but stay out of his way⁠—⁠and then they’re in each other’s face again, snapping and two seconds from exchanging blows.

But then.

Shouyou says his piece⁠—⁠talks about middle school, about how he wants to stay on the court for forever⁠—⁠and Kageyama . . . understands. “Only strong people get to stay on the court,” Kageyama says. He gets it, like no one else in Shouyou’s life ever has. Then he narrows his eyes. “So, what’s your plan? If we don’t go back together they’ll never let us play.”

Really the only option is for Kageyama to be Shouyou’s enemy, because he’s probably the most annoying person Shouyou has ever met. “I’ll do anything so that I can play volleyball,” he tells Kageyama. “Even”⁠—⁠he takes a very deep breath⁠—⁠“if that means I have to play with an arrogant jerk like you. I just . . . won’t look at you. Or something.” He’ll have to look at Kageyama if he wants to spike the ball, but he’s sure he can limit it to just like . . . glances.

Kageyama’s mouth has fallen open, making it easier for him to start shouting. “That’s my line!” he hollers at the top of his lungs.

Sawamura-san agrees to their terms, but decides it’ll be a three-on-three match with the other first years who are joining the club⁠—⁠they haven’t been thrown out and they’re not even here for the first day of practice, Shouyou can’t help but think angrily. Sawamura-san will play with their team and one of the second years⁠—⁠Tanaka-san⁠—⁠will be joining Kageyama and Shouyou’s team.

Also, Kageyama will not be allowed to play setter until the third years graduate in March, if they lose.

Shouyou doesn’t think this is the end of the world.

Kageyama . . . disagrees. “The setter is the most important person in the game!” he says. “They touch the ball more than anyone else! They control the whole flow of the game! Without a setter, no one can even spike a ball!” He’s got one hand holding tight to Shouyou’s collar, tugging him close and getting right up in Shouyou’s face.

And. It’s like almost 7:30 p.m. Shouyou spent the entirety of what was supposed to be his first day of practice trapped outside the gym watching everyone else play, because the asshole he vowed to defeat wasn’t on the opposite team, but instead showed up to the same school as he did. That asshole he vowed to defeat was still an asshole, and the two of them blew the wig off their vice principal and got themselves basically kicked off the team before they could even join it. Shouyou didn’t eat dinner⁠—⁠not that he would have, if he’d had practiced, but he’d have been playing volleyball, so it wouldn’t have mattered. He’s hungry and disappointed and admittedly a little bit heartbroken and terrified, and all that is why when Kageyama is right in his face hollering, Shouyou’s only thoughts are, Wow. He smells really good.

So when he gets home after biking over the mountain⁠—⁠Tanaka-san lets slip that practice is tomorrow at 7 a.m. and Kageyma and Shouyou leave Karasuno having made plans to meet at the gym at 5 a.m.⁠—⁠the first thing Shouyou does is rush past his mother into the family bathroom, tugging off his soulguards as he goes. Once there, he thrusts both hands under the sink water and starts to scrub.

Kageyama’s name doesn’t miraculously wash off Shouyou’s wrist to reveal . . . he doesn’t know . . . Udai Tenma, or something, but Shouyou’s mother does stick her head in the doorframe and say his name.

“Shouyou?” She sounds bemused but Shouyou is too panicked to be upset.

“I met him,” he tells her, scrubbing harder and shutting his eyes angrily because he’s still thinking about how nice Kageyama smelled, how tall Kageyama was, how he set the ball so wonderfully high, every single time. “I met him and he’s awful and I hate him.” The name isn’t coming off and Shouyou’s wrist is starting to hurt but still Shouyou scrubs at it, because the alternative is living in this new reality where Kageyama Tobio goes to Karasuno. Where Kageyama Tobio plays on Shouyou’s volleyball team. Where Kageyama Tobio is his . . . his soulmate, or whatever.

“Kageyama⁠—⁠”

“Kageyama Tobio,” Shouyou says, shutting off the water and looking for a towel. He stumbles and his mother comes to help him, drying off his wrists and hands with a quiet, parental sort of care.

Shouyou’s eyes feel hot and sore. He bites his bottom lip.

“Tobio,” his mother says, looking at the kanji that make up Shouyou’s soulmark. “That’s pretty⁠—⁠the first one means ‘to fly’⁠—⁠almost like yours⁠—⁠and then second one is like a hero⁠—⁠”

“I know,” Shouyou says, an ugly, half-bitten out snarl. He’d introduced himself and Kageyama hadn’t even seemed to notice him; called him a clumsy piece of shit. “He isn’t⁠—⁠I don’t⁠—⁠they won’t let me play unless I play with him⁠—⁠”

And Shouyou is crying, ugly, stupid crying, even though he doesn’t want to, and his mother wraps her arms around him and holds him tight.

Shouyou wakes the next morning before the entire house and finds an unopened packet of brand new soulguards, eases out two, and layers them carefully onto each of his arms.

They win.

They beat Sawamura-san, Yamaguchi, and Tsukishima⁠—⁠Kageyama and Shouyou are officially members of the Karasuno High School volleyball club.

But more than that Kageyama tosses to him⁠—⁠first after hours of practice on Thursday morning and then in the game on Saturday, a real, important sudden death game. Shouyou shuts his eyes and leaps and the ball is there for him, over and over until the score reads 25-23, 25-21, and he and Kageyama have officially won their way onto the team.

Shouyou is right-handed. The wrist he uses to spike the ball is covered with nobody’s name at all. It’s the other one that’s marked up with Kageyama Tobio, but when Shouyou flies through the air and Kageyama sends the ball to his palm it feels like they’re that old children’s fairytale⁠—⁠tied together around the fingers by an invisible red string of fate.

And they win.

They beat Sawamura-san, Yamaguchi and Tsukishima⁠—⁠Shouyou is officially a member of the Karasuno High School volleyball club.

Miraculously.

Somehow.

Shockingly.

Shouyou and Kageyama really do learn to see each other as teammates . . . in between petty arguments and stupid competitions and the constant joy of volleyball.

“As long as I’m here you’re invincible,” Kageyama tells Shouyou.

“You’re such a dumbass.”

“Your serves suck.”

“Let’s eat lunch together again today.”

They spend all their free time together. Often to practice, but sometimes just to sit together and not play. Shouyou’s mother starts asking when she’s going to meet the famous Kageyama Tobio. Shouyou starts keeping his wrists covered at home.

More often than not, Shouyou spends the minutes before he falls asleep tracing the place where Kageyama’s name is written on him, fingers walking all the sharp little curves and hard lines.

He thinks, Kageyama Tobio is my⁠—⁠and then he doesn’t finish the thought, just rolls over and buries his head under the pillow, forcing himself to sleep.

They lose on the way to Interhigh nationals. They use their greatest weapon and they lose on the way to Interhigh nationals; Oikawa-san blocks them, and once again Shouyou has to walk off the court. It’s not in only thirty-one minutes, but Shouyou still feels exactly the same.

Kageyama tells Shouyou, “I never want to make a toss to you that I have to apologize for⁠—⁠I will never do that again.”

That night, Shouyou lies awake touching the characters on his wrist for a much longer time. He can’t sleep. The wall before him seems impossibly high. Just thinking the sentence is usually enough for him, but something happened between him and Kageyama today in the gym. Something happened when they fought outside in the grass. Something between them will never be the same.

“Kageyama Tobio is my soulmate,” says Shouyou out loud, as a test.

It doesn’t sound . . . wrong. It doesn’t sound right. Shouyou frowns.

“Kageyama Tobio is my enemy?” Shouyou’s been saying that for far longer, but tonight it feels extra wrong. He used to think he hated Kageyama, but now he knows that’s not the case. It’s hard to hate someone who shares their lunch with you, who crams for English tests with you, and who has proven time and time again that their asshole behavior is not malicious, but rather because they have the emotional intelligence of a fly.

Shouyou still wants to beat Kageyama, of course, but that’s less because he wants Kageyama to lose and more because Kageyama is his greatest opponent (and current ally) and by defeating him Shouyou will take his crown. It’s a consuming the power of those you destroy sort of thing, not a wanting to see someone else’s demise. Besides if Kageyama ever stopped playing volleyball, who would be there to push Shouyou to greater highs?

No . . . Kageyama isn’t Shouyou’s enemy, but he’s not his soulmate either, he’s⁠—⁠

“Kageyama Tobio is my friend,” Shouyou admits quietly, the truth of that sentence making him feel warm and full.

For once in his life, Shouyou feels like the name on his arm means something, even if it is just, “Go find that kid and kick his ass until the two of you get strong enough to soar.”

(He doesn’t even wonder what Kageyama’s soulmarks say, anymore.)

At the Nekoma training camp, Shouyou decides he’s done closing his eyes. It’s partly because of Lev and the still-bitter sting of losing to Oikawa-san and Aoba Johsai, but ultimately, he comes to the decision for himself. If Shouyou keeps closing his eyes he’ll keep relying on Kageyama; he won’t really ever be playing; he’ll simply be an extension of the Kageyama’s arm and eye. That was fine when they were winning . . . but Oikawa-san has shown firsthand that their miracle quick is not infallible. If Shouyou wants to win, Shouyou’s got to get better⁠—⁠get stronger⁠—⁠so that he’s not simply jumping blindly and letting Kageyama do it all.

Surely Kageyama will understand that. Beating Oikawa-san is something important to him too.

But Kageyama doesn’t understand.

Kageyama tells Shouyou that his selfishness is going to ruin the team and that he won’t toss to him, and Shouyou has to be punched apart from him by a panicked Tanaka-san. “Stop doing that! Don’t fight!” Tanaka-san says.

Shouyou and Kageyama fall aside, separated, with identical gasps of pain. Shouyou sits up immediately, rubbing at the sting on his cheek. He can see Kageyama doing the same, but right now it just makes him enraged.

“What are you two even doing?” Tanaka-san asks. Then he seems to realize what he’s done, and he adds, “Are the two of you okay?”

“Fine,” Shouyou bites out. He rubs at the spot on his cheek some more. “I was winning,” he adds meanly.

Kageyama bares his teeth at him, clearly ready to fight about that as well.

Tanaka-san makes a noise of distress, but it’s Yachi who finally snaps Shouyou out of it. She looks about two seconds from bursting into tears. It makes Shouyou feel horrible.

Neither Kageyama nor Shouyou do anything else besides bowing in apology to their senior⁠—⁠Shouyou because he is too angry to do more than that and Kageyama because⁠—⁠Shouyou doesn’t know why. He thought he understood Kageyama, but apparently he doesn’t; just like he thought Kageyama understood him, but apparently he doesn’t.

Tanaka-san doesn’t look entirely convinced they’re not going to try to kill each other the moment he turns his back, but he lets them off without further discussion. He retrieves the club first-aid kit and slaps bandaids on both Shouyou and Kageyama’s faces, then he claps them both awkwardly on their backs and sends them on their way.

Kageyama leaves without even looking back. Shouyou pauses to wait for Yachi, offering to walk her home.

Yachi just nods.

It’s probably good that Shouyou can’t immediately get on his bike and yell. The time spent walking slowly lets him really start to feel his and Kageyama’s argument, and by the time Yachi is tentatively letting him know they’re nearing her bus stop, Shouyou can feel tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. It would have been a mistake to bike while crying, so Shouyou is glad. Too bad he’s not glad about anything else.

He apologizes to Yachi.

Yachi stutters in response. “No I⁠—⁠I’m fine.”

Shouyou can practically hear her questions and he struggles for the words to try to explain. He really doesn’t want to cry.

“I met Kageyama in middle school,” he ends up saying, still facing away. “Our teams played each other and he won. And when I came here I thought I’d get to beat him”⁠—⁠Shouyou breaks off, rubbing at his arm apologetically⁠—⁠“I’m going about this all wrong.”

He turns to face Yachi fully, still holding his bike with both hands. After a pause, he kicks open the kickstand and lets it go. Then he peels off his right soulguard.

Immediately Yachi starts protesting. “H-Hinata-kun⁠—⁠” She stops talking the moment Shouyou’s wrist is exposed, since it says nothing.

Shouyou smiles despite himself, stuffs the soulguard into his pocket, and peels off the one on his left arm. Kageyama’s name stares back at him, unchanged.

He glances at Yachi. She’s tutored the two of them enough now to recognize the characters, and she gasps when she does, both hands coming up to cover her mouth in surprise.

Shouyou looks back down at his arm. “When I met him, I didn’t know I was meeting him, you know?” he says, unable to keep himself from tilting his arm. Yachi is the first person at Karasuno who knows, and the moment should feel bigger than it does, but mostly Shouyou still feels sad. “I didn’t learn he spelled his name like this until after I shouted in his face about how I was going to beat him.” Shouyou lowers his arm and turns back towards his bike. He puts the kickstand back up and holds it by the handles. “When I came to Karasuno I still wanted to beat him, but he was on my side.” Shouyou laughs. “He’s on my left arm. I was still convinced he was my enemy.”

Yachi is quiet behind him.

Shouyou sighs. “When we’re in a game, I understand Kageyama. It’s like . . . I know what he’s thinking. I thought”⁠—⁠Shouyou’s feels like he’s had his insides scooped out, but he powers through it⁠—⁠“I thought we were more than just friends. We were partners. He was my soulmate. But I guess I was wrong.” He swallows. “I guess he’s my enemy after all.”

Shouyou still cries while riding home. But if he goes fast enough, he can pretend it’s just because of the wind.

Kageyama never really apologizes, but Shouyou never would have demanded it of him. They go from not speaking to each other for the entirety of summer break to being dragged back together by volleyball once again. Shouyou has practiced for hours with the ball. He has spent hours working with Ukai-san’s grandfather. He’s mastered first, second, and third tempo. He’s gotten better at spiking other non-Kageyama people’s tosses. In the two weeks between training camps Shouyou has changed, but so has Kageyama, it turns out.

Kageyama never really apologizes, but Shouyou hears “I’m sorry” in every single one of his miracle falling tosses regardless.

By the end of the week Shouyou manages to successfully spike one of them, and it’s like the argument means nothing when faced with the effectiveness of their quick. Karasuno still loses their final practice match to Fukurodani, but the game doesn’t feel like a total loss. They feel like more of a functional team.

Friends, Shouyou thinks later that afternoon at the barbecue, finally exchanging phone numbers with Bokuto-san. Kageyama and I are friends. Really they’d never stopped being friends, even when they were fighting. Kageyama had put in the work, trying to meet Shouyou halfway.

Kageyama is across the lawn bothering Kenma simply by staring at him, and Shouyou watches him, feeling bemused. He wonders if Kenma realizes he’s got the wrist with Shouyou’s name facing out for the entire world⁠—⁠and Karasuno’s angry-looking setter⁠—⁠to see. Most likely Kenma doesn’t.

Shouyou smiles, both at the memory of finding out he’s on Kenma’s wrist, and at Kageyama’s socially awkward antics. Apparently Kuroo-san has been forcing Kenma to cover his soulmarks from the moment he found out Kenma had met a “Hinata Shouyou” back in May. (They’d correctly guessed how Shouyou writes his first name.) Kenma’s other soulmark says Kuroo Tetsurou and he and Kenma have known each other since forever, so it hadn't been much of a question who Shouyou was supposed to be: an enemy! (emphasis Kuroo-san’s). Shouyou thinks Kenma only went along with it because it was easier, only eventually not putting things on his wrists ended up being even easier, and Shouyou found out⁠—⁠in the bathroom, of all places.

It had been tragically anti-climactic. Shouyou had looked at Kenma. Kenma had looked at Shouyou. Shouyou said, “Obviously I’m just your enemy at volleyball⁠—⁠I’m the final boss . . . in the game.” It was flattering the longer Shouyou thought about it, because Nekoma and Kenma are all really good.

Kenma simply stared back at Shouyou, thinking, before nodding and going inside the bathroom to brush his teeth.

Since that night, Kenma has left his wrists bare. A tiny part of Shouyou entertains that Kageyama is glaring so hard because of that, but he very quickly disregards the idea. Honestly he and Kageyama have been friends for a while now. If Shouyou’s name were on one of Kageyama’s arms, he would have said.

Because he’s been thinking about it, Shouyou’s own wrists start to itch, but he’s not going to take off his soulguards, even though it’s clear they’ve been worn out by the week’s worth of games. It does make him think Kageyama has the right idea. Sweatbands aren’t as foolproof of a way to keep people from seeing your soulmarks because they can easily shift and be removed, but it would certainly save Shouyou the hassle of soulguard wear and tear. Maybe since he and Kageyama are no longer fighting it wouldn’t be weird to copy him.

Shouyou scratches at Kageyama’s name through the covering and turns his attention back to where Bokuto-san is painstakingly entering his contact information into Shouyou’s phone. Bokuto-san wouldn’t care if Shouyou took off his soulguards. Bokuto-san isn’t covering his soulmarks, because the camp’s private, and he’s already met the people who will mark his soul. Bokuto-san’s wrists say Akaashi Keiji and Bokuto Koutarou. He’s different like Shouyou is, but in a completely unique way.

Well.

Not entirely unique. Akaashi-san’s wrists say the same thing Bokuto-san’s do, and while Shouyou had been a little too starstruck at the start of the week to think too hard about that, now he affords it the attention it deserves. Akaashi-san does cover his soulmarks, but he’d shown them to the group after minimal fuss from Bokuto-san. They really had been the same. The two of them are their own enemies⁠—⁠or soulmates?⁠—⁠if the marks are to be believed. Or they’re destined to meet people with the exact same kanji combinations as them, but Shouyou doesn’t think that’s likely.

As Bokuto-san hands Shouyou back his phone, Shouyou glances at the wrist that says Bokuto Koutarou and is unable look to away fast enough not to be noticed.

“Sorry,” he says when he is, pocketing his phone.

Bokuto-san simply blinks down at him, before flipping his hand up so that Shouyou can better see. “Why?” he says, tilting his spiked head. “It’s really my name. I’m a tree rabbit,” he adds.

Shouyou worries his bottom lip. He wants to touch the soulmark. He settles for lifting up his own right hand. “I⁠—⁠I only have one⁠—⁠” Shouyou doesn’t finish but Bokuto-san seems to understand regardless.

Bokuto-san lowers his hand. “I’m okay now, but in the beginning it was really hard,” he says. “My parents didn’t really know what to do about it. Neither of my sisters are like this. So when I was younger, we went to a lot of doctors and stuff. Fortune tellers.”

Shouyou nods. Shouyou doesn’t remember, but he’s spoken enough with his parents and his grandparents that he understands.

“I used to tell people that I was my own soulmate,” Bokuto-san continues. “And after a while I really did start to believe that.” He laughs. “But then I met Akaashi, and well.” He shrugs, then lapses briefly into silence. “I’m a little difficult to be on a team with,” he finally says.

Shouyou can only stare.

“Anyway it doesn’t matter if you’re different,” Bokuto-san tells him happily, some semblance of his usual enthusiasm starting to come back at full force. “It matters that you’re happy.” He bends down a little to be more on Shouyou’s level, then brings up a hand to whisper. “I’m sure you and Kageyama will be very happy once you tell him, so you should tell him,” he says. Then he laughs to himself, smiles, and walks off.

Shouyou is left gaping after him, heart beating like a metronome. “How did you⁠—⁠” he starts to say, but is interrupted by the appearance of Kageyama at his side.

Kageyama narrows his eyes at Shouyou, glancing between him and the disappearing Bokuto-san, who’s now pestering Kuroo-san for his food. “You’re getting advice from Fukurodani’s ace,” Kageyama says finally, and Shouyou puffs his chest up to brag. “It’s good,” Kageyama continues. “Maybe it’ll help you suck less in time for the Spring Tournament.”

“Hey!” Shouyou says, thoroughly deflated before he can even begin to swell with pride.

Kageyama simply stares back at him, unimpressed. For a few seconds they just look at each other. Then Kageyama sighs and⁠—⁠to Shouyou’s great shock⁠—⁠smiles. It’s a very tiny smile, and his lips end up crooked and kind of scary, but it’s still a smile. Maybe he’s getting sick. That’s not good⁠—⁠they have to win their preliminaries in two weeks.

Shouyou opens his mouth and reaches out a hand to feel Kageyama’s forehead for fever.

“That feint you did,” says Kageyama before he can do so. “It was good.”

Shouyou’s words die in throat. His face feels like it’s on fire. “You,” he says. “What did you say?” he says. “Say it again louder. Say it for the entire team. They’re not here. I’ll go get them. And Tsukishima. Say it in front of Tsukishima. Tsukishima⁠—⁠”

Kageyama slaps a hand over his mouth, glaring hard. “Never mind. You suck,” he says. He pulls his hand back really fast, like he thinks Shouyou is going to take him literally and try to suck on his hand.

Freed, Shouyou grins. “You missed me,” he determines, and to his delight Kageyama actually blushes about it, the rims of his ears going ever so faintly pink. “You did⁠—⁠I’m telling Tsukishima⁠—⁠”

“I will murder you and hide your body in the gym,” Kageyama interrupts.

Shouyou keeps smiling. “No, you won’t,” he says happily. “You need me for the Spring Tournament.” It’s an easy opening and he’s expecting Kageyama to take it, which is why he nearly trips and hurts himself when Kageyama doesn’t.

“Yeah, I do,” Kageyama says.

No amount of yelling and fighting with him gets him to admit it afterwards, but Shouyou’s heart still feels so full it could burst.

They win all of their matches. They qualify to represent Miyagi for the Spring Tournament. Shouyou meets and defeats Ushijima Wakatoshi, who like Kenma, has an arm marked with Shouyou’s name.

“I can’t believe I’m Ushiwaka’s fated enemy,” Shouyou tells Kageyama brightly when they’re on the bus after that monster of a game.

It was five sets and went on for hours and they won, they defeated Ushiwaka, and now they’re going to the Spring Tournament, where they’ll get to continue to play.

Shouyou feels high on exhaustion and success, and he’s maybe babbling, but most of the rest of the team is already fast asleep.

“He told me after the third set. He was all ‘When I met you before and saw you jump I thought you were worthy of being one of my names, but clearly I was wrong’ but then we beat him so he was right and I am worthy⁠—⁠”

“Look, you idiot. I don’t care⁠—⁠”

“It’s okay, Kageyama. You’re still my real enemy,” Shouyou tells him happily, and then spends the next few seconds sitting in horrified silence when it’s Kageyama’s face and not his own that nearly bursts into flames.

“You!” Kageyama sputters. “You⁠—⁠you dumbass! Don’t talk to me! Don’t look at me! I’m taking a nap!”

Shouyou has no idea why Kageyama is the one freaking out when he’s the one who basically admitted that Kageyama’s name is one of his soulmarks, but he’s not about to go making a big deal. A nap sounds like a really good idea, honestly. Shouyou closes his eyes too.

In December, Kageyama gets invited to the All-Japan Youth Training Camp, Tsukishima to a special Miyagi training camp, and Shouyou to nothing at all.

Kageyama says, “I’m going on ahead.”

Shouyou hates his entire face, feeling nearly sick with jealousy and panic.

He sneaks into the Miyagi training camp because trying to get to Tokyo would probably end with him arrested and spends the next five days being a ball boy, wondering if there’s any point at all.

He learns.

He learns.

He learns.

The camp ends and Shouyou has plenty of new friends, including Kageyama’s old classmates Kunimi and Kindaichi, as well as Date Tech’s new, really tall setter, Koganegawa, who gets everyone’s number before they leave so that they can stay in touch. He practiced with Shiratorizawa’s Goshiki and connected with Kakugawa’s Hyakuzawa, who is now 2.02 meters tall.

Shouyou was only a ball boy, but he used the opportunity to learn as much as he could, and he thinks he’s emerged from the experience stronger. Strong enough at least not to be left totally behind.

He’s thinking about this as they all leave, when Kindaichi approaches him, glowering down at him with a threatening stare.

Immediately Shouyou stares right back, undaunted. “What?”

Kindaichi turns his back. “Never mind.”

Shouyou juts out his chin. “What?” he says again

Kindaichi turns back around, takes two steps closer, glares. “Is Kageyama alright?” he says.

Shouyou blinks. Is Kageyama alright? “Well, we’re not having exams?”

Kindaichi looks at him like his brain hurts for a couple of seconds, then he shakes his head. “I just mean . . . It seems like his playstyle has changed.”

“Are you still on about that?” Kunimi appears next to Kindaichi with a scarf wrapped around his neck. “You know you did your best.”

They’re talking about middle school. About when they refused to spike for Kageyama collectively as a team. Shouyou can tell that Kindaichi is terribly guilty about it and Kunimi less so, but he also gets the sense that both of them are concerned in their own ways.

Shouyou tilts his head to the side. “It’s normal for friends to fight, you know,” he says, and means it. He thinks⁠—⁠not for the first time⁠—⁠about the way everyone is so hung up on soulmates and enemies. He wonders briefly if he’d be the same, if he had two names.

Kindaichi is staring at him with his mouth open.

“It’s normal to stand your ground and not back down. So Kageyama is fine,” Shouyou continues, maybe a little intensely, because he has to see this through. And maybe, just maybe, some part of him is shouting that he should do this⁠—⁠this tiny, nosy thing⁠—⁠to try to fix things between Kageyama and his former classmates. Because he and Kageyama are friends . . . not because it’s Kageyama’s name splashed across Shouyou’s right wrist.

A gust of wind rocks the Shiratorizawa campus, and Shouyou laments not having worn warmer clothes. At least he’d managed to wipe off most of the sweat⁠—⁠returning to Karasuno with a fever is the last thing Shouyou wants to happen. Just to be sure, Shouyou peels down one of his sleeves and takes advantage of his sweatbands to wipe anxiously at his jawline.

“You⁠—⁠” Kindaichi pauses, eyes catching on the black cloth wrapped around Shouyou’s right wrist. Self-conscious despite himself⁠—⁠there’s no way Kindaichi knows that’s the wrist without anything on it⁠—⁠Shouyou lowers his hand. “You don’t⁠—⁠You don’t need to wear those,” Kindaichi says finally, sounding uncomfortable and a little off kilter. “I just mean . . . Kageyama⁠—⁠your soulmarks⁠—⁠” Abruptly Kindaichi stops speaking, looking like he thinks he’s said something wrong.

Shouyou is confused. “Kageyama?” Sure, he’d stolen the brand of sweatbands from Kageyama’s own wrists but Kindaichi doesn’t know that either. “I’ve never seen Kageyama’s soulmarks,” Shouyou says, rubbing nervously at the back of his neck. “I mean why would I? He covers them up.” He has no idea where this conversation is going and is mostly just trying to fill the silence. Kindaichi and Kunimi aren’t helping, the both of them staring at him with identical, unreadable expressions on their faces.

Finally, Kunimi nudges Kindaichi none-too-gently on the shoulder, herding him away from Shouyou without pause. “Who even cares about Kageyama anyway?” he says as he does so. “We’re going to beat you guys next time,” he adds over his shoulder, to Shouyou this time.

“Say that to my face!” Shouyou shouts back, enraged.

Kindaichi and Kunimi vanish around a corner with one of Kunimi’s careless waves.

Shouyou has the opportunity to ask Kageyama about it on Monday, when the two of them reunite at Karasuno and end up tossing a volleyball around in the courtyard waiting for someone to show up to the gym with the key. They’re both in jackets, scarves, and for Kageyama, gloves, but occasionally Kageyama shifts during a pass so that Shouyou can see the sweatbands wrapped tightly around his wrists.

He fumbles his return, ignores Kageyama’s automatic jab, and lets his breath mist into the frigid air. “Hey . . . Kageyama,” he says, crouching down to pick up the ball.

Kageyama pauses mid-rant and cocks his head to wait. He’s such an expectant little shit sometimes, but Shouyou finds he doesn’t really mind. He straightens, then tosses Kageyama the ball.

“Do you⁠—⁠have you met any of the people whose names are your soulmarks⁠—⁠”

This time Kageyama is the one who fumbles, but immediately he blames it on the gloves.

Shouyou lets him get away with it, because pointing out Kageyama’s been in top form so far with the gloves on would mean admitting that Kageyama has been in top form.

“You mean have I met my soulmate or my enemy?” says Kageyama, answering Shouyou’s question with his own question like a dick.

Shouyou glares at him. “No⁠—⁠that’s⁠—⁠that’s bullshit anyway,” he says, wondering if this is really the first time he and Kageyama have ever talked about any of this. At Kageyama’s curious look, Shouyou continues, “It’s just the people who have an effect on you⁠—⁠who’ve touched your soul. The enemy/soulmate stuff is just”⁠—⁠not true, he wants to say, but feels like might be going too far⁠—⁠“mean,” Shouyou finishes awkwardly. He catches the ball, and holds it protectively in front of his face.

“Mean,” Kageyama parrots back. He’s wearing the oddest expression on his face, but it’s still unreadable and kind of scary, so he can’t be too bothered.

“Yeah,” Shouyou practically hurls the ball at him, and Kageyama drops back to attempt an underhanded receive. It’s perfect, and Shouyou sets it back at him trying very hard not to scowl. “But you didn’t answer my question.”

“It’s a stupid question.”

“It is not⁠—⁠now you’re the one being mean⁠—⁠”

“I am not! And it’s private⁠—⁠personal⁠—⁠you don’t just go around asking people⁠—⁠”

“Fine, tell me more about the Little Giant you met at All-Japan⁠—⁠”

“He was definitely one of the best players there and much better than you⁠—⁠you suck⁠—⁠”

“Hey! You’re being mean again!” Shouyou sets the ball to Kageyama with a downturned mouth. “I’m just trying to learn more things about you!” He thinks Kageyama actually looks guilty, but he keeps going anyway. “You should have just said he was one of the top players there and left it at that!”

Kageyama looks like he might apologize⁠—⁠and actually answer Shouyou’s question about his soulmarks?⁠—⁠but they’re interrupted by the arrival of Tanaka-san, carrying the key to the gym.

Karasuno doesn’t win the Spring Tournament. They get as far as the quarter finals, and Shouyou leaves the court early because Kageyama has noticed he’s playing with a fever.

Kamomedai’s Little Giant Hoshiumi-san tells Shouyou that he’ll be waiting for him.

Kageyama tells Shouyou that he wins this time, too.

Takeda-sensei, holding Shouyou by both hands as he sits on the bench breaking, tells him to remember this feeling, to hold onto this feeling, so that he can make sure it never happens again.

Shouyou cries.

In second year, Shouyou decides he wants to play beach volleyball, so that he can get better at doing everything, and match Kageyama for real. Also in second year, Shouyou has a horrible awakening, which is probably the most embarrassing moment of his short life. Shouyou threw up on Tanaka-san only days after joining the team. He’s had no fewer than four traumatic bathroom interactions with various competitors, including Aone from Date Tech, Oikawa-san, and the captain from Ohgiminami High School. He’s friends with Tsukishima Kei. So much of Shouyou’s life is embarrassing, and yet this moment manages to be the worst of them all.

Because in the middle of second year⁠—⁠towards the middle of December after they’ve lost to Date Tech during Interhigh and are preparing for their second Spring Tournament⁠—⁠Shouyou realizes that he’s in love with Kageyama Tobio in the middle of lunch period, and flees across the courtyard abandoning his meal. “You can have it⁠—⁠I’m just⁠—⁠bathroom⁠—⁠I’m done eating⁠—⁠bye!” Shouyou thinks he says as he goes, panicking enough to cause a scene, but it’s a testament to how close he and Kageyama have become that Kageyama simply takes this in stride. Just before he rounds the corner, Shouyou watches Kageyama reach out with one unfairly pretty hand⁠—⁠that sets volleyballs, Shouyou thinks it’s pretty because it’s tosses him volleyballs, not because he wants it to hold him and touch him and pull him close⁠—⁠and swipe Shouyou’s uneaten meat bun. The asshole even has the audacity to yawn, totally unbothered by Shouyou’s antics.

“Dumbass,” Shouyou thinks Kageyama says, fond and bemused. He swallows the entire meat bun in one bite. It’s unattractive and terrible and Shouyou does not want to kiss him⁠—⁠Shouyou wants to bite his face.

Shouyou hates him. Shouyou is in love with him. Shouyou hates him and is in love with him at the same time. It’s confusing. It’s probably what the universe was trying to tell him when it gave him only one soulmark of Kageyama’s name.

Shouyou spends the rest of the lunch break trapped in the bathroom, huddled on top of a toilet seat with his knees knocking together, trying desperately not to cry.

Eventually the lunch break ends and Shouyou slinks back to his classroom like a dog with its tail between its legs. He finds his empty lunchbox on his desk. A post-it-note with Kageyama’s handwriting accompanies it. Did you die in the bathroom, or something? You better not be getting sick. We still have to win the Spring Tournament you dumbass, it says.

Shouyou stares down at it for two horrible seconds. He feels warm and fuzzy inside because Kageyama has expressed care for him, before he tears it off his lunch and stuffs it frantically into his pants pocket like the class is going to see and judge. Or understand.

That afternoon’s lessons are probably very important. Shouyou retains nothing.

He doesn’t ditch practice because Shouyou would never willingly ditch practice, but he does arrive to the gym early and spends precious time hiding around the side of the building trying not to panic. He tells himself it’s fine⁠—⁠he’s fine. He fishes out Kageyama’s stupid post-it-note, and then crumples it again when his traitor heart skips a fucking beat. Unwillingly, like he’s some sort of criminal hiding from the authorities, Shouyou peels back his left soulguard and takes a peek at Kageyama’s name.

It’s still there. It still matches Shouyou’s. It’s still Kageyama Tobio, his best friend.

Shouyou shuts his eyes and counts to ten.

“Hinata-kun?” says a voice.

Shouyou leaps high enough in the air he probably breaks his vertical jump record, and only quick thinking keeps him from shrieking out loud.

“Yachi-san!” he says, voice very high. His heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest.

The club’s manager stares back at him, eyes wide. She hasn't immediately started apologizing to him, but she still looks about three seconds from doing so, and Shouyou needs to get his act together fast unless he wants to ruin all their progress. He likes how close the second years are now, buoyed by experience and seniority alike.

“Sorry. You startled me,” Shouyou says.

Yachi continues to look at him, before her lips press together in the barest bit of hesitation. “Hinata-kun,” she says again. “Are you alright?”

And maybe if Shouyou hadn’t been asked outright . . . Maybe if Yachi had talked around it, or simply told him the rest of the club was waiting for him, Shouyou wouldn’t have blurted it out. But Yachi does ask him outright, and Shouyou sort of panics. He says, not loudly enough to incite further panic, but still not nearly quiet enough given the gravity of the situation, “I think I’m in love with Kageyama, Yachi-san!”

Yachi continues to stare.

Shouyou presses both hands over his mouth, as if by doing so he can force the words right back in. “And as you know, he’s my soulmate!” he hears himself keep saying despite his best efforts, thankfully at least muffled this time by his fingers. “My only soulmate. I only have his name!” That seems to be the end of the word vomit, and Shouyou takes a few deep breaths in case what comes next is actual vomit, still covering his mouth with both hands. If he’s lucky he’ll have been unintelligible before he covered his mouth and Yachi won’t have understood.

No such luck; Yachi is starting to look a little blue.

Shouyou is starting to worry he’s broken her. “Um. So. I think I’m fine to go to practice now, so if that’s it⁠—⁠”

The sounds of Tsukishima teasing Kageyama and Yamaguchi valiantly attempting to prevent bloodshed reach the two of them as the rest of the second years arrive at the gym, stopping to take off their shoes. Tsukishima says something about Kageyama missing his Queen, and Shouyou is so distracted he doesn’t even realize he means Shouyou. He’s too busy grabbing Yachi with a palm over her mouth and yanking her further behind the side of the gym.

“Shut up,” he hears Kageyama tell Tsukishima. “Are you actually going to fly today, or should I not even plan on sending the ball your way?”

Whatever response Tsukishima has to Kageyama ends up swallowed by the doors when they head inside the gym. Shouyou finally breathes . . . in time to realize he’s practically manhandling Yachi . . . at which point all the panic sets back in . . . in spades.

Yachi sits beside him fusses as Shouyou insists he didn’t hurt anything but his pride when he went pinwheeling away from her and ended up ass down on the ground. Both of them are red-faced and unable to meet each other’s eyes, but surprisingly Yachi seems to be the first to recover. She lets Shouyou take more than enough time than he’d need to get over a bruised tailbone and offers no unnecessary commentary as he looks for the right words to say.

Finally, Shouyou ends up with, “I’m going to Brazil to train,” because that was what he’d been talking about with Kageyama, when he figured it all out. He’d finalized things with Washijou-san and committed to a year of training after graduation and then two years abroad in a foreign country without even stopping to think at all. Shouyou had been explaining that all to Kageyama, wondering if he was making a mistake, if he was moving too fast, if he was going about it all wrong, and Kageyama hadn’t even been looking at him when he said, “You’re doing it to get better so you can stay on the court for longer. Why would doing that be wrong?”

Shouyou is in love with him. Probably has been all along.

“Anyway, I’m sorry for grabbing you⁠—⁠”

He shifts to get to his feet, shivering a little in the December air, but Yachi hasn’t moved from her place beside him, so he pauses. “Yachi?”

Yachi doesn’t look at Shouyou, rolling up one of her club jacket sleeves to show the school uniform underneath. She doesn’t stop there.

“Yachi-san?” Shouyou squeaks, panicking, and Yachi pushes her sleeves up enough to pull the soulguard off of her left wrist.

That done, Yachi angles her hand so Shouyou can see. His panicked apologies for falling for stupid Kageyama instead of her die when he sees what’s written there; it takes him an embarrassingly long time to make sense of the kanji, and then he gasps in surprise.

Yachi’s left wrist says Shimizu Kiyoko⁠—⁠a perfect match to the characters written in red on Tanaka-san’s left arm. Before she graduated Shimizu-san gave Tanaka-san her second button⁠—⁠it was all the former-second and third years could talk about once they gathered after the ceremony in the gym. Suga-san teased Tanaka-san something fierce about it; Tanaka-san had started it when he tried to give her his button, even though he wasn’t the one graduating.

They’d never asked⁠—⁠if had been no one’s business but their own⁠—⁠but Shouyou had sort of assumed Shimizu-san’s left wrist said Tanaka Ryuunosuke; now he finds he’s not so sure.

“We match,” Yachi says quietly, replacing her soulguard and rolling down all her sleeves. “I asked her before she graduated. She has me on her left arm.” She doesn’t offer any other information, and Shouyou is too stunned to ask any of the questions he wants to ask. Was that before Shimizu-san gave Tanaka-san her second button? Does that mean Tanaka-san is written on her right hand? Are you in love with her? Do I have to go find Shimizu Kiyoko and attempt to yell at her, because I will but please don’t expect me to survive?

“Yachi-san,” Shouyou says instead of all that, touched and very, very confused.

“She’s one of my best friends,” Yachi says, smiling happily at him and meaning it. “I’m glad I told her. Even though it’s not”⁠—⁠she breaks off and stares down at her other hand, but it must not be someone they both know because she doesn’t expose the soulmark written there as well⁠—⁠“I’m glad,” Yachi finishes, smiling even wider at Shouyou once more. “It’ll be okay, Hinata-kun.”

“Shouyou,” Shouyou offers, aware that Yachi won’t take him up on it, but unable to help himself regardless. “Thank you.” He bites his lip, gives his right arm a hard stare. “But I.” He’s the only one on me, Shouyou intends to say but never does, because they’re interrupted by Yaotome, who looks unimpressed.

The first year has clearly drawn the short stick and been sent to look for them. “Oh look, they’re right here,” he says after a small pause, totally drawing the wrong conclusion. All the other first years and Kageyama and fucking Tsukishima poke their heads around the gym to see.

“Really?” is all Tsukishima says, an entire treatise in that one word. Shouyou practically launches himself towards the sun in his haste to explain. “Please do not feel the need to explain yourself to me,” interrupts Tsukishima. “I honestly do not care⁠—⁠”

“I fell!” Shouyou says angrily, striding after Tsukishima and bending to get out of his shoes. “I fell and Yachi-san was just looking after me⁠—⁠we weren’t doing anything . . . weird!”

Tsukishima is woefully unimpressed. “Luckily for you that sentence pretty much confirms your story. ‘Doing something weird.’ Is that what they’re calling it so close to the ground?”

Shouyou has the desperate urge to do something grade school and inappropriate, fingers itching to tear Tsukishima’s soulguards right off both his arms.

Behind him he can hear the first years asking Yachi if she’s okay⁠—⁠offering to knock some sense into Shouyou, the audacity⁠—⁠and to his immediate right he can see Kageyama, slotting into the empty space there without so much as a pause.

When he catches Shouyou looking, Kageyama simply gazes back at him. “What? I’m not close to the ground.”

Shouyou tries to strangle him. It’s what they do, after all.

After practice, Ennoshita-san takes Shouyou aside and tries to have what Shouyou is pretty sure is supposed to be the Talk with him, and his entire face gets so hot he probably matches his hair.

“I⁠—⁠I’m not in love with Yachi-san!” Shouyou tells his captain frantically, glancing around the gym for exits and enemies alike. Tsukishima meets his eyes and waves at him, but beyond that Shouyou spots Kageyama, frowning down at his phone, having automatically paused to wait. His stomach turns in terrible knots and his face gets somehow even hotter.

Ennoshita-san seems to follow Shouyou’s gaze, and he halts, looking right at the team setter. “Oh⁠—⁠well⁠—⁠”

“I’m not in love with anybody! I’ve got to go! Thanks for practice! Bye!” Shouyou bows three times in succession, nearly taking Kageyama out in his haste to escape the club room.

“Oi⁠—⁠dumbass⁠—⁠that’s cheating⁠—⁠I’m going to kill you!” Kageyama chases after him, and Shouyou tells himself he’s smiling because he’s winning and nothing else as they make an impromptu race back to Shouyou’s bike and then to Ukai-san’s shop for some after-practice food.

The next time he nearly falls on his face because Kageyama basically compliments him during a practice match, Yachi smiles at him, and while Shouyou doesn’t feel like he’s got any of this being in love with his best friend thing under control, at least he doesn’t feel all alone.

And there’s volleyball. There’s the terrible jealousy whenever he remembers the week Kageyama spent at All-Japan Youth Training Camp again this year and the loom of the Spring Tournament⁠—⁠where this time they’re going to win and Shouyou is going to play and beat Kamomedai and Hoshiumi-san.

Kageyama is Shouyou’s soulmate-enemy. Shouyou is in love with him. One day Shouyou is going to play him again and beat him, so he needs to focus on getting better, and stronger, and not the mark on his arm.

Tsukishima finds out Kageyama’s name is Shouyou’s soulmark a few months later, at one of the first training camps of their third year. He catches Shouyou alone in the baths without anything covering anything, glances between Shouyou’s bare wrist and the kanji on his other without so much as blinking, and then throws the towel he’d been carrying right at Shouyou’s startled face.

Shouyou catches up with him several minutes later, not nearly dry enough for the clothes he hurriedly pulled on and gasping for air. “Tsukishima⁠—⁠I can explain⁠—⁠”

“I want no part of this,” Tsukishima says loudly, lengthening his stride to try to lose Shouyou.

Shouyou keeps pace with him. “Tsukishima! Wait! Now that you know⁠—⁠I have a question⁠—⁠”

“I am not doing this!” Tsukishima whirls to hiss at him but Shouyou doesn’t back down.

He fidgets, fiddling with both his towel and the one Tsukishima threw at him and gnawing on his bottom lip.

Finally, Tsukishima takes pity. “What?” he says. “Quickly before I regain my senses⁠—⁠”

“Kageyama is my soulmate,” Shouyou says immediately, voice pitched low so absolutely no one overhears. “His name is my only soulmark and I’m pretty sure I’m in love with him⁠—⁠”

Tsukishima makes a laughing noise that sounds remarkably like, “Oh you think,” but subsides when Shouyou glares at him.

“But he’s staying in Japan after we graduate and I’m going to Brazil so I can get good enough to finally beat him and I. Well.”

Tsukishima keeps staring at him impatiently for several seconds. “And?”

“And I was wondering if you think I should tell him,” Shouyou breathes, words tumbling together due to his anxiety. “About the soulmate thing . . . Or maybe the being in love with him thing . . . Or both? Or none? What do you think?” Once he’s done, he smiles up at Tsukishima, cursing how very tall his friend is.

For two horrible seconds he thinks Tsukishima isn’t going to answer him, and then the blond turns on his heel and starts once again towards the room where they’re sleeping. “You are such an idiot,” is what he says.

All attempts to get him to answer further are met with silence and the quiet threat of exposure. Shouyou retreats back over to where he and Kageyama have set up their futons with a scowl, sitting down heavily and doing his best to delight in the fact that it looks like Tsukishima isn’t going to shower before bed.

But then the asshole produces another towel, disappearing out the door with an annoyingly cheerful smile in Shouyou’s direction. Shouyou is going to murder him⁠—⁠why couldn’t the universe have given Shouyou a second soulmark after all? Tsukishima Kei would have suited his right wrist wonderfully.

“What’s up with you?” says Kageyama, annoyingly insightful the way he’s been since they started their third year. That’s Kageyama-speak for, “Are you okay?” and Shouyou let’s the warmth from his concern fill him up from the inside.

“Nothing. Tsukishima’s Tsukishima,” Shouyou says. Kageyama nods, accepting the explanation at face value; maybe he’s the one that’s got Tsukishima’s name on his wrist. With a sigh, Shouyou puts his feet under his blanket and settles onto his futon, resigning himself to the discomfort of his pajamas still being damp.

A t-shirt hits him in the face. Shouyou sputters and blinks away the tears because he hadn’t closed his eyes. He sits up, clutching at the fabric that turns out to be one of Kageyama’s⁠—⁠clean and probably meant for him to wear the next few days.

Kageyama is a lump under blankets beside him, face and body turned away. “Don’t you dare catch a cold before qualifiers, dumbass,” is all that lump says.

Shouyou’s heart pounds.

That year they don’t win the Spring Tournament, though they do reach the center court. Kageyama signs with the Schweiden Adlers. Shouyou Skypes and officially meets Lucio Kato, trains for a year with Takahashi-sensei, gets on a bus, then a plane heading far away.

He graduates without telling Kageyama his feelings, keeps his soulmark covered until he’s somewhere flying high above one of the oceans, and tells himself it’s not cowardice keeping him silent. “I’ll tell him once I’m strong enough to stand on the court against him,” Shouyou tells himself, then flips open the Portuguese textbook he’s brought for the plane.

Brazil is hard. The sand is⁠—⁠against all preconceptions⁠—⁠also hard. Shouyou falls every day. He’d never felt particularly gifted at volleyball throughout high school (it would be hard to do so when your classmate was Kageyama Tobio) but by third year he had at least felt like he was more than capable of playing it professionally⁠—⁠maybe not in the division Kageyama was scouted into before they’d even gotten on the bus back home from their third Spring Tournament, but still. Shouyou knows all the rules and all the announcer’s phrases and his body knows how it’s supposed to move so that he can play. His receives have gotten better (Kageyama has been bullied into admitting that much) and his jumps are always BAM jumps. By the end, he was an asset for the team. The Strongest Decoy.

And yet all of that is nothing when faced with the cruelty of the sand.

Shouyou is committed. This has always been his plan. He is going to get better⁠—⁠get stronger⁠—⁠and then finally go back to Japan. But he . . . it hurts, when the thing that has been his lifeline is also kicking his ass.

He feels not unlike that first year at the Miyagi training camp, and Kageyama’s words then⁠—⁠“I’m going on ahead”⁠—⁠and Kageyama’s lack of words now⁠—⁠neither of them have managed more than very basic bits of texting⁠—⁠keep swimming around in his head.

Shouyou is homesick. Shouyou is tired. Shouyou wonders if it is even worth it to stay. He promised Washijou-san two years . . . but how can he survive two years when he can’t even make it three months?

But still there is volleyball⁠—⁠God, Shouyou loves volleyball⁠—⁠where the language of winning is the most universal of them all.

“Nice kill!” Shouyou yells. His stomach is protesting but as long as he’s playing he’s not thinking about that and he’s doing okay, tonight on the sand. He’s having fun. He’s getting to play.

And then a voice says, “You have got to be kidding me,” and it’s speaking Japanese.

Shouyou looks up the beach to see Oikawa-san⁠—⁠the Great King⁠—⁠who hasn’t lost his wallet, and who offers to buy Shouyou food.

“Are you crying?” Oikawa-san says, sounding ready to rescind the offer. Then he just laughs when Shouyou explains.

Oikawa-san is a setter for a club in Argentina. He went abroad the moment he graduated, instead of Shouyou, who had to train for a year. Oikawa-san is chasing greatness the same way Shouyou is, the same way Kageyama is, and Shouyou wants to take out his phone and tell Kageyama⁠—⁠something⁠—⁠everything⁠—⁠what he wants to say seems as elusive as mastery of the stupid sand. Maybe he should say that Oikawa-san, the Great King, was as human as they all were, that first year. Maybe he should say that Oikawa-san watches Kageyama’s games⁠—⁠because he does, no matter what he says.

Maybe Shouyou should say that he misses Kageyama, has never stopped missing Kageyama, and that it might have only been two months but Shouyou is going to kick his ass.

He decides to leave it at just the one selfie, which Kageyama didn’t even respond to.

Discomfited, Shouyou stands, interrupting Oikawa-san’s sentence. Oops. He hadn’t meant to do that.

Oikawa-san simply blinks at him, mouth still open around the unfinished end of his words.

Shouyou does some sort of excited dance that involves both his hands and upper body. “Let’s go play now!” he says, pointing back towards where they’d come. “People play pretty late here on the beach!” He’s grateful that Oikawa-san bought him food and shared such an important story with him, but he’s also never going to pass up the chance to play more volleyball⁠—⁠and it’s the only thing he can think of to cover his blunder. Besides, it’s the Great King. Already Shouyou can think of new moves he wants to try, of questions he’s never had the opportunity to ask.

Shouyou’s nose itches, and he scratches it with his left hand. He probably won’t die if he says something to rile Oikawa-san up, and Shouyou always plays better when there’s something at stake.

It’s only once Shouyou’s excitement dims enough for him to realize Oikawa-san isn’t planning on standing, that he realizes Oikawa-san is staring at his soulmark.

At his exposed soulmark.

At Kageyama’s unfairly perfect name, written in red on Shouyou’s bare left wrist, held up between them from when he scratched an itch.

The weight of the world re-settles itself in Shouyou’s shoulders.

He sits uncomfortably back in his seat like a popped balloon and pulls his left hand protectively towards his chest. It’s just been so long (three months) and Shouyou had honestly forgotten. Immediately upon getting off the plane Shouyou had come to the conclusion that Brazil was going to be too warm for him to keep wearing sweatbands, or even just soulguards⁠—⁠though surely they made ones in Rio de Janeiro with the Brazilian climate in mind⁠—⁠and it wasn’t like Pedro understood the kanji written on him. In fact, Pedro had been shockingly uninterested in Shouyou having only one soulmark (though Pedro has been shockingly uninterested in a lot of things, like making friends with his new roommate, for one). Kato-sensei had taken it in stride, and all the other people Shouyou played with thought it was⁠—⁠romantic, he thought that word was in Portuguese. Shouyou has gotten used to not having to care.

But then. Oikawa-san knows Kageyama.

Shouyou tightens his hand into a fist, prepared to face the music. He looks up, then freezes, stunned.

Oikawa-san is . . . laughing. Boisterous, full body laughing, to the point where Shouyou almost expects to see tears streaming out of the corners of his eyes.

All Shouyou can do is stare at him, mouth open, more than a little confused. “Um. Oikawa-san⁠—⁠”

“Sorry, Chibi-chan,” Oikawa-san says, wiping at the non-existent saltwater that isn’t leaking from his eyes. Shouyou gets briefly distracted by how good it feels to hear someone else speak to him in Japanese, then he metaphorically⁠—⁠and maybe a little physically⁠—⁠shakes it off in favor of listening to what his senpai has to say in explanation for his . . . for the laughing. “It’s just⁠—⁠” Instead of continuing, Oikawa-san sticks his own hand in Shouyou’s face, and Shouyou goes cross eyed before he figures out what he’s looking at: Oikawa-san’s uncovered soulmark, spelling out Kageyama’s full name.

Shouyou forgets himself and grabs Oikawa-san by the back of the hand, pulling the wrist with the characters closer to his face, then away from his face, then dragging to somewhat of a midway point so that he can put them beside the ones on his own arm. They are exactly the same.

Shouyou immediately wants to smack himself. Of course they are. Why wouldn’t they be? It’s not like he and Oikawa-san know any other people with the last name Kageyama⁠—⁠Kageyama’s first name is the thing Shouyou might have misread across a table in a foreign country, but of course he didn’t, because of course it’s the same.

Shouyou lowers his own hand and frowns.

Then he realizes he’s holding Oikawa-san by the arm like some sort of rude, uncultured heathen, and frantically releases him in a daze. He thinks he’s apologizing⁠—⁠he’s certainly doing a lot of awkward, uncomfortable bowing⁠—⁠but Oikawa-san just continues to smile at him, not seeming all that fazed. Neither of them have been out of Japan long enough for Shouyou to write that off as anything other than somewhat patronizing kindness, but he went to school with Kageyama; he knows far better than to question any liberties he receives.

Somewhere in the middle of all that Shouyou comes to the abrupt realization that Oikawa-san and him sharing a soulmark means that one of them is Kageyama’s soulmate . . . and the other of them is Kageyama’s enemy, and the ugly monster that Shouyou hates to admit is definitely jealousy rears its hideous head. Thankfully he’s managed to get himself together long enough to stop bowing, but the expression on his face has to be something out of a nightmare.

Oikawa-san just smirks at him, waving away all of Shouyou’s apologies and presenting his left hand in exchange. “Don’t mind,” he says, cleanly delivering a no-touch service ace into the middle of the conversation and leaving Shouyou momentarily breathless with a whole different kind of envy. “Tobio-chan isn’t my soulmate. Iwa-chan is.”

It takes Shouyou an embarrassing amount of time to parse that sentence enough to look down at the other of Oikawa-san’s soulmarks, this one covering his love vein. The vena amoris, Shouyou thinks, distracted by the Latin because of all the Portuguese he’s been stuffing into his brain. Then he focuses enough to understand that the line at the end is the kanji for “one”⁠—⁠for “Hajime,” in this case.

Iwaizumi Hajime reads Oikawa-san’s left soulmark, and Shouyou thinks . . . he isn’t surprised that’s what it says.

Then he realizes this means Oikawa-san thinks of Kageyama as his enemy, and no number of years spent disparaging that stupid dichotomy can prevent Shouyou’s mouth from turning into a frown. He shouldn’t be mad. The entire year before Karasuno, Shouyou spent his time alternating between practicing volleyball and scowling down at the characters on his wrist because he was convinced something of the same, but somehow this is different. Shouyou spent high school falling desperately and terribly in love with the socially inept bastard, and while he’s on friendly speaking terms with both Kunimi and Kindaichi, some part of Shouyou is always going to be on Kageyama’s team.

So he frowns, sour and⁠—⁠at least⁠—⁠no longer jealous, but displeased.

Oikawa-san only laughs harder, taking back both his wrists and rising up onto his feet. “I’m not on his wrist either,” he says. “Now come on. Let’s go play volleyball. That is if you still think you can take me on . . . Chibi-chan.”

Shouyou’s protective defensiveness vanishes in a wave of heady competitiveness, and he stands, intent on watching one of his great senpais eat sand.

Oikawa-san does eat sand. Then Shouyou and Oikawa-san lose soundly, which means they’re forced to buy their new friends beverages, but for the remainder of his time in Brazil, Oikawa-san makes a point to hang out with Shouyou. They get food, they speak Japanese, and Shouyou leaves the encounters feeling new and rejuvenated, and also slightly more at ease.

And then the Olympics happen, and Kageyama gets a service ace on national television and doesn’t once pick up the phone or attempt to come see Shouyou. The night Japan is kicked out of the running, Shouyou gets horribly, terribly drunk and makes out with some poor Japanese tourist. Because those two things are totally unrelated, he immediately calls Tsukishima to cry about it, heedless of his phone bill and the time difference between Brazil and Japan.

“You’re going to be so embarrassed tomorrow and honestly that’s the only reason I’m not hanging up the phone,” says Tsukishima.

Shouyou continues to sob. “Tsukishima!” he says. “Tsukki⁠—⁠Tsukki⁠—⁠Tsukishima.” He pauses to breathe, blows snot out of his nose, and gasps briefly for air. “You have to come hit me! Please!”

“You are an absolute lightweight,” Tsukishima says. “What are you even talking about?”

“I kissed someone,” Shouyou explains. “A person.” He fumbles about the bar he’s apparently sitting at and stumbles until he gets a palm against the wood. “A man.”

“You . . . kissed someone.”

“I did.” Shouyou is proud for two seconds. Then he’s horrified all over again. “I’m a cheater⁠—⁠”

“I am not paid enough to deal with this⁠—⁠look, Hinata, why are you a cheater⁠—⁠”

“Because he wasn’t my soulmate!” Shouyou says. “And I kissed him anyway! I’m the worst!”

There is a very long pause. Shouyou worries the call has dropped.

“Hello?” he says. “Tsukishima? Are you still there?” Now that he thinks about it, how is Tsukishima even there? Tsukishima is in Japan and Shouyou is in Brazil⁠—⁠that’s like fifty million hours away, give or take.

“Regrettably,” says Tsukishima. “Look. Hinata⁠—⁠”

“I kissed someone who wasn’t Kageyama!” Shouyou wails, voicing the real, terrible issue, and then drops his face onto the bar with a thud. “Also, my mouth tastes funny so I think I threw up⁠—⁠”

“Um, yes⁠—⁠you did⁠—⁠on my friend⁠—⁠after you called him . . . Kage . . . something . . . and stuck your tongue down his throat?”

“Oh, is that the man?” Tsukishima sounds way too happy about the situation and also farther away, and Shouyou decides that must mean he’s on his way to come hit him, and so he can’t be mad. “He speaks Japanese? Of course he speaks Japanese. You’re an idiot. Give him the phone⁠—⁠” Tsukishima’s voice disappears, and Shouyou closes his eyes in anticipation of his smack. None comes. Shouyou cracks open both eyes.

There’s someone sitting next to him, holding his phone⁠—⁠Shouyou recognizes the phone case⁠—⁠and he looks pretty and kind of tall. When he catches Shouyou looking he says something hurriedly, and then Tsukishima’s voice is deposited back in his ear.

“So, you’re out celebrating because of the Olympics,” his friend says gleefully. “Did you see the King’s service ace?”

“I’m a cheater and Kageyama will never speak to me again,” Shouyou says. “Why are you laughing? This is the worst day of my life.”

Tsukishima keeps laughing, then he sighs. “Look. Hinata. You’re drunk. It was just kissing. It sounds like Hiroto-san doesn’t have any hard feelings⁠—⁠though you should probably buy him some new pants.” It sounds like Tsukishima wants to say more so Shouyou pauses to wait for him, and his friend doesn’t disappoint. “You’re not even dating Kageyama because the two of you are idiots⁠—⁠you hear me⁠—⁠idiots⁠—⁠I can’t believe he’s playing in the Olympics in the same place as you. This is literally the definition of fate.”

Shouyou blinks.

He has no idea what Tsukishima is even talking about.

“Give Hiroto-san’s friend back the phone.”

Shouyou holds out the phone to his neighbor, no less confused.

A moment later Tsukishima returns. “Tell them your address. They’re going to take you home. Don’t worry. I’ll stay on the phone with you in case you get murdered.”

This is nice but it doesn’t help Shouyou with his cheating problem.

“You are not cheating on Kageyama,” Tsukishima says, like a mind reader. “I promise, you absolute ass.”

Shouyou frowns. “Mean.”

“I have a class in five minutes,” Tsukishima says. “Follow the nice men.”

“Are you sure⁠—⁠”

“Hinata, in order to cheat you need to be in an actual relationship,” Tsukishima says. “Which for some reason the two of you are not, even though⁠—⁠” Shouyou doesn’t hear the rest of whatever Tsukishima says, his friend’s voice drowned out by the roar of the crowd.

Shouyou does get home. Pedro comes to answer the door, looking sleepy and confused. “Shouyou-san?”

“Pedro,” Shouyou says. “This is Hiroto-san’s friend. Hello.”

Pedro bows. “Hello.” He stands back up. “Are you alright?”

“I’m drunk,” Shouyou determines, then wobbles past Pedro into the apartment. “Japan lost,” he adds.

He can hear Hiroto-san’s friend and Pedro speaking in broken Portuguese somewhere behind him, but he’s suddenly very tired, so once he finds a soft surface he collapses down onto it.

“Hinata,” says a voice.

“Oh yeah. This is Tsukishima,” Shouyou calls in the vague direction of Pedro and the door. “He’s super tall. Super mean. A good friend.”

There is a pause. “Drink lots of water, idiot.”

Shouyou smiles at the sound of the dial tone, and closes his eyes.

A phone is ringing.

Shouyou wakes, thinking he’s dead. It feels like his entire body has been turned into sand, trampled over for at least fifty volleyball matches, and then formed back into something resembling a person, hundreds of bruises and all. His mouth tastes foul. His eyes hurt. His ears feel like they must be bleeding, and the sensation only gets worse the longer the ringtone blares.

It’s his phone.

It’s his ringtone.

Someone is calling him, and Shouyou really needs it to stop.

He groans, feeling around desperately for the source of the noise, and manages to tug his phone towards his face. Looking at the screen makes his eyes hurt worse, but eventually he figures out that Ya-chan is the one calling⁠—⁠in the LINE app so no international phone bills; thank God⁠—⁠and he frees a second hand so that he can answer her call. He gives up on anything more than hitting the speaker button, frantically clearing his throat in hopes that he won’t sound too out of sorts.

“Hello?” he says. “Yachi?” He sounds like something died in his mouth last night. Yachi is probably going to worry.

“Hinata!” Yachi says, not appearing to even notice, because she immediately continues in a desperate rush. “I’m sorry to call you⁠—⁠I just⁠—⁠Kiyoko-san is dating Tanaka-senpai!” Yachi pauses after delivering that sentence, squeaking like she’s let go of her phone to put both hands over her mouth.

Shouyou is grateful for the reprieve, both so that he can attempt to swallow some of his own rancid saliva, and so that the meaning of Yachi’s sentence can take root in his brain. He glances around his room and notes a glass of water; Pedro is the best roommate. Sitting up is painful, but the water is like ambrosia going down, and Shouyou gulps gratefully for several long seconds. “I’m sorry,” he says once he’s done. “Can you tell me that again?”

“Kiyoko-san is dating Tanaka-senpai!” says Yachi.

Shouyou briefly closes his eyes. “Right,” he says. “I thought you said that.” He swirls the water in the glass before tilting back towards his pillows. “You know you don’t have to call him ‘Tanaka-senpai’ anymore, yeah.”

“Hinata-kun!” Yachi sounds displeased.

Shouyou sets down the glass and huddles into his blankets. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I think I’m dying⁠—⁠anyway⁠—⁠”

It’s a testament to how their friendship has evolved that Yachi doesn’t even stop at that. “You know she’s on my arm,” she says.

“Yes⁠—⁠”

“Well Tanaka-san is on her other arm,” Yachi finishes. “And they’re dating. So, you understand.”

Shouyou does not understand. Shouyou is starting to remember pieces of the night before, and he’s ninety percent certain it involved him throwing up. “I don’t understand,” he says.

Yachi makes a disappointed noise. Immediately Shouyou wants to start reciting high school vocabulary. He refrains. “Hinata!” Yachi says. “Tanaka-san is on her other arm! This must mean I’m her enemy! Now do you understand?”

Shouyou is abruptly much more sober. “Oh,” is all he says.

Yachi makes a noise. “Yeah, oh,” she snaps. Then she quiets, clearly having heard herself. “I’m sorry⁠—⁠”

“It’s fine.” Shouyou shifts further out of his cocoon of blankets. “Yachi . . . you know that soulmate/enemy stuff is just”⁠—⁠he can’t find a nice way to say it so he figures he might as well come out with it⁠—⁠“bullshit? Like . . . made up?”

Yachi doesn’t seem very convinced. “Hinata . . .”

“No, listen,” Shouyou sits fully upright and picks up his abandoned phone. He turns off speaker mode and puts the thing to his ear. “When I was a baby, my mom took me to all sorts of specialists⁠—⁠people whose entire job is to deal with soulmarks.”

“Okay . . .”

“They told her that there was nothing wrong with me,” Shouyou continues. “That the soulmate-enemy dichotomy is something people made up. That the reason only Kageyama’s name is on me is just because Kageyama is the only person who’s going to be important to me⁠—⁠not that he’s my soulmate-enemy, or whatever.”

Yachi is quiet for two beats. “But Hinata-kun, Kageyama is your soulmate-enemy,” she says.

Shouyou feels like the air has been punched out of his lungs. “You⁠—⁠you’re distracting me,” he says. “It doesn’t matter what Kageyama is to me⁠—⁠the point is just because Shi⁠—⁠Kiyoko-san is dating Tanaka-san”⁠—⁠now that he’s said that out loud the absurdity of the situation is starting to sink in⁠—⁠“doesn’t mean you’re her enemy. Or that she even thinks of you like that.”

Shouyou shakes his head to clear away his reaction to how Shimizu-san is now dating Tanaka-san. She may one day end up being Tanaka-san, so Shouyou should start to think of her as Kiyoko-san to avoid confusion. Shaking his head makes it hurt harder. Thinking of calling Shimizu-san by her first name makes his stomach knot like he’s going to vomit. Shouyou groans, holding his head with his free hand. He definitely threw up last night. His stomach feels utterly empty.

Yachi seems concerned. “Hinata?”

“I’m fine.” Shouyou peels open one eye. “Do you understand?”

There are two more beats of silence. Then Yachi sounds like she’s nodding her head. “We’re not enemies,” she says.

“You’re not enemies,” Shouyou repeats. “You’re like . . . really close friends?”

Yachi’s tone goes soft. “You and Tsukishima-kun and Kageyama-kun and Yamaguchi-kun are my best friends,” she says.

Shouyou’s chest aches. “I miss all of you so much,” he says.

Yachi makes a noise.

Shouyou makes one right back.

Pedro knocks and then sticks his head in the door, looking concerned. “Shouyou. You are . . . well?” he says in careful Japanese.

Shouyou nods back⁠—⁠a mistake because now his head is swimming⁠—⁠and the other boy retreats. “I’m fine. Thank you for last night,” Shouyou calls after him in Japanese, then in Portuguese. He’s not really sure how he even got home, but Pedro would have had to answer the door, and put Shouyou to bed, and provide the water.

Yachi makes an inquisitive noise in Shouyou’s ear. “What happened last night?”

Shouyou startles. He’d forgotten he was on the phone. “Oh, nothing,” he says. “We just got kicked out of the Olympics.” I saw Kageyama, he doesn’t say. It was just on a TV, but he hasn’t called me and we’re in the same fucking place, breathing the same air.

Yachi doesn’t call him on any of that⁠—⁠she’s too nice. “Please take care of yourself,” is all she says.

Shouyou smiles. “I am⁠—⁠promise,” he says. “Tell me about you. Are you still hating that class?”

“Oh, well⁠—⁠”

Yachi launches into an update of her time at university. Shouyou listens and is glad. It’s only once he’s said goodbye to Yachi and is scrolling aimlessly through his friend’s social media posts that the memory of the previous night finally comes back to him, every last drunken, miserable, made-out-with-a-stranger-and-then-immediately-vomited-on-them second of it.

Heart pounding, Shouyou taps into his LINE messages with Tsukishima. Please don’t tell Kageyama about last night, he says.

The bastard leaves him on read.

Eventually Shouyou figures out the sand. He stops always feeling lonely. He buys a new wallet. He continues to bond with and become friends with Pedro.

He kisses three more people⁠—⁠with no less amount of guilt but significantly more amount of finesse each time. He tells himself that it’s practice for when he finally kisses Kageyama, although the longer he’s in Brazil and the better he gets at beach volleyball, the less certain he feels that a kiss with Kageyama is in the cards.

His promise to himself to tell Kageyama his feelings sits heavy in his heart regardless, as the months move forward and it gets closer and closer to Shouyou’s time to return to Japan.

He and Heitor play in the Solcard Cup. Shouyou gets a new nickname, and something resembling fans.

In the airport, alone at his gate, Shouyou pulls on his old black sweatbands, tucking Kageyama’s name away from prying eyes.

“I’m ready,” he tells himself. “I’m going to win.”

He goes home.

A few weeks after signing with the MSBY Black Jackals and officially starting practices with his new teammates, Shouyou discovers that Miya Atsumu has Hinata Shouyou written on his left wrist. This doesn’t seem to be news to anyone, most shockingly Atsumu-san, who doesn’t even blink when Shouyou first catches sight of his soulmark, just keeps doing stretches and talking with Bokuto-san about the upcoming 2018 Nation’s League.

Unlike Shouyou, his senior members of the Monster Generation don’t cover their soulmarks when it’s just them at private practice and Atsumu-san has been playing with the Jackals for far longer than Shouyou’s few weeks. The rest of the team’s lack of interest makes sense, but Sakusa Kiyoomi⁠—⁠the other new team member and the person whose name is Atsumu-san’s other soulmark⁠—⁠doesn’t seem bothered either.

When Shouyou gets the courage to finally ask⁠—⁠while smiling really hard and doing his best to seem like he takes care of himself and won’t at any moment come down with a fever⁠—⁠Sakusa-san simply stares at him and pulls up his soulgards to show his own soulmarks. They read Miya Atsumu and Ushijima Wakatoshi.

Shouyou feels transported back five years, just looking at that name.

“I found out the first time we played each other at Interhigh,” Sakusa-san explains tonelessly. “I didn’t know for sure until we were both invited to the All-Japan Youth Training Camp in my first year, however,” he adds. Then he reapplies his soulguards and returns to doing sickening things with his arms.

Shouyou knows someone who attended the All-Japan Youth Training Camp.

Someone who attended with Atsumu-san.

And Sakusa-san.

At the same time.

Granted, it was the year after the two of them apparently did the soulmark dance . . . but still.

Immediately upon getting home, Shouyou calls Kageyama.

It’s an automatic, used-to-be-normal thing that hasn’t been normal for nearly three years, as he and Kageyama haven’t seen each other properly once since Shouyou’s been back in Japan. They have a mutual agreement that they won’t see each other until it’s on the court, whenever that may be (the Jackals are one of the best teams and Shouyou cannot wait for the start of the season). This has made talking to Tanaka-san a little awkward⁠—⁠of course Shouyou is going to attend his and Kiyoko-san’s wedding, but it’s still really going to mess with his and Kageyama’s plans so he’s allowed to be upset about that⁠—⁠and also means Tsukishima is being insufferable. If Shouyou has to listen to the blond dick go on about how Shouyou “knows he and Kageyama are not the ones getting married, right?” one more time he may commit a murder, ruining the Jackals’ chances of taking the league, and probably also doing major damage to the Sendai Frogs.

The point being he and Kageyama have an embargo on meeting in person. It doesn’t mean anything for texting and phone calls, but Shouyou and Kageyama hadn’t really done either of those things when he’d been abroad, so it hasn’t been that hard to keep the silence up now that they’re both in the same country preparing to play in the same league.

All this to say when Shouyou calls Kageyama, he does so without thinking about it; the moment Kageyama picks up the phone, Shouyou is filled with existential dread. Kageyama answers his phone politely. Shouyou says nothing. The silence stretches.

“Hinata?” Kageyama says finally, after the quiet has gone on for far too long.

Any misguided hope that Shouyou would have stopped being in love with him all those years spent abroad vanishes as soon as Shouyou hears his voice. It’s deeper and more grown up and makes something curl in Shouyou’s belly⁠—⁠something Shouyou now knows is desire, thanks to several kisses with Brazilian strangers.

Desperately, Shouyou attempts to get himself together enough to speak. He’s only heard Kageyama’s voice, but already he’s thinking about seeing Kageyama’s face, in the flesh this time, and not just plastered on the internet with the rest of his very famous and attractive team. He’s thinking of Kageyama going out for meals with Ushiwaka, getting photographed smiling at the older⁠—⁠still really intimidating⁠—⁠man.

Ushiwaka⁠—⁠Ushijima-san⁠—⁠has Shouyou’s name written on his wrist.

Like Atsumu-san.

Shouyou opens his mouth. “Atsumu-san has my name as one of his soulmarks?” he says. Even to his own ears his voice sounds very high.

Kageyama pauses. “Yes?” he says. It comes out as a question, like he isn’t sure Shouyou had wanted a response. It’s still confirmation that he had known about Atsumu-san’s soulmark, though, and Shouyou leaps upon the information like the predator his team is named for.

“You knew?” he says. “And you didn’t tell me?”

Kageyama is silent for a short moment again. “I . . . didn’t know you didn’t know?” he says. “Also, it wasn’t on my arm.”

Ouch. Shouyou’s chest hurts like Kageyama’s gone and stabbed him, but he continues valiantly regardless. “You knew since our first year and didn’t think it was something I’d want to know?” he says. “Kageyama. What the fuck?”

This time Kageyama responds instantly. “It wasn’t on my arm,” he repeats. “And it’s not like he was hiding it. You’re the one who didn’t notice. Why do you think he said he was going to toss to you?” He pauses, probably thinking about how Atsumu-san’s impromptu promise has actually come true.

Shouyou thinks back to that moment as well, remembering shaking Atsumu-san’s hand across the net after Karasuno won. What he said hadn’t stood at the time, nor does it particularly now. But the Spring Tournament was filmed so everyone would have been wearing professional grade soulguards and Atsumu-san⁠—⁠and Inarizaki⁠—⁠had had an idol-worthy following with a band. Shouyou wouldn’t have had any opportunity to see his name. Atsumu-san would have had to say something⁠—⁠something more than a promise for them to one day be on the same team.

“But you’ve been playing together in the V.League this whole time,” Shouyou says. Maybe he’s being unfair, but he thinks if he met someone with Kageyama’s name he’d tell him. Then he thinks about Oikawa-san . . . But Kageyama went to middle school with Oikawa-san for three years. He probably already knows.

Kageyama is quiet. “Sorry,” he says finally. “I guess I thought you knew.” There is another pause. “And are you . . . Is his name one of your soulmarks⁠—⁠” Kageyama sounds awkward, but still less uncomfortable than he ever had at fifteen. He’s changed, even if a lot of the things are still mostly the same.

“No!” Shouyou answers his question, maybe a little too aggressively. The thought hadn’t even occurred to him⁠—⁠but why would Kageyama have reason to think otherwise? “It’s not,” Shouyou adds emphatically. Mentally he sends Atsumu-san an apology. Atsumu-san is perfectly good looking and deserving of someone’s love, but clearly that person is . . . Sakusa-san, not Shouyou.

That person is Sakusa-san? Shouyou goes a little cross-eyed thinking about that. Hell, he and Sakusa-san have only just joined the team. Although Sakusa-san and Atsumu-san have known each other since high school as well⁠—⁠he knows Inarizaki and Itachiyama had matches during the relevant years.

Shouyou has let himself get distracted. Thankfully Kageyama is still socially awkward enough not to comment.

“No,” Shouyou says again, less aggressively, but still definitively. I’m really sorry, Atsumu-san, really! he thinks. “No, it’s not, he’s⁠—⁠he’s not,” Shouyou says.

Kageyama is quiet again for a few moments. “And . . . are you . . . mad . . . about that?” he says.

Shouyou opens and closes his mouth. “Am I mad?” He doesn’t understand what Kageyama is asking⁠—⁠but then he does, and his cheeks are burning, and he’s fumbling for the phone before he can drop it on the floor. “Are you asking if I’m in love with Atsumu-san?” Shouyou shouts. Once again, he sends his teammate a mental apology. “No! I’m not, Kageyama, no!” I’m in love with you, he somehow keeps inside, thankfully.

The reality of the situation is starting to sink in. The absurdity of the conversation. The realization that he and Kageyama are talking about soulmarks, about fucking soulmates, when Kageyama is the one with his name written on Shouyou’s soul.

“Oh,” says Kageyama. “Well, good,” says Kageyama. “I mean⁠—⁠not good,” says Kageyama. “I mean⁠—⁠” He stops talking.

Shouyou’s face is on fire. “Why would you even ask me that?” he says.

Kageyama sounds like he’s blushing too when he speaks. “You called to yell at me because I didn’t tell you that your name was one of his soulmarks! I⁠—⁠what was I supposed to think?”

“I called you to yell at you because you didn’t tell me⁠—⁠not because I⁠—⁠” He doesn’t even finish that sentence, just silently apologizes again to Atsumu-san. “You knew and you didn’t tell me,” Shouyou reiterates. “Which I only found out because I asked Sakusa-san, whose name is on Atsumu-san’s other wrist.” He waits a beat and gets no immediate response. “You knew that too,” Shouyou realizes.

Kageyama’s voice is strained. “It came up,” he says. “His other name is Ushijima-san?” he continues, like a peace offering.

Shouyou rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I know.” It’s an odd circle of names⁠—⁠Shouyou and Sakusa-san on Atsumu-san, Atsumu-san and Ushijima-san on Sakusa-san, and Shouyou also on Ushijima-san. Though Shouyou doesn’t know what other name Ushijima-san has. “Is that mutual⁠—⁠”

“Oh, no⁠—⁠it’s⁠—⁠Tendou-san?”

“Tendou-san,” Shouyou says. That’s a name he hasn’t heard in a while. “What’s he doing?”

“He’s . . . uh . . . making chocolate in . . . Paris?” says Kageyama, which . . . he clearly knows this information firsthand. Kageyama knows things about his teammates. Personal things. Like who their soulmates are and what those soulmates are doing with their lives. Shouyou is so fucking proud. He’s about to text Suga-san and Daichi-san to tell them that their little Kageyama-kun is all grown up. “You’re going to say something weird,” accuses Kageyama suddenly, the mind-reading little shit.

“I was not,” defends Shouyou.

“Uh huh.”

“As I was saying.” Shouyou keeps talking over him. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me, Bakayama. If that ever happens again, you have to.”

“Right,” says Kageyama.

“Thank you,” says Shouyou. There’s another long silence. It feels comfortable, though. “So anyway⁠—⁠”

“Have you met your⁠—⁠” Kageyama speaks at almost the same time as Shouyou but then breaks off.

Shouyou’s ears start to buzz. “Have I met . . .” he prompts.

“You know.”

Shouyou really wishes he could see Kageyama, and he actually considers asking if they can switch to Facetime. “I don’t know.”

Kageyama growls. “Have you met either of the people on your wrists, dumbass,” he snaps. “Like . . . if it’s not Atsumu-san⁠—⁠”

“It’s not Atsumu-san!” Poor Atsumu-san probably thinks he’s catching a cold because of all of the sneezing he’s being forced to do. “And I⁠—⁠” Shouyou tries to lie but can’t force out the denial. “How about you?” he asks instead.

“Me?” Kageyama’s voice comes out with a rasp.

“Have you met either of your soulmates?”

“Either of my soulmates?” says Kageyama.

Shouyou waves a hand. “Soulmates, enemies, whatever,” he says. “The people whose names are your soulmarks.” He’s struck suddenly by a feeling of déjà vu, remembering the Miyagi training camp and Kunimi and Kindaichi, when he asked Kageyama this question the first time, and didn’t get an answer.

Kageyama is silent for a long time. “Yes,” he finally says.

Shouyou’s heart nearly stops. He hadn’t expected that answer⁠—⁠hadn’t thought Kageyama would even answer this time either, actually. Maybe he’d been banking on that, because his ears are buzzing again, and his hands and feet feel cold. “Oh,” he hears himself say. “Congratulations?” So Kageyama has names . . . and he’s even met at least one of them . . . that’s great. Shouyou is happy for him.

“I haven’t.” Kageyama’s tone is brusque and uncomfortable. “I haven’t told them . . . the person . . . the people.”

Shouyou has to get his shit together. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to!”

Kageyama still sounds pained. “I do,” he says. “I want to tell you.” There’s a pause. “You’re my friend?” His voice goes up at the end.

Shouyou stares blankly at one of his walls for ten seconds. “Is that a question?” he finally says⁠—⁠near shouts⁠—⁠and Kageyama laughs. It’s a real laugh⁠—⁠joyous and loud.

“I’m going to kill you,” Shouyou tells him seriously, cheeks hot. “The next time I see you in person I swear.”

“At Tanaka-san and Shimizu-san’s wedding?” asks Kageyama.

Shouyou stutters. “At⁠—⁠the first time after that.”

“When we play you,” Kageyama confirms.

“I’m going to murder you on the court,” Shouyou agrees.

Kageyama snorts. “Not if I murder you first.”

Shouyou glares. He crosses the room to sit down on his bed, holding his phone carefully in both hands. He and Kageyama share another silence, still not quite uncomfortable, but this time tinged with something almost sad.

“I can’t wait to play you,” Kageyama whispers eventually, so quiet it’s like he thinks if he says it louder Shouyou will disappear. It sounds like “I can’t wait to see you.”

Shouyou’s breath hitches. “Me too,” he whispers back.

They say their goodbyes, then hang up.

Shouyou allows himself one good cry in the shower about the fact that Kageyama has apparently met one of the people whose name is his soulmark and it’s clearly not Hinata Shouyou, before he collects himself. At practice the next day he bows very deeply to Atsumu-san, who stares at him blankly for what feels like several minutes, then slaps a hand to Shouyou’s forehead in concern.

Sakusa-san almost hisses like a cat when he sees this, and Shouyou pushes Atsumu-san’s hand away from his face in a rush. “No wait⁠—⁠Sakusa-san⁠—⁠I promise that I take care of myself⁠—⁠” He chases his fellow team newbie, nearly tripping over himself in his haste.

He does his best to forget his conversation with Kageyama, throwing himself wholeheartedly into proving himself worthy enough to the team⁠—⁠worthy enough of joining the starting lineup, so that when they next play the Schweiden Adlers, Shouyou can face Kageyama.

He puts his feet to the beaten path Kageyama stepped onto in their first year of high school and he runs.

Shouyou wins. The Jackals win. He beats Kageyama . . . and Nicollas Romero and Ushiwaka and Kamomedai’s Little Giant. The game is terrific, and he doesn’t want it to end, but once it does, Kageyama looks at him from across the net and says, “You made it.”

Shouyou’s answering grin is monstrous. “I made it,” he agrees. No longer is Kageyama unreachably far ahead.

Since everyone and then some is here for this game⁠—⁠Shouyou sees Daichi-san, Suga-san, and Asahi-san, then Tanaka-san and Kiyoko-san, who he can’t quite believe is now also Tanaka-san, and of course Yachi, Tsukishima, and Yamaguchi⁠—⁠they all decided that they’d go out afterwards to celebrate, as neither the Jackals nor the Adlers are playing again tomorrow. As long as no one drinks anything (they’ve officially begun the season and alcohol is not the way) and they’re all back at the hotel in time to go home on Sunday, Meian-san had said it was fine. He’d even invited himself along.

Most of the Adlers come out as well, including Hirugami-san and Romero-san, who brings along his embarrassed son and wife. Shouyou gets to practice his Portuguese with them, and it’s fun. Also a significant number of their former Miyagi competitors show up at the restaurant that evening, including those of them who were unable to attend the game. It’s no wonder Shouyou loses Kageyama to the crowd. He’s too busy darting between groups of people saying hello. Kuroo-san even Facetimes with a reluctant Kenma, and Shouyou takes no fewer than three screenshots just to send to Pedro.

It’s a nice evening. Warm, and filled to the brim with friends. Kageyama is socializing too; in between conversations when Shouyou has a moment to himself he always searches the room for him and each time Kageyama is with some other friend, acquaintance, or teammate. It’s⁠—⁠Shouyou’s so fucking proud, and glad.

Though he misses him.

Shouyou misses him like he’s missed him since he got on that plane to Brazil. They’re finally standing next to each other, in the same country, on the same court, in the same restaurant, yet somehow Kageyama feels really far away.

Until Shouyou walks into him, making Kageyama spill water all down his shirt. Luckily, they’ve both been sort of left alone. Shouyou was on his way back from the bathroom. Kageyama was probably trying to drink his water. They’re still surrounded with way too many friends, but it’s not like Shouyou has interrupted a conversation, although the fuss he immediately bursts into does have the effect of drawing many people’s eye.

Shouyou laughs nervously, waving them all off. Once they’re certain he and Kageyama aren’t about to start screaming at each other⁠—⁠really, they’re no longer fifteen, Shouyou is insulted⁠—⁠they all return to their previous conversations.

Kageyama simply stares down at Shouyou holding his empty glass.

“Oh my God⁠—⁠I’m so sorry⁠—⁠here⁠—⁠let me just⁠—⁠” Shouyou slaps a hand to the wet front of Kageyama’s shirt and just sort of . . . watches his life flash before his eyes. Kageyama is warm. Solid. Muscled. Damp.

“Were you coming from the bathroom?” Kageyama says, setting down his empty glass on one of the nearby tables. “Figures. Where did Meian-san go? You really should never be allowed to go alone. He should make it official team policy. Tanaka-san did.”

Shouyou goes to snap back at him, but before he can do that, Kageyama is putting both hands on the hem of his shirt and dragging the wet fabric over top of his head. He’s wearing an undershirt⁠—⁠thank God⁠—⁠but it’s sleeveless and kind of wet too. It’s not see-through, however. Small mercies. Shouyou has still ended up speechless and pink across both cheeks.

Kageyama’s head emerges from underneath the hemline, hair sticking this way and that. With a sigh he fluffs it back down, balling his shirt neatly with his other hand. After a pause he seems to think better of that, shaking the fabric out so that he can drape it over a chair to dry.

Shouyou’s throat is a desert. “You’re not going to wear that for the rest of the night,” he says.

Kageyama looks down at his undershirt. “I don’t have anything else?” They’d all showered and put on plain clothes while still at Kamei Arena Sendai, but Shouyou had left his things at the hotel; of course Kageyama had as well.

Shouyou heaves a sigh, and unzips his team jacket, thrusting the thing into Kageyama’s thankfully less wet chest. “Here,” he says. “Imagine what your sister would do to me if you showed up in paparazzi photos in that⁠—⁠

“You talk to Miwa?” Kageyama says, taking the jacket with his right hand.

Shouyou rolls his eyes. “Shockingly even your own flesh and blood is convinced you can’t take care of yourself⁠—⁠”

“I can take care of myself fine,” Kageyama snaps; Shouyou’s clearly hit a nerve.

Shouyou goes to subside, honestly apologetic, when the bit of red on Kageyama’s right wrist finally catches his eye.

It’s Kageyama’s soulmark.

It’s exposed⁠—⁠now that Shouyou thinks about it, Kageyama hadn’t been wearing wristbands when he’d shown up at the restaurant in jeans. That hadn’t pinged on Shouyou’s radar as weird⁠—⁠Kageyama wore soulguards all through the match⁠—⁠and his sleeves had been long enough to cover both wrists. It probably speaks to how close Kageyama feels to everyone that he’d go without soulguards. And it’s really none of Shouyou’s business . . . only he knows the characters he sees on Kageyama’s arm better than he knows anything else at all.

They spell out Shouyou’s fucking name, printed in red on Kageyama’s soul.

Shouyou goes silent in shock.

Kageyama shrugs into Shouyou’s jacket, zipping it up to his chin, ears a tad pink. “What?” He sounds defensive. He’s probably embarrassed to be wearing Shouyou’s name in front of their friends and his team, or something. Shouyou thinks that’s rich, since he’s got Shouyou’s name written on his arm.

Shouyou points at Kageyama’s right hand. “You. I.”

Kageyama follows Shouyou’s finger, then stumbles back, eyes wide. He drops his wet shirt. He shoves both hands into the pockets of Shouyou’s jacket to try to hide.

Slowly, like approaching a cornered animal, Shouyou reaches out and takes hold of Kageyama’s right arm, tugging it free. He can feel Kageyama shaking as he does it, but he continues regardless, flipping Kageyama’s palm up between them, and then pushing the sleeve up so that Kageyama’s wrist is laid bare.

The soulmark there really is Hinata Shouyou; Shouyou had not made a mistake. Feeling like he’s in a dream, Shouyou goes for Kageyama’s other hand. Kageyama lets him, still shaking and not saying anything, and Shouyou’s breath rattles through his lungs.

There’s nothing there.

Kageyama’s left wrist has nothing.

It’s just his right wrist that’s marked with Shouyou’s name.

“Kageyama,” Shouyou says.

Around them, the room is merry and alive.

Finally, Kageyama twitches, pulling his arms free. His hands go back into his pockets. His shoulders meet his ears. “What?” he says.

“Kageyama,” Shouyou says again, like a broken record, or a repeating song. Slowly, like he’s now the cornered animal, Shouyou reaches for the soulguard on his left arm. Kageyama makes a noise when he sees him doing it, but Shouyou doesn’t let that dissuade him from his goal. The soulguard comes off his skin soundlessly, peeling free without pause. Shouyou lets Kageyama simply stare at it⁠—⁠at his name that is Shouyou’s soulmark⁠—⁠for five seconds, then he goes for the other arm.

“Hinata⁠—⁠” starts to say Kageyama, but then he breaks off when Shouyou’s right wrist is also bare.

Empty.

Containing no one else’s name.

Kageyama continues to stare. “That’s . . .” His hands aren’t in the pockets of Shouyou’s jacket anymore and he reaches out like he’s going to touch, then thinks better of it. “That’s my name.”

Shouyou nods, swallowing hard. “I know,” he says. “And that’s mine.” He nods at Kageyama’s soulmark.

Neither of them speaks. Shouyou puts his soulguards into his left jeans pocket in the pause. He’s surprised no one has come to talk to them. But when he glances to his left, he finds that Bokuto-san has convinced Ushijima-san to arm wrestle, which explains it all.

Shouyou goes to smile.

Kageyama grabs him by both shoulders. “That’s my name!” he shouts. The crowd of friends watching the arm wrestling doesn’t seem to notice⁠—⁠Shouyou is honestly thankful, really.

“I⁠—⁠I know⁠—⁠”

“My name!” Kageyama continues shaking Shouyou, then he abruptly stops, and steps in close enough that Shouyou really feels their height difference. “Your soulmark is my name!”

Tragically, Shouyou thinks they’re starting to catch attention⁠—⁠starting with (unfortunately) Bokuto-san, who interrupts his goading of Ushijima-san to say suddenly, loudly, “Wait. What are you doing to my disciple, Kageyama-kun?”

An embarrassing number of friends all look at them, but Shouyou is too busy trying not to do something stupid like kiss Kageyama, who is standing really way too close.

“Your soulmark is my name!” the idiot says again. This time, the entire group hears.

“What?” Shouyou hears someone say. Atsumu-san, maybe?

“Shut up, Tsumu!” That’s Osamu-san now, so the first person was definitely Atsumu-san.

“Finally,” someone who can only be Tsukishima adds.

Shouyou doesn’t care. He looks deep into Kageyama’s eyes. “Your soulmark is my name!” he says back.

More uproar from their audience.

Hoshiumi-san notices Kageyama is wearing Shouyou’s jacket.

“That’s still a betrayal, Tobio!” he shouts. “I don’t care if he’s made for you! Team before all!”

“Shh, Korai-kun, they’re having a moment⁠—⁠” the Adlers’ captain Hirugami-san hisses.

“Yeah, I know!” Kageyama tells Shouyou⁠—⁠talking about Shouyou’s name being his soulmark, clearly.

“So did I!” Shouyou feels the need to shout back⁠—⁠because he did know that his soulmark was Kageyama’s name, also.

For a few seconds the two of them just stand there, eye to eye. Then they’re both shouting in each other’s face some more, voices raised in unison. “You’ve known all this this time? Why didn’t you say something?”

“Why didn’t I say something?” Shouyou says. “You’re the one who wore sweatbands all through high school! I was just following your lead!”

Kageyama sputters. “You⁠—⁠you were wearing soulguards! When we first met! So there.” He looks unfairly happy with himself. Shouyou wants to kiss his dumb face.

“It was the first day of school. My mom made me.” Shouyou crosses his arms, fighting the urge to stick out his tongue.

“I don’t mean at Karasuno,” snaps Kageyama. “I mean⁠—⁠”

Shouyou sucks in an audible gulp of air. “You remember⁠—⁠” He stops talking and shakes his head. “That doesn’t count. My mom made me wear them that time too, but I didn’t even know this was how you wrote your name. I only found that out when I looked it up after we met⁠—⁠” Shouyou cuts himself off, but the damage has been done.

Kageyama is fucking grinning at him. “So, you knew first,” he says. “I didn’t even remember your name.”

In the background Shouyou can hear Tsukishima muttering, “He really thinks that’s something to be proud of,” but he ignores it.

“I introduced myself the moment we met. Met again,” Shouyou says. “My name’s not that hard.” Kageyama gives him a look and Shouyou winces at him, hearing Atsumu-san saying something unintelligible in the background. “You saw how I write it eventually,” amends Shouyou. “You could have said.”

“You could have too,” replies Kageyama.

Shouyou glares. “Well, I only have one soulmark,” he says. “I thought . . . I’m different, so there was no way you’d have my name.”

Kageyama flips his empty left wrist up so that Shouyou can stare at it some more. “Me too,” he says. “And your name is on my right hand.”

Shouyou narrows his eyes. “What does that matter⁠—⁠” he starts to ask, then pauses when the answer comes. A conversation he had with Kindaichi and Kunimi in first year suddenly comes back to him, as well as one had with Oikawa two years ago in Brazil. “Wait did Kitagawa Daiichi know⁠—⁠”

Kageyama shakes his head. “I was an asshole in middle school⁠—⁠”

“Your grandfather died,” Shouyou hisses⁠—⁠quiet so no one else can really hear⁠—⁠but loud enough that Kageyama knows he’s said it. “You were all alone⁠—⁠”

“Hinata.” Kageyama touches him on the arms, not anywhere near the soulmark, but making gooseflesh break out on Shouyou’s skin regardless. “Let it go.” I have, goes unsaid. He was like that when he told Shouyou the first time, in third year. It was one of those conversations they had in the dark, when the rest of the team was asleep. Shouyou wanted to hug him, but he was already very in love with him and had lots of practice in not doing or saying anything like that. He’d still wanted to call Kindaichi and yell at him⁠—⁠at Kunimi⁠—⁠but he hadn’t done any of that either.

Shouyou lets out a long breath. “When we play Oikawa-san in the Olympics,” he says slowly. “I am going to kick his ass.”

Kageyama blinks confusedly at him.

Shouyou waves his hand. “Never mind,” he says. “Back to”⁠—⁠he looks down and his heart lurches⁠—⁠“I’m on your arm,” he says. He stares up at Kageyama and thinks he might cry.

“Yeah.” Kageyama sounds about as equally composed. “You are.” His eyes dark quickly around the room. “I love you,” he blurts out, stealing the breath right out of Shouyou’s lungs. His eyes get enormous the moment he realizes he’s said that, and he very clearly panics, words tripping over themselves in his haste to explain. “I mean⁠—⁠I just⁠—⁠if you think we’re like . . . enemies that’s fine⁠—⁠I don’t want to like⁠—⁠pressure you⁠—⁠”

“Kageyama,” interrupts Shouyou, charmed. “I have been in love with you since our second year.”

Their friends are fucking . . . cheering.

Kageyama’s cheeks flush pink. “Really?” he says.

Shouyou nods. “It was really embarrassing. You were really hot.”

That gets a series of gagging noises, Yachi saying, “Um, should we be watching this?” and Tsukishima replying, “I deserve this. Let them talk.”

Kageyama looks radiant for a good five seconds, then he abruptly dims. “Oh, I didn’t. I don’t think I⁠—⁠not until you left⁠—⁠went to Brazil.” He’s stuttering. He’s all shy like he doesn’t even get in interviews. Shouyou would know. He watched a ton of videos, read a bunch of articles, and fought several of Kageyama’s more intense fans.

Shouyou really wants to kiss him. He settles for fingering over his name on Kageyama’s wrist, delighting in the full-body shiver that point of contact causes.

Not about to be outdone, Kageyama grabs Shouyou’s hand so that he can do the same. It really does feel magical. Shouyou thinks he shudders all over too. He really wants to kiss Kageyama. He asks. “Can I kiss you? I really want to kiss you. Do you really want to kiss me too?”

Even Kageyama’s ears are blushing now. “Dumbass,” he breathes.

“Is that a yes, Bakayama?” Shouyou says, grinning, then goes up on his tiptoes⁠—⁠Kageyama meets him halfway.

“Disgusting,” he hears Tsukishima say. “They’re going to be utterly insufferable.”

“Shh, Tsukki, it’s so sweet,” scolds Yamaguchi.

“Kageyama and Hinata!” wails Suga-san. “I’m going to cry!”

Too busy kissing Kageyama Tobio⁠—⁠his soulmate, his enemy, the only person in the world who has ever touched his soul⁠—⁠Shouyou just smiles, eyes closed.

“Mmm, it figures,” he says, tucked up against Kageyama’s lips. “I’m really good at volleyball, so of course my soulmate-enemy would be too.”

“Your⁠—⁠you’re not really good at volleyball. You suck!” Kageyama is red-faced and can’t keep from smiling. It really ruins the effect of his words.

“I suck enough to beat you four to one,” says Shouyou. “You guys have been the champions for three years now. Don’t you think it’s time that streak ends?”

As one, the assembled members of his team cheer. Bokuto-san appears to use the distraction to win his still ongoing arm-wrestling match, and Hoshiumi-san nearly fights him then and there. “Rematch!” he shouts. “Cheating! That was cheating! Unfair!”

“I am using my non-dominant arm,” Ushijima-san offers honestly, and Bokuto-san is aghast.

Shouyou ignores the lot of them, seeing the universe in Kageyama’s pretty blue eyes.

Kageyama sniffs. He refuses to concede. Then his expression goes worried, probably because next year he’s going to Italy, while Shouyou is committed to play in Japan for at least two more years.

Shouyou loves him desperately. He kisses him again on the mouth. “You’re stuck with me forever, Kageyama-kun,” he says, a promise.

Kageyama just looks down at him, eyes briefly glazed. He grabs Shouyou by the left hand, linking their fingers together so that their soulmarks line directly up. “Good.”

They spend the rest of the dinner hand in hand with each other, flirting between groups of their friends.

As long as I’m here you’re invincible, Shouyou thinks fondly, watching Kageyama talk shop with Meian-san, exchange well wishes with Akaashi-san and Udai-san, and happily banter with Atsumu-san and a gleeful looking Sakusa-san. I’m finally here beside you. Don’t go falling behind.

Kageyama squeezes his hand, glances briefly at Shouyou, and smiles. I wouldn’t dare.

Hinata Shouyou was born different⁠—⁠he has only one soulmark⁠—⁠but it’s Kageyama’s name, and he wouldn’t want it any other way.