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Kindaichi Yuutarou has always considered himself a simple guy. Not a picky eater, generally tries to get along with most people, not too smart but not stupid either, and doesn’t really lust after much more than his basic needs.
That all changes in his first year of middle school.
He clearly recalls the first day he meets Kageyama Tobio. So formal, so still, so on-edge — the complete opposite of everything Kindaichi is. When they introduce themselves to each other, Kageyama bows and addresses him as ‘Kindaichi-san.’
Scoffing, Kindaichi waves a hand. “Just Kindaichi is fine. Why fight over the totem pole when we’re both at the bottom, right?” He chuckles and playfully socks Kageyama in the shoulder. He should have known from the blank stare that Kageyama is slow on the uptake in nearly all things non-volleyball.
But they pair off almost immediately with one another when it’s time to stretch or for pepper drills, though frequently they are joined by fellow first year Kunimi Akira. Soon, they all begin to eat lunch together and then they sit near one another on the team bus. One might even all the three of them friends.
This lasts all of two months, until Golden Week comes upon their volleyball team.
After the first day of harsh drills and brutal calisthenics, Kindaichi aches in places he didn’t even know he had. Even his kneecaps hurt, and no amount of stretching can alleviate this pressure. He says as much to Kageyama.
Mouth in a stern line (really, when isn’t it?), Kageyama takes his arm and drags him from the room. They quickly find themselves in a small spa room, where there is a steaming hot tub recessed into the floor that is calling Kindaichi’s name.
“You should rest,” Kageyama says as he jabs his finger at the tub.
Kindaichi, surprised that Kageyama has strung together more than two words since, well, ever, strips down to his underwear and complies. A sigh rips from his lungs as the heat engulfs him and woos his aching muscles into line. The beating his body has taken melts off into the steaming water.
He nearly jumps out of the tub completely when cool hands come to rest on his shoulders. “Wh-what are you doing?” he asks Kageyama shakily.
“Taking care of you,” Kageyama replies, looking at him as if he had claimed that the sun is purple.
Kindaichi blinks in surprise as Kageyama’s strong, skilled hands knead the knots out of his shoulders and back, but soon, his eyes flutter shut and his breathing shallows. Between the water and Kageyama’s magic hands, he is sure his limbs have never felt this at ease since he hit this ridiculous growth spurt and never stopped.
“Unnnngggg,” Kindaichi moans out loud before his eyes snap open abruptly. He colors when Kageyama’s hands still. “Sorry. That was awkward,” Kindaichi says stupidly as he sinks farther into the water, wondering if he can get away with drowning himself. “Sorry.”
Kageyama’s voice is heavy when he replies, “You should stretch more after practice. And drink more water.”
Sure his face is still flaming red, Kindaichi stutters, “O-okay," before sinking to his nose in the water. He desperately wishes Kageyama would leave so he can work out why his body is tingling like it’s on fire in peace, but he is thwarted when Kageyama sinks down into the water next to him.
With a look of determination on his face, Kageyama works the area around his knee with his fingers. “Did you hurt yourself?” Kindaichi asks before realizing that engaging Kageyama won’t make him go away. “Your knee, that is.”
Kageyama shakes his head. “Iwaizumi-san tells me every day to take care of my knees and my wrists. He says that Oikawa-san is too careless about it and will hurt himself.”
Not sure what else to say, Kindaichi supplies, “It’s good advice. You’re too good to waste it on hurting yourself.”
At Kindaichi’s words, Kageyama’s cheeks heat up. Kindaichi is willing to write that off as the water being overly-warm.
He nearly drowns when Kageyama speaks again. “Kindaichi, when we’re third years, I want us to be like Oikawa-san and Iwaizumi-san. But better. I’ll be the official setter and you’ll be my ace.”
Something chills inside of Kindaichi. So, Kageyama is protecting an investment in Kindaichi by caring for his aching muscles, rather than doing so for a friend. He knows his face is probably betraying his thoughts; he never could school his expression like Kunimi. If he has to put a label on it, the closest he can come is disappointment.
“Sure,” he says without conviction. He wants to be the ace, sure, but more than that, Kindaichi recognizes the bond that exists between their senpais and covets that between him and Kageyama, as well. Yet at the moment, he is no longer sure they are even friends so much as accessories in one another’s gear, like kneepads or sweat bands.
They sit in the water in silence, but Kindaichi’s thoughts are so very loud.
“You want me to what?”
Kageyama fidgets in front of Kindaichi, eyes diverted an extremely fascinating lamp post as they walk home from practice.
“Come over. After practice on Friday. To stay the night.” The words feel weird in Kageyama’s mouth. He had gone all of elementary school without hosting a friend at his home, or without being invited to anyone else’s other than obligatory, ‘everyone is invited’ sleepovers he always declined to attend.
But Kindaichi is different. He will wait for Kageyama before starting to eat his lunch and always saves him a seat on the bus. Always says hello, even when Kunimi can’t be bothered to look up from whatever he’s doing.
It isn’t until he asks his mother that Kageyama understands that it’s because he sees Kindaichi as his best friend, and that the other boy might just feel the same. It’s why he wants to be the best setter and for Kitagawa to be the best team — because Kindaichi will be his ace and they will beat anyone who stands in their way. Even the senpais will have to look over their shoulders.
But something changed in Kindaichi during Golden Week, and Kageyama doesn’t know what it is or how to fix it. The other boy has been irritable and elusive since Kageyama announced that he wants them to be a matched set. He can’t see how being the next ace could cause this weirdness between them, so it has to be one of those intangible human issues that Kageyama has always struggled so hard to grasp.
The sleepover is his mother’s idea, and since she can smile at will, he figures she knows more than he does about making things work with people.
Kageyama anxiously waits as he watches Kindaichi’s face go through a variety of emotions he can’t read before he finally says, “Okay. I’ll ask my mom.”
Throughout the rest of the week, Kageyama notices that Kindaichi is watching him a lot, turning away when he sees that he’s been spotted. Kageyama doesn’t even try to puzzle out what this means until Kindaichi misses more spikes during practices than he connects.
As they walk home, Kageyama sees no point in hedging around it. “You’re distracted.”
Kindaichi nearly trips over his own feet. “Wh-what do you mean?”
“Are you mad at me?” Kageyama asks baldly.
“No,” Kindaichi says with a sigh Kageyama can’t decipher. “I just don’t understand you sometimes.”
Part of Kageyama wants to loudly agree. He can’t understand himself at times, either. He doesn’t know why he can’t say the right thing. Why he doesn’t see how relationships are formed and learn how to find those building blocks in himself. Feelings confuse him more than algebra. The only thing he can go to sleep at night knowing he doesn’t have to puzzle out is volleyball.
He really doesn’t understand Kindaichi, either, but Kageyama thinks they are doing all right despite that. Or, at least they were until something changed, but he hopes that this sleepover will give them a chance to know each other better and maybe fix the gap between them.
The week drags on until it is finally Friday and Kindaichi leaves practice with Kageyama as usual, only they don’t part at the intersection between their houses like usual. As they round onto Kageyama’s street, he can’t stop his hands from clenching and unclenching around his house keys.
It isn’t until Kageyama finishes fumbling with his keys and gets the front door open that he notices that Kindaichi is staring, wide-eyed. “Your house his huge.”
Kageyama quirks a brow. “I guess,” he says as he toes off his shoes in the genkan and announces his presence.
Kindaichi seems to snap out of his funk and follows suit. “Forgive the intrusion,” he calls.
Kageyama’s mother, Yumi, soon rushes into the genkan with a wide smile. She is tall for a woman, equal to Kageyama’s current 172 centimeters, and carries the same jet black hair and pale skin. She squeezes Kageyama’s shoulder and does the same to Kindaichi. “Kindaichi-kun, it’s nice to finally meet you. Tobio talks about you a lot.”
Blushing, Kindaichi bows. “Thank you for allowing me to stay the night, Kageyama Okaa-san.”
“So polite,” Yumi coos as she pushes a pair of guest slippers towards Kindaichi. “Dinner will be done in a half hour or so. You boys have plenty of time to get settled in.”
Kageyama takes this opportunity to flee before Yumi can do something that embarrasses him or makes Kindaichi uncomfortable. He tugs his guest in the direction of his room, where he has kept the guest futon prepared for this moment since the day Kindaichi agreed to stay.
Internally, Kageyama flits between anxiousness that his room is too clean, or that it isn’t clean enough. It’s been so long since he has been in another boy’s room that he doesn’t know what they are supposed to look like. Are there supposed to be sports or rock band posters on the walls? He doesn’t have any of those.
“Um, there’s the futon,” Kageyama says stupidly. “The bathroom is the next door on the left. If you need anything . . .”
“Got it,” Kindaichi replies, relieving Kageyama of the burden of any further social ramble. The other boy’s eyes light up at the stack of books at the end of Kageyama’s bed. “Are those mangas?”
Blanching, Kageyama shakes his head. “No. Those are not important.” He kicks himself mentally for not stashing those away the night before.
Undeterred, Kindaichi walks over and picks one up. “Piano music?” He looks at Kageyama like he is examining a stranger. “I didn’t know you played.”
“Since I was six,” Kageyama admits. “My mom likes it, and it makes her happy when I play.” He bites his lip. “Or maybe I’m terrible and she’s too nice to tell me so. I don’t know. I’ve never heard anyone really play besides my instructor and my dad.”
Kindaichi laughs. “You’re a weird guy, Kageyama. And for what it’s worth, I really don’t see you being bad at anything that has to do with your hands.”
Kageyama’s eyes fly wide open and he stares at Kindaichi. He knows he should say thank you for the compliment, but his mouth is full of marbles and his tongue too confused to twist around the words. Instead, he turns his attention to his gym bag and carefully unpacking his volleyball gear in the small cupboard he has dedicated for just that purpose.
He doesn’t notice he has an audience until he hears a gasp behind him. “You have a locker in your house?”
Grimacing, Kageyama explains, “My dad had it put in when my mom slipped on a volleyball and sprained her wrist. No volleyball stuff in the house unless it’s in here or laundry.”
Kindaichi gives him a strange look but says nothing to this. Instead, he points at his own bag. “So, um, is there somewhere I’m supposed to leave this?”
Embarrassed that he had not specified, Kageyama unpacks Kindaichi’s volleyball gear piece by piece into the cupboard and turns on the ventilation fan before closing it. “If you need your practice clothes washed, we can throw them into the machine.”
“That’s okay,” Kindaichi replies quickly. “I can just wash my stuff when I get home.”
It takes Kageyama all of a second to realize that he doesn’t know what else to talk about for the next twenty minutes. He rarely watches TV, only reads when coerced, and only listens to music he is meant to play. “Um —”
Kindaichi laces his fingers together behind his back and looks down at his feet. Finally, he says, “Would you mind, um, letting me see your piano?”
Kageyama blinks at the hesitant request until his feet move towards the spare room of their own accord. The house’s third bedroom houses several bookshelves of volumes that Kageyama has never considered reading, a desk by the window where his mother sometimes uses the sewing machine, and the piano butted up against the far wall. As he expects, a ribbon of sunlight slashes through the blinds, right over the ledge where the music sits.
“I always wanted to learn an instrument,” Kindaichi murmurs as he gently runs his fingers over the lid of the piano. “Mom never had the money or the time to take me to lessons. She’s worked two jobs as long as I can remember.”
“What about your dad?”
Kindaichi shakes his head. “He left us when I was a baby. We lived with my grandparents up until this year. We moved to the area so I could get into a good school.”
Kageyama blinks, wondering how he could go so long without knowing these things about Kindaichi. He doesn’t know what to say. He never does, but especially now. This information, he thinks, is a gift, a peace offering from his friend. Or maybe it is a test to see how he reacts.
Afraid to say something stupid or insensitive, Kageyama instead chooses to say nothing at all. He merely flips back the lid on the piano and coaxes a few bars of Holst’s Jupiter. When he looks up, he finds Kindaichi staring at him with his mouth hanging open.
“That was beautiful.”
Even though Kageyama can rattle off a list of reasons why it is not — bad tempo control, lack of attention to dynamics, a few missed notes on a run — he doesn’t. Instead, he takes Kindaichi’s hands, covers the other boy’s much larger fingers with his own, and repeats the same musical passage.
When the piece finishes, Kindaichi gazes at Kageyama with something that can be mistaken for adoration, and Kageyama forgets how to breathe.
Kageyama is a weird guy, Kindaichi thinks as he indulges in a third helping of yakatori-grilled baby corn.
Weird, but not simple. Not like Kindaichi.
There are layers to this awkward setter who sits next to him, wielding his chopsticks like an artist holds a brush rather than a twelve-year-old boy having dinner at home. A boy with a private volleyball locker and a stack of sheet music as the only decorations in his room.
The Kageyama residence bears little resemblance to the one-bedroom flat he and his mother live in. It’s large, luxurious, and neat. Not a thread or speck of dust is out of place, and there are just the right number of family portraits hanging on the wall. He imagines that this is what a normal family looks like, though he can’t be sure because he’s never had one.
When dinner finishes, Kageyama immediately begins clearing away, but as Kindaichi motions to follow suit, Yumi places a hand on his shoulder to hold him in his seat. “Can I have a word, Kindaichi-kun?”
Kindaichi gulps. “Of course, Kageyama-san.” At the moment, he wishes he could do dishes instead: a concept he never thought would cross his mind.
“I just wanted to talk to you a little bit about Tobio,” she starts, sighing after saying her son’s name. “As you can probably tell, he’s a little different.” When Kindaichi gives her a slight nod, she continues. “He’s really sharp in some things, but in others, he can be . . .”
“Oblivious?” Kindaichi offers, feeling uncomfortable with the direction of this conversation, and about the fact that the subject is merely in the next room.
“He is.” She plows on despite Kindaichi’s discomfiture. “Some things, he just doesn’t understand. It’s been really hard for him to make friends, so when he started talking about you nonstop, I started to feel like maybe he’s going to be okay.”
Stunned into silence for almost a full minute, Kindaichi says to himself more than to Yumi, “He talks about me?”
Yumi answers his rhetorical question anyway. “He does, Kindaichi-kun. And I’m happy it’s you, because you seem like a nice boy.
“I just wanted to beg you to be patient with him.” She exhales heavily in something bordering on exasperation. “He can say things sometimes that are hurtful, but that’s usually not what he means. Sometimes, he needs the chance to — needs a do-over.”
“I think I understand,” Kindaichi lies. “Thank you for telling me, Kageyama-san.”
Kindaichi doesn’t understand at all. But he thinks he wants to, and he has all night to start.
Kageyama returns to the dining room, confused by the odd look being shared by Kindaichi and his mother, but says nothing as he bows to his mother. “May we be excused?”
“Of course,” she says, resting her cheek in her hand as Kindaichi and Kageyama skulk out of the room in varying degrees of urgency.
They play on the PS3 for a while, even though Kindaichi completely lacks skill due to never having played, whereas Kageyama’s fingers dance over the controller with the same practiced ease as the piano or a volleyball. The games are put away when Kindaichi lets out a lung-jarring yawn.
“We can go to bed if you’re tired,” Kageyama offers.
“Yeah,” Kindaichi says gratefully. While he doesn’t mind spending time with Kageyama, there is something malingering about knowing he is probably Kageyama’s first real friend and that he probably isn’t a very good one.
Soon, Kindaichi is enveloped in borrowed pajamas and burrowing into a futon that is more comfortable than the sofa he sleeps on at home. The covers are warm, the bed soft, and the room dark after Kageyama switches out the light.
This is, of course, when Kindaichi’s brain kicks into high gear and he is too wired to even close his eyes.
He thinks of many things: the Japanese lit test he’s sure he tanked, the chores waiting for him when he gets home, how many ceiling tiles he can count before he loses track. When Kageyama’s breathing went from even and soft to heavy and ragged.
Kindaichi sits up slightly to see Kageyama thrashing in his bed while clutching a pillow like a life preserver, muttering something Kindaichi can’t quite make out. He finds himself leaning in to listen more closely.
“Please don’t go,” is what Kindaichi hears.
Something tightens in his chest. He is used to the Kageyama he knows being a fearless competitor on the court, sure of every movement. This stuttering, frightened-sounding boy laying in this bed can’t be the same person. It’s weird and uncomfortable, and he wants it to stop.
Kindaichi shakes Kageyama’s clenched fist. “Kageyama. Kageyama, wake up. It’s just a dream.” Kageyama stirs, but doesn’t wake. Kindaichi nearly fumbles over the next words. “Tobio, it’s all right. You can wake up.”
Startlingly blue eyes shoot open, and Kageyama yelps as he flings himself back against the wall. He is mortified, that much is obvious.
“It’s okay, man,” Kindaichi says truthfully. “You just didn’t seem like you were enjoying that dream much.” Feeling brave, he climbs up into Kageyama’s bed and sits next to the other boy, back against the wall. “Wanna talk about it.”
“No.”
Kindaichi figured as much. “Wanna talk about something else?” Kageyama shakes his head. “Okay. You, um, just want to sit here for a while.”
He expects the nod that comes at that suggestion and slouches his shoulder against Kageyama’s. He doesn’t know how he ever felt sorry for Kageyama about not having friends before. Instead, he feels sorry for the people who never took the time to know this strange kid that has wangled himself into Kindaichi’s life.
Kindaichi doesn’t know when they fall asleep, but when he awakens, Kageyama’s limbs are tangled in his own, and something about their weight just seems right as he allows himself to slide back into a hazy rest for a few hours more.