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Strong are the ties that bind us to our homeland.
Undoubtedly, there is nothing that compares to the softness of one’s own bedsheets, whether they be dotted with countless stars or with volleyballs.
The excited trill of a wake-up call from a sister can’t easily be replaced by the steady beeping of an alarm clock. Years of building up an effortless routine—weaving expertly around friends and family as you work your way through the day together—go down the drain as everything becomes clumsy. In the vastness of a space that is not your own, but you’re somehow expected to fill, no mundane activity brings comfort, regardless of how familiar it may be.
This is the curse of the traveler; the price of seeking out a life where you weren’t ever meant to be: It comes in the form of watered-down bonds, ones that were supposed to be the strongest of connections, placed since the beginning of time; renders them nothing more than pretty memories and flowery words.
But they weren’t always travelers.
Before, they were just two boys.
One convinced that he had to hit things until they broke. Positive that he had to repeat everything until he got it right, until he committed it to memory. Until it was perfect. Beyond perfect.
The other, just short enough to be overlooked, deemed inferior to those who were supposed to be his equals. Convinced that if he’s not worthy, then he has to get better. Be stronger, faster. Jump higher, above anyone who tries to knock him down.
Always believing that things would get better, but not counting that they would get worse before.
For the first boy hit everything until it broke. Until the people he cared for realized that’s just how he is: Oikawa Tooru picks and prods and takes things apart until he has control over them. Until he can break them just how he’s broken, too. It’s what happened with Hajime. And, sure, they’re still friends. How could they not be, after everything they’ve been through together? After they’ve broken each other so many times that they can piece themselves back together while tied up and blindfolded?
But it’s not the same. Not after Oikawa crossed the invisible line preventing him from ever breaking Hajime further.
Because when something’s been broken, but you’re not allowed to fix it, how will you break it again?
The unavoidable guilt chased Oikawa away from his best friend—his lover—until he had nothing to do but break himself. With no one to pick up the pieces.
Halfway across the world, there’s no one familiar to worry about breaking.
Brown eyes are stinging, trying to see through murky waters and into the light. His lungs are burning, for holding all his jagged edges together is exhausting. His inabilities are pulling him down into the depths, and it’s getting a little hard to breathe.
But this is the story of two boys, and one is still on dry land.
He tells himself that being small is nothing to work yourself up over; yet, in his world, it’s always made him feel a little less. People tell Hinata Shouyou that, without Kageyama, he’s nothing. And he knows. He knows that, better than anyone. Tears still spring to his eyes.
So he works harder than anyone else, if only to prove that he can stay by their side. Keep up with them. His own heart is barely able to maintain the speed he’s forced onto himself, and it’s worth it, because his vision widens. He can suddenly see past the blockers, past his shortcomings, and the thrill of it is enough to light up his insides.
And for that, he burns.
He might be on dry land, but the smoke is in his lungs, and he’s managed to work himself into a deadly fever. Hinata Shouyou has broken past his limits, only to deem himself his own downfall.
Then it’s all back to the start. He has to go from the beginning, build from the ground up, making his way to the top. It’s a slow and painful process, because once you’ve had a taste of everything that could be, what you are simply does not make the cut. So, he works. Better. Faster. Stronger. Higher, until he’s untouchable. Until no one can tell him that he’s not enough.
Are they lonely?
After moving away from everything and everyone who made them feel safe, familiar. Is this the price to pay, for clawing their way to the top, a place that’s only for natural talent, and people who can stand on their own?
At this point, the boys have figured out that “home” is just that space between heart and ribs, slowly expanding and contracting, always with them. It never changes, no matter how foggy their heads can get, or how clogged their noses. The steadiness of a body is the only thing that’s solid, keeping them together, even when everything else seems to be falling apart.
They’ve worked to make it as comfortable as they can, because there’s nowhere else for them. They trained their bodies, took care of them, once they realized the importance of a home. They know that this is the only place they could stay, so they grit their teeth and hope that their minds, the only ticking bomb inside this house, don’t go off.
The definition of the word “home” begins to blur, after so much time away, so many places they’ve been to and people they’ve met. They can’t just say that Japan is their home, because, for Oikawa, the Argentinian citizenship would prove otherwise. He’s learnt the language, tried the food, loved the dances. As for Hinata, the ever-present tan and knowledge of the streets of Rio give him away. He’s more sand and wind than snow and cherry blossoms, now. They’ve both adopted bits and pieces of a stranger’s home, and attached it to their own.
And they wonder, is there anyone as crazy, to have committed to this life of all-compassing loneliness, just for a glimpse, a touch, just a taste of what could be?
The boys find their answer in each other, on a beach in Brazil, leagues away from where they first met.
They wandered so far from the familiar, from the home they had in common, that they lost a little bit of their selves. But they found each other.
And this is the traveler’s refuge, one only the bravest can find: The bonds that we make on our own are far stronger than those we are born with.
From this point forward, breathing gets a little easier.
They share a warm meal, and wonder how it can feel so natural, for they’re The Grand King and Karasuno’s Number Ten, rivals facing each other through a net. They find common ground in the easy way their native language rolls off their tongue, in the sport they both love and the delicious food that they’re eating. In the fact that they’ve bumped into a piece of their past lives, while living their new ones.
Yet, it’s more than that.
They make a home in this little bubble of time. The sounds of the water lapping at the shore, volleyball smashing into the sand become as familiar as the warm laughter they draw from each other. They’re both thinking that joy shouldn’t be something tangible; yet there it sits, impersonated by orange hair and wide smiles or brown eyes that reflect the light of the sun. They’re real, and close enough to touch, a piece of both homes only available in this place they’ve built.
It’s like they learn how to walk all over again; once their souls have connected, it’s easier to break free from the chains holding them in water and fire; with a little help, swimming to shore becomes a manageable task, and dousing a burning inferno doesn’t seem quite as intimidating.
In the end, once they meet again in familiar lands, revisiting old places and friends, our boys realize that they still couldn’t pin down the meaning of home. Then again, maybe it was never the places, but the moments, the people. Those walks home after practice, ages ago with teammates clad in mint green or inky black, their closest friends. The endless phone calls and teasing messages that crossed thousands of miles from California to Argentina, Japan to Brazil, and back again. That one, life-changing night on the shore, coming alive on the sand and under the stars, sharing pieces of what they love, and each other.
All those memories, and all the ones in between.
So maybe home wasn’t a place, after all. Maybe it was the people, the connection, the memories, the power of ruling the moment and feeling like you’re able to fly. Maybe it’s more about being strong, and focusing on one thing at a time, until you’re able to look back and know that you have no regrets. Maybe it’s being able to do all that, and have someone stick by your side all the way through, even if they started out a little short, or a little broken.