Work Text:
They were just outside the gates of Karasuno’s gates when someone stepped into their path. That was the first time Hitoka realised her life was somewhat unpredictable when it came to people.
“Hi,” the man says, a nervous smile and a bead of sweat dripping from his brow. He was tall, almost muscular, wearing a smart button down, a lovely blue colour that reminded Yachi of the shoes Yamaguchi got her for christmas, tucked neatly into his slacks. Plain brown hair. Nothing special. Definitely non-threatening. The hairs on the back of Yachi’s neck rose nevertheless. “You guys are the Karasuno volleyball people aren’t you? The young manager and the rising stars?”
“Yeah,” Hinita finally says. He, Tsukishima and Yamaguchi were all tense, lined with suspicion and instinctual wariness that came with being teens in Japan. Hitoka was too, but she was tense for another reason. The kind that came from years of walking with friends, keeping her keys tucked between her fingers at night and wearing shorts under her skirts no matter the weather.
“We are. Do you...need something?”
The man chuckles. “No, no, I just wanted to say congratulations on your last open practice! You guys were great.” His eyes flicked over to Tsukishima and Yamaguchi, and then landed on Hitoka. “Especially you. That match was tough and you were the only manager there, right? I know that you were the sole reason they won. It was just… Impressive.”
Both Yamaguchi and Hinata relax, just a bit. To them, the threat is gone. Tukishima just shoved his headphones back on, nudging Hitoka in the arm as he did so. But there’s something in the man’s dark eyes that makes the alarms in her head scream.
“Thank you, sir.” Yachi plasted a smile on her face and hoped it looked genuine enough, bowing lowly in gratitude. She moves to grab both of Hinata’s and Yamaguchi’s hands and began to head for the gate. “But we really should be going now. Our classes begin in a few minutes, and we wouldn’t want to be late!”
“Oh, well, good luck with your classes,” the man said. He bumped into her as he passed by, and the feeling of his hand against her hip, even with her jacket, shirt and phone sent shivers through her veins.
“Yacchan, that was rude,” Hinata hissed as soon as they were through the gate and out of earshot. “Karasuno students have a responsibility to be polite and civil to—”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she said with a forced casualness. She could feel Tsukishima’s eyes on her, probably noting her less than polite tone, but he said nothing, instead walking behind the trio. “But we also have a responsibility to be in class on time.”
“Classes don't start for twenty minutes,” Yamaguchi said. When she looked over at him, his eyebrows were drawn together, concerned.
“You never know what kind of foot traffic there will be.” She tugged them closer as they made their way down the main path, brushing past three other students as they approached her classroom. “Besides, we could all use a little study time for the upcoming exams, right?”
“Exams?” Hinita switched gears so quickly it nearly gave her whiplash. “We have an exam today?”
“For maths and Japanese,” Yamaguchi said, looking down in a mix of disappointment and disbelief. “Weren’t you paying attention yesterday? It’s on the site and—”
Yachi smiled as they fell smoothly into their usual banter, but when she glanced over her shoulder, it dropped. A heavy sinking feeling formed in her gut.
At the gate, the man still stood, unmoving, hands in his pockets.
His eyes were on her.
She turned her head back around and didn’t take another full breath until they were in her class and out of sight completely.
Every student at their school had a personalised account with the school’s official scheduling app. At the beginning of the year, all their teachers told them all that it came preloaded with their class schedules, but they would be responsible for inputting their assignment due dates and other deadlines. Ukai repeated this to the boys nearly every day they had training, drilling it into their heads that if they couldn’t make it they had to log it on the system. He’d rolled his eyes immediately after saying it, which, at the time, Hitoka, had taken a bit of offence to. Now, though, knowing less than half of the school actually uses the app—she gets it.
Well, her classmates may be snubbing school resources, but if she’s learned anything, it’s that if someone offers you something for free, you take it. Hitoka uses her calendar religiously, updating it between classes and checking it first thing when she gets home. Even when she had learnt it off by heart, it was a routine she wouldn’t break.
It’s how she knows immediately upon signing in that something is different.
Every one of her classes is sorted into a specific colour. A pale pink matching her highlighters she uses for maths, blood red for art, dark blue for Japanese to match her folder, and so on. But one of them is different now; ethics, normally a bright and harsh yellow, one Hinata picked out to match her hair, is light brown.
Hitoka frowns. Maybe the brightness of her screen is messing with how it looks—but no, she checks, and the colour is different. Weird. Her thumb must’ve slipped at some point, or maybe she left her phone open and Tanaka or one of the others thought it would be funny to mess with her settings. Bit of a small prank, in Hitoka’s opinion, but she’d take it over getting her lunch going missing because he or Nishinoya wanted to snack on her mothers homemade Sushi rolls.
And then she opens her assignments for tomorrow to see Sleep well in the last slot she reserves for practices.
me 8:29 p.m.
please don’t mess w/ my phone!
Rolling Thunder 4:30 p.m.
lol wot
Her fingers clench around her phone. Noya is nice and funny, sometimes, but also sometimes she just wants to deck him for being too loud or too much.
me 4:30 p.m.
my phone, ik u wrote in it and i’d really rather u didn’t please
Rolling Thunder 4:30 p.m.
idk what ur talking about little star
Two counts to inhale.
(Noya sitting on Tanaka’s bed, snacking on a random bag on crisps he stole from Big Sis, phone laying on the bed beside him as Tanaka laughs his ass off. Giggling like little school girls, faces turning red.)
Four counts to exhale. The glass screen doesn’t shatter under the pressure, even though she’s afraid it will. Even though she wants it to. Even though she knows her mother would murder her in a heart beat. Probably lock her up forever, get her to leave behind all her friends and never leave the house again.
me 4:31 p.m.
somebody put smth in my calendar tho
Rolling Thunder 4:33 p.m.
damn wasnt me but thatd be a sick prank thooooo
She could say no it wouldn’t, or that’s so creepy, or please, for once, just try to think like one of us. But she doesn’t. She just turns the phone off, sets it down, and tries to keep breathing. Knowing her mother was in the other room and she was safe in her bed.
Living in an apartment on her own most days and nights presents a few unique challenges, Hitoka will admit. For one, there’s cooking her own meals, especially on her extremely limited budget that her mother leaves behind for her. There’s also having to catch and move bugs outside herself instead of yelling for her dad who she hasn’t seen in months now. But the most difficult thing, she’ll admit, is waking up on time without her mum.
Three separate alarms, and she curses every single one of them for not breaking through her unconsciousness as she stumbles out the door, backpack sliding off her shoulder, shirt buttoned unevenly, her juice box between her lips. She’s so busy muttering and worrying that she almost misses the soft click, sort of like a camera shutter, in the stairwell above her.
Almost.
Yachi stops on the landing and looks back, her juice box slipping out of her lips and being held loosely in her hand. “Hello? Is someone there?”
No one responds, but her phone buzzes in her pocket. Probably Kageyama, wondering why she hasn’t met up with him and the others yet. If she knew Tsukishima - and she definitely did - he was going to text her if she didn’t start moving now. She takes one last look around, but doesn’t see anything. With a shrug to herself, Yachi hurries away, strange noise forgotten.
“Hey, Tanaka, what’d you get for number three?”
“Noya, it is inappropriate to share the answers to your worksheets if you haven’t completed them yet, even if—”
“Here you go, Ry u !”
“Thanks, bestie.”
Yachi and Kiyoko snort quietly as Suga starts a lecture, his usual hand gestures only somewhat restricted in the small cafe booth, but he still somehow manages to knock them both up the side of their head. Beside her, Kiyoko and Asahi smile, and then he picks up her empty mug. “I’m going to get another drink. Do you want anything, Yacchan?”
Her heart says yes, but her wallet says absolutely not. “Um, no, but I’ll go with you anyways. I need to use the restroom and we pass by it so might as well.”
Asahi smiles softly, making their way to the counter while Yachi follows from behind. The cafe’s not too crowded, thankfully, but Yachi watches herself anyways, sidestepping chairs and people, tugging the hem of her dress down with one hand, while her others grasps Asahi’s arm. At the front, the barista gives her a little wave, being a regular at the closest cafe to school really pays off when they need a place to study, and Hitoka starts to walk around when something catches her eye.
Outside, through the windows, there’s the cafe’s patio, lit up with fairy lights and decorated and surrounded by soft toned flowers. At the table right by the window—one with a direct line of sight to where she and her friends are sitting—is the man who ran into them outside of Karasuno. He’s flipping through some magazine, not looking up, but on the table, next to his cup of tea, is a camera.
Clicking in an empty hallway. A flash, just out of the corner of her eye. Bile rises in Hitoka’s throat, so quickly, so violently, that she can barely push it back down.
You’re being paranoid , a voice says in the back of her head. Cold. Rational. It almost sounds like Ukai. It’s a popular cafe. This is just a coincidence. And yet, it doesn’t stop the way her knees shake, as though she’s a stumbling fawn, realising seconds too late that she’s caught the hungry gaze of a predator. Her predator.
“Yacchan?” Asahi asks behind her. A soft hand, collaussed and overly large, touches her shoulder, and Yachi only just manages not to flinch, instead letting out a small eek as she continues to stare the man down.
“Yeah, I- I’m going, I just thought I saw something,” she says as she turns, brushes past the tall boy, and walks as quickly as she can into the bathroom.
When she comes back out, fifteen minutes of nervous panicking instead of nervous peeing, Hitoka waits until she’s standing in line next to Asahi to dare a glance over her shoulder, outside. But when she looks, the table is empty. The man is gone, no tracks left, not a single sign that he was ever there in the first place.
Paranoid . The voice in the back of her head is right. She’s just paranoid, and that’s why she still feels eyes on her even as she sits back down, even as she studies, even as she walks home, phone out and in her hand, open to the team's group chat, her earphones out and her eyes peeled. Just in case . She repeats that night, locking the doors and climbing into her bed.
Just in case.
It’s almost nine o’clock at night when it happens. She’s sitting on her bed, tapping her pencil against the Japanese worksheet due tomorrow, and just around the corner, the door knob rattles.
For a moment, she thinks she misheard. The entire time she’s lived here, Hitoka never has had a surprise visitor, not even from a neighbour. In fact, she’s pretty sure the other apartments on her floor are vacant, considering she’s never seen anyone go in or out of them. And she’s certainly never told anyone in her class or on the team where she lives, so she must just be imagining things.
And then, right as she’s about to go back to her studies, it happens again. Harder, this time.
Her breath hitches. An old but familiar fear rises in her throat, that childlike instinct that says if she stays very, very still, the danger will pass her by. All of the confidence she’s gained in the past month of joining the team can’t override it as Hitoka freezes, eyes fixed on her door.
A moment passes. Then another. Behind her, music plays quietly from her mothers laptop speakers, but she can barely hear it over the war-drum pounding of blood in her ears.
The door knob turns.
She locked it. She knows she locked it, and she also knows it’s probably just somebody trying to get into the wrong apartment, and when they realise their key doesn’t fit the lock, they’ll leave. Simple as, right? None of that stops Yachi from bursting into motion. She scrambles out of her room and goes right for the kitchen. Sitting on the counter is her knife block—simple, cheap, but sharp, and she feels more secure as soon as the biggest one is in her hands. Gripped between her sweaty fingers.
When she turns back to the door, she’s half expecting it to be open. To see a shadowy figure standing there, waiting. Lurking. But there’s nothing. The door knob is still. There aren’t even footsteps in the hallway.
One minute. Two. Three. Hitoka stays still, watching the door with the knife stretched out in front of her, ready to defend. Her mother always called her an impatient child, though, and she was right. Eventually, Yachi breaks down, a few tears falling, and with a bone-deep shaking, she flings open the door.
No one is there. She pokes her head out slowly, cautiously, and looks up and down the hallway, but there’s nothing.
There’s nobody at all.
Yachi spends the rest of the night sitting on her mothers bed with the knife in her hands anyways. Willing for that stupid buisness trip to be over so she could once again feel safe at her house with her mother beside her.
(The next day, Hitoka nearly falls asleep standing up during practice. Her dear Kiyoko notices, of course, and shakes her awake, but they don’t say anything. They have their own assumptions, born from the misty fog they can all still feel brushing over them. The joys of being a student.
A few feet away, Tanaka notices too, and frowns.)
On Sunday, Tanaka calls and asks if she wants to go to the town's local shopping center. To get a small present for all the team, he says, though they can go other places too.
Hitoka wasn’t aware the two of them were on a hanging-out-by-themselves level of friendship, but, well, she’s down to her last highlighter and pen and half her socks are more hole than sock at this point, so she says yes. It’s actually fun, at first. Tanaka is the kind of person who has a particular taste in stationery, so there’s plenty of time for them to chat and gossip about their team. And then he suggests that they go get something to drink.
They’re halfway through the food court when Tanaka grabs her hand and whispers, “We’re being followed.”
Hitoka stamps down the instinct to turn her head and check. The familiar taste of bile rising in her throat, hands already shaking in his grasp. “Are you sure?”
“The same man has been behind us since we went into the athletic shop,” Tanaka says, tone firm but starting to slide into a mix of worry and anger. “He’s stayed outside, but he’s definitely been there.”
“Okay.” She takes a deep breath, feeling nothing but fear build up with every intake she does. “It’s going to be fine. It might be nothing, but we should head for the security guard just in case.”
Both of them know better than to let their anxiety show on their faces. If it is a stalker, they don’t want to tip them off. Still, it’s easy to feel how tense Tanaka is at her side, muscles coiled, ready to fight if need be. Hitoka, on the other hand, feels ready to run and cry.
They duck and weave between the tables, every movement taken at a careful pace. There’s a security guard standing on the other edge of the court that the two of them make a beeline for.
As they’re about to approach the guard, Hitoka can’t help it. She glances over her shoulder, heart between her teeth, body shaking like a leaf. She doesn’t see anyone suspicious but—there. A flash of almost familiar brown hair, disappearing into the crowds.
It’s like one of Hinata’s ‘Tiny Giant’ moments, the ones where it's nothing but him and the ball, like an explosion going off behind her ribs. Something inside of her—the switch, the instinct, flight to fight, prey to predator—shifts violently. Her fist clenched so tight around her bag that her knuckles went completely white, and then, without thinking about it, Hitoka ran in the opposite direction of the guard. Any thought of being subtle goes out the window; she pushes and shoves past people, eyes trained only on that flash of brown that she can barely keep track of. Behind her, Tanaka calls her name, but she doesn’t respond. She can hear him following, and thank god he is, but she cares not for him right now.
She runs, shouted for the man to come back with nausea in the back of her throat and her heart racing at a hundred miles per hour, but she loses him. Somewhere, somehow, he’s gone and Yachi feels her fight leave her. Knees going weak and crashing to the floor. She feels, rather than hears, Tanaka help her up. His hands gently took hers and led her to somewhere by the water fountain.
“What was that?” Tanaka guides her to a bench nearby, his protective big brother instincts clearly kicking in. He sounds more concerned than angry, though, which Yachi is grateful for. She isn’t sure she could handle another man shouting at her. “Why would you go after him like that? What were you thinking, Yacchan?”
Yachi hides her trembling hands in her lap and tries to swallow back the tears pricking in her eyes. “I...I don’t know.” She looks up at the second year, a sob threatening to break through her lips. “I don’t k-know.”
Tanaka takes a seat next to her, and is quiet for a moment. Then, gently, he puts one hand over Yachi’s. When Hitoka looks up, Tanaka is staring at her with furrowed brows, an almost-understanding in his eyes. “Yacchan, are you alright? You’ve seemed...off, lately. More jumpy at practice. More scared lamb than fearless queen.”
“I’m fine,” is the programmed response that falls out of her mouth. Tanaka frowns, and so Hitoka sighs. “Really. It just...freaked me out, a little bit. But I’m okay.”
Tanaka still doesn’t seem convinced, but he drops the issue and nods. “Alright, but if that happens again, please don’t put yourself in danger. We don’t have any skills to go up against men like that and Kiyoko would kill me if anything happened to you. We have to leave it to the law, for now. Heaven forbid anything happens to us before Daichi and the others graduate.”
“Yeah, yeah, sorry.” Yachi breaks eye contact, turns her head towards the crowds. On the other side of the town's stores, a woman guides a little girl past one of the shops, her hand locked around the girl’s thin wrist like a chain on a dog’s cage. The girl tries to stop, wide eyes flitting around as though she’s seeing the world for the first time. When something catches her interest, she tugs on her mother’s hand, but the chain holds.
(This is what Yachi knows that the girl doesn’t: the cage is not there to keep her inside. It’s to heed and ward off the hunters prowling, the ravenous shadows, for as long as possible.)
Tanaka squeezes her hand gently, until he’s got Hitoka’s attention again. Locking his gaze onto hers, grabbing Yachi’s attention and not letting it go. “Yacchan, I know we haven’t known each other very long, but I wanted to tell you...if you need to talk, or if you need help— ” and this, he emphasises, that same almost-understanding behind his gaze “—you can come to me. For anything.”
The hand on top of hers is not a chain. That lock has been long broken now, Hitoka knows this. This is something different; an anchor, or a shield. Whatever it is—it doesn’t make the shaking stop, but it does make it falter, just a bit.
“Thank you,” Hitoka says quietly, bile still in the back of her throat. Tanaka smiles, a small and sad offering but still genuine, and together they sit, two birds hiding in plain sight whilst Tanaka calls for his sister.
There’s only a minute left before the start of early morning practice. Something Coach Ukai had set up for the match they had against Nekoma, a bitter Monday morning when her phone buzzed. Something in her blood runs cold when she picks it up and sees the message from an unknown number.
[retracted] 7:59 a.m.
How are you?
Hitoka frowns, and quickly types an answer.
me 7:59 a.m.
srry but i think u have the wrong number
She’s about to turn her phone on do not disturb and toss it in her bag when it buzzes again, twice.
[retracted] 7:59 a.m.
I don’t think I do.
Seemed like you were doing fine this morning. I like your hair like that.
Hitoka freezes for a moment, and then slowly brings one hand to her hair. Her, Asahi and Kiyoko had agreed to wear braids today, just for fun. Hers was too short for a full one, but she’d put a tiny side braid in anyways, tied off with her favourite star hair clip.
me 8:00 a.m.
who is this???
Three dots in a bubble appear, and—
“Yachi.” Ukai glares at her from the wall he always seems to be leaning on, Hinata bouncing by his side like a lost puppy, when her head snaps up. “Phone away. Now.”
“Y-yes, Coach,” she says, clicking it off and shoving it in her bag without looking at the screen again. “Sorry.”
(As soon as class is done for the day, she takes her phone out again. There’s one message, and it reads, Just an admirer.
Hitoka doesn’t run home, but it’s a near thing.)
The thing is: she knows she should tell somebody. The police, probably. Ukai and Takeda, definitely. Her mother—well, this isn’t really something she ever wants to tell her, but she should probably know, too. One incident is a mistake, a second is a coincidence, but anything more than that is a pattern, and she knows—
(Everyone knows someone. Her mother, on the phone in the kitchen as she cooks dinner. Yes, the neighbours’ daughter is gone. It’s such a tragedy. They called the police who were patrolling in the area, but they couldn’t find anything.
The girls in her class—Mei and Rio—don't go anywhere alone. Kiyoko holds her hand tight when they walk down the sidewalk, like she’s afraid any second it might not be there anymore. Yachi brings a sweatshirt with her when she has to ride the train.
In the family photos that used to hang on the Yachi’s walls, there is a cousin that gets to age thirteen, and no older. No one has said her name in a long time.
Everyone knows someone.)
—she knows patterns are dangerous. If the near break-in hadn’t been enough proof, then surely the text messages are.
( And , a second voice reminds her in the back of her head, women in this world need to learn to push through, because she’s seen the stories. She’s been familiar with the keen awareness of her position that’s burrowed into every pore, every bone, since she was twelve and the rumours about an old teacher of hers broke loose back at her home town. Nobody had seen him or that eleven year old that transferred.
This may be the first time this has happened to Yachi, but it won’t be the last.)
If it starts to get to that point, then she’ll tell somebody.
With a deep breath, Hitoka blocks the unknown number, and gets back to her homework.
She spends the rest of her week looking over her shoulder, both metaphorically and literally. They’re supposed to be thinking about the match against Nekoma and how they can win against them, but Hitoka’s barely slept, let alone tried to consider about winning the match. She’s doing everything she can to manage the situation—deleting her schedule off of her phone, going right home after school instead of hanging out with her friends, and dragging her kitchen chairs in front of the door for extra protection.
The one thing she can’t avoid is Friday study sessions in the cafe.
Hitoka gets home late that evening. The study date had gone an hour longer than it was supposed to, mostly because of Hinata and Kageyama’s bickering. Still, it was a fun time. For a little while, the ominous presence that she’s been feeling around her like a foggy mist has faded to the background.
Then she steps into the lobby of her apartment building.
Something is wrong. She can feel it, deep in her bones. Fear rising. A dark cloud settling in the air. A scent on the wind. Prey animals are always wired to know when they’re being hunted.
She ascends the four flights of stairs to her floor slowly, checking around every corner before progressing to the next floor. Every footstep echoes in the empty, space. At each landing, she looks over her shoulder, but no one’s there.
The door to her apartment landing screeches as she opens it, hinges crying out, but Hitoka forces herself not to flinch as she looks up and down the hallway, dread filling her from her brown loafers to her little blue hair charm. Once again, it’s empty, but knowing that doesn’t erase the feeling of predator eyes on her. The fluorescent lights flicker in and out, humming their own quiet tune as she approaches her door, one careful, quiet, minute step at a time. Every bone in her body is begging her to leave, her brain screaming for her to run and call her mother but this is her home. She has nowhere else to go.
One deep inhale to steady herself, and then Hitoka puts her hand on the doorknob.
She doesn’t have to twist it. The door is already cracked, just slightly, and when she touches it, it pushes inward with a soft groan. Her heart pounds a jackrabbit beat in her chest, but she dashes inside anyways, immediately grabbing for the baseball bat her mother always keeps right by the door. With it in hand, she scans the room.
None of the lights are on. Through the blinds, the slowly setting sun just barely lights the kitchen, casting long shadows from the many pieces of furniture adorning the space. For once, Hitoka is grateful for how open the apartment is as she looks over every nook and cranny, searching for the monster she’s sure is hiding here. But there’s no one. The apartment is empty.
Her kitchen is bare of any hidden creatures. Her living room is empty. Her bathroom and mothers room is free of monsters that lurk in the dark.
For a moment, Hitoka wonders if she’d imagined it all. If she really, truly, was just paranoid. And then she notices her bed.
Stashed in the corner of the two-bedroom apartment, her bed is usually a mess of tangled sheets and blankets. Of soft pink sheets and deep green pillows and scattered stuffed teddies. It takes so long to get to Karasuno High that she never bothers wasting time on making it, especially without her mother here to bug her about it. Now, though, it is perfectly made, flower printed blanket spread out and folded at the top, pillows fluffed and leaning against the headboard. On top of the comforter is something else, another throw blanket of some kind, but it’s not hers and definitely nothing her mother would buy. Hitoka steps closer to inspect it and—
The baseball bat slips out of her fingers and thuds once, twice against the floor.
It’s not a blanket. It’s photographs. Dozens of them. Some are glossy rectangles, ready to be scrapbooked; some are printed on pristine white paper; some are older, wrinkled. Like someone put them in their pocket and forgot about them for a few days. There are even a few polaroids mixed in. But every single one of them shares something in common.
They’re all of her.
Walking to school. On the train with Kiyoko. Picking up groceries with her neighbour's son. At the mall with Tanaka and Ennoshita. In the stands of some volleyball hall, after her latest haircut with her mother before she left for the week, after she was out of sight of the televised cameras at their practice match against a few different teams. They go back two months, and they cover almost everywhere she’s been that whole time. There are even a few of her on Karasuno’s school grounds, angled from above, like they were taken from one of the rooftops next to the school. This whole time, that paranoia that’s been following Hitoka hasn’t been a bad feeling. It’s been a reality. A heart stopping reality.
Hitoka turns on her heel and runs.
She stumbles down the stairs, taking them two at a time, and out onto the sidewalk. There’s enough people out for the dinner rush that has to dodge between, giving half-stuttered apologies passing her lips when she accidentally pushes someone, but she can’t stop. Not when she can feel those eyes on her still.
After a minute, she catches sight of a small cafe on the corner and ducks inside. There are a few people sitting around, snacking and having conversations, but she doesn’t slow down. She can’t slow down. Instead, she goes for the bathroom at the back of the cafe.
It’s a single stall. Hitoka slams the door shut behind her, locks it, and for the first time since she entered her apartment building, takes a full breath. In here, no one can see her. No one can take pictures of her. She’s safe. But that safety is dependent on a door that can’t stay shut forever. There isn’t a choice anymore. Someone has to know what’s going on.
Leaning against the wall facing the door, Hitoka unlocks her phone and goes right to the contact list. At the top is Takeda. He gave everyone on the team his phone number at the beginning of the year and said it was for emergencies only—and this is an emergency. Right?
When she goes to press the call button, though, she hesitates.
(A few weeks ago, some first year snuck into the girls’ locker room and snapped a picture of Kiyoko in her underwear. They’d gone right to Ukai and Takeda, expecting an expulsion. They both sighed and gave him three weeks of detention and a week's suspension.
The next time any boy tried to glimpse up one of their skirts, Suga and Tukishima tripped them up, and nobody bothered saying anything about it.)
Hitoka bites her lip and keeps scrolling down.
There’s another number, further down in her contacts. This one was also added at the beginning of the year, but it wasn’t given to the whole team. Only the managers and the third years. She’s never used it before, but if there’s anybody who can help her right now…
The phone’s ringing echoes off the bathroom walls. Her leg bounces rapidly, practically vibrating, as she prays. Her knees feel weak so she slides down the wall, eyes locking onto the door. When the call connects, she has to keep herself from sobbing in relief.
“Hello?”
“Coach Ukai.” Her voice shakes. “It’s—it’s Yachi.”
Ukai doesn’t hesitate. “What’s wrong?”
“Somebody, um, somebody broke into my apartment.” Hitoka forces herself to take a breath and ignore the hot tears welling up in her eyes. Even though she’s alone, she drops into a whisper. “I think—I think he’s been following me for a while.”
There’s a moment of silence, and then a soft curse. A rustling of clothes, movement. “Yachi, where are you? Are you safe?”
“A- a bathroom,” she says. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure which cafe, I was running too fast but it’s—it’s close to my apartment. Kiyoko knows my address. H-Hinata too.”
Someone else on the other line says something, but it’s too muffled for her to hear. “Stay put,” Ukai says, voice edged with steel, “and don’t hang up. We’re on our way. Just keep breathing, kiddo. It’s gonna be okay.”
Hitoka doesn’t reply. She doesn’t ask who “we” is. She doesn’t ask how long it will take them to get here. She just nods as the tears begin to spill and drop, one by one, onto the dirty tile.
Time passes in that strange, hazy way it does when reality feels two steps away and yet like it will crash upon you in one strong sweep: an eternity and a lightning strike wrapped up in one. All Hitoka knows is that one moment she’s choking on sobs and trying to listen to the voices outside the wooden door that blocks her from reality and the next, there’s a knock on the bathroom door and a, “Hitoka? It’s Kiyoko. We’re here. Can you open the door for me please?”
She doesn’t hesitate, just yanks the door open and flings herself at her heroine. Kiyoko lets out a surprised huff at the force, feet stumbling one step back, but wraps her arms around Hitoka anyways.
“Hey, hey, you’re safe now, okay?” she whispers to Hitoka, hands gently rubbing small circles on her shoulder blades. “We’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
All at once, Hitoka remembers that leaving the bathroom means being back in the line of sight. She pulls back just a bit, enough to look frantically around the now nearly empty cafe. “Wh- where is he? Did he find m—”
“No, no, little star, we checked around the entire cafe before coming in. He’s not here. But our coach is out looking for him, alright? And the police are on their way. It’s over. It’s all over now.”
The words don’t quite sink in, at first. Even though it’s only been a couple of weeks, it feels like she’s had these iron jaws clamped around her heart forever. She takes a shallow breath, trying to focus on the warmth of her mentor’s hand pressed against her back, and then a deeper one. Slowly, slowly, it’s all over now making its way around the iron. Begins to pry it loose. Like a rusted chain slowly fading to dust.
She’s safe.
Hitoka turns back to Kiyoko and cries long past when the sirens arrive.
They spend hours in the police station. Ukai, Kiyoko and Daichi by her side the entire time, even (especially) while the detective takes her statement. So are Takeda and Suga, who stood guard at the cafe doors while Kiyoko calmed Hitoka down.
Asahi shows up after the statement. He doesn’t say anything as he approaches, just nods at Kiyoko and then takes a seat next to Hitoka. Without looking at her, he asks quietly, “How long has this been going on?”
“Since—um. Since after one of our practice matches.” She doesn’t look up, doesn’t have it in her gut to look at someone who would have survived through his all. “I think maybe longer.”
He stiffens, eyebrows drawn tight, jaw clenched even tighter. Secondhand experience has taught Hitoka what her seniors' anger looks like, but this is something beyond that. “And you didn’t—” Asahi starts, voice strained, but then stops. After a breath, he seems to change direction. “They caught him. He was a few miles from your place but Coach Ukai said he was definitely there. They’re interrogating him right now, but his bag—he was carrying evidence. Combined with the security tapes around your neighbourhood and the few on school’s ground, it shouldn’t be hard to put him away for a while.” He glances at Hitoka, expression unreadable. “Call your mum, Yacchan. Let her know that you’re safe.”
Safe. Not okay. On the surface, there is a small difference. Beneath, an abyss. Hitoka watches as he gets up and walks away, and then she turns to Kiyoko.
“Is he mad at me?” She doesn’t mean for it to be, but it’s small. Childlike. Her own voice makes her cringe inside. She felt like she did all them years ago when she got lost at the shopping mall of her old town, when her mother sobbed tears of anger and relief when she had found her with the security guard.
“Sweetheart, no,” Kiyoko says, lips pursed, leaning over to place a gentle peck on Hitoka’s forehead. She couldn’t even find it in herself to smile or blush red at it, instead her focus was on her thumb rubbing over her phone. Her mothers contact urged her to make the right choice. “No, he’s not angry at you.” Her eyes flicker in the direction that Asahi had gone. He was standing beside Daichi and Suga, pulling his closest friends in for a hug though it was hard for her to not notice the clenched fists and tears each of the boys had. “Someone else, maybe, but never you. Okay?”
“Okay,” she repeats, even though deep down, it doesn’t feel true. “Okay.”
“Alright, baby girl, welcome home.”
Hitoka nearly drops her duffel bag on the floor as she looks around, jaw hanging. Her mothers hotel room is beautiful. Wide open space, floor-to-ceiling windows around the living room, classy decorations. It’s not purely black and gold like she’d expected; instead it’s mostly neutral tones with pops of colours here and there. “Wow.”
“I know, right?” She smiles down at Hitoka, her hand brushing a few locks of hair behind her daughter's ear. “Advertisements and sponsorships are a pain, but they sure do pay.”
“Y-yeah,” Hitoka says, still somewhat in shock. With a shake of her head, she brings herself (mostly) out of it. “Thank you again, Mother. You don’t know how much this means to me, and—”
Her mother waves a hand lazily. “I wish you had told me sooner, darling. Oh, Hitoka, please don’t say sorry I would crawl across broken glass for you. I would drop work and fight heaven and earth for you, daughter.”
Hitoka nods, even though just the thought of not addressing the way her mother must be hurting makes her heart skip a beat. Honestly, anything Madako says right now, Hitoka will go along with. She owes her mother and friends and her teachers. She owes everyone. Big time.
When her third year friends had heard what happened, they each took their bikes and headed to Hitoka’s apartment, helping her pack her bags whilst Tsukishima and Kageyama stood watch from her door as she broke down from what felt like the hundredth time that night. Her mother had pulled some strings and got her daughter off of school for a few days but everyone’s thoughts were clear: Hitoka living by herself for more than a night was no longer an option. And if she wasn’t able to live alone, well—bye bye, to her mothers job and dreams.
Yeah. Hitoka spent a not insignificant amount of time crying in the hotel shower at that thought.
Then, her saviour and goddess, Kiyoko stepped in and offered a different solution. Something involving a temporary bedroom and house fro when her mother had business trips she couldn’t avoid, a lot of it went in one ear and out the other. But that’s how she ended up here the next morning, moving into her friend’s guest room in one of the most beautiful houses she’d ever stepped foot in.
“Your room’s down that hallway, second door on the right.” Kiyoko starts back towards the door. “I’m gonna go pick up our food before my dad and mum return home. Tanaka, Suga and Noya said they should be here in a couple minutes with the rest of your stuff.” Before she closes the door, she smiles warmly over her shoulder. “And Yacchan? Make yourself at home. Please.”
The door clicks shut behind her, the only sign of it feeling safe is the quiet key coded lock sliding into place and the keys making a rather louder one. Hitoka doesn’t release her breath until it finishes. Only people with the passcode or incredibly strong fists are getting through that door.
She’s safe. She’s safe.
The guest room is just as shocking as the rest of the house. Some people probably wouldn’t think that way; it’s not overly big and it’s a bit sparse, but there’s a full sized bed, a closet, and a desk in here. Just sitting here, spare furniture for other people to use.
Hitoka sets her rather small duffel bag on the floor by the bed, sending her mother a small message to assure her that she’s safe, snapping a few photos for Tsukishima and Yamaguchi so they could help her choose where to hide her pride flag from Kiyoko, and then pats her hand on the blankets. Soft. Incredibly so. She’s not even sure how—
Through the open door, in the living room, there is the unmistakable sound of the front door opening.
Her first reaction is to reach for her mothers baseball bat, but it’s not there. Confiscated as potential evidence, though she would think her own fingerprints would mask her stalker’s. Panic and biel and deep rooted fear rises in her throat, but she forces herself to breathe. Right. Kiyoko said Suga and the others would be coming. Not like that’s any less scary.
Hitoka walks out slowly, a vase she snatched from the hallway gripped by her stark white knuckles, just in case. But her assumption was right. Right by the meticulous leather sofa, Suga is setting down her box of schoolbooks and Tanaka is carrying her box filled with clothes and Noya carrying the box she buried her flag and other pride things her mother got her for her birthdays and christmases ever since she came out. With random knick knacks to cover up her fear of being found out as anything but the perfect girl next door. When they each straighten up, Tanaka sees her right away.
“Yacchan.” That expression from the shopping centre is gone, hasn’t returned since, but there’s a line of stiffness to his shoulders that sets Hitoka on edge. “How are you settling in?”
“Um,” she places the vase on a table softly and scratches the back of her head, averting her eyes to the floor, “I’m doing okay. How are you, Senpai?” Shecan see Suga and Noya look at each other, a pitying smile on their lips that she wills herself to not pay attention to.
“Fine,” he says, sounding about as truthful as she did. There’s a moment where she thinks he’s about to turn and walk out of the apartment, but then he takes a deep breath and looks her right in the eyes. “I need to apologise to you, Hitoka.” A steady breath. “We all do.”
“Sen—”
He holds up a hand, cutting off her shocked protests before they can even begin. “No. Let me say this. You have been my underclass man for almost a year now. In that time, I should’ve been building trust with you like I did with the other first years, so you would feel comfortable enough to tell me when you’re in danger. Somehow, I have neglected to do this, and this is my fault and my fault alone. And for that, I’m sorry.”
Noya and Suga nod, each opening their mouth to most likely say something that will cause Yachi to break down in tears again.
“No, senpai, I should’ve told you,” Hitoka says, shaking her head. “It’s my fault, I was just being—”
“You’re a sensible girl, Yacchan. I don’t believe that you would make a decision about something without thinking about it first. Which means you had your reasons for not telling us.” Noya’s brow furrows, his eyes dark. “I think I know why, and I promise you: we will do better. And if you choose to come to us. Any of us, we will believe you.”
Coal hot tears prick at her eyes. Hitoka blinks a few times, trying to keep them back, and all she can get out of her mouth is a meagre, “O-okay.”
Noya and the others nod solemnly, turning back towards the door. Finally, Hitoka manages to find more words to get around the aching hole in her chest: “Thank you, sensei.”
Suga stops. With the barest hint of a smile, he says, “No need for thanks.”
Before she can reply, the door swings open again, and in walks Kiyoko and her parents, three plastic bags hanging off of her arm. “Got the food! Oh—hey boys! Glad you finally made it, slowpoke. Go grab the paper towels. Yacchan?” She says, placing a gentle kiss upon Tanaka’s cheek and Hitoka does her best to hide the heart shattering truth that her life has been turned upside down. “A hand, please?”
“Yes, Kiyoko!”
And if she cries into her salad, or refuses to speak to anyone, well… they let her be.