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“It’s a surprise you even managed to graduate, considering you skipped half your classes.” Kindaichi laughed, extending his arms above his head, then turned in sudden recognition. “Actually, it’s not. Cutting corners and making it through completely fine is your speciality.”
Kunimi grimaced, though a wane smile had twisted onto his mouth. “Don’t put it like that.”
Kageyama felt a quiet sort of laughter spring up in him too.
“Don’t laugh.”
“Sorry.” And so Kageyama stopped his laughter in his throat, however he moved his eyes to Kindaichi, and they both stared at each other in amusement and silence until the taller of the two let a snicker escape. Kindaichi's mirth sparked in the air on its own, but then the three of them were laughing in unison, and it felt like they were a fire all to themselves, illuminating and warming the December night right where they stood.
Sometimes, Kageyama wondered how it was that life circled, again and again, without stopping. How the people who are with you at the beginning somehow seem to stay with you forever. How, just a year ago he was in Italy, introducing himself to Ali Roma for the first time with the language that he speaks best (has always spoken best, ever since his fingers clutched desperately at Miwa’s ball). And how now, he’s back in Miyagi, ten blocks down from Kitagawa Daiichi, speaking a language that he both grew up with, and also somehow always managed to elude him. Just enough to cause misunderstanding — just enough to cause isolation when it would hurt the most.
“You know,” Kageyama said, and it was a jerky enough start to his words that both adjacent pairs of eyes moved to meet his, laughter paused for him. The air was chill, each breath of the trio forming a ghost in the dark blue sky before dissipating forever. Kageyama thinks that maybe there is a ghost he needs to say goodbye to right now.
“That year was really hard for me.”
There didn’t seem to be any confusion amongst the three of them — which year?— no, each one of them knew which year he was talking about.
Kindaichi and Kunimi said nothing, opting to shift their gaze to the view from the slight lookout that they stood on, waiting for him to continue. Kindaichi shifted his feet imperceptibly.
“My grandfather died that year.” Even as he said so, he was surprised at how diffident and formal it sounded out loud, so much so that he felt the need to expand. Grandfather, family of course, but who was, really, Kazuyo to him? His father’s father?
“I was really close to him. Closest, probably.” The scope of what he was trying to get across didn’t yet seem to cut it. So—
“He introduced me to volleyball.”
Apologies were behind them, Kageyama knew.
“Did he ever come to any of our games?” Kunimi asked.
“No,” Kageyama stated. “He was hospitalized by the time I started at Kitagawa Daiichi.”
“Yeah, I don’t remember any of your family ever visiting.” Kindaichi said, and there was a contorted sort of undertone to his voice.
Kageyama looked at Kindaichi, whose eyes were steely fixated ahead of him even as he spoke — Kindaichi, who had always taken in and felt harder than others, in a way that Kageyama had not, and had also never understood.
“It’s okay,” Kageyama said. “ I just thought I should say it. I did feel really alone, then. You both know how I was. Am.”
Silence overtook the three of them, as they pondered on how it had been. The pause was awkward in its weight, but at the same time felt familiar — it felt like a bygone start of adolescence.
A beginning to an end, wherein kids had asked, for what had felt like the millionth time in Kageyama’s life, what games he liked to play, and he had said volleyball, and they had specified with laughter, no, they were talking about video games, obviously , and so he had said none.
But then Kindaichi, ever the empathetic peacemaker even back then, had been there to say that he liked volleyball too, and Kunimi had agreed offhandedly, because it’s not like they were there in the volleyball club to play video games, he had pointed out to the others who seemed dead-set on giggling their heads off. And Kageyama hadn’t fully grasped the offer of friendship that the two of them had held out in that moment, but he had felt comfortable in a way that he hadn’t ever before, outside of with his sister and Kazuyo.
A year and a half passed and then he wasn’t comfortable any longer, as he watched his grandfather get weaker and weaker, and Miwa more distant. Feverishly caught up in his yells to try harder and move faster, he had failed to look behind even once while running to see Kindaichi desperately doing his best to catch up. Nor had he taken the time to notice the calculation with which Kunimi would study each opponent they faced. Only one message had flashed warningly in his head — you’re alone now, and you’re going to have to win alone.
But you don’t win alone, that’s just how it is.
“So it was never really about you,” Kageyama finished belatedly, letting his words pierce the chill. “Your fault, I mean.”
“Yeah. I figured as much,” Kunimi said.
“I wish we had been able to understand each other back then,” Kindaichi blurted out, with an unexpected sort of strength. Despite the sentimentality, Kunimi didn't move to offer any rebuttal, instead letting his friend's words linger in the air with a sense of finality.
Kageyama watched his own steady breath materialize, then drift away, slowly, gently.
“Yeah.”
————————————————————
“So, can you fix our lights,” Kageyama asked again, flexing his fingers in the cold. Twenty minutes later, the three of them were still standing at that same lookout, the houses and trees below looking back up at them in fatigue.
“You don’t need an electrician to change a light-bulb or two, Kageyama.”
“Well I do.” He hadn’t actually tried looking into fixing it himself, but Kageyama doesn’t really want to, and why not. He’s not often in Miyagi — so why not fix that one light in the Kageyama family home that has been flickering for years, really, why not?
Kunimi nodded in lazy approval. “Make use of your connections.”
“Hey! Anyways, by that logic you should be doing my taxes for me or something.”
Hearing this from Kindaichi, Kageyama turned to Kunimi, one hand up in thought.
“Actually,” Kageyama started, and he felt a smile creep up onto his face, unnatural, but not particularly unusual, not anymore.
Kunimi stared in disbelief, and presumably, horror. Kindaichi clapped Kageyama on the shoulder in glee.
“No, Kageyama, I’m not doing your taxes for you.”
“But they make no sense. Especially now that I’m in Italy for half the year!”
Kindaichi bobbed his head up and down, doing a terrible, over-exaggerated impression of Kunimi a minute prior. “Make use of your connections,” he intoned.
Kunimi’s face contorted. Kindaichi laughed.
“Great! You guys can talk over that while I fix your lights. Kageyama, lead the way.”
The three of them stumbled down from the lookout, the night darker than it had been when they had stopped for the view.
“Fine. You’re going to need to show me your salary and stuff, I’ll just explain the different criteria to you. Then you should be set to do them yourself.”
“Kunimi, is this how you treat clients at work?”
“Kageyama is not my client.”
“Should I show up as a client?”
“Absolutely not. If you show up at the bank I will be rooting for ASAS São Paulo and whatever team Hinata is next on for the rest of my life.”
Kageyama pulled a face at this, but then suddenly started. The mention of Hinata suddenly brought to mind a different topic of conversation, of which he had significantly more interest in than Kunimi’s line of work.
“Oh yeah. Did you put in any thought about starting beach? I think you really had the skill for it.”
Kunimi had, actually, and had also determined that no, he was not going to attempt to join any beach volleyball circuits, and after he said as much, Kindaichi tutted. This caused Kunimi to stop mid-walk, adjust, and duly admit that, well, it actually had been pretty fun, it’s just the fact that it was outside, and the sand in his shoes, sun in his eyes…ew.
Kageyama then shrugged, continuing to lead the way to his family’s house. “Well, if you don’t like the outdoors, you could always return…– “
“Indoors. Right.” Kunimi made a face, doing his best to fight the grin that was making its way up.
Kageyama smiled.
———————————
“But it's just so boring! And confusing!” Bokuto lamented, and his voice zigzagged across the almost-empty gym in its strength. There were only a couple individuals left in the space that had, an hour prior, been filled with the sound of shoes squeaking and balls hitting the floor.
“Well, it’s no surprise to me that ya still haven’t figured ‘em out. Sorry to say this—but I ain’t ever pegged ya as a guy who has that sorta stuff under control,” Atsumu snickered.
“Tsum-Tsum!” he wailed in betrayal.
“It’s okay, some people are just like that. Right, Tobio-kun?” Atsumu bounced the question off to Kageyama, who was sitting in the corner with a nail file to his fingers.
“I can do my own taxes.” Kageyama stated bluntly.
The two older players gaped at him.
“Wow, Kageyama! Unexpected!” Bokuto said, his bemoaning momentarily forgotten.
Kageyama felt the urge to tack on some other important information.
“I can change my own light bulbs too,” he said with pride, and this echoed in the gym in its own certainty, even though his voice was much quieter than Bokuto’s had been.
“Why ya look so happy 'bout THAT? Who doesn’t know how to change a light bulb?”
Bokuto’s shoulders collapsed dramatically in gloom, and Atsumu whipped his head back to his long-standing teammate on MSBY. You learn something new every day, even if disappointing.
“Yer kiddin’!”