Chapter Text
Hinata stood crouched, neck straining to look at the colossal building looming over him. His eyes narrowed, half a face cast in dramatic shadow. Paired with the sweat dripping profusely down his temples, Hinata looked almost threatening in such a stance. But really, it was only the flaring sunlight shooting spiking nerve impulses to his eyes.
“Ajinomoto National Training Centre, here I come!” he whooped, bounding toward the entrance without margin for thought. His vision only held the building that would mould him into a first-class athlete, leaving no room for a truck currently a perilous distance away. The vignette shrouding Hinata’s field of vision was abruptly intruded by the head of the truck as it hurtled towards him. By the time he grounded himself, it was clear that only impossibly swift reflexes would be able to pluck him out of this one.
Clear eyes shifted its gaze, the whites expanding into oblivion. “Is this really how this is going to end? I’m only at the starting line.” A muffled voice inside him echoed. He had gone through all the trouble of begging Coach Takeda to send an appeal to the Japan Volleyball Association for his admission to this camp. It was successful, albeit with a few conditions — he was to be the ball boy. The next event was one Hinata needed time to register. A sharp force tugging his shirt back, a whip of blurriness. Was this his life flashing before his eyes?
“If this is the standard that Japan expects of its national athletes, I’d be disappointed.” A low, languid voice whipped the veil of shock off him. Blinking twice, Hinata craned his neck upwards to locate its owner.
The first thing that caught Hinata’s attention was the smooth, supple curls that adorned the man’s forehead. Above his left brow, two moles were aligned vertically. It was none other than Itachiyama’s ace, Sakusa Kiyoomi. He was a second-year, just one year older than Hinata. He had never met him in person before this but Kageyama had once mentioned him being part of the top three aces in the country. Sakusa mostly wore an impassive expression on magazine covers, which he did now. Null eyes bore into Hinata’s, drilling holes into his brain and making him aware that he was still latched in Sakusa’s firm grasp.
“T-thank you for your help! I’m really sorry that we couldn’t meet under better circumstances.” Hinata wiggled away and tried a hand at making friendly conversation. After all, their first meeting was definitely not ideal for friendship-making. Lucky for him, Sakusa was not interested in anything involving people, much less interpersonal interactions.
With just another second of eye contact, Sakusa left for the entrance of the training centre. Even with his lack of response, Hinata could sense a slight edge of supremacy from the other’s interaction towards him. The way Sakusa’s brows furrowed at the sight of him, and the almost indiscernible tilt of his chin. All laced with repulsion, as if Hinata was some variation of an insignificant housefly. Nevertheless, being friends with Kageyama had given him pre-training for such types of people and he started off to the building unfazed, a skip in his step. Speaking of his volleyball partner, Kageyama had messaged him earlier saying that a delay in the train’s arrival was going to make him slightly late and that Hinata should go without him. But the trains in Japan are punctual almost always, so it was probably just Kageyama’s fault for not planning his time responsibly — just that his mammoth pride left him unable to admit it.
Upon entering the lofty building, an array of sports shoes lay seated, each positioned quaintly in a straight line. At the furthest right of the lineup, he spotted familiar yellow gym shoes with black accents, one that he recognised to be Sakusa’s during their earlier encounter. Without his own knowing, Hinata’s eyes had drifted all over his body then, imprinting it into his memory and leaving no part unseen. He took off his shoes and arranged them next to Sakusa’s, giving it a last shift before nodding in approval and starting towards the main hall, arms stiffly fixed to his sides.
The interior of Ajinomoto National Training Centre was nothing short of extravagant, as expected of top-tier Olympic training grounds. Hinata gingerly pulled open the door to the main sports hall, trembling fingers betraying the tsunami of emotions that were threatening to gush out. The sight that then beheld him he could never have prepared for. Floors that stretched vastly beyond and shone with faultless gloss; tall ceilings and pleasant warm lights bathed the courts. Hinata stood, feet anchored to the floor, “Wow! To think that I might be playing this court feels like a dream…” The courts carried a whiff of crisp cleaning spray, smoothing the tense muscles on his face. Nothing was better than a freshly wiped-down playing arena. Hinata continued to gape openly, soaking in each smell and corner with unbridled admiration.
“Everyone, gather!” A deep, rumbling voice broke his reverie and only then did he realise that there were already players lining the walls, warming up. The slide of a door sounded behind him and Hinata’s first instinct was that a wheezing kettle had entered the hall. To his credit, Kageyama was huffing and puffing so heavily that one would not be able to differentiate the two.
“Slightly late, huh?” Hinata quipped.
“Shut… up ...ball boy.” Kageyama bared his annoyingly white teeth, battling his air-drained lungs.
The pair jogged to the gathering point and stood with their hands behind their back as they awaited instructions from Mr Fuki Hibarida, the head coach. The man looked like he was in his late forties, dark, bushy eyebrows and an anchor beard spoke of professionalism and long years of experience. “I’m sure everyone is tired of hearing old men go on and on, so I’ll make this quick. Japan will always fall apart in the face of overwhelming height and power. That old cliché is completely outdated. You are here to prove that to the world, so give it your best during these 3 weeks!” his smile widened into a grin. Hinata leaned forward and listened intently, wanting to capture every word. At the corner of his eye, he spotted a head of full, curly hair and his eyes lingered for a while.
“Sakusa…”
To the front, back and sides of Hinata were top athletes either nearly bursting at the seams with anticipation or wearing looks of earnest conviction. Sakusa, however, was poker-faced, an air of insouciance encircling him.
“Okay, we’re going to kick it off with a short session of icebreakers. Make some small talk and warm up to each other before we start training. I’m sure you high schoolers don’t need reminding, but don’t just stick to people you know!” Mr Fuki announced, giving a curt nod before leaving to talk to the assistant coach.
The buzzing began after a beat of silence and Hinata took the opportunity to observe those around him. He recognised the famed Miya Atsumu from Inarizaki High, Motoya Komori from Itachiyama Institute and of course, Sakusa Kiyoomi. Kageyama was readily conversing with another player from Shinzen High with broccoli for hair, a sight so uncommon that Hinata thought he saw pigs flying. Just then, he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder.
“Who might this be? You're quite short for a volleyball player, huh.” It was none other than Miya Atsumu, his voice carrying a pronounced Kansai accent.
“I'm from Karasuno! Hinata Shoyo, a first-year. Pleased to make your acquaintance!” Hinata blurted out, blush creeping onto his cheeks. The one and only Miya Atsumu had approached him to talk! Although, it was more like a snide remark than a try at making conversation. Atsumu’s head was tipped to the side and his hands were burrowed into the pockets of his maroon windbreaker. For some reason, it made Hinata’s hair stand on end. It felt as though he was being wordlessly looked down upon… and this was only their first meeting.
“Karasuno? The team with the quick duo? Wah, how scary.” Atsumu spoke with the same airiness, but his brows had raised. As predicted, Sakusa was huddled in the corner, glaring in mute oppression and cautiously avoiding human interaction. Hinata spared him a glance before noticing a white-haired boy talking to Motoya. “He’s almost the same height as me,” he thought, “his skills must be exceptional to have been invited here.” Within the first few minutes of the camp, Hinata had already secured his first rival — although one-sided.
“Atsumu-san-”
The sound of a whistle echoed through the gymnasium, breaking off the flow of conversation and calling everyone back to the training at hand. “Alright, enough merrymaking. Everyone get into pairs and practise your receives and spikes for starters. Hinata, come see me for a bit please.” Coach Fuki gestured. Hinata could sense a handful of puzzled gazes thrown in his direction when he separated himself from the group but thankfully, they were short-lived as the search for a partner ensued.
“I know this may not sound like the best news, but unfortunately, because you don’t have official authorization as a camp member, your participation is limited.” Coach Fuki said matter-of-factly.
“However,” he hoisted his hands onto his hips. “Don’t underestimate the power of picking up stray balls! There is much you can learn still. Keeping the athletes hydrated and wiping their sweat off the floor is also part of your duties,” the coach proclaimed. Hinata’s heart swelled at the thought of what was to come. Even though the role of a ball boy is not ideal for athletic progress, it's still something, which is better than nothing. He was not going to allow himself to fall behind Kageyama, not even by half a step! He occupied a comfortable spot in the back row of one of the courts to receive the incoming balls; it offered a panorama of the full playing scene, free for his spectatorship. The court he adopted belonged to 3 pairs — Kindaichi and Kunimi, Sakusa and Motoya along with Futakuchi and Aone.
A smear of white whizzed past Hinata, leaving him glued to the ground in a perplexed stupor with his hands outstretched. “It’s only the warm-up stage! How could I not have seen that?” he chastised himself whilst running to catch the ball. Upon returning, his eyes darted to Sakusa, who was preparing to spike. Hinata observed as Sakusa’s wrists flicked sharply in a fluid motion; it gave the ball a distinctive spin that Hinata knew would be troublesome in competition. Motoya was much faster to react to the ball — he promptly side-stepped and within two taps of the feet, was bending low to receive it. The next thing Hinata knew, the ball was in the air and Motoya was charging forward to spike. Motoya, ‘the best high school libero’. Balls from the other pairs flew past him in a frenzied dance, but he only had eyes for the duo in front of him. “So this is the standard of the National Training Camp!” A flare of passion ignited in Hinata and he felt as if he were burning, but it was not a fever.
After a series of Hinata failing to receive and running after the ball with gritted teeth, a practice match finally began. Coach Fuki had put him in charge of keeping the score and deciding the starting positions. He could already hear wisps of gossip from a few less-known athletes on the possible reasons as to why he was not playing. Even though Hinata knew they were just passing comments, the words still swam in his head, gnawing at his brain with wrathful hostility.
“Oh? Why aren’t you playing?” Atsumu spoke up, breaking his train of thought.
“I’m fine with being the ball boy! I definitely won’t fall behind.” Hinata assured, waving his hand in dismissal.
“You’re just too embarrassed to admit that you weren’t invited to this camp in the first place. Have some honesty, would you?” Kageyama slid into view from behind Atsumu and sneered at Hinata, taunting him.
“You- How dare you!” Hinata jumped into his defensive position and shook a clenched fist.
The blow of a whistle like a plane breaking the sound barrier echoed, penetrating the ruckus and signalling for players to assume their positions. Hinata watched keenly the movements of the players, digging for small crumbs to feast on. He noticed Atsumu’s cautiously calculated step before a set, Futakuchi’s eagle eyes before read-blocking, Kindaichi’s slight deceleration before a quick attack and the list goes on. Hinata licked his lips; he savoured every second of being in the same room as these monsters head-to-head with each other, imbibing the knowledge. Before he knew it, the moon had risen and the match concluded with a set score of 2-1. Hinata hurried to refill the water bottles and pass them out, juggling 7 to 8 at a time.
“Nice play! You looked so cool spiking that ball! How are your wrists even so flexible? What exercises do you do to train them? Could you teach me?” Hinata spoke in rapid-fire succession as he passed Sakusa his water bottle, grin exuding ignorant admiration.
The other man cringed in response to the overwhelming number of questions and praises. “I was just born that way.” A short, terse reply. Sweat dripped from his temples and he lifted a hand to wipe it off, deliberately looking away from Hinata.
“Oh… okay! That’s still cool though.” Hinata perked up before turning to pass someone else a water bottle. Sakusa watched his back in disdain as he ran, “Does this guy see everything through rose-coloured glasses or something? I hate people like this.” When leaving the training centre, he noticed Hinata’s shoes beside his and scoffed. His childhood of avoiding and being avoided made him unused to people speaking to him so openly. Except for Miya Atsumu, whose only objective on the radar was being a pain in the ass.
〃★
Hinata arrived at the training centre the next day when the sun bordered the horizon, painting him in a theatrical orange glow. Players walked past him hauling their bags of items — the overnight camp was beginning! Hinata stood empty-handed because his application was very last minute and they could not reserve a room for him in time. “No matter, cycling uphill back home can serve as extra exercise, anyway,” he assured himself with a nod. As Hinata walked forward, he felt something forcefully shove his shoulder. He groaned and rubbed the area in an attempt to assuage the throbbing pain, but was met with the eyes of none other than Sakusa.
“You were in my way,” Sakusa said vacantly, gazing down at him as if looking at a parasite. Hinata noticed he was carrying multiple large duffel bags, a bottle of disinfectant poking out of one. Without batting an eye, he continued without slowing his steps, curtly blocking out any potential remarks from Hinata. A disinfectant bottle? That was the first time he saw anyone other than his mother pack disinfectant in an overnight bag. “Come to think of it, Sakusa-san is always wearing a mask. I wonder if he gets sick easily,” he thought, quickening his pace towards the training centre.
The first task on the itinerary was to ‘Unpack and Tidy up’ their new rooms, in which each was allocated to 1 pair. Since Hinata did not have a room, he ended up just tailing Kageyama for the fun of it to check out his. The room was spacious and cosy, mellow lights soothed strained eyes and painted the room the colour of cream. Beyond the drawn curtains was the view of the sea, azure blue waves beating against the rocks with a steady, unhurried rhythm. There were twin beds dressed in smooth white linen, separated by a single chest of drawers with a round lamp sitting atop it. Hinata crossed the carpeted floor into the room in awe, mixed with a tinge of jealousy, before leaping onto the nearest bed.
“Oi, get off my bed and go find something else to do that isn’t making trouble!” Kageyama’s voice came out muffled from behind the wardrobe door. Hinata was not the type to take that lying down, in a literal manner. “You damn king, what did you say?!” he retaliated, sitting straight-backed on the bed now. The banter stretched out for a while before it was abruptly cut off by the door of the room opening.
“Ojama Shimasu.” Sakusa stood at the foot of the door, droopy eyes looking over Hinata’s head at Kageyama. In response, Kageyama bowed slightly to show his respect to the senior. Hinata was aware that his presence was being entirely disregarded but paid no mind to it and stared curiously as Sakusa strode past him. He observed the entire episode; the bed being sanitised and remade, the bathtub and sink being scrubbed, and the tidy arrangement of the room slippers. Hinata offered a helping hand, which was declined, but he still went and did it anyway. Sakusa was shocked by the contrast between Hinata’s brashly animated disposition and his level of cleanliness, as evidenced by the staring when he witnessed him scrubbing the tiles with great vigour, even getting the grout lines. Sakusa relaxed slightly at the familiarity of another’s good hygiene awareness.
Kageyama was also aware of the rigorous clean-up going on and took care not to interrupt until after it was done. “Sakusa-san, why aren’t you with your cousin?” the question was casually tossed into the air. Kageyama’s bluntness always shocked Hinata — he was sure his level of social awareness was at least slightly higher. “The board wouldn’t let me choose my own roommate. I hope that you have good hygiene standards because I won’t be accepting any less.” Sakusa scowled. At this point, he could feel a fierce lustful presence and looked to find Hinata staring straight into him. “Sakusa-san, you have beautiful eyelashes. And eyes, of course. Even when you’re frowning…” he murmured, hands looking like they wanted to reach out and touch.
“Oi, Hinata, stop creeping him out! We should leave now or we’ll be late.” Kageyama managed another bow for formality's sake before dragging the other out of the room with him. Sakusa still sat frozen in time, face burning so furiously he could have cooked a four-course meal with the heat. He shook it off and tried to banish the thought to the deepest crevice of his brain by busying himself with cleaning the counters. Nobody had ever commented about his eyes before… much less his eyelashes, and in such a suggestive way too. Sure, there were fangirls, but they constantly went overboard with the swooning and he knew the only thing they cared about was his looks. Sakusa let the moment rewind and play again in his head. He could feel himself seeping into the depthful domain of Hinata’s eyes, the entirety of the moment reflected like the spaces between the stars at dusk in his mind. “I guess it wasn’t a bad experience…”
Hinata groaned inwardly, trying his hardest to avoid the glare that threatened to pierce through his soul. It was none other than Coach Washijo, who had been invited to oversee the training and lend his expertise. He seemed to be hyper-aware of Hinata’s intrusion into the camp and was visibly displeased. The poor boy was scolded harsher than the rest, Coach Washijo never missing a beat whenever Hinata misstepped or let slip a ball. The other members of the camp watched in perplexity but silently thanked the gods that somebody else was taking the hit and watering down the formidable wrath of Coach Washijo.
“Hinata, which side of the court do you think you’re on? Ball boys don’t get to play. Hurry up and get into position!”
“Sumimasen! I went the wrong way.” Hinata bowed his head, ashamed that he was so coldly exposed.
The rest of the training carried on as normal, but Hinata struggled to participate under Coach Washijo’s oppressive eyes. It was as if his improvement was a hazard. When he thought no one was looking, Hinata stuffed his head into a pile of sports mattresses and fought back the sob gurgling in his throat, gripping the edges of the mattresses so hard his knuckles coloured white. Sakusa studied the scene from the sidelines, silent and attentive. With each passing moment, his brows dipped a mark further.
By the time the camp ended, the sky was dark and the smell of freshly cooked food permeated the training hall. Hinata cleaned up the area and trailed behind the group of camp members, latching the door behind him. His mouth had started to water after catching a whiff of what he assumed was potato croquette. Everyone was already starting to fill up the seats and help themselves to the selection of food. Japanese, Western, Chinese, French and more — the range of meals provided knew no limits! Clenching his fists in an attempt to repress his thrumming want to join in, Hinata commanded himself to turn the opposite way.
“Hinata.” a familiar voice reached out to him. Sakusa was standing behind, a hand buried into his jacket pocket and an unreadable expression plastered on his face. Sometimes Hinata wondered if the whole stuffing-hands-into-pockets hoo-ha was because he was trying to conceal something, or if he just wanted to look cool.
“Sakusa-san? Do you need anything?”
“…You can have some of my food if you want,” Sakusa paused as if thinking over what he just said, “Not because I care, you just look very hungry.”
“Really? Thank you so much!” Hinata beamed, the apples of his cheeks flushed a distinctive red, and Sakusa thought he saw beams of golden light swinging past them.
“Tch. If you don’t hurry up, all the food will be taken.”
Hinata skips into the canteen, tension bleeding out at the touch of the aircon’s cool breath, humming off-key a tune about eating. With the way it sounded, it was probably a personal composition. Sakusa trailed behind as if protecting some valuable possession. Atsumu watched the scene play out with interest, the tips of his mouth twitching upwards into a questioning smirk.
Sakusa watched a ravenous Hinata gobble down his food with shocking passion, hand on cheek. The latter was oblivious to it and continued to relish the taste of mouthful after mouthful, stuffing each down his throat fervently. He let out a string of incomprehensible Japanese, which Sakusa assumed was his way of praising the food. “Too fast. If you choke, I’m not saving you even if you’re two breaths away from seeing hell.” Sakusa warned, but Hinata could tell that there was no bite to it and just grinned in acknowledgement.
After dinner, Sakusa sent Hinata off at the entrance of the training centre, eyes not leaving his back until the boy, and his bicycle, were out of sight. “Didn’t know you had it in you to care for someone, Omi-Omi. Shoyo must be some heavenly being.” Atsumu manifested from seemingly nowhere, flashing his patronising trademark smile.
To Sakusa, it was none other than the eyesore that needed to be brought down a peg by someone every other day. Sakusa pivots on his heel and his eyes instantly start to throb at the sight of the other. The creases in between his brows grew more defined as if he actually took offence to the comment, “If you don’t stop calling Hinata by his first name, you’ll soon see my dinner on the floor.”