Chapter Text
The last box sits in the corner of Hinata’s bedroom where it’s been since the day he plopped it there almost a month ago. The boxes that had been stacked on top of and around it had been unpacked one by one and their contents sorted and distributed throughout the apartment, but there’s something so final about opening that last box that he’s put it off for a shamefully long time. Moving out of the dinky apartment he’d shared with Kageyama through college had felt like the end of an era, but they’d both agreed that since they’d graduated it was for the best if they grew out of this strange dependency on each other (Kageyama’s exact words had been that they’d both be “better off”, and Hinata had agreed only because the ache that settled low in his middle whenever Kageyama looked at him a certain way couldn’t be healthy).
Today, though, there’s a nip in the late autumn air and he’s concluded that the jacket he’s looking for must be somewhere in that box with the rest of his heavy winter clothing. He settles cross-legged on the floor in front of the box, hand resting on top of it for a few moments before he pries it open, unhatching the flaps. He reaches in and slips his hand down between the sweaters, fingertips searching out the particular fabric of his olive green jacket. What they brush against instead is the lettering on a sweatshirt. Frowning, he tries to disturb the sweaters above it as little as possible as he pulls it out. He can’t remember having one with that type of lettering on it. His breath catches in his throat when he’s finally pulled it free, and he can only stare down at the sweatshirt laying crumpled in his lap. Hinata doesn’t know how, but one of Kageyama’s favorite sweatshirts ended up in his box of coats and sweaters, and now he’s fighting the stupid urge to bury his face in it to see if any of Kageyama’s scent still lingers on the navy fabric. After a whole month he’d thought the empty ache had finally worn off, but here it was hitting him full force all over again.
He’d never admit it, least of all to Kageyama, but his new apartment feels incredibly lonely without Kageyama’s presence. In the four years they’d been roommates he’d grown accustomed to Kageyama shuffling around early in the mornings as he prepared for his daily jog, to Kageyama’s form stretched on the couch with his laptop as Hinata sprawled on the floor and they worked in comfortable silence, to the sneakers, gym clothes, books, and papers that never seemed to make it back to where they belonged, and to their constant bickering over everything from feeding the fish to dinner preparations. He spends a lot more time trying to distract himself in this new apartment, mostly because there it was always Kageyama who kept him from feeling hollow.
His wandering eyes fall on the clock on the bedside table, and he leaps to his feet with a yelp, sweatshirt still clenched in his hands. He’s been sitting here letting the past get the better of him and if he sits here any longer he’ll most certainly be late for work. After hesitating for a few moments staring at the offending box with his jacket buried somewhere in its depths, he pulls Kageyama’s sweatshirt over his head, releasing a soft apology into the thin air as he pictures the scowl that would fill Kageyama’s face if he knew he was wearing his sweatshirt. It’s best if he never finds out, then. Hinata pushes the ends of the sleeves above his hands, ignoring the way it hangs off of his frame because despite the growing he’d done in high school he’d never been destined to catch up with Kageyama (to his consternation). The fabric is worn from repeated wearings and washings, and it’s admittedly incredibly comfortable. The slightest scent of something he’d only ever been able to describe as Kageyama does still hang on it, and he ignores the quiver in his chest when he recognizes it. Now is certainly not the time to start feeling sentimental. Not when he’s already late for work and life on his own is hard enough to get used to as it is.
He practically runs the whole way there, mentally cursing the fact that their old apartment had been a whole two blocks closer to the tiny grocery store he’s worked at for the past three years. His mother has been begging him to look for something with better wages (“Don’t you want to start saving for the future?”) but volleyball has always required his full attention and even now with a framed degree shoved to the back of his closet it takes priority in his life. If he can make it on the national team he’ll have ample savings for the future, so for now he’s more than content to continue scraping by.
Akiyama-san gives him a sour look when he arrives, breathless and apologizing profusely. Hinata really does hate to disappoint him, because for all his gruffness he’s kinder and more forgiving than Hinata often deserves. “There’s cases to stock in the back.” He sighs, accepting Hinata’s low bow of apology with little more than a flick of his wrist. “Start with the rice and be quick about it. There’ll be sweeping to do before you go.”
“Yes sir.” Hinata nods brusquely, quick to get down to his task. Most of his coworkers hate stocking, but in truth he doesn’t mind it as much as he does some things. It’s a job that keeps his hands and feet constantly moving and leaves no time for him to get antsy as there is when he’s tending the register. Menial as it is, he’s free to let his mind wander, and he often uses the time to go over strategies and replay critical moments in his head. Today the National team tryouts are all he can think about, and he wonders what types of skills will be most important to showcase. He’s still struggling to believe that after all this time his dreams are in reach.
Back in high school this possibility had seemed distant, the peak of a mountain shrouded in mist and barely visible to the naked eye. There had been moments when the climb had seemed too daunting, when defeat made him so weary that the temptation to give up burned at the backs of his eyes. It had taken seven years and he’d had to prove himself time and again, but now the mist was beginning to dissolve from that peak and it grew clearer and clearer as he drew closer.
A thrill still shivers through him when he remembers the day Coach had called him, Kageyama, and Yoshida into his office and told them that scouts from the National team had been at their match, that they had liked what they saw and they wanted the three of them to attend a meeting to discuss the possibility of becoming a part of the Japanese men’s national volleyball team. Hinata had cried that day, the relief and ecstasy coursing through him too great to be contained. Kageyama had called him a dumbass but the word fell soft and Hinata was convinced he wasn’t imagining the sheen in Kageyama’s own eyes. It had almost seemed too good to be true, too impossible that after so long the elusive dream they’d never lost sight of could finally shimmer into reality, but now here he is two months later and less than twenty-four hours away from the opportunity to reach that summit.
“Hinata-kun.” He jumps at the sound of Akiyama-san’s voice, so thoroughly engrossed in his thoughts that for a few moments he worries he’d stopped stocking entirely (it wouldn’t be the first time). “Finish that case, and then when you’ve swept around the front of the store you may leave.” Hinata looks down at the can of beans in his hand, then into the half-full case at his feet.
“What?” He glances up at the clock. “There are still more cases in the back. I can get to them before 5:00, really! I’m sorry if I’ve been slacking off, Akiyama-san. I promise I’ll work more quickly.”
His boss chuckles, eyes crinkling into a smile. “You’ve been filling the shelves just as quickly as ever. No, I insist. Tomorrow’s the day, isn’t it? I’m sure you’ll be wanting to get as much practice and rest in as possible before then. Besides, I’m thinking I can work this ‘famous volleyball player’ angle to my advantage. Do you think more customers will come in if they hear that Hinata Shouyou of the Japanese Men’s National Volleyball Team worked here?” There’s a twinkle in his eyes, and he quirks an eyebrow awaiting Hinata’s response.
If it weren’t his boss standing before him, Hinata would have hugged the man right then and there. “Akiyama-san!” He blurts his name because he doesn’t know what else to say. “I don’t – I mean –”
“If you don’t get back to work it will be 5:00 by the time you finish.” His stern tone is belied by the small smile that still softens his face.
“Yes sir!” Hinata quickly turns back to his beans, lining them more precisely on the shelf than usual in a silent show of gratitude. An extra hour in the gym tonight is certainly not unwelcome, and it’s all Hinata can do not to rush himself to the point of being sloppy as he sweeps careful dirt piles together. When he’s satisfied that the floor is spotless, he looks to Akiyama-san expectantly, awaiting his nod of approval. Instead, a hand comes to rest on his shoulder.
“Good luck tomorrow, Hinata-kun.” Akiyama-san gives his shoulder a squeeze, a single brusque nod his signal that Hinata is free to go.
“Thank you, Akiyama-san!” He bows his head once more for good measure. “Your kindness is appreciated. I’ll work hard!” He promises, pulling Kageyama’s sweatshirt over his head and shooting out the door. He jogs all the way back to his apartment, eager to get to the gym and get as much practice in before it closes for the night.
He tugs off the sweatshirt the moment he gets through the door, letting it pile on the kitchen counter for now. In the bedroom he finally digs through the box until his jacket is unearthed, shrugging it on as he darts about the room stuffing shorts, a t-shirt, and his sneakers into a gym bag. He wavers in the doorway with his hand on the light switch as he considers returning the sweatshirt to Kageyama that night. He ultimately decides against it with a shrug, telling himself that since he’d worn it the nice thing to do would be to wash it before he returns it. It certainly has nothing to do with the fact that seeing it there is familiar, the scent is comfortable, and somehow a part of him can’t bear to give it up just yet. He casts one last glance at it as he flicks the light off, pulling the door closed with a click of finality.
Kageyama is already at the gym when he arrives, sending serve after serve towards the bottles lined up across the net. Hinata is still a little afraid of those serves after all this time, their raw power reverberating through the gym with every solid thwack on the court. That serve was a powerful weapon back in high school, and now it’s become a veritable arsenal on its own what with Kageyama’s pinpoint accuracy and control. In the past year, Hinata thinks he can probably count on one hand the number of clean receives Kageyama has given up with his jump serve. Hinata knows it’s that serve that he hopes to impress the National team’s coaches with, and he’s been practicing it so much in the past weeks that he could probably perform it perfectly in his sleep. There isn’t a single doubt in his mind that Kageyama will be admitted to the team. Kageyama’s abilities had never been the ones he doubted, after all.
Kageyama’s concentration only breaks when his next serve misses the bottle across the net by mere millimeters, and he growls in frustration as he catches the next ball that’s tossed to him, twirling it capably between his fingertips and breathing deeply to re-hone his focus. If he’s noticed Hinata standing there he makes no indication, and he drives the next serve squarely into the same bottle without a moment’s hesitation.
“Are you waiting for someone to toss to you?” Nakamura has snuck up behind him, and Hinata jumps at the sudden presence beside him. “I know I’m no Kageyama, but a toss is a toss, eh?” Nakamura cocks the ball lazily against his hip as he awaits Hinata’s response, swiping at a single drop of sweat that has formed at his temple. He’s one of the members of the neighborhood team who had been so gracious as to let Hinata and Kageyama practice with them ever since their first year in college, and they’d become unofficial members of the team as soon as they’d graduated and begun preparing in earnest for the tryouts. A lot of the members are alumni of Tokai University just like he and Kageyama, and though they’ve all gone their separate paths in life, a love for volleyball has kept them all connected here. Their energy and passion is what makes them Hinata’s favorite people to play with.
Hinata grins. “I’ll practice with you for as long as you’ll toss to me!” He quickly agrees, jogging to the next net over as Nakamura calls for Maki to feed him balls. He’s bouncing lightly from foot to foot, still feeling the same hum of excitement in his gut at the prospect of being able to spike, even after all of these years. He’s honed his skills in every possible way; his jump is at its highest point, and his cross and straight spikes are the most powerful they’ve ever been. So much has changed and Hinata has come so far, but there’s still nothing that compares to the moment when the view on the other side of the net opens up before him and he feels the ball connect perfectly with his palm.
He feels on fire tonight, the electricity coursing through him with every successful spike and filling him until he almost feels like bursting. “You’re at the top of your game tonight.” Nakamura marvels, hugging the ball to his chest. “I think we need to get some blockers over here and give you a real workout.” Hirata quickly agrees, a middle blocker who’d been a year ahead of Hinata and Kageyama at Tokai and whose smart blocking had reminded Hinata of Tsukishima from the start. His teammates often bemoan the fact that they’d never be able to give Hinata and Kageyama any real competition, but it’s moments like the ones when Hirata smirks at Hinata from across the net that he feels the challenge well up inside him anyway.
More and more of their teammates gather around, offering to pitch in and block or receive as needed until a makeshift match of sorts has formed. “Kageyama!” Hinata calls, eagerness bubbling up. “We just need another setter and we can play a real match!” It isn’t difficult to convince him, and soon they’re divided into two teams and Kageyama kicks things off with a service ace, pumping his fist once in victory.
This is the kind of practice Hinata likes best. Individualized practice sessions certainly have their merits, but to him there’s nothing quite like the thrill of a match to make him jump a little bit higher and spike a little bit harder, the competition lighting a fire in his veins. When Kageyama tosses to him, he sees the whole thing in slow motion. It’s the combination they’ve used hundreds (if not thousands) of times, and his muscles almost feel as if they’re moving on their own. This freak quick of theirs has evolved into something even more completely their own, bred from countless hours of practice and the trust that can only arise between two teammates who’ve been through hell and back side by side. The team on the opposite side of the net grumbles good-naturedly when his spike slams into the court on the other side with the most satisfying sound he knows. Hinata really does feel at the top of his game tonight just like Nakamura had said, and he squeezes his eyes closed for a fraction of a moment in a fervent wish that this feeling can hold on until tomorrow.
Two sets later, his final spike is still rolling across the floor when he slaps a high five with Kageyama so hard that it stings his already-aching palm, a genuine victory smile plastered across Kageyama’s face. Before Hinata realizes what’s happening, their teammates have gathered around them, those on the other side of the net ducking under it to join the circle.
“You guys are going to kill it tomorrow.” Nakamura speaks without a hint of doubt clouding his enthusiasm, a thwack on Hinata’s back making him stumble forward a step. “Before you know it we’ll be watching you guys on TV.” His grin is wide.
“Hey, just don’t forget us little people when you make it big.” Hirata cuts in, jabbing Kageyama in the ribs with a well-placed elbow. Kageyama winces and rubs at the spot, a forced smile inching across his face as the attention turns to him. A lot has changed over the past years, but not everything.
“That’s ridiculous.” Hinata cuts in. “How could we forget you guys?” He looks from face to smiling face, blinking fast with the sudden burning at the corners of his eyes. “You’ve played volleyball with us for countless hours. You’re more than just our teammates. You’ve stuck with us through everything and practiced with us when you probably wanted nothing more than to go home.” He laughs, well aware that his and Kageyama’s appetite for practice is not one shared by many. “You’re our friends, y’know?” He glances over at Kageyama who is nodding in agreement, sincerity quickly replacing his stilted half-smile.
“Well, we’ll be behind you every step of the way. Maybe it’s not much to offer, but if you ever need anything don’t hesitate to ask. You know where to find us.” Maki crosses his arms over his chest, lifting his chin in a gesture of assurance. Murmured agreements fill the air, and Hinata just feels full. Full, and grateful. Even as they turn to go one by one, each waving farewell and adding his own piece of encouragement, Hinata stands stock still in the same spot letting it all wash over him. There’s a part of him that still can’t help but think that this all one big, crazy dream.
“I’m going to turn the lights out on you.” Kageyama finally warns, looping his bag more securely on his shoulder.
“Wait!” Hinata yelps, shaking out of his reverie. He grabs up his own bag, not bothering to change as he tosses his jacket over his gym clothes. He stands in the doorway next to Kageyama as they both watch the lights go down on the familiar gym, something bittersweet slipping through his middle. “This is really it, huh?” He murmurs. Kageyama remains silent, and Hinata begins to wonder if he’d even heard him.
“Yeah.” He finally responds, voice soft. “Incredible, huh? The national team.”
Hinata hums in agreement. “We did it.” He turns to look at him then, and Kageyama’s face in profile doesn’t bear even a hint of a scowl. “The top.”
Kageyama snorts. “Not yet.”
“Closer than we’ve ever been.” Hinata amends, knocking his shoulder against Kageyama’s.
“Just don’t screw up tomorrow.” Perhaps Kageyama means well, but he’s as blunt as ever.
Hinata’s gall is only partially in jest. “Don’t screw up yourself!” He chokes out. “Bakageyama.” He easily dusts off the old high school nickname. It feels right falling from his lips in this moment, almost as though it has a place here. Kageyama scowls at him now, and it all feels deliciously familiar. For these moments, he can forget the anxiety that has been steadily tightening its grip on him.
“Well, if you don’t sleep well tonight you’ll screw up for sure. Dumbass.” Kageyama adds the insult almost as an afterthought, almost as though he doesn’t want to sound as if he’s grown too soft. Hinata’s lips quiver with the smile he’s trying to hold back. “Tomorrow will be here before we know it.” As if Hinata needs to be reminded.
“Well then I’ll see you tomorrow.” He finally turns to go with Kageyama mere paces behind him, inhaling the cold bite the wind has taken on before he lifts his hand in farewell, turning towards the apartment he still can’t quite think of as home.
There’s a chill permeating the apartment when he arrives, and coupled with the slowly returning jitters it makes Hinata wrap his arms around himself. Even a warm shower can’t chase away the tightening in his middle. He barely even considers it before he slips Kageyama’s sweatshirt over his old t-shirt, hunkering down into the worn fabric as he lets the familiar scent wash over him.
He crawls into bed, but sleep seems to be the farthest thing from his mind. He’s thinking forward to tomorrow and back to his teammates’ encouragement. Something has been niggling at the back of his mind. Not one of them had brought up the possibility that he and Kageyama might not make it – or worse that one of them might not make it – and Hinata isn’t sure whether that fact is a comfort or a hindrance. The thought of having to stand before them and admit that he’d failed is almost more than Hinata can bear. He pulls the hood over his head with the vain hope that it can somehow block out his troubled thoughts, and it’s the strange comfort of Kageyama’s scent that eventually lulls him to sleep.