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It begins near the end, funnily enough.
There are six weeks left of highschool, and three weeks left until their last exams, and Tobio cannot help but feel swallowed up by the finality of it all. He cannot wait for it to end. And yet, he dreads it, in the same way he hurtles towards the final point of a game.
Hinata is hanging off the edge of Tobio’s bed, orange hair flailing and knees upright as Tobio listens to his rambles from his space on the carpet. They’ve landed on the topic of sunscreen prices in South America, but it’s bound to pivot again, he’s sure of it. At this point, he probably knows more about Brazilian beaches than Japanese ones. The idea of it lodges uncomfortably in his chest, for some reason, but he listens to Hinata attentively regardless. Their practice quiz sits abandoned on the table.
It’s a regular Thursday night for the two of them, an established routine since the volleyball season ended. They still attend practices occasionally, but it feels strange to linger so close to final exams. Even volleyball idiots have some semblance of social awareness.
“Kageyama,” Hinata says abruptly, turning onto his stomach to face him, “Come visit me in Brazil. When I'm there.” He offers a small smile, hand propped up against his chin. Tobio swallows, watching the warm curve of light against his cheek. Hinata's freckles are more noticeable in the glow. Tobio frowns – of course he's visiting, there was barely even a question about it – but the whole thing continues to tug at his insides.
18,208 kilometres away. He'd looked it up the distance two hours after Hinata had told him he'd be going to Brazil the year after next, and stared at the map without blinking (for far too long to be healthy). He'd clicked on the ticket prices straight after.
“I'll think about it,” he mutters with an eye roll and a smile escaping his lips. He receives a volleyball thrown in his direction in return, and lets it bounce off his head, if only to hear Hinata’s laugh.
“Get off the floor, we're finishing the quiz now lazy.” Hinata jumps on to the floor with a thud and walks towards Tobio.
“You were the one who got distracted first.”
“No time for excuses. Up, up, up.” Hinata drums on Tobio's head as he says it, obnoxious as ever.
Reluctantly, Tobio shuffles towards the table with all their papers and grabs his pen. Hinata plops down right next to him. They’re on question three.
They get on with their work, the silence only broken by their writing, and Hinata’s occasionally drumming against the table. Even a year ago, Tobio thinks, he probably would have scolded him for being so annoying. He’s grown used to it now.
Eventually, he reaches a question that he is completely clueless about. He glances up to ask Hinata if he has any idea, and is a little startled to find brown eyes already watching him attentively. There’s a strange look across his face.
“Wait which one?”
Hinata shuffles closer to see the question, bumping their knees together as Tobio taps his finger on the page.
“This one? You just add them together, stupid. Even I know that!” He slides the paper towards him and scribbles viciously, explaining every line of working out.
Tobio should be listening, but he finds himself distracted by the strands of copper hair falling across Hinata’s cheeks. It’s longer now, long enough for the top half to clipped back during volleyball practice. He only realises how much he’s accidentally leant forward when Hinata turns back to him to check if he’s understood.
They’re at eye level, and he can’t help but notice the red painted across Hinata’s cheeks, the soft contour of his cheekbones, and freckles that are so close he could trace constellations. And then, suddenly, there’s nothing else in the world but wide, brown eyes flitting down briefly and back up to catch his gaze. Tobio feels like holding his breath, like holding on to this sliver of time and letting it stretch on for eternity.
But then his chest stutters, in the same way an engine breathes back to life. And that thing inside him twists and tangles, and he jerks back suddenly, air filling his lungs again.
“I, uh, I think I remember now. How to do it.” Hastily, Tobio averts his gaze and swallows the feeling down, letting it settle in the pit of his stomach, as far from his head as possible. He looks down to his paper, decorated with Hinata’s scratchy handwriting, and nearly screams.
This is what dying feels like. Surely it can’t get worse than this.
He barely even hears the response, ears all muffled. He’ll have to sort this out later. A heart problem can’t be good for an aspiring professional volleyball player. Nor a head problem, because he could swear Hinata looked far too carefully at his mouth just then.
The rest of the night passes without another incident. Hinata's face remains a respectable distance away from his, and he manages to suffer silently through their practice quiz. Hinata starts rambling again eventually, about trying float serves and Tsukishima’s newest pair of glasses, but he leaves earlier than usual.
“Natsu is making me help with some school project,” he says with a nonchalance as he walks towards the door, “Nearly forgot. ” Tobio offers to help, or at least walk Hinata to his bus stop like usual, but he’s met with an immediate and a hurried goodbye.
His overall demeanour strikes Tobio as odd – Hinata never forgets a Natsu request – but he shakes it off. He needs time to sort out the mess that was himself tonight too.
✏
It only gets worse at lunchtime the next day, however, this heart condition and stomach pit combination from hell.
“I still can't believe he's actually doing it!” Yachi exclaims. “I think he's booking the tickets tonight.”
Tobio drops his coins all over the floor. He'd known it was happening soon, but the thought of tonight left him mildly spiralling.
They're standing by his usual vending machine, discussing post-highschool plans. It feels like it's the only thing everyone is talking about these days.
“Are you sure you’re feeling okay about it?” Yachi tilts her head worriedly, brows all furrowed. She’s too perceptive sometimes, he laments. Tobio manages to conjure up a scoff. “It’s in a year. Besides, it’ll be nice to have some peace, finally.” He stares extra hard at the cans in the vending machine today, before hitting one at random. An orange juice box pops out.
Orange juice. Orange hair. A small sigh escapes him. He is going insane.
It’s only on their way back to their table that Yachi tugs on the threads he had been dreading to see unspooled. “I think Hinata will miss you too,” she says quietly, nudging his side softly. “More than the rest of us.”
“What do you mean?” At this point, he’s stopped in his tracks. The edges of the juice box crease dangerously under his grip. If Yachi notices the panic on his face, she doesn’t say anything. All that he can process right now are the 18,208 kilometers between Miyagi and Brazil.
She shrugs lightly with a knowing smile on her face. “Just ask him about it. I’m sure he’ll feel the same as you.”
He spends the rest of the week picking the conversation apart and spreading the pieces out in his mind – seams unpicked and fabric laid bare: The tightening in his chest. The tangling of his insides. All that nauseating space between airports. And the thought of those eyes meeting his from across the table, for seemingly no other reason than to look.
He's not sure he counts all this fretting as about missing Hinata, so much as it is mere worry. They are teammates, after all. And have a years-long rivalry to fulfil. Volleyball is known to him, while Brazil – with all its UV rays and sandy beaches and millions of strangers – is not.
But Yachi insisted that Hinata would miss him, and she is almost never wrong.
✏
And so he does ask like she told him to, during their next study session.
They are in his bedroom once again, on their regularly scheduled Thursday, sitting beside each other in a completely regular fashion. Their backs are against his bed, legs pressed against each other. It’s an hour into their study time, and their flashcards are already strewn across the floor – remnants of a tower Hinata was building.
“Do you think you'll miss it here? When you're gone?”
Tobio feels the question leave his mouth before he has time to even register the thought. He chokes a little, any follow-up quip stuck in his throat. ‘Will you miss me?’ sits on the tip of his tongue instead, but he swallows it whole.
Tobio’s chest feels positively explosive, which probably also explains the heat creeping up his face. He refuses to make eye contact, staring pointedly at the plastic crown and sceptre Hinata made him wear for Halloween last year. “For the king you used to be,” he had insisted, donning his own little sword and shield.
He expects a joke in response to his question. Instead, he is met with a small hum that seems to last lifetimes. Tobio can almost feel the gears ticking and turning in Hinata’s brain. He’s fidgeting too. In all the years they have known each other, he has never witnessed the boy in such contemplation outside of the court. It’s more than a little disconcerting.
“Kageyama, that was the stupidest question. You have ever asked.” He feels Hinata shift to face him. “And you’ve asked a lot of them.”
And then Tobio becomes acutely aware of how closely they are sitting together – arms touching, knees knocking. It’s nothing new, he knows. At the same time, however, it feels completely novel.
“Obviously I’ll miss this.” The words feel careful, somehow. Cautious.
“What if you forget how to play real volleyball? A year is a–” Tobio fumbles. “It’s a long time.” The question feels silly as soon as it leaves his mouth.
Hinata smacks him on the knee, a devilish smile on his lips. “Are you saying you’ll miss me, Kageyama Tobio?” He seems to falter for a second, as Tobio stiffens involuntarily. How is he meant to articulate a week's worth of puzzling into words? This is rare for him too, this reflex of restraint.
“And beach volleyball is also real volleyball dumbass,” Hinata mutters afterwards, laced with far less bite than before.
“Not really.”
“You’re only saying that because you suck at it,” squawks Hinata defiantly.
“It was one time. When I was five. You’re probably the same height as I was back then.” He shoots back the insult with fervour, a welcome distraction from the pressing question at hand.
He receives a pencil thrown in his direction in reply, and a satisfied smile in accompaniment. There's no chance they're getting anything else done today, Tobio thinks, as he crumples a flashcard into a ball to retaliate. Hinata gasps, hand across heart.
It ends with a full sprint around the house, a spilt jug of water, and a mop and rag. Tobio thanks the universe that his mother is coming home late from work tonight.
It's not until he's laying in bed later that night, lights off, that he realises he never received a straight answer to his own question.
✏
Before class the next morning, Hinata walks straight up to him in the hallway and plops his forehead on Tobio’s shoulder with a groan.
“Remind me why we stopped studying yesterday? I still have no idea what an ion is, and I don’t have the flashcard for it anymore.”
“You tried making the card tower.”
“Only because you started talking about Italy’s blocking last game, and then it reminded me of Aone’s blocking from first year, which is clearly going to make me think of walls, and then towers with walls.” Hinata lifts his head and scrunches up his eyebrows in despair. His hair is sticking up, and Tobio feels the need to flatten it with his palms. “You’ve known me for three years. You should’ve seen it coming.”
“It’s your own fault,” Tobio chastises instead of fixing the hair.
Hinata ignores him and carries on. “ And the questions after that distracted me too. I’m obviously going to miss home. And the food here. And the volleyball gym. And yo–” He freezes abruptly, face flushing red.
“Who are we missing?” Yamaguchi sidles up beside him, his eyes flitting amusedly between Hinata and Tobio. There's a joke here somewhere, Tobio just can't place his finger on it.
“NOBODY," Hinata practically shouts with his hands waving everywhere. "Miyagi...home." He looks apprehensively at Tobio, who cannot help but remain flummoxed by the whole ordeal.
Yamaguchi looks like he is graciously attempting to hold in a laugh. He then looks right at Tobio, eyebrows raised and laden with implication. “Yachi would probably say something different, I think.”
Hinata’s eyes widen with frantic energy, buzzing on the spot. “What did she say?” he asks in hushed tones.
Hinata will miss you too. It's entering territory that feels eerily related to that messy knot in his chest, and he feels the panic rising too.
"Nothing. She told me you bought the plane tickets yesterday," he mutters gruffly, and it's clear that Hinata immediately relaxes. It's frustrating, this tiptoeing around from everyone, including him, and he wishes someone would just yell the answers to his face.
The bell rings for class, and Yamaguchi waves goodbye. He runs up to Tsukishima waiting on the other side of the hallway and chatters something inaudible. His full-bodied laughter is visible even from a distance, as is Tsukishima's head shake.
He's reaching out to tug on Hinata's shirt to ask if he knows anything, but instead, the boy grabs his elbow to drag him into the classroom.
✏
Exam season is upon them with the turn of a new week, and they’ve got another final tomorrow. In Tobio’s opinion, Friday afternoon is an appalling time for an English exam, but he can do nothing about it but despair.
They are writing a practice essay during this study session, with pen and paper and silence all mandatory according to Hinata. Truth be told, Tobio is not so concerned with final marks - he never has, really. He has a Division One offer lined up for after graduation, and English has never been his strong suit either. But Hinata is scribbling furiously in his notebook, and he’s nothing if not competitive, so he finds himself in the middle of a timed practice right beside him.
The only trouble is that Hinata has clipped back his hair today, silver stars borrowed from Natsu’s collection. For keeping the hair out of his eyes, he had said.
Unfortunately, they’re doing nothing but being a distraction right now. Hinata’s waves are pushed back messily, leaving strands curled up against his ears. Long eyelashes sweep along his cheekbones, and freckles dance along them in full view. His brows are furrowed slightly as he scans the full page of writing from top to bottom margin, propping his elbow up on the table. It’s almost infuriating, how his face is sculpted so perfectly. Tobio is all too aware of the clock ticking away the seconds, and yet, he cannot pull his eyes away and oh–
Hinata looks up to meet his gaze. Offers him a small smile and a question in his eyes. Tobio’s runs out of air to breathe. Again. He registers the pink creeping up his neck and across his ears, and he knows, he knows , he needs to say something to explain himself right now but all that’s coming to mind is the fact that Hinata’s pen is resting against his lips, and that his eyes are asking a question that he wants to say yes to so badly, and that he can’t believe it took him the better part of three years to come to the realisation that he wants to kiss his friend.
And then they’re left staring at each other, and it’s like Hinata knows , and that damned smile is growing wider and wider, and Tobio can barely even remember where they are, let alone how to speak.
“You can kiss me, you know. I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.”
The instant he hears it, and looks down again towards Hinata and his flushed cheeks, Tobio knows it’s over for him. His body moves closer instinctively, towards red-headed sun and warmth. Hinata’s breath is warm against his lips.
“But the timer–”
“Who cares.”
It’s a peck, at first, all light and tentative. They barely pull away, but Tobio can feel the smile radiating from Hinata through sheer energy alone. There's a thrill up his spine, and his oxygen feels oh so scarce. It is tenderness he feels, and relief that loosens days, weeks, even years worth of muddled feelings from the shackles of denial.
Hinata chuckles then, and Tobio is overcome by this urge to kiss him again. He leans back in, hands buried in Hinata's hair and they slot their lips together. It's messy, all clashing teeth and open mouths. Fingers grip the back of his neck, and he feels Hinata's own hair tie fall to the ground somewhere. Its the first kiss for both of them, Tobio registers distantly.
Time stretches out into oblivion, wrapping its tender hands around the universe to the point where he cannot sense the end nor the beginning. The only things that exist are his fingers tucked into the folds of Hinata’s shirt, a loosened knot in his chest, and lips, soft lips pressed against his own.
It feels right . Like the culmination of everything. The beginning, but also the end and the in-between. Him, Hinata, and this inevitable fate tying them together. There might be oceans between them in the future, but they'll never not be connected.
“You never answered my question,” Hinata says later, when Tobio is walking him to his bus stop, "About missing me when I'm in Brazil."
Sunset has long passed, and the night envelops them in a quiet composure, peppered with stars against an expansive sky. Tobio can't wipe the smile off his face.
"And you never answered mine," he replies simply. He knows what the answer is now, just as he's sure Hinata knows his. But he digs for it anyway, because he can.
Hinata scoffs and rolls his eyes teasingly. "If you want me to say it, just tell me, Kageyama." He says his name with a kind of reverence. The mild embarrassment must be written all over his face, because he nudges Tobio good-naturedly.
“I’ll miss you when I’m overseas, you know. Everyone, obviously, but especially you.”
And what is a boy meant to do when he hears that, except flush red from head to toe and mourn a tongue forever tied from sheer fluster. He manages to string together a "you too" before reaching for Hinata's hand frantically to distract them both. He’s never felt so dizzied with bliss.
They are hurtling towards graduation and adulthood and volleyball on different stages, and Tobio dreads it all in the same way he dreads the last point on a scoreboard.
Yet, he has Hinata here beside him, hand in his. They've been opponents, rivals, teammates and partners on the court. And so, he knows, in his very bones, that they'll be tied to each other off the court too.