Chapter Text
January 2015
“Karasuno lost to Kamomedai at your last appearance at Nationals two years ago; was it easier to break through their walls with your other half on the court this time?”
Kageyama was as equally surprised to be the one having a microphone shoved at him as he was at the substance of the question. Other half? Oh, she must mean Hinata.
The reporter that had asked the question was looking at him strangely. The longer he went without answering, the odder she looked, but he couldn’t tell what the look on her face was supposed to convey. He always sucked at reading people; if they weren’t spiking a volleyball at him, he never knew what anyone else was thinking. It was incredibly frustrating.
“Uh-,” Kageyama began to fluster, when he was rescued by two presences approaching behind him from either side.
Hinata, boundless energy still in overdrive from the match, butted in first. “Of course! With me around, Kageyama is invincible! We both are!”
“No one was talking to you, idiot-”
Before he could really ream the tangerine specter that haunted him day and night, Yamaguchi took control over the situation from his other side.
“Go sit down and get some water, both of you. Itachiyama’s game is wrapping up quicker than expected, so we probably won’t have time to eat before we play the winner of that match next,” the other third year said, shooing them away from the sidelines before turning back to the reporter.
“Kageyama and Hinata’s energy combined certainly gave us more edge than the last time we played Kamomedai, but I still wouldn’t describe it as ‘easy’ ” Yamaguchi answered tactfully. “They’re still a tough team, even without Hoshiumi-san, or any of the other players from the 2013 team that we last faced. We’re grateful for the victory and for the challenging match . . .”
Yamaguchi’s voice filtered out and was lost in the crowds as he and Hinata jogged away, first and second years on the team following behind with the ball cart and the rest of their gear.
Ah, so that’s what that feeling is. One loss and it will be over.
The ‘freak duo’ dies here.
The team had had its share of ups and downs over the years, and Kageyama was no stranger to losing in spite of his talents as a setter, but for some reason the reporter’s question had cemented a fear that had been hovering on the fringes of his mind for the last several months; his on-court partnership with Hinata was inevitably about to come to an end.
It was old news to him and Hinata, but even though they’d been playing together for three years now, crowds and other players alike still couldn’t get over how amazing their ‘freak quick’ was. Initially, it was ‘the first year duo’; he couldn’t remember if anyone had called them something else when they’d played in the Spring Tournament their second year, but their reputation stuck regardless.
Kageyama had never experienced an on-court partnership like the one he’d built with Hinata, even if it felt like the re-incarnation of Karasuno’s past Little Giant had done most of the changing, evolving, and building that had been necessary to make them household names in the small high school volleyball community. From the moment that he’d turned 18 a few weeks earlier, the contract proposals had been rolling in from nearly every pro team in Japan, and even a few from overseas. Hinata on the other hand, had already made his decision, when he’d been overlooked again the year before for everything from the Miyagi winter training camps to the U-19: he was moving to Brazil, and starting over.
Maybe he was my someone better; and I couldn’t see that until it was too late.
No one is going to put in the time to match up to me in the pros. I never had to slow down or stoop to his level because he was always already there, putting in the work.
Even though he gets on every nerve, and his skill set is only roughly at the same level as a completely average middle blocker . . . I think I’m going to miss him.
As they climbed the stairs to the second level, Kageyama’s internal puzzling was interrupted by Tsukishima’s bored lilt.
“I don’t know what your problem is, Highness, but your face is scaring away children.” Sure enough, a group of middle schoolers was clustered on the stairwell’s landing, whispering amongst themselves, only a few daring to look on in trepidation as one of the top high school teams in the country shuffled past. “Seriously, is The King having an aneurysm?”
Hinata’s face was suddenly right up next to his own, curious amber eyes wide. The red head squinted at him for only a moment before cutting off his return jab at Tsukishima with a reply of “Nah, that’s just his thinking face, Sucky-shima.”
The blonde shrugged off the insult and continued on. “Makes sense, I guess. Your blocks were all over the place in that last match, I figured he must have the brain cell today.”
Feelings that he couldn’t quite wrap his hands around had been plaguing him for a long time; maybe it was graduation in two months, or the prospect of where to go and who he’d be paired with when he went pro, but Kageyama’s head had felt so full lately that it had been all he could do to focus on what was in front of him.
It all made sense now though— well, it didn’t make sense, but at least he could put a name on what he was feeling. His anxiety at losing Hinata as a partner on the court, and mentally bracing himself for a loss that hadn’t happened yet was all new to him. Now wasn’t the time for navel-gazing, though; he had to stay in the present if they had any hope of beating Itachiyama.
So, rather than trying to make sense of his own internal confusion, Kageyama opted to insult Tuskishima instead.
“Are your brains in your legs too? Because Hinata doesn’t need to think to jump, and I could tell you were half-assing your jumps all the way through the third set.”
The looks on both Hinata and Tsukishima’s faces were as unreadable as the reporter’s had been earlier, but Kageyama walked away confident that he’d said the right thing to stop their incessant bickering for a little while.
~~~~~~
July 2016
“What would you say was the hardest thing about switching from indoor volleyball to beach?”
It was a question that Shouyou couldn’t really pick one answer to. Moving all the way to the other side of the world was a daunting prospect on its own. Going somewhere that he didn’t speak the language, and didn’t know a single soul, some would have called stupid. Doing all of this at eighteen; well, that was just insane.
Hinata knew that he would miss his family and teammates, that starting over in a new field and in a new country would mean a lot of heartache and struggle, knew that he would miss the familiarities of home in Japan. .
He hadn’t expected his grumpy on-court partner to miss him in return though. In the 4 or so years that they’d known each other, and the 1-2 years where Hinata felt that they were actually friends, Kageyama was talking to him more now than he ever had previously. Even if their schedules only synced up once or twice a month, Kageyama would actually call him on those days and needle at Shouyou over text if he forgot to call or didn’t pick up.
The substance of their conversations would probably be inane to others, but they had never needed to say much. Hinata would chatter on about beach volleyball, and his recent sponsorship from Kenma, or trying to quiz Kageyama on the Italian the other man was trying to learn— under the misguided assumption that it was similar enough to the Portuguese he himself had begun to gain some fluency in.
Whatever they talked about though, whether it was for 10 minutes or an hour, it always left Shouyou feeling off balance; because, up until now, it hadn’t seemed like Kageyama cared about him at all. Why couldn’t you have been like this a year ago, Kageyama?
Receiving. Serves. Blocking. Even sets— though he’d never get to Kageyama’s level of talent at them, in indoor or beach— every skill he’d built and every tactic he was still refining, was all because the former King of the Court had taken a chance on him when they were both still rookies.
I was too chicken to take a chance in return, Hinata thought as he zipped through the busy streets of Rio, delivery bag weighing heavy on his back.
I guess I can’t judge him too harshly; I only really began to realize I’d fallen for him when it was too late. I still don’t know if he felt the same way, and it would have been rude to put that on him and then just up and leave the country anyway. Just because we’re talking more now doesn’t mean anything has really changed for him. I can’t tell if he’s just lonely in Tokyo by himself or if he wants more out of our friendship.
He’d gone to their old gym on graduation day more than a year ago, sure that he would pluck up enough courage to confess. It had taken him a while to get his head around his feelings, but time had run out: he was moving to Brazil and Kageyama was going pro, so it was now or never. Seeing Kageyama there though, still practicing that killer jump serve —pushing hard to get even 1% better than he’d been the day before— had stopped Hinata in his tracks.
There was still a wall in front of him, and it was one that he had to get over on his own.
A T.V. in a sports bar was airing Olympics coverage from earlier in the day as he skidded to a stop at an intersection. His Portuguese was getting pretty good, but he could have read the situation even without subtitles; Japan, with Kageyama serving, was still on the verge of being eliminated in the fourth round of the tournament. Medal contention was slipping away from them, but not without a fight.
‘I’m going on ahead.’
The light at the intersection turned green but Hinata hesitated another moment, waiting for the whistle to sound in the TV match, signaling the game was over.
Yeah you are, Tobio. And I’m always going to be one step behind.
But I’ll still be there. All you have to do is turn around and look.
I won’t be on the sidelines forever. Next time, I’ll have your back.
~~~~~
November 2018
“Last question is for Kageyama-senshu: Is it hard facing someone that you played so well with in the past as a rival instead?”
“You mean Hinata? We’ve always been rivals, but in the sense that we push each other to constantly improve and get better. So . . . No, it’s not hard. At least not in the way I think you mean, Reporter-san.”
~
“Hinata-senshu, fans may remember that you and Kageyama of the Adlers were teammates back in high-school; if you had to choose one, would you say he’s easier to work with or play against?”
“Agh! I don’t know if I could choose! Make no mistake, Kageyama-kun has never been easy to work with, but it doesn’t matter what side of the net we’re on— we’re always going to be at odds, each trying to grow stronger than the other. You can’t beat that sort of rivalry. . . So, not to be rude, but I guess the answer to your question is that it doesn’t matter. It’s always a good game, no matter what side we’re on.”
~
“Well look who got tired of playing in the sand and decided to come home!”
The moment he walked into the izakaya, Hinata spotted his old teammates from Karasuno crowded around a long table in the back corner: some looked up and waved wildly, like Tanaka; others nodded or stood to greet him, like Daichi and Takeda-sensei— who was apparently already a little drunk, judging by the glasses pushed up into his hairline and the tears of joy that streamed down his face as he shook Hinata’s hand somewhat violently.
“Calm down, Specs, you’re gonna freak the kid out,” Coach Ukai rasped.
As he sat down, Yamaguchi nudged him and asked, “Settle something for us, Hinata: Tsukki thinks that because you don’t play middle blocker anymore, that he’s won the competition between you two by forfeit. I think that, since you always wanted to play outside or opposite, that there was no competition to begin with. Which is it?”
“Shut up, Tadashi,” Tsukishima grunted from the other side of the table. “Good game, Hinata. Is the King going to be joining us? Or is he out drowning his sorrows with the rest of the Adlers?”
“He said he’d be here eventually; he’s not heading back to Tokyo tomorrow like the rest of the team, we’re both staying in town for a few days to visit family,” Hinata assured them, accepting a pint of beer from the waitress.
“Speak of the devil-” Suga nodded to the door, as Ennoshita walked in, dragging a slightly hesitant Kageyama behind him.
“Sorry I missed the match, guys, I couldn’t get out of work. I caught some highlights on the train though; Hinata, that surprise set to Bokuto-senshu at the end was great!” Ennoshita gushed as he unceremoniously ushered an uncharacteristically nervous looking Kageyama into a seat next to Hinata.
“You played well, too, Kageyama,” Yachi squeaked, apparently sensing the other setter’s discomfort.
“Yeah, but I think Hinata has become the better all-arounder, at least between the two of you,” Suga said, reaching across the table to cheers the other setter with the drink he’d been handed.
Kageyama finally turned to him and hissed “What are you doing? We’re not supposed to be drinking, idiot! It’s the start of the season-”
Hinata shrugged off the insult and clapped Kageyama genially on the shoulder. “Damn, ‘Yama, are y’all’s trainers really that strict? I can have one, I just can’t get smashed.”
~
Kageyama would learn, although unfortunately only much later in life, that no one should ever indulge in drinking where Sugawara was involved.
Hinata is the perfect height to lean on, though.
Where are we going? I was supposed to crash at Miwa’s house, but I think I would pass out during the cab ride there at this point.
“It’s kind of late for that, ‘Yama. Besides, would a taxi from Sendai even go out that far? You’re just on the other side of the mountain from me after all.”
Guess I said some of that out loud.
“Just a little farther, the hotel is right there.”
Somehow, they made it, though whether it was two blocks or twenty, he couldn’t be sure. Cracking open an eye, Kageyama saw that he and Hinata were in an elevator; slowly he became aware that they were, in fact, huddled together in one corner of an empty elevator. Hinata’s face was oddly close to his, though it didn’t seem like the ginger was concerned.
Fuck, I didn’t realize that red-heads could get that tan.
Without a second thought, Kageyama reached out from where he was leant against the cool metal wall of the lift and tapped the freckled tip of Hinata’s nose with a finger.
“Boop.”
He’d always sucked at reading people, but the look on Hinata’s face could only be one of profound delight— or maybe confusion? Goddammit, how is it this hard to get what you’re thinking when we’re off the court?
“Okay, I’m going to have to call that bar tomorrow and ask what they were serving. You’re completely blitzed, Tobio,” Hinata chuckled, pushing a lock of black hair out of Kageyama’s face and twirling it idly between his fingers. Kageyama scowled slightly and looked pointedly at the hand Hinata had touched his hair with, still hovering dangerously close to his face.
“You’re one to talk, dumbass. Are you always this touchy when you’re drunk?”
Thankfully, it seemed that Hinata either hadn’t heard or had chosen to ignore his comment about being handsy, because the spiker continued to play lightly with his hair. It’s not like I want him to stop.
“Ooh, let’s get a selfie, too! I want to document this occasion, so that I can tell my grandchildren someday that I got the King of the Court so drunk after beating him at volleyball that he became a normal person for an hour or two.”
“Heyyy,” Kageyama slurred. “Don’ call me that. . . Liked Tobio better . . . Shou.”
Hinata had started to fish his phone out of the pocket of his gold and black Jackals jacket when Kageyama said his given name, which caused him to jerk his head up in surprise.
Did I cross a line there? He doesn’t look mad. . .
Hinata had seemed blissfully happy before— if he’d been shocked or offended to hear Kageyama say his given name, he wasn’t really showing it— but even Kageyama could tell that something had changed. Hinata seemed to be moving more cautiously now, despite the smile still plastered to his angular, sun drenched face.
Hinata shifted and leaned back against the wall in front of him and was already holding his phone up and out so that he could encompass both of them in the picture. “Then smile, Tobio,” he whispered, voice a shade huskier than it had been a moment before.
He tried not to think too much about the motion of the lift underneath his feet, because it was only fueling the nausea he felt building in his gut. Instead, Kageyama reached out and pulled Hinata more towards him, focused on the warm and solid pressure of Hinata holding him up, tucked under one of his arms. He rested his chin on top of the mess of orange waves that stuck out around Hinata’s head and did his best to smile for the camera.
The shutter clicked, and Kageyama closed his eyes again. Distantly, the elevator dinged, and he heard Hinata grunt “C’mon, ‘Yama, don’t pass out just yet.”
The elevator dinged and the door began to slide open. Kageyama fought the urge to let his knees buckle and pushed off the wall of the elevator with a jerk, stumbling out of the lift and nearly falling anyway. He couldn’t seem to get his feet to move in tandem with his legs; his torso was another problem entirely.
Leaning heavily on Shouyou felt nice though. His old friend was much more solid and muscular now than he’d been in high school; and if he was straining or uncomfortable at all, being encumbered by Kageyama’s own greater height and weight clinging to him, he certainly didn’t say so. With every step, Kageyama felt more and more separated from his body, like he was watching someone else stagger down the unfamiliar hotel hallway.
~
“Damn, ‘Yama, you’ve gotta lay off the Power Curry; you’re not a growing boy anymore, y’know. . .” Hinata grumbled under his breath as he dragged himself down the last 15 meters of the hotel’s hallway, an extra 80 kilos of unconscious setter slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Kageyama had apparently taken his admonishment not to pass out as a challenge, swaying and keeling over less than a minute after they’d disembarked from the elevator.
Hinata had never been more grateful to have biked everywhere for the last six years; even with calves and thighs of steel, every muscle in his body ached as he crouched down to deposit Kageyama as gently as he could on the bed in his room. He tugged the setter’s shoes and socks off with little trouble before doing the same for himself; the moral conundrum of what to do about the rest of his friend’s street clothes took longer to resolve.
“Psst— Tobio.” Kageyama didn’t respond. Hinata shook his shoulder gingerly and whispered the other’s name again, just a little louder. “Tobio, I assume that you don’t want to sleep in your jeans, yeah?”
Kageyama groaned softly, the absolute bare minimum response that he could likely muster to let Hinata know that he was still alive.
Eventually, Hinata decided to grab a clean pair of basketball shorts from his travel bag and dress Kageyama in those. It was a difficult feat to accomplish with his eyes closed, but he managed, tucking the setter’s long legs under the duvet afterwards and settling him on his side in what he thought he remembered the recovery position to be.
Still not entirely sober himself, Hinata allowed himself a moment to study his passed out friend; they hadn’t seen much of each other since he’d moved back from Brazil earlier that year, and Hinata didn’t often get the chance to soak in and process his growing feelings for the other man, especially not when the other was around.
Crazy how much changes when you only text or talk on the phone for two years. Though he was sure to be miserable in the morning, Kageyama looked positively angelic in this moment: the lamp at the bedside literally cast a halo around the crown of his head, shiny black hair tousled out of its normal center part in the most adorable bed head.
Pulling out his phone again, he snapped a picture and sent it off to Miwa-neesan; he didn’t know much about Kageyama’s relationship with his parents, other than it was strained, and he’d said earlier that he’d been planning to stay with his sister anyway. Hinata doubted that Kageyama had had the wherewithal in their drunken stumble from the bar to the hotel to let her know he was okay and not face down in a gutter somewhere; he’d begun to lean on Hinata just a few blocks into the walk.
A ping from the phone in his hand reminded him that he was still standing there staring and that his sore, tired, drunk body very much wanted to be prone instead. The notification turned out to be Kenma’s stream starting. He’d only ever told one other soul about his crush on Karasuno’s star setter and it was, ironically, one of the other’s biggest rivals; the cunning and often underestimated setter from Nekoma.
Hinata tossed his phone onto the mattress and shuffled over to the other side of the bed, peeling away his street clothes as he went, leaving them where they fell on the floor. He was too hot, whether from the alcohol or the exercise, to sleep in anything besides boxers, and rolling up his side of the duvet around the excess pillows that had decorated the bed made a good enough barrier between them that Hinata was satisfied Kageyama wouldn’t be too weirded out about them sharing a bed if he woke up in the middle of the night.
As he settled in, Hinata scooped up his phone and texted Kenma, apologizing for having to miss this stream. Before he had any thought to stop himself, he texted the selfie from the elevator and the photo of passed out Kageyama to Kenma as well.
1:09am
shouyoyoyo: question for you, oh wise kodzuken
shouyoyoyo: when exactly does one grow out of simping over their high school setter?
2 attachments sent
kenmaaaaaa: lol idk. Probably a better question for bokuto, tbh
Hinata had already passed out though, and by the time he saw the response from his friend and sponsor, it was morning and Kageyama was already gone.
~
It seemed like only a second or two after stepping out of the elevator, he was lying in a bed in a dark room, his head spinning. Slowly, painfully, he rolled over to get his bearings and ran right into a wall of . . . Pillows?
Kageyama was sure that if he moved his body even another centimeter, he would lose his stomach; his head throbbed sharply, but after a moment of deep breaths, he dared to venture a tentative hand over the barrier of pillows—and as expected, there was another body on the other side.
A very warm body, and shirtless it seemed. The muscles his long fingers grazed against felt supple and defined; if he had the guts to look, he was pretty sure that the skin covering those muscles would be tanned and freckled, dusted all over with fine golden hair.
Dread clenched at his throat and Kageyama closed his eyes. Oh god. What happened?
Sometime later— a small amount of light trickled in now, from a window on the other side of the room, so he must have fallen back asleep— he took another deep breath and cracked open an eye.
Shit.
A mop of orange hair was visible over the pillow mound; crossing over the pillow blockade was half an arm, and the short, knobbled spiker’s fingers at its end were wound around his own.
The last thing I remember is leaving the izakaya; somehow between then and now, I wound up passed out in Hinata’s hotel room, holding hands with him.
Unpack whatever this is later, he reasoned dimly. I don’t think anything really happened, but I also don’t know that I’m ready to talk about what could have happened.
Actually, I can’t think of anything more awkward and unpleasant than talking about this at all, hangover notwithstanding.
The only way to keep a flood of emotions he barely understood from drowning him was to run away from the wave and retreat to high ground. So Kageyama did just that, slinking away to pretend for another week, another year; he would pretend for however long it took to convince himself that he hadn’t wanted to knock down that literal wall between them and drag Shouyou under the covers, holding him close until his own icy core melted from the heat that blazed from the center of Hinata’s very being, until their hearts beat in sync and Kageyama could smell the faraway ocean and sands of another place on the other’s skin.
~~~~~
July 2021
“Amazing! Karasuno High’s famous duo flies across the court again, tying up the final set with Argentina at 23-23!”
“Well, Japan put up a terrific fight, but in the end, Oikawa-senshu’s serves and Argentina’s attacks just could not be stopped. We’ll have full coverage at the top of the hour of this and the rest of the day’s events at the Games of the 32nd Olympiad, right here in Tokyo.”
“It is official! The Monster Generation has brought home Bronze, the first time Japan has been able to medal in volleyball at all since the Munich Games in 1972.”
The stadium trembled so much at the cheers of the crowd that Hinata wondered if they were having an earthquake. Distantly, he thought he could pick out his mother and sister’s screams of elation amongst the roar of noisemaker sticks and clapping. In total violation of the disease prevention protocols established for the Games to be held in person this year, everyone from the bench—even Iwaizumi and the training staff—piled onto the court to celebrate with Team Japan.
Despite being so close in proximity— relative to the distance between Japan and Brazil— they hadn’t really had the opportunity to reconnect on the same level as they had before, Kageyama being stuck in Tokyo and himself in Osaka throughout the lockdown the previous year.
It was the first time he could remember those deep blue eyes actually sparkling at him; not since they’d been teenagers, could he remember seeing Tobio be so happy.
As they were about to be sucked into the center of the huddle of sweaty volleyball players, he caught Kageyama’s eye and made a split second decision, side-stepping a hug from Atsumu and making a beeline for the other setter.
We’ve conquered every hurdle, fought every dragon and monster of other teams, together, for years, all to lead up to this. I’ve had the time of my life with you, Tobio. I don’t want it to be over, end with neither of us saying something.
There’s only one more wall in my way.
~
Kageyama was sure that he’d actually combust when Hinata’s fiery gaze fell on him. They were all panting from the exertion of the match, and Hinata’s usually fair complexion made him look as red in the face as the JNT uniform they all wore.
Hot damn. He’s gorgeous.
The tension between them had sprung back up a few years before, after the match in Sendai. Part of it had been him, pulling back in embarrassment at being hauled home drunk, and waking up in bed next to the his teenage crush, who had clearly ended up taking care of him the night before.
To this day, his lockscreen was set with a photo from that night, even though he didn’t remember taking it: it was him in his white team jacket from the Adlers, with his arms around Hinata in his Jackals black and gold, smiling together in an elevator, while he nuzzled his face into tufts of his friend’s orange hair, both of their eyes half lidded and glazed.
Now, they were both drunk on the moment, victorious even though they’d lost the match; together, they’d still won an Olympic medal.
I could live in this moment forever.
It has to be now. We may never play on the same side again. I have to tell him how much playing together has meant to me.
They each dodged touches and glances from their teammates. As everyone else hugged, shook hands, and cried, Kageyama and Hinata were drawn to each other from opposite sides of the court like magnets.
Before they could reach each other though, fate stepped in again.
“C’mon, we have to line up guys! This isn’t the Inter-High, show some respect to our opponents.”
IOC staff herded them to the back line of the court, bows and handshakes were exchanged with Argentina—including no small amount of gloating from Oikawa, at least until Iwaizumi smacked his arm through the net— press conferences were held, medals distributed, France ending up with Gold in a huge upset versus Argentina.
But the chance never came again.
After all, he couldn’t exactly call up his friend, who had already announced plans to move back to Brazil, and say “Oh hey, before you go, were you about to kiss me on the Olympic courts the other day?”
~~~~~
August 2024
Hinata was still catching his breath, panting slightly throughout the short sidelines interview. It wasn’t the heat; France was about as hot in July as it had been growing up in Miyagi, if not a little cooler, and it was the middle of winter in Brazil at the moment— not that South America was known for cold winters, it was all about the same.
It wasn’t his beach partner’s exuberance exhausting him either: a year and a half before, Nishinoya had reached out to him to say that he would be in Brazil for his work as a travel writer for the next three months, and that he was interested in playing beach volleyball, specifically if he could hang out with Shouyou while doing so.
Three months turned into Noya resigning from writing for the foreseeable future and getting into beach volleyball full time. Together, they’d annihilated the competition in informal tournaments on the beaches of Rio de Janeiro, and eventually qualified for the Olympics as Japan’s first ever beach volleyball entrants. The training and preparation had been exhilarating but grueling, and Noya had already sworn that he was getting too old to do another Olympic run after this, even though he was less than a year older than Hinata.
Since it was legal in Brazil, Noya and Asahi-san had also finally gotten married during that time— Hinata had done the paperwork online to officiate their little ceremony on the beach, so that it could be conducted in Japanese for the grooms, as well as in Portuguese to satisfy the local authorities.
All in all, he was used to all the other concerns weighing on him at the moment. Hinata had known going into this year’s Games that it would likely be his only chance to bring Japan any glory in beach volleyball. Japan had no lack of sandy beaches to play on, but support for the sport was virtually non-existent in his home country before he had come back in 2018.
No, it was simply the day’s exertion catching up to him (he was only human, after all): they had beaten the top ranked U.S.A men’s team that morning in a huge upset, eliminating America from medal contention after a tense three set match, and they’d just come out victorious over Norway as well, leaving the Norse to duke it out later that afternoon in the Bronze match against Germany.
“One more question, Hinata-senshu: Your next match represents several firsts, for you and for Team Japan. Regardless of outcome, you and Nishinoya-senshu have clinched silver at the least— but it will be the first time Japan has won a medal in Beach Volleyball at all. Additionally, you’d be the first international player in history to win a medal in both Indoor and Beach Volleyball. How do you plan to celebrate such monumental achievements?”
He nodded and thought for a moment, waiting for the Japanese translation to catch up.
Maybe it was the heat of the moment, or the Eiffel Tower standing proud in the background, the international symbol of the City of Love; maybe it was the fact that he’d seen the Indoor Volleyball team fly in the day before, when he and Noya had gone to the airport to pick up Asahi and their other seniors from Karasuno, a familiar dark head bobbing amidst the pack of his other friends and former teammates.
Whatever it was that inspired him, Hinata had an idea in that moment, and before he could second guess himself, he leaned into the microphone and said with a laugh “Well, there’s no use settling for silver when we’ve come this far and we’ll be playing against Brazil; they’re veteran players and people that I know from my time living and playing there, so I know it won’t be easy-”
Noya had apparently picked up a little bit a of French in his previous travels because whatever he butted in to say had something to do with Asahi-san, and made the cameraman behind the reporter slash furiously at his throat with one hand, indicating that they were about to cut away.
Hinata continued quickly, “As an old rival of mine said in high school, ‘The game isn’t over until the ball hits the floor.’ Even though we’re on sand, I’m not going to count on winning gold until I hear the last whistle; still, how to celebrate? Hmmm . . . Paris is called the City of Love, right?”
The question in return stunned the reporter for a moment, but she nodded yes.
Bring it on; I’m not afraid. We’ve been teammates, and we’ve been rivals; no one else can match you like I can, Tobio, and you know it.
“Well then,” Hinata made a fist in front of his chest, stubborn of will as always; his mind was made up. “If we win gold for Japan, I’ll confess to the person I’ve been in love with for the last decade. We’re both athletes and both very competitive; it’ll get under their skin so much that I’ve beat them in medal count, that I don’t think they’ll be as shocked by the confession.”
~~~~~
Kageyama Tobio was not what anyone would consider a good listener.
If he was paying attention— and such a privilege usually required the speaker to be talking about volleyball— then he would remember for years exactly what was said, where, and when. But every team that he’d played for now, at age 27, had learned to let him shuffle awkwardly away from the cameras at the end of a match, and most of his sponsorships were printed ads of some form; because for a player with so much skill at the game, Kageyama was also uniquely talented at making a fast-paced sport like volleyball sound like the most boring thing ever conceived of in the world of sport, and he couldn’t act for shit, even in commercials.
This time though, he’d heard Shouyou’s every word, despite being in a semi-crowded common area in the Olympic Village. Maybe it was because some of his friend’s former teammates on the Jackals had called attention to the television just moments before— “Yah, Bokkun, we can see that Sho-kun is on the T.V.; we can’t hear ‘im if you don’t shut it though”— or perhaps it was because it was the first time in far too long that he’d heard his former teammate’s voice, deeper now that they were older, but still carrying the same slight lilt and opposite flowing intonation of the Touhoku-ben that was common in their home prefecture.
Though the most likely reason he had to hear Hinata’s strange response to the innocuous question of “What will you do if you win?” was that he had wanted— deep down, for forever, for as long as they’d known each other— to have been the subject of Hinata’s affections. He hadn’t really understood how he felt until they’d played on the same side again three years prior at the Tokyo Olympics; but once it clicked, he knew that he’d been crushing hard on the energetic little spiker that the world now knew as “Ninja Shouyou” since they’d both been total nobodies.
Kageyama strongly suspected, based on the way that they all turned and looked at him now, that the rest of Team Japan knew that as well. Even a few members of other sports teams were looking on in interest or perhaps confusion: the judo representatives were looking over at the volleyball players, as though sizing them up; the women’s tennis delegation was doing the same, but with more titillated whispering amongst themselves.
“What?” he asked, trying not to sound defensive. He knew that at least a few of his teammates on the National Team were gay, but he himself had never come out; most days, he couldn’t make heads or tails of his feelings about anyone or anything, let alone be sure of whether or not he had a specific preference.
All Kageyama knew was that his body felt lighter, that his mind and internal focus was clearer, and that overall he still played his best games, all when Shouyou was around. He’d only ever been sure of his attraction to Shouyou. The thought of soulmates came to mind again, but he wasn’t sure if that fit; he was only familiar with the concept from the trashy romance novels that Miwa had been reading for years.
In staring at him, the rest of the JNT all missed Hinata’s small bow and devilish wink at the viewing audience as the camera panned past him, over Nishinoya-san— who seemed to be caught between shaking Hinata at the elbow in elation and launching himself off of the red-head’s tanned shoulders— before the news program cut away and moved on in rapid French to coverage of some other sport, interspersed with aerial footage of the Champs de Mars and all of the stadiums and venues that had been constructed there temporarily for the Games.
“Did you and Hinata-kun break up?” Ushijima’s deep monotone broke through the whispers and pulled most of the awkward eye contact from the rest of the team away from him to stare at the tactlessness of their outside hitter.
“I don’t think they were ever ‘together’, Ushiwaka-” Bokuto said in a stage whisper that was cut off by another elbow from Atsumu. Upon hearing that, Ushijima nodded at him in apology for the assumption.
“Never mind that, I’m pretty sure Yuu just cussed in French on national television,” Yaku interjected.
“Not really, he basically just gave a shout out to Azumane-san. If it had been something bad, they would have cut away,” Motoya shrugged.
Atsumu sighed and glared across the table at Sakusa. “Of course, you ‘n yer fancy pants cousin can speak French.”
“Translate this, Miya,” Sakusa threw back, about to make a rude gesture at the setter before Motoya stopped him.
“I learned some Polish when I was in the Eastern European leagues. It is very difficult to learn a new language,” Ushijima stated, earning a few groans from around the table. Atsumu now held his head in his hands.
Kageyama used the growing babble from the rest of the team to slip away; it was late in Japan, but not so late that he couldn’t make some calls.