Chapter Text
The gym was silent, the kind of quiet that felt heavy, pressing in on Hinata like a weight he couldn’t shrug off. He stood in the center of the court, volleyball in hand, sweat dripping from his temple and soaking the edges of his shirt. The faint hum of crickets outside reminded him that it was well past practice hours, but Hinata couldn’t bring himself to leave.
He set the ball down and wiped his face with his forearm. His legs trembled, exhaustion threatening to pull him to the floor, but he couldn’t stop now. Not yet.
“I need to jump higher,” he whispered to himself, his voice cracking in the empty gym. “I need to be faster.”
The words were like a mantra, a broken record spinning endlessly in his head. He tossed the ball in the air and leaped, spiking it with everything he had. The ball slammed against the wall and ricocheted to the floor, but Hinata didn’t pause to admire the sound. He was already setting up the next toss.
Jump. Spike. Land. Repeat.
His fingers burned every time they grazed the ball, the skin raw and split from hours of practice. His nails stung, cracked from the impact, but he didn’t care. The pain was grounding. It was a reminder that he was still here, still pushing, even when everything inside him screamed to stop.
Hinata’s stomach churned as he missed a spike, the ball thudding lifelessly to the ground. He stumbled, nearly losing his balance, and pressed his hands to his knees, gasping for air. His vision blurred at the edges, but he clenched his jaw and straightened, wiping at his face again.
“You’re so weak,” he muttered. The words tasted bitter, like they weren’t his own, but they felt true. “You’re nothing if you don’t try harder.”
He forced himself into another jump, ignoring the screaming protest of his legs. The ache in his muscles had dulled to a steady throb, a background noise to the louder, sharper voice in his head.
*You’re too small. Too slow. Too weak.*
Hinata’s hand missed the ball completely this time, his knees giving out as he hit the ground with a hard thud. The shock of the impact shot through his bones, but it didn’t stop the tears that sprang to his eyes. He stared at the ceiling, chest heaving, and tried to swallow the lump rising in his throat.
“Why can’t I just be enough?” he whispered, his voice breaking.
His body was screaming for rest, but his mind was louder. If he stopped now, the emptiness would creep in—the loneliness he couldn’t outrun, the fear that he was nothing without volleyball, the ache of pretending to be okay when he wasn’t.
Hinata sat up slowly, wiping at his face with trembling hands. He didn’t want anyone to see him like this, especially not his teammates. He was supposed to be the bright one, the loud one, the glue that held everyone together. If they knew how much he was falling apart...
The thought made his chest tighten, a sharp pain spreading through his ribs.
He forced himself back to his feet, ignoring the dizziness that followed. He grabbed the ball again, his fingers trembling as he held it. His vision swam, but he took another breath and forced himself into position.
Jump. Spike. Land. Repeat.
By the time the gym door creaked open, Hinata was barely standing. His shirt clung to his back, damp with sweat, and his legs shook with every step. He didn’t notice the figure standing in the doorway until a voice broke the silence.
“Hinata.”
He froze, his heart skipping a beat. He turned slowly to see Kageyama, his expression unreadable as he stepped into the gym.
“What are you doing here?” Kageyama asked, his tone sharper than usual.
Hinata opened his mouth to reply, but no words came. He clutched the ball tighter, his nails digging into the rubber, and looked away.
Kageyama’s eyes flicked over him, taking in the way Hinata’s shoulders trembled and how his hands were wrapped in makeshift bandages that were barely holding together. His gaze softened, but his voice was firm.
“You’ve done enough for today,” Kageyama said, stepping closer. “Come on.”
Hinata shook his head, his throat tightening. “I can’t. I... I have to keep going.”
“No, you don’t,” Kageyama said, his tone surprisingly gentle. He placed a hand on Hinata’s shoulder, grounding him. “You’re not going to get better if you destroy yourself.”
The words hit harder than any spike ever could, and Hinata’s knees buckled. He dropped the ball, his hands flying to his face as he tried to choke back a sob.
Kageyama didn’t say anything, but his hand stayed on Hinata’s shoulder, steady and unyielding.
“It’s okay,” Kageyama said after a moment, his voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t have to do this alone.”
And for the first time in weeks, Hinata let himself cry.