Chapter Text
I find myself in front of the gym doors in my high school. Pleasant silence, an empty court, and a hollow yard, despite, as it seems, the middle of a humid summer. Everything has frozen, even tree leaves and grass blades. Another dream, however, not a nightmare, from which I would wake up at five o’clock again. Although anything can be possible.
A guy calls out to me from behind. He is holding a volleyball, smiling, as if at his best friend. “I’m coming already!” I shout briefly and approach him. A complete stranger, yet we know each other. The volleyball in his hands flows over to me, and before I know it, I perfectly pass it back. Have I always been capable of doing that? The wonders that happen in dreams, perhaps I could use some training or at least some exercise in reality.
We practice, wordlessly, even silently - nothing except our breath and the ball are interrupting the deafening silence. I take a chance to look at the boy for a short moment: vivid orange hair, crinkles around the corners of his lips, much tinier than me in height. Although he jumps quite high.
Despite the boy’s seemingly bubbly character, he seems to feel no need to fill in this lack of conversation. Or does he know me well enough to know my inability to support it? I don’t know.
My light shirt starts to get wet from sweat, and my lungs crave more air after each breath I take, even though physically I feel no changes. My body isn’t getting tired and my throat isn’t suffering from thirst. It’s impossible to even understand how much time passed since we began playing.
“Hey, Kageyama!” The boy shouts as I run for the ball after another one of his attacks. I guess he does know my name.
“What?” I reply from afar, catching the ball from rolling even farther.
“Did I get any better? I’m sure that I pass more accurately now!”
“That doesn’t mean you can slack off, idiot.” For some unknown reason, the reproach slips from his lips faster than any compliment. But the orange-haired “idiot” doesn’t remotely flinch, even smiling wider.
“So I did get better, didn’t I?” He exclaims, and quicker than I know it, he runs over to me and nudges me in the forearm. Doesn’t his cheeks hurt from smiling that often?
“Get back to practice, dork.”
For more than several years, this must’ve been the first dream where I’m not all alone with my thoughts. The first one to be this colorful and light, and the first one I can take for reality. This boy’s rough knuckles rub against my forearm. Sunlight blazes on my uncovered head. Clothes flutter after my movements. I feel their smooth texture on my skin as if every inch of my body had a hundred more nerve endings than that of a normal person. But the oversensitivity is haunting me outside of dreams as well.
Nonetheless, it’s definitely not real, no matter how much I want it to be. If I were to practice this long, especially with this intensity I would’ve fallen unconscious already, but I’m still standing firm on my legs. We are playing outside a school volleyball court, but I have long graduated. And this boy - I still didn’t say his name out loud - is the strangest of it all. He looks like someone I could never be friends with. Someone who had enough self-respect to not try to get me talking. Yet here he stands, passing the volleyball back to me for another attack, acting like we aren’t just teammates but even good friends. Perhaps we are, I’m the last person of us two who would know anything.
After the practice which seems to last a brief eternity, we find a shadow underneath the crown of a tree and lie there. The sun doesn’t move as well as the shadows. Grass tickles my neck and ankles, but for some reason, the possibility of bugs crawling onto me doesn’t scare me as much as it did in the past. Perhaps I lost this stupid fear during the few months I spent in my apartment not going out without any urgency.
All this tranquility terrified. I could carelessly relax and get used to this. The last time I afforded to make this slip-up I woke up because I screamed so loud I woke myself up. What could be the reason my consciousness allowed me to have this brief moment of peace? Was I getting so stressed that my mind had given up on making me relive my emotions and giving me the rest I wanted so badly? Or was it the sleeping pills I finally took?
“Kageyama,” his voice snaps me out of my thoughts. When I turn my head to the source of the sound the ball lands right on my cheek. Gasping, rubbing my cheekbone while he laughs, I don’t know if it really does hurt or not. I must’ve been passing it above myself when he called out to me, I don’t remember anything. Stupid way to hurt yourself. “Do you think we can go into the nationals?”
“Of course, idiot,” I speak, letting out an exaggerated frustrated sigh, this time simply placing the ball on the ground by the tree roots. “But if you don’t believe in us sincerely, then we never will. So leave your doubts.”
He laughs and nods, and I’m left wondering. So there were more than us two, we were a whole team. I belong to a group. It all is a mere dream, yet not being left alone warms up something in my chest. It all was a mere dream, yet I was ready to die in it.
The thoughts about my cruel reality leave my head as soon as they get there. I got a chance to escape it for the first time in months, so why not use it while I can?
“Tobio.”
“Shoyo?” So that was his name.
“I really want to help you.”
“Hm?” I turn around, but Shoyo is already looking at me. I often saw how grieving people watch everything in nightmares and mirrors, with dried-up tears on their faces, wrinkles from crying and frowning, dirt on black clothes from soil or raindrops. He had nothing from the forms of grief I witnessed, except the hollow hopelessness in his gaze, an icy cold look that makes me flinch on reflex.
“But I think I’ll make everything worse.”
I don’t question anything, not the odd tone of his voice, not the words he said. And I should’ve, but the moment I want to move my mouth, it freezes forever.
I stay still against my will. The next thing I know, I fall into familiar darkness again. The darkness which greets me with the curse or the blessing of being awake.
Being woken up not by a night terror counted as a good way to start a day for Kageyama. He laid on an undone bed, in his work clothes which now dripped with sweat, facing an opened closet. That brave decision and a stupid mistake could’ve cost him some more not-yet gray hair roots that he would’ve had to dye again.
He took his phone and looked at the time and charge percentage. Both numbers showed less than five. Did he fall asleep right after his noon shift yesterday?
He put the phone somewhere on the bed, and even this simple action caused the muscles to throb, pulsating everywhere with dull pain. Perhaps the heavens signed him to stay home today that way, but the cafe management wouldn’t agree that a “sign from above” or even “pain from wrong sleep pose” was a decent excuse for his absence.
Faint rays of early morning sun began shining as bright and blinding as they have to be, Kageyama understood it when he blinked out of his daydreaming. The change happened quite faster than three hours should’ve passed. Maybe four, or all five. Standing up and looking at the wall clock required more energy than he harbored. All of the limbs filled with sandbags, and his head fogged with thick smoke.
Kageyama moved his legs to the floor, lifted his body with the help of his forearms, rubbed his sore eyes, and kept sitting on the thin mattress. He should go to the bathroom, get ready for the shift, at least stand up, but his whole body begged him for just a few more minutes in peace and without any movements. Maybe he was already late, maybe Iwaizumi was trying to call his dead phone, maybe with both anger and panic. Kageyama really tried to find the strength and empathy strong enough to charge it more often, but he couldn’t find the empathy for himself to clean his room, not to mention for others.
He walked to the bathroom on wobbling legs, leaning on the sink to not crush his head on the floor. He squeezed out the remaining toothpaste, the amount smaller than a grain of rice, and put the empty bag back on the sink. The rest of his movements went on autopilot until he saw his grimacing face in the mirror behind the thin towel. He somehow scratched his pimple again. Maybe it was a new one.
After pouring half a cup of water into his sore mouth, he put on the shoes and a trench coat, just as he noticed a small drop of blood on his finger, his skin near the fingernails ripped. The moment he left the apartments, the wind beating him up on the cheeks, the taste of iron appeared on his chapped lips. Kageyama was quite familiar with the taste of blood, he practically felt it more often than that same water. He’d be the safest vampire to exist, with how much he licked it off of his broken knees and bleeding fingers and lips.
Being a vampire might be cool, for instance. Flying around as a bat, living alone in a gothic castle, and death would probably stop bothering him as much, after witnessing it so many times in his hypothetically endless life. And he would have a valid reason to stay home all the time, hiding from sunlight, as well as people he could hurt. The constant bloodlust might suck, though, and he might have to too. Would anyone even agree to be his sacrificial lamb every time he needs to feed? No one would agree to be food for some vampire, and as Twilight explained it, the vampires can’t feed on each other or themselves. Then he’d either die miserably and lonely or live forever with crucifying pain. Not such a bad fate.
“. . .Kageyama.” Kageyama looked up from the insides of his locker at the voice. Iwaizumi stood by the drawers in the supply room not so far. “What, you’re trying to manipulate the apron to come here?”
A small chuckle escaped at the joke, as he shook his head. “I wish it was possible, but no.” He shrugs, connecting his dead phone to Oikawa’s powerbank and leaving it in the locker. Iwaizumi handed him another apron instead of the one he forgot at home. “This will be the last time, I promise.”
“I sure hope so.” He puts on his own apron, before stumbling around their lockers as if contemplating something as he looked up at Kageyama. “You didn’t forget to take your meds, right?”
Kageyama couldn’t stop a frown from appearing on his face. “No, I didn’t forget to take them,” He spelled out each syllable in annoyance, as well as trying to stay quiet. Even if Iwaizumi had good intentions, there’d be no good in everyone knowing about Kageyama doing “mental health drugs”. “I’m not forgetting things because of my mental health, Iwaizumi. Just memory problems. It won’t happen again.”
“Alright, just wanted to make sure,” He gave up, brushing his spiked-up hair. “Hey. If you ever want to talk to someone, we’re always here. Or I can recommend you a great psychologist.”
Kageyama fiddled with the knot of his apron, even if he already tied it. If only Oikawa could fly in and call Iwaizumi for something. “I’m fine. The situation isn’t as bad as it was.”
“Alright, alright.” Silence filled the room, as Kageyama brushed his own hair to try and make it presentable. At least he had the energy to brush his teeth in the morning. “We’re opening in fifteen minutes, don’t stay here for too long.”
“Got it.” Iwaizumi left the room. Only after making sure he wouldn’t come back again, he took a foil blister pack from the pocket of his coat, the daunting name “ZOLOFT” written all over it. And out of dozens of pills, only one blister was emptied. Of course, he didn’t take his meds today. The last time he did, he couldn’t sleep all night, feverishly sweating and vomiting. He would rather die than experience all of it again. But Iwaizumi didn’t need to know about it. His psychiatrist might need to know about it, though. Kageyama simply didn’t want to admit he lied to him after months had passed.
He pushed the white pill from the blister and threw it into his mouth. The side effects weaken each time, and it’s better late than never, right? The velvety texture of the pill almost instantly melted on his tongue most disgustingly but with a cup of water from the water cooler it got easier to swallow. Now he could only hope he wouldn’t get sick in front of the customers.
He got sick in front of the customers. Kageyama fell right in front of the toilet for the staff, holding his stomach with one hand and his hair with the other. He did get sick, but fortunately, no one saw it. Now that he thinks about it, as he spit out the yellowish bile from his mouth into the toilet, taking an expired pill on an empty stomach was a bad idea. He works in a cafe, where the smell of food follows him all around. And considering his poor relationship with food, he’d vomit anyway just from the sight of unfinished, tooth-rotting sweet croissants or salmon sandwiches.
“Who’s there?” Kunimi asked with a knock on the stall door.
“Just a second,” Kageyama croaked out, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. He pressed the button by the toilet and leaned on every surface he found to stand up.
“Kageyama, it’s you again? Did you get sick?” Kunimi said, more likely with annoyance than worry. But Kageyama couldn’t really blame him, only Iwaizumi tried to do something about his eating disorder. Others decided not to meddle in his business.
“Yeah.” He opened the door, wiping the sweat off his forehead. “Did my shift end already?”
“It did.” Kunimi entered the stall, but before he had closed the door, he poked his head out. “Don’t forget to leave the apron here. Iwaizumi told me to remind you.”
Oh, the apron. “I remember.” He almost forgot again.
Kageyama leaned over the sink, rinsing his mouth from the burning feeling of bile. Even icy water didn’t wash away the fatigue, absolute silence rang in his head, blocking every sound. His shoulder hit the wall, limbs numb, mind dizzy, and only because his stomach was still empty he didn’t throw up again.
Someone walked him out of the bathroom, holding his upper arm. Kageyama was almost sure it was Kunimi, even if he couldn’t hear his grumbling sighs or see his face. He opened the door and sat him down on the couch.
“Need a bucket or something?”
“No, no, I’m good.” Kageyama wiped his mouth again with the back of his hand. “What time is it?”
“Uhh. . . around four, I think,” Kunimi said with a shrug. “Didn’t you have therapy in four today?”
“Shit,” Kageyama mumbled quietly, standing up from the couch on wobbly legs. “Yeah, I did. Thank you, you can go.”
“If you say so.” Kunimi left the room. Kageyama would contemplate how he remembered about his therapy sessions later, his main goal as of now was to not be late again.
He took off the apron, leaving it on a visible spot while checking his phone. Thankfully, it wasn't four yet, if five minutes made any difference. He threw a mumbled goodbye at Kindaichi by the cash register and ran out of the cafe before the scent of food would make him vomit again.
“Ah, Kageyama, come on in.”
When Kageyama entered the spacious office, Sugawara was already sitting on the leather chair. He put down his phone and took up the familiar notebook with many colorful bookmark stickers. “I got your message, thank you for warning me beforehand.”
“Couldn’t manage the time properly,” Kageyama mumbled as he put his coat on the hook by the door.
“Is there a particular reason, or. . .? You do look sleepy and rushed.”
Kageyama sat down on the couch. “I got sick during my shift and lost track of time. Like, really sick.”
The familiar sympathy and almost pity appeared in Sugawara’s gaze. “Are your eating habits getting worse? Did you have breakfast today?”
“I didn’t feel like it. I literally shoved the dinner down my throat yesterday, I couldn’t look at food today.”
He sighed, making a note in the notebook. “You shouldn’t force yourself to eat.”
“If I don’t, I’ll just shake all day and my stomach would grumble in the worst moments.”
Sugawara glanced at Kageyama again before scribbling something down. “. . . And what about your sleep? Do the new sleeping pills work?”
“Oh, yeah, pretty much.” Today was also the first day he took the sleeping pills along with the damned antidepressants. “I think I slept for ten hours straight and I’m still exhausted.”
“That’s too big of a change from your usual sleeping pattern for your body. That’s why you still want to sleep.”
“Will I really have a healthy sleep schedule with those pills?”
“Hey, don’t take them every night, only if you can’t fall asleep,” he warned, pointing his finger at Kageyama. “Your treatment fully depends on you. The psychological state can’t be restored if the patient just swallows some pills.”
Kageyama nodded and went on retelling his daily life until the end of the session.
He returned home by the same route, watching the evening sight of Miyagi from the bus window. His stomach rumbled on the way back, yet it didn’t hurt, so he wasn’t hungry enough. An apple would be fine as dinner.
He cut the apple into slices; just biting it off would make his gums bleed again. The knife dulled so much that he had to move the knife back and forth before it could cut the apple skin.
The phone in his pocket made a ring.
:Kageyama, what happened today? Kunimi said you threw up. Please respond.
Shit. Kunimi already told Iwaizumi. What a tattletale.
:I’m alright, Iwaizumi. Just ate something weird for breakfast.
:Please don’t lie to me. Did you make yourself vomit?
:No, don’t worry.
:Alright. Keep in mind that you’re very important to us. We’re always ready to help you
:I know, thank you, Iwaizumi.
The news anchor made noise in the background. Biting from the last apple slice in his hand, Kageyama looked up at the ceiling. He washed his hair two days ago. Should he have a shower today? But standing up from the couch seemed so difficult. And unnecessary. He will have a shower tomorrow.