Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Two stars, born from the same cloud of gas and dust, bound together by gravity…”

The teacher’s voice floats through the classroom, rising and falling as sunlight spills across Hinata’s desk.

Warmth seeps in, and his pen hovers, his notebook lying open. He draws a small circle in the margin, adding stripes and shading between the lines.

A volleyball.

“—orbiting around a shared centre of mass,” the teacher continues, dragging the chalk slowly across the blackboard. “Called the binary stars. Not one around the other. But both orbiting together—each other.”

Hinata glances up at the blackboard. Two stars. One big. One small. Each drawn with dotted lines looping towards and around a single point.

Two separate orbits. Both on their own path, but never apart.

His eyes drift automatically. Three seats ahead, one to the right.

To Kageyama. His head is tipped to the side, resting in his hand, a pen barely hanging off the edge of his desk. Definitely dozing off.

Hinata snorts softly into his palm.

“Binary systems can last millions—sometimes billions of years. But they aren’t always stable. They undergo evolutions. The more massive of the two evolves faster. It gets bigger, brighter, and becomes a giant…”

Hinata listens, a thought piecing together, tugging sharp at his chest.

Kageyama is the bigger star.

The brightest. The kind you can’t take your eyes off from.

He burns hotter, shines a little more each day. Running ahead, pulling so strongly it’s impossible not to follow.

Hinata feels that pull. Always has.

The pull to give everything. To catch up. To stay beside him. To match him, step for step.

The pull that’s been growing steadily, quietly, into something deeper, something all too consuming, blurring all the—

“When that happens, it spills onto the other—a process called mass transfer,” the teacher says. “The dynamics change, transforming both stars.”

Chalk taps against the board, soft and measured.

“Sometimes they spiral in closer. Sometimes they merge into a new star. Or explode into a supernova. It’s complex… depends on many factors. Either way, they influence each other’s evolution and produce some of the brightest signals we detect in space.”

Hinata blinks down at his notebook, at the volleyball doodle.

He draws a star next to it. Large and bold, like Kageyama.

Then, on the opposite side, he draws another. Not smaller. Not fainter. Equal, just as bold, like himself maybe.

He loops dashed lines around them both, circling the volleyball, orbiting around it. The lines overlap, close—too close—as if they’re meant to.

The teacher’s voice drones back in. “Binary stars are more common than you think, much more than single stars like our Sun. One example is Sirius—the brightest star in the night sky.”

Hinata’s gaze falls on the paper peeking out from beneath his notebook. His career form. His name is written at the top, ‘3rd Year’ printed in large letters beside it.

A crease runs down the middle, soft from being folded open and close too many times. It splits the words he’d scribbled earlier—‘Beach Volleyball Training in Brazil.’

“Its companion is a lot smaller. And hotter, about twice. They orbit each other in only fifty years.”

Fifty years.

That’s long… longer than high school.

Hinata twirls his pen and glances out the window. A breeze sweeps past the trees lining the schoolyard, the leaves fluttering loose. Half of them have turned gold, red, and orange. The other half is still green. Just a matter of time.

It’s mid-October now. Graduation is in March, he thinks, counting on his fingers. Barely five months...

And one last Spring High.

Coach Ukai claps his hands together, cutting through the lazy chatter that hums before the start of every practice. The gym falls into an immediate hush as the volleyball team shuffles closer around him, all listening.

“The hard part starts now,” he says, his gaze sweeping over the bright, eager faces—the new team Karasuno has grown into. Exponentially, both in size and power.

“You all played brilliantly last week. Good job qualifying for Spring High. Now you’re finally standing at the start line. Nationals are just around the corner. We’ve got less than three months left. So, buckle up—we’re going to use every moment before it.”

There’s a chorus of soft murmurs. Some nod. Others square their shoulders, standing a little taller.

Meanwhile, Kageyama unconsciously shifts an inch closer to Hinata, eyes flicking down at him.

Hinata stands beside him, the same burning intensity on his face—one devoid of doubt, full of unwavering confidence.

Yamaguchi chimes in, bold like the ‘1’ on his yellow vest. “Let’s give it our all. Not just for ourselves. But for each other. We’re a team, and I believe in this team. I believe we’ve it in us. So… let’s take it as far as we can.”

A loud chorus of “Yes!” follows, the energy among the first and second years doubling.

Tsukishima gives himself a small nod but hides it quickly, making a show of pushing up his glasses.

Hinata’s expression shifts, a little softer now. Just as he looks up, meeting Kageyama’s gaze, Yamaguchi adds, “Vice-captain, say something.”

Kageyama blinks, caught off guard. “What?”

Laughter ripples through the team, and then there’s—the nudge.

Hinata leaning in, the touch of his elbow light and brief as his voice dips into a low chuckle. “Something inspirational, Yama-yama.”

“I know,” Kageyama grumble-whispers back, before looking over the team. He straightens, clears his throat, and when he feels his hand brush against Hinata’s, he lets it stay.

“I want to win,” he says, the words slipping out, sure and steady. “With this team. All the way to centre court.”

“Centre court… it is,” Hinata murmurs, echoing back, and the words settle in the gym like a promise.

From there, the practice unfolds in full swing. The whistle blows, and the team scatters across the floor, easing into their warmup stretches.

Hinata grins up from their usual spot by the window, and Kageyama jogs over, dropping down beside him. Together, they stretch their legs in front of them, arms circling behind their backs.

They move through their routine, transitioning from one posture to the next smoothly, falling into a shared rhythm—stretch, reach, fold, breathe. Their motions mirror, almost perfectly now. Effortlessly.

Sometimes a shoe grazes the other’s. Sometimes a hand finds the other. And more often than not, their eyes simply hold.

These sometimes have become more frequent over the weeks. Maybe they’ve been sitting a bit too close, but neither moves away, instead—

“Shoulders?” Hinata asks, shifting closer to position himself behind Kageyama.

Kageyama nods, and Hinata presses his palms against his back and pushes down. The pressure is firm, steady, and comfortable. Never too much, nor too little. It never is, not when it’s Hinata.

Once done, they switch. Hinata folds himself forwards with ease, and Kageyama’s hand follows at the end, light and careful, guiding him just a little further.

They finish in sync, rise in sync, and then fall into drills in sync.

The net separates them, dividing the team into two. The ball ricochets back and forth, and the squeak of sneakers grows louder, sharper, more relentless with every rally.

Hinata’s receives have gotten steadier, his spatial awareness better than ever. No longer the boy who relied solely on instincts.

He thinks, he studies, he reads the court. And now, with enough practice, he never misses any of Kageyama’s serves—the ball always returned in a clean, perfect arc.

Kageyama huffs a breath. His serves have gotten deadlier over the years—though not for Hinata. Because for Hinata, there’s no surprise.

He has learned Kageyama. Most likely better than Kageyama himself.

Whistle blows, and Coach Ukai’s voice rises again, directing corrections to the first years.

Yachi, meanwhile, notes down their formation and progress, occasionally turning her notebook towards the newly joined managers. Her presence calm yet commanding.

Everyone has integrated well into the team, the third years now leaders in motion.

But with leadership comes change. Practice evolves continuously, focusing more on team-wide strategies and combo plays, each one adjusted for this new, growing lineup. Coordinated like cogs in a machine.

For Hinata and Kageyama, their plays—their signature quicks—are now too perfect to spend precious time on in team drills. They’re filed away in muscle memory. Saved for later, not here.

And still, even in the constant motion, even during rotations that place them apart, they find each other.

Like gravity. Like two binary stars locked in gravity.

Their closeness is coded, thumping deep beneath the surface.

In the way Hinata brushes past him during a rotation switch, their hands grazing just briefly. In the half-smile Kageyama sends across the court, so fleeting no one else would even register it. In the breath shared at the water break, shoulder to shoulder without a word.

And every now and then, they’ll find themselves on the same side, and the court shifts.

There’s a flicker—a spark.

Kageyama tosses. Hinata jumps. The ball slams down, a thread through a needle.

The gym erupts around them, the first years cheering, the novelty not worn off yet. But neither of them speaks, don’t need to. They know.

Then, in a blink, it’s over. Already back in position for the next play.

The sun outside dips, stretching and slanting the light, slipping the twilight through the windows.

Practice winds down. Volleyballs are piled into the cart, and the court begins to empty of noise and footsteps.

Kageyama slides down against the wall, onto the floor. He pulls the kneepad to his ankles as sweat rolls down his neck, shirt soaked and clinging to his skin.

A towel drops unceremoniously over his head. Then Hinata flops down beside him—a bright grin lighting up his face, even through exhaustion.

“Hinata. Here,” Yachi calls, tossing over a ring of keys. “Don’t stay too late. Again.”

“We won’t,” Hinata laughs, catching it with one hand and flipping it once before pocketing it.

She shoots them a pointed look, then sighs and heads for the door. “Just remember to lock up. Properly. See you guys tomorrow.”

A few of the second years linger nearby. One of them, wobbling on sore legs, mutters, “Should we stay too? Practice some more—”

Kageyama’s head snaps up. Pinning them with such an unreadable look, the words die on their tongues.

Yamaguchi chuckles. He steps in to gently herd them towards the door. “Don’t push it. Rest is important too.”

Tsukishima sighs loudly. “Not everyone’s built like those two,” he snickers, tossing a smirk over his shoulders as he walks out.

From the doorway, a first-year snorts. “Volleyball monsters.”

And so, the gym empties. The team is gone. The chatter fades, thinning out, until only the faint tick of the gym clock remains.

Without missing another second, Kageyama turns towards Hinata, passing him a water bottle.

Hinata shuffles closer, pulling out two protein bars and handing one over. He huffs a quiet laugh—soft and fleeting, like a secret meant only for them.

They stay in the quiet. The wrappers crinkle loud, followed by a crunch as the first heat of practice burns off.

The space between them narrows. Slow and natural.

Hinata stretches out his legs, his foot bumping against Kageyama’s. Then, like always, he doesn’t pull away—just leaves it there.

Kageyama, silently chewing on his protein bar, glances down at Hinata’s white shoe pressed against his black one. The stripes are different—red on white for Hinata. The sizes too—Hinata’s pair much smaller.

“Yama-yama,” Hinata says, nudging him again.

Kageyama nudges back. “Ready?”

“Always.” Hinata springs to his feet and bolts for the court.

And just like that, the second practice—their own—begins.

With only the two of them, the court transforms. Like a spotlight’s been cast over it, a stage waiting for the real performance to begin. Their entire world narrows to this.

Kageyama takes his position near the net, eyes drifting just enough to catch a flash of orange in his periphery.

Hinata tosses the ball up, measures his jump distance. Then he sprints, kicks off the ground, and launches high. And there it is—

That set. Kageyama’s perfect set—effortless, clean, already meeting Hinata’s waiting palm.

With a resounding thud, the ball hits the floor, rolling away to the far end of the court.

Hinata jogs over, holding out a hand. “One more!”

“Jump higher,” Kageyama says, but a genuine smile tugs at his lips. He returns the high-five firmly—fingertips lingering a second too long.

Hinata beams. A tingling warmth replaces the sting of the spike, left behind by Kageyama’s touch.

The air practically hums, charged and electric like a live wire, broken only by the squeak of sneakers and sharp rhythm of ball to hand, then floor.

Every time Hinata jumps, Kageyama feels it—tugging something deep in his chest.

Every toss he makes for him is a silent offering—here, reach this, I know you can.

And Hinata does. He reaches like he’s aiming for the stars. And every time, he pulls Kageyama along.

Every run, every sudden shift Hinata makes across the count, Kageyama hears the silent command—now, at this angle, send it here.

They move in tandem, the play unfolding like a waltz, until the cart is emptied, all the balls scattered across the floor.

Hinata flops onto his back, arms sprawled wide, chest rising and falling with each heavy breath.

“Enough for today,” Kageyama says, starting to collect the balls. “You’re tired.”

“I can still hit a few more,” Hinata mumbles, but his body hardly moves, already becoming one with the floor.

Kageyama watches him for a moment—the way sweat glistens on his skin, how his hair sticks to his forehead, the hem of his shirt riding up at his waist.

And before he knows it, he’s walking over and holding out his hand. “Dumbass, we’ve got tomorrow.”

Hinata’s eyes soften. “Yeah. Tomorrow,” he says, voice barely a whisper. He lets the word hang between them before gripping Kageyama’s hand and pulling himself up.

Together, they gather the rest of the balls, building on the same rhythm—roll, pick, toss.

Once the last ball is stacked, Kageyama moves onto the net, unlatching one side.

Hinata joins him on the other side. And they lower the net that once stood between them, their hands brushing across the centre as they fold it away. The court, at last, stripped of its separation.

One by one, the lights blink off, and all that’s left in the gym is the glow from the streetlights filtering through the windows.

Wordlessly, they make their way to the club room.

Neither really speaks. There’s a sort of hesitation now, the court no longer available for them to orbit each other closely. But they still do. Out of habit. Out of instinct.

They change into clean clothes at light speed. Backs turned instinctively because they don’t dare to. Not yet, at least.

Still, Kageyama hears the subtle sounds of Hinata—the zip of his bag, the rustle of his shirt, the soft gulp of water, and the sigh that follows after it.

Hinata finishes first and waits by the door.

Kageyama slings his bag over his shoulder and joins him. Hinata locks up behind them.

Outside, the night is cool with a light breeze, the sky scattered with stars, a nearly full moon rising over the horizon.

Kageyama continues to follow Hinata to the bike stand, a few steps behind.

Hinata wheels his bike out, but he doesn’t get on. Instead, he slides up next to Kageyama.

And they walk. Slowly. Without any urgency.

They don’t say it, but they aren’t ready for the day to end. Since the start of their third year, they never are. So, they fall into this routine.

There are no words. Just the faint squeak of Hinata’s bike, the shuffle of tired footsteps, the long shadows cast by the streetlights.

And oftentimes, Hinata’s gaze drifts sideways towards Kageyama, and he slows his pace—enough to fall behind. To look at him. To keep looking at him. A little longer.

But Kageyama does it too.

Before they realise, they’re walking slower and slower, glances stolen and returned—because they both keep catching the other looking.

Still, it doesn’t take long to reach the point where their paths split—where Hinata turns left, and Kageyama continues straight ahead.

“Race you in the morning,” Hinata says, hopping on his bike.

Kageyama nods, “Be ready to lose.”

“I won’t,” Hinata teases, and then he takes off.

No goodbyes. Just the certainty that tomorrow, they’ll do this all over again. Same volleyball. Same routine. Same orbit.

Kageyama watches him go, the orange of his hair glowing under the pale moonlight—a sun, even in the night, until he disappears around the curve of the road.

Then Kageyama turns and walks away too.

With November, temperatures got cosier, dyeing the trees in permanent hues of red.

The classroom is quiet, but not still—humming with restless energy as the minute hand of the clock creeps closer to lunch break.

At his desk, Kageyama pulls out a slip of paper, the bold ‘Absent Notice Form’ printed at the top. The entire first week of December is noted down on it, along with the reason for his absence, ‘Japan Volleyball Association: National U19 Training Camp.’

He stares at it for a moment longer, thumb pressing into the corner, before the chime of the school bell cuts through the silence.

Kageyama startles, standing quickly to bow with the rest of the class in a greeting.

Just as the teacher steps out, Hinata appears from behind, bumping their shoulders lightly. “Let’s go. I’m starving.”

The form is folded in half—instantly.

“You go ahead,” Kageyama murmurs, slipping it under his bento box in a quick motion. “I need to… drop by the teachers’ office.”

Hinata’s eyes drop to the corner of the paper sticking out, and something flickers across his face—too quick to name. He doesn’t ask, doesn’t need to. It’s always that these days.

Youth camps. Scouts. Recommendations.

“Don’t let them get carried away and ask too many questions,” Hinata says, already stepping towards the door. “Last time, you missed half your lunch.”

There’s a pause—brief, but stifling—before Kageyama moves to follow. “I’ll be quick,” he mutters, heading down the hallway.

Whereas Hinata walks the opposite way, both of their footsteps swallowed by the noise of the hallway crowd.

By the time Hinata reaches the cafeteria, the others are already at their usual table.

Yachi waves the moment she spots him, while Yamaguchi nudges Tsukishima beside him and smiles.

“Kageyama’s not with you?” Yamaguchi asks, raising a brow.

Hinata slides onto the bench beside Yachi, leaving enough space open on his other side. “Nope. Teachers’ office. He’ll be here soon,” he answers easily—but his smile falters, not quite reaching his eyes.

“Let me guess. Another training camp,” Tsukishima murmurs without looking up from his food.

“Oh—it’s U19. Really big one,” Yamaguchi perks up. “I heard Takeda-sensei talking about it with Coach Ukai.”

“Yeah, I think so too.” Hinata nods, quietly unwrapping his bento.

“He didn’t tell you?” Yamaguchi lowers his voice, softer now.

Hinata doesn’t answer. Just shrugs—a little stiff, poking at the rice.

“I’m sure he’ll…” Yachi begins, but trails off, changing the subject gently. “My schedule already looks horrible with all the prep classes. Entrance exam season is getting scarier.”

Tsukishima shudders. “I’m not even pretending to enjoy any of it. My brother’s taking me to visit his university. You guys want to come?”

“Any more career talk, and I’ll explode,” Yamaguchi groans, knocking his head on the table. “But… I’ll tag along.”

Hinata chuckles, patting his shoulder. “Don’t explode. We can’t win without our captain.”

Yachi laughs, and soon, conversation flows between bites—about universities, exams, and careers.

“What about you? How’s Brazil looking?” Tsukishima asks.

Hinata pauses mid-chew, then dramatically wipes away an imaginary tear. “Tsukki, finally, cares about me.”

Tsukishima scoffs and immediately turns away. “Tadashi, you were saying something—”

“No, no,” Hinata laughs. “Brazil’s looking good… I talked to Coach Lucio last week. It’s pretty much finalised.”

“That’s huge,” Yachi gasps, eyes widening. “On the opposite side of the world.”

“Yeah,” Hinata brightens even more. “I’ve still got time, though. I won’t be flying out right after graduation. I’m taking a few months to prepare.”

“Have you… told Kageyama yet?” Tsukishima asks, flatly.

Hinata lets out a breath, his grip tightening on his chopsticks. Then shakes his head.

Yachi frowns a little. “Hinata…”

“Coach Ukai’s not exactly subtle,” Yamaguchi offers as gently as possible. “He probably already has an idea. You know how he picks up on stuff. Especially about you.”

“It’s not like I’m hiding it,” Hinata says, his voice small. “We just don’t really… talk about the future. Not like that. It’s hard to bring up.”

Tsukishima glances over, unimpressed. “Since when do you think so much?”

Hinata blinks at him.

“Just because you don’t say it,” Tsukishima continues, “doesn’t mean it’s not going to happen. Reality doesn’t wait for you. It’ll only get harder later.”

A small silence follows, and Hinata squirms in his seat. The buzz of the cafeteria suddenly swells around him, every glance from his friends pressing in—too much, all at once.

Yachi leans in, her voice a touch tender. “Just be honest, okay? Don’t hurt him—or get hurt by trying to hold it all in. Tell him, he’ll understand.”

“You two get volleyball. You get each other,” Yamaguchi adds. “Always have.”

“That’s the thing,” Hinata inhales shakily, thumb digging hard into the rim of his bento. And then, the dam breaks, the words finally spilling free.

“He’d understand… too well. And what if that’s where it ends? What if we stop being friends? We won’t be seeing each other every day. No practice. No volleyball. Nothing. We’ll be in different countries…”

His voice cracks, breath coming up short. “What if… what if we drift apart?” he finishes, gaze lowered, not daring to look up.

No one responds. Even Tsukishima looks away, chewing a bit slower than before.

From a few feet away, Kageyama stands frozen. His eyes remain fixed on Hinata as his mind echoes the last few phrases he’d heard—

Won’t be seeing each other… Different countries… What if we drift apart?

A lump rises in his throat. The two milk boxes in his hands feel heavier than they should.

Then, taking a deep breath, he walks forwards, unhurried and certain. He slips into the seat beside Hinata—the one left open just for him.

And he inches closer, until their elbows touch naturally. Light enough to be felt, not pushed.

Hinata flinches, surprised—but only for a second. Slowly, he leans into it, letting the touch deepen, just enough for the pressure to grow.

The tension drains from Kageyama’s shoulders. He places a milk box, a chocolate one, in front of Hinata, tapping his finger twice on it—like a signal for a toss only they would recognise.

A small, warm smile appears on Hinata’s face. “Thanks,” he murmurs, so quietly only Kageyama hears it above the din of the cafeteria.

In response, the corner of Kageyama’s lips lifts. Barely. But it’s there. Then he opens his bento and starts eating like nothing happened—like everything’s back to normal.

“Friends,” Tsukishima sighs, long and loud. “You both are so dumb.”

The next couple of weeks pass quickly—school, volleyball, and more volleyball.

Around them, things continue to move. But between them, things remain stagnant. Nothing really changes.

They stay the same—lingering near each other, stuck in that liminal space where silences are loud with the unsaid, and conversations skim the surface, tiptoeing around the words that actually need saying.

That liminal space finally shows a crack. A small one, on a bright Saturday afternoon.

The gym is busy, practice in full swing. Hinata stands at the sidelines, eyes tracking the first and second years playing on the court.

Sweat clings to his forehead. He wipes it off with the sleeve of his shirt just as a cool breeze drifts by, offering instant relief.

Wasting no time, he jogs towards the back door and plops down on the short flight of stairs, sprawling his legs out in front.

The sun falls across his shins in gold. Its gentle heat mixes with the chill in the air, tingling pleasantly, and he lets himself breathe for a second.

The hum of the gym—sneakers, volleyball, cheers—rings in the background. Then, breaking through the rhythm, he hears it.

The light, easy shuffle of footsteps that stops right beside him. Very familiar.

A hint of a smile plays on his lips, as he shifts slightly, making space.

Kageyama settles there, close enough for their shoulders to almost touch, and pulls the tactic board flat onto his lap.

“The second years are doing great today, aren’t they?” Hinata says, peeking at the board. “And Kaito is on fire lately. Blocking left and right.” Then, with a small laugh, he adds, “I think I saw Tsukishima a little proud.”

Kageyama hums beside him, sketching some circles and arrows. “Still slows down on back row attacks. Getting there though.”

“His jumps aren’t kaboom enough.” Hinata waves his hands for emphasis. “It’s like wham. Maybe I should give him some tips later?”

“Yeah,” Kageyama nods. “Also, this rotation…” He taps the marker on the board. “They were trying this out. I think we can make it better.”

Hinata studies the court diagram. “How about like this…” He leans in, takes the marker from Kageyama, and draws his version on the other side of the court. “That way you can speed up the cross, and boom—the blockers will be confused.”

Kageyama’s eyes light up. “That works too.” His hands move faster, sketching over Hinata’s lines with more curves and loops. “Or something like this…”

They huddle close, voices rising with excitement—one tempo at a time. The marker passes back and forth, and the board fills with more sketches, building on each other.

From attack positions to team’s progress, and everything in between. As natural as it’s always been.

“Let’s run all these plans with Coach,” Hinata beams, sparkling. “We can try it next week.”

“Yeah, let’s do that. Might take some…” Kageyama’s voice drops before trailing off.

Hinata pokes his arm with the back of the marker, teasing. “Take some what?”

There’s a beat of hesitation.

Kageyama clears his throat. He doesn’t meet Hinata’s eyes, just keeps staring straight ahead as he says, “I won’t be here next week.”

“Oh,” escapes from Hinata’s mouth—soft, automatic. He dips his head slightly in a nod, more to himself than Kageyama. “Right… training camp?”

“The U19 camp. I leave tomorrow,” Kageyama answers, stiff. “Starts on Monday.”

It lands in Hinata’s chest like a soft thud—expected, but still heavy.

He lets out a breath, then knocks their knees together a little too hard. “That’s awesome,” he says, grinning wide and throwing a thumbs up. “You’ll crush it. Seriously. Impress every single one of them.”

Kageyama huffs a small laugh. “Thanks.”

Hinata goes quiet. He catches the way Kageyama’s face softens, his brows relaxing—maybe a rush of relief.

Then the way he glows, touched by sunlight—not directly, maybe not daring to. But in the light reflected from the ground below, the wall behind, the world around—and maybe from Hinata himself too.

A star.  

Kageyama’s always been the bigger star. The brightest.

Shines a little more. Even grows a little bigger. Each day.

That same thought sneaks in, along with that doodle tucked somewhere in the pages of his notebook—the binary stars.

And a part of Hinata aches again. To catch up. To shine equally bright. To keep being in the orbit.

The sunlight prickles now. His legs feel too warm, the kind from sitting too long in it, but he doesn’t budge.

Instead, he says, “I’ll do my best too. Next week, I’ll practice twice as hard. You better come back stronger too.”

Kageyama gives him a long look, eyes tracing over his features. Then, he smirks, the competitive glint unmistakable. “You better. I won’t slow down.”

And that’s the constant push and pull. The gravity between them.

Because in a binary star system, the stars orbit together. They evolve together too, following a timeline of their own.

The larger star burns hotter, brighter. It uses its fuel quickly, expands into a red giant first. Like Kageyama, right now. On the cusp of something greater—a future that’s already beginning to shine.

Whereas the companion star, like Hinata, has its own path. A different pace, but no less destined. No less brilliant. Just as beautiful.

All the while, they continue to orbit. Each tugging at the other. Each shaping the other’s path.

December, the last month of the year, clicks into place like the final piece of a thousand-piece puzzle—inevitable, complete. And yet, at the same time, it breaks apart two perfectly fitting pieces, though only for a week.

For Hinata, the usual routine carries on.

The sun barely peeks over the horizon, just a glint across the gentle mountain slopes, as he sets off on his bike to school.

The wind nips at his cheeks, turning his breath into pale clouds that trail behind him. He glides through the streets, and the scenes that unfold before him are so familiar, they’re memorised in all four seasons.

And as he pedals, the sky gets bluer, and the world gets brighter.

The school gates are still closed to most, only a crack left open to let the early comers in.

He moves to the bike stand and rolls his bike onto the leftmost rack—his favourite spot. First win of the day. Then, noticing his is the first bike there, his lips curve up ever so slightly.

The school is quiet, too early for the noise, for the chatter, for much of anything at all. But he likes the stillness. The world feels paused, feels his, and usually—he gets to share it with Kageyama.

Because this is when Kageyama would show up, nearly on his heels. Maybe already waiting, maybe shouting at him to hurry up. They’d race to the clubroom, simply because they could.

But today, Hinata walks. Alone. No thud of footsteps beside him. No teasing shoulder bumps. Just the loud tick of the clubroom door unlocking.

He peels off his extra layers, changes into his gym clothes in silence. Then pulls a small nail file from the side pocket of his bag and sits down on the tatami floor.

Carefully, methodically, he works along the edges of his nails in clean, even strokes.

It’s a habit picked up from Kageyama, who always filed his nails before practice. Said it was about control and precision. Something about the contact between the hand and the ball.

So Hinata does it too now. The way Kageyama taught him. Index, middle, ring, pinky, thumb. Left hand, then right.

He does it without thinking, following the same order. Slowly, like a ritual. Except his tongue sticks out in concentration.

When that’s done, he brushes the dust off his fingers and smirks to himself. Second win of the day.

With the same easy energy, he jogs to the gym, pushing open the doors.

Bathed in the soft morning blue, the gym greets him—it feels hollow. His footsteps feel too loud, echoing back at him. And he slows down to a stop.

The space feels bigger without Kageyama. Not emptier, exactly—but like something is missing in the air. A grumble. A presence.

Hinata rolls his shoulders and bounces lightly on his feet, like he’s physically shaking off the feeling.

From there, he moves on to his stretches. Jogs a few warm-up laps until he feels springy again, alert.

He heads to the service line.

His first jump serve soars high, launches like a rocket. It goes wide—way wide, bouncing off the wall. He winces and laughs softly to himself, but it fades just as quickly.

“Again,” he mutters, holding the next ball between his palms.

This time, he breathes in slowly and closes his eyes for half a second. Long enough to picture it.

Kageyama tossing the ball up—using his right hand, always. His footwork for the short run—measured, no movement wasted. The timing of his jump with the swing of his arm—the exact power of it.

The sound of the ball hitting the court is crisp. It lands at the edge, barely. But it’s in. Third win of the day.

He keeps going. The next few serves hit cleaner.

One. Two. Three.

He counts, not loud, just in his head, like he’ll report it later. Maybe he will. Maybe he’ll text Kageyama the numbers, casually, something like—‘15 jump serves, 8 landed, 1 wild home run.’

Eventually, he plops down on the floor, back resting against the cool wall.

The silence catches up to him, the only sound being the faint ticks of the gym clock and his own heaving breath. The absence beside him amplifies again.

He shifts restlessly, not wanting to sit still. Then brings his well-used stack of flashcards—the ones he made when he first started learning English.

They’re so old that the Japanese words on the front side are half-faded. On the back, his own handwriting for the English and Portuguese words seems distinctly different—the latter ones newer, neater.

Balanced on his thigh, he flips through them with quiet focus.

“Today… hoje.”

“Yesterday… Ontem.”

“Minute… Minuto.”

Hinata pauses on that last one. “That’s easy. Only a letter.” Then from his memory, he recites, “Volleyball… voleibol.”

He chuckles to himself.

Time slowly drifts before the silence starts to lift. The door creaks open, laughter mixing with the footsteps. Yamaguchi walks in. Then Tsukishima. Yachi. One by one, their teammates trickle in.

And just like that, team practice is about to begin.

Meanwhile, in Tokyo, Kageyama stands on polished blue floor. A stark contrast to the wooden ones of Karasuno gym.

The court gleams. It’s spotless under the overhead lights, nothing short of immaculate. Not even a shadow is cast, there are enough lights to cancel them out.

Perched high on the wall, a large screen replays every movement—ten seconds late. To track, to record, to critique.

At the service line, Kageyama rotates the ball with slow, unconscious precision.

A whistle cuts through the air, echoing off high ceilings. Serve drill begins.

The ball leaves his hand with a thundering explosion. The landing is exact, down to the millimetre. The next one too. The third, he launches a touch faster, testing the edge of control.

“Good work,” a coach calls from the sidelines, nodding once before mumbling something into the ear of another.

Kageyama doesn’t react much—just exhales and resets for his next play. He’s used to it by now. Joined enough training camp to know how it all works. The whistles, the intensity, the expectations.

The glances from coaches pacing along the perimeter, eagle-eyed, clipboards in hands, jotting down every step, every hit, every deviation.

The gym is full of noise, but none of it is careless. Every shout is an instruction, and Kageyama thrives, surrounded by some of the best players in the country.

And yet, for a fleeting moment as he scans the players around him, he wonders. About Karasuno’s practice. Or more specifically, about Hinata. His vibrancy—that bouncy stride of his, even at the earliest hour.

Did he come in early today too? Did he practice alone? What did he focus on?

Jumping drills, surely… Serves too, maybe? His serves have improved, but only lands them half the time…

Yeah. He definitely practised serves.

Kageyama catches himself smiling—a faint one. And the thought sticks.

Midway through the next drill, he pairs up with a new wing spiker, tall and strong in his mechanics. They cycle through everything—back sets, high ball, quicks. Kageyama handles them with precision.

But on one, a quick that’s too quick, the ball just skims past the spiker’s fingertips before dropping to the floor.

Maybe it’s the rhythm. Or maybe he’s just on a roll, feeling something lighter—something akin to joy. Either way, that set—only Hinata hits that one.

Kageyama’s brows furrow. “That was on me. Was it too fast?”

“A bit,” the spiker admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “Slow it down a little.”

Kageyama nods and adjusts. The next ball is gentler, hangs in the air just a beat longer. A perfect set, and the ball is slammed home.

But it doesn’t thrill.

In his head, he can hear Hinata’s footsteps. That call for the ball—not with words, but with sheer intent. That send the next ball to me too, Kageyama!

A coach chuckles. “Old habits die hard, huh?”

Another coach joins in, more serious, flipping through the notes. “Still. That kind of tempo, it’s rare to see someone pull that off so consistently. Good to know it’s in your range.”

Kageyama turns towards them, slight bow in his posture. “That mistake won’t happen again.”

“Relax. You’ve been sharp. Even sharper than last time,” the coach says, resting a hand on his shoulder with a quick pat. “Just keep it up.”

“We’re excited to see you at the Nationals,” another adds. “Well… there’s talk. Like real talk. National team. And, you know, Olympics are next year too. So, do your best.”

“I’ll do my best.” Kageyama’s fist tightens. He tries to school his expression, fighting down the giddiness bubbling up inside him. “Thank you.”

Then they move on, already focused on the next play. But the happiness lingers.

Practice tapers off by noon, and they break for lunch. Kageyama heads over to the vending machine in the common area. The glass glows faintly with a selection of green tea, fruit juices, canned coffee, Pocari, milk.

He punches the button for plain milk. Almost immediately, he reaches towards the chocolate milk option. He stops. Doesn’t press it.

Two milks, like always. One for him, one for Hinata. Because that’s just what he did. On long days. On practice days. On school days. Every day.

Kageyama walks away with only one today.

In the cafeteria, he sits with a group of players. It’s quieter than school, with only few bursts of conversation floating here and there. Everyone’s catching their breath, winding down, more focused on eating than talking.

Quietly, he pulls out his phone and opens his messages. No new notification. The top message is from Hinata, sent last night, ‘Good luck!!!!!!’

That’s all.

Kageyama’s thumb hovers over the keyboard. There’s so much to say.

About his consecutive perfect serves. About the sets he nailed. About the players here. About what the coaches said—The National Team.

The phone shuts close. He slips it back in his pocket. He doesn’t send anything.

Instead, he takes a sip of the milk. It tastes the same, but not quite.

That week blurs with messages unwritten, drafted, deleted, and sometimes even sent, only if one mustered up the courage to.

Mostly they didn’t.

So when Monday finally comes, Kageyama leaves his house without checking his phone. There’s no reason to. No message from Hinata. His own half-finished sentence is left unsent, ‘Leaving early. Will you’

 —be there?

He doesn’t know where he was going with that. Because he already knows—believes—Hinata will be there early too. He’ll never miss extra practice.

Outside, the sky is brushed in watercolour blues, with a long stroke of gold at the horizon. The colours bleed downwards, washing over silent streets and drowsy homes. One of those mornings where the cold lingers in your bones.

Kageyama takes his usual route to school, hands deep in his pockets. His steps echo against the pavement, alongside a few dry leaves chased by the wind. He buries deeper into his scarf.

There’s hardly any other sound. Hardly anyone around. In a quiet like that, even the occasional creak of a distant shop shutter opening or a delivery bike becomes audible—because silence allows them to.

Closer to school, he hears it. The low whirr of a bike, getting louder, fast approaching from behind.

Instinct kicks in before logic. He turns, a glance over the shoulder, heart pounding faster—then it doesn’t.

Not Hinata.

Just another commuter. Breezing past him without a glance.

Kageyama’s grip tightens on his bag. He keeps moving, picking up the pace, even though he’s already early. Earlier than usual. Earlier when they usually are.

He slips through the school gates and heads straight for the bike stand, and there he finds him.

Hinata. All bundled up, cheeks pink from the cold, leaning against his bike, smiling impossibly wide—brighter than the morning itself.

Kageyama’s heart trips over itself, and a breath escapes, curling white in the air.

Their eyes hold for less than a second. Then Hinata’s already sprinting, at full speed. And Kageyama is too.

One moment, they were still. Next, they are in motion, like they never paused.

His bag thuds against his side, the cold air sharp in his lungs, but none of that matters. What matters is that Hinata is half a step ahead, laughing and breathless—and the irrefutable, consuming need to catch up to him.

So, he runs. They run. Across the courtyard. Towards their clubroom. Shattering the drowsy, tranquil morning. Shattering everything and anything that stands in their way.

With a sudden burst, Hinata veers left, trying to cut ahead. Kageyama bumps into him, shoulder to shoulder. Not exactly fair, but who cares. Not when Hinata stumbles, laughs, and keeps going.

They bolt up the stairs. Two at a time, then three. Hinata elbows him once. Kageyama lunges to block him. They jostle, nearly trip over each other—but they don’t stop.

It’s chaotic. But so achingly theirs.

At the top, Hinata dives, stretching his arms out like he’s saving the ball in a match point. He reaches first.

“Dumbass.” Kageyama collapses beside him, panting, annoyed, and exhilarated all at once.

Hinata grins, scooting closer. “You’re just mad I won.”

“You didn’t win,” Kageyama mutters, but his lips curve up, and he doesn’t bother hiding it behind his scarf.

They don’t open their clubroom right away. Rather, they don’t move at all. They just sit there, backs against the wall, side by side, out in the cold.

The silence between them stretches, earned and full. The sun rises a little higher, casting striped shadows from the railings over them. And somewhere along the minutes, their knees press together, lightly. Just a small point of contact.

Hinata giggles.

Kageyama glances sideways, a silent what?

Biting his lip, Hinata only shrugs. Like it’s an inside joke he’s keeping to himself. But he giggles again, this time muffling it in his palm.

Kageyama rolls his eyes. Then instead of snapping back, he finds himself saying quietly, “I’m back.”

Hinata’s smile softens. “I can see that, Back-yama.” He knocks their knees together. A beat passes, and his voice dips. “How was it?”

“Intense,” Kageyama murmurs, resting his head against the wall. His gaze sweeps across the empty courtyard. “Did scrimmages. Lots of drills… There’s a player who’s almost as fast as you.”

“Almost?” Hinata chuckles, a smirk on his lips.

“Almost,” Kageyama confirms. “But not quite.”

He doesn’t say, they liked me. He doesn’t say, I might have a shot at the National Team. He doesn’t say, they mentioned the Olympics too.

Hinata hums, then nods. “I practised a lot. Jump serves. Landed them more than I missed. Didn’t drop a single receive either.”

“I know…” Kageyama pauses, hesitating on his words. “Saw your messages.”

Hinata springs to his feet, jumping once before holding out a hand. “Let’s go. Time to show you my serves.”

He doesn’t say, I did them every morning, thinking of you. He doesn’t say, I learned ten new words. He doesn’t say, I can introduce myself in Portuguese now.

They both don’t say any of it. And maybe that’s okay. Some things are just for later. Right now, they’re together again, and that’s enough.

January arrives as a wave lapping on the shore—soft and gentle, brimming with the promises of a new year, and the hopes of new possibilities.

Likewise, Sakanoshita Market is overflowing too. Aisles packed with the entire Karasuno team, the door swinging open and shut, letting in bursts of winter air and laughter.

The third years step out, all beaming and holding meat buns in their hands.

Yamaguchi takes a big bite and lets out a blissful sigh. “Back alive,” he mumbles through a mouthful. “Meat buns after practice are heaven.”

Hinata bounces on his heels, cheeks puffed round. “Can’t agree more. But I still want to hit more tosses.” His hands flail dramatically, gesturing to the sky. “It’s not even dark yet. I’ve got so much energy left.”

Tsukishima smirks into his bun. “Shrimp dying because he didn’t get his extra practice with King. How tragic.”

Kageyama, who’s been quietly working through his food, calmly stomps on Tsukishima’s foot. Once, just hard enough to make a point.

“Seriously?” Tsukishima glares.

“Yama.” Hinata cups a hand over his mouth but still whispers far too loud. “Should we go to the park? Just for a bit? You can toss me a few.”

Kageyama is already nodding. “Yes—”

“Don’t even try,” Yamaguchi cuts in with a sharp look. “That’s exactly why Coach banned your extra practice today. You need rest. If either of you ends up late tomorrow, I swear we’ll leave for Tokyo without you.”

“As if,” Hinata scoffs. “I always get to school first. That’ll never happen.”

“Me too. I’ll never be late,” Kageyama says, then glancing at Hinata, adds, “But the first to school is me. Not you.”

Hinata jabs an elbow at him. “Lies. I dare you to say it again—”

Yachi giggles, cradling her meat bun as if she’s soaking in the warmth. “Watching you two bicker is good for my heart. Makes me less nervous. Keep it up.” Her smile softens. “But seriously, rest up. You’ve got the whole Nationals ahead of you.”

Then, like an afterthought, she adds, “Our last nationals…”

The words settle with a hush over them, leaving only the muffled chatter of the first and second years drifting from inside Sakanoshita.

They bite into their food again, chewing silently, thoughtfully.

Hinata shifts his weight to one leg, inching subtly closer to Kageyama. Their arms don’t touch, but they could, if either of them—

Kageyama leans sideways too. Their arms do touch, instinctively. And stays there.

Yamaguchi breaks the quiet with a small, dry laugh. “You know, in my first year, I never imagined I’d end up captain. Or take the team to Nationals.” He shakes his head. “If you told me that back then, I’d have thought you were messing with me.”

“I get you,” Yachi says, smiling at him. “From villager B to managing this team for three years…” The wrapper in her hands crinkles loudly. “I’m really going to miss this.”

Tsukishima snorts, exaggerated but harmless. “Why are you all so sentimental all of a sudden?”

“You say that.” Yamaguchi turns to him with a smirk. “But aren’t you the one carrying a good luck charm in your bag?”

“I’m not—”

“He is,” Yamaguchi declares, pointing at him. “You guys don’t know, but last week, when we all went to the shrine? He bought an amulet for our success. Secretly!”

“You did? Wow.” Yachi half-gasps, half-giggles. “Don’t forget to bring them tomorrow! I’ll bring mine too. The more luck the better.”

Laughter bubbles up between the three of them—warm, easy, and gentle. But off to the side, Hinata and Kageyama remain quieter, a little removed from the rest.

Noticing them, Yamaguchi calls out, “Hinata. Kageyama. What about you?”

“What?” Hinata says, the sound of his name snapping him back to the present.

“I asked—how do you feel? About this being our last Nationals?”

Hinata freezes. He hadn’t really been thinking or listening. He’d just been focused on the faint pressure of Kageyama’s arm against his.

“I…” he starts, trailing off. His gaze flickers over their faces before dropping to Kageyama’s shoes. “I don’t want this to end. I want to keep playing.”

A faint murmur follows, swallowed by the wind—"Me neither,” Kageyama says. He doesn’t look at anyone when he says it, like it wasn’t meant to be heard. And, no one seems to register it either.

Yachi’s smile falters. Yamaguchi folds his empty wrapper. Tsukishima polishes off his last bite without a word.

As if the world remembers to move forwards, the door to Sakanoshita swings open. The group of first and second years tumble out, and the bubble bursts, goodbyes and see-yous tossing back and forth—

“See you guys in the morning!”

“Rest well.”

“Don’t forget. Bus leaves at six tomorrow.”

“Set your alarms! If you’re late, we’re leaving you.”

There’s some laughter, some jostling, some teasing, and the mood resets. The five of them also begin walking in the same direction as the sky welcomes dusk, fading into smudges of gold and lavender.

One by one, they scatter.

At the crossroad, Yachi waves goodbye and turns right. A little further, Tsukishima and Yamaguchi veer off together down their street.

Finally, it’s just the two of them.

And they slow down—slow enough that their footsteps scuff against the pavement. They walk slower than ever before.

One of Hinata’s hands remains steady on his bike, guiding it as the chain whirrs softly, while his other hand brushes against Kageyama’s—unspoken, but entirely intentional.

Hinata glances at the narrowing space between them, at their hands pressed together. He extends his pinky, almost about to hook it with Kageyama’s. But it stops at almost. He doesn’t work up the courage.

He feels it now, the heaviness pressing against his ribs. He really doesn’t want this to end. Doesn’t want this day to end. Doesn’t want tomorrow to start. Doesn’t—

Kageyama stops walking.

Hinata takes another step before realising. “Why’d you stop?”

“You turn left here. I go straight.”

—want to separate from Kageyama just yet. Just a little more. Just a little longer.

Hinata opens his mouth, then closes it, searching for words he doesn’t have.

Kageyama waits, watching him. Those warm, honey brown eyes don’t spark like usual. There’s something else there now—something like restlessness.

“Want to run away?” Hinata blurts the first thing that comes to mind.

“Where?” Kageyama replies—quiet, unblinking. So immediate, it’s like he’d been hoping for the same. That maybe, the day wouldn’t have to end.

Instead, it’s Hinata who blinks, taken aback. He glances around, eyes darting everywhere—road, buildings, signboards, sky. Then, he notices, just above the horizon.

“To the moon.”

Kageyama follows his gaze, frowning slightly, not with confusion, more like he’s thinking it through. There’s a waxing crescent hanging there, thin and delicate.

A bright smile forms on Hinata’s face, reckless and full of something he doesn’t know how to name.

“Get on,” he says, hopping onto his bike. “I know the perfect spot.”

“Huh?” Kageyama hesitates.

“My bike.” Hinata pats the seat behind him. “It’ll be faster.”

Kageyama sighs, then steps over, climbing on. His arms wrap—awkwardly, tentatively—around Hinata’s waist.

“Hold tight,” Hinata laughs. “We’re going up a hill.”

And they set off.

The bike rattles under them, and the ride starts with a jolt, the first few pedals wobbling. Once Hinata gathers momentum, they’re gliding smoothly, following the street towards Hinata’s home.

The wind picks up, the cold creeps through the sleeves, and the incline grows steeper. Slowly, Kageyama’s arms tighten until his chest presses to Hinata’s back, warmth seeping in through the layers. Neither of them says anything.

Kageyama just watches. The scenes passing by, swallowed gradually in twilight. Hinata’s curls lifting with every gust, brushing against his chin—bright orange against the dark blue sky.

Then, he feels the rhythm of Hinata’s body working, the movements in his back and shoulders as he pedals harder, pushing up the slope.

Without thinking much, Kageyama lowers his head, resting his cheek between Hinata’s shoulder blades.

And beneath the rush of the wind, the gravel under the tires, and the occasional passing car, he hears it. Hinata’s heartbeat.

He presses in slightly and listens. It’s a little fast, but steady, rhythmic, calming.

Calming enough for him to just mutter, “Your heart’s beating really loud.”

Half the words get carried off by the wind. The rest muffled by Hinata’s earmuffs.

“Did you say something?” Hinata calls back.

Kageyama raises his voice. “I said, your heart’s beating really loud!”

“W-what—” Hinata sputters, his voice cracking. He glances over, face red—not just from the cold. “Maybe because… I’m biking uphill?”

Kageyama doesn’t say anything. Just hums and rests his head there again, listening. The heartbeat thumps faster, louder than before, and a faint smile plays on his lips.

When they finally reach the top, Hinata slows to a stop, one foot sliding down to brace the bike. Ahead, a flight of stairs leads up to a wide wooden platform, curved into the slope, bordered by railings—the observation deck.

They climb in silence, before the world opens wide.

“Whoa,” escapes Kageyama as he steps forwards to soak in the view.

Below, the city lights stretch out, glittering and alive, meeting a streak of gold across the horizon from the last shreds of sunset. Above, the stars begin to scatter, countless and twinkling.

“Like it?” Hinata jogs up beside him, his breath puffing out in little clouds. “I come here a lot. It’s close to my house—five minutes tops.”

“Yeah… It’s nice,” Kageyama murmurs softly, leaning sideways into him. “Thanks.”

Warmth creeps up Hinata’s face, shoulder burning at the spot where they touch. He fumbles with his scarf first, tugging it off. Then his earmuffs. Then his gloves. Letting the cold wind bite at his skin.

But Kageyama’s gaze remains fixed on him, and the air hums—something charged, electric. Like the moment before Kageyama sends a toss to Hinata.

Trying to divert attention away from himself, Hinata points towards the crescent moon, now low over the skyline. “There it is. The moon. It’s almost gone though.”

“It’s okay,” Kageyama says, eyes still on him. “We have the stars.”

A sound, somewhere between a laugh and a cough, catches in Hinata's throat. “You…” he starts, then turns abruptly, walking a few steps away with his head ducked low, trying desperately to hide his flushed face.

“Oh my god,” he mumbles, voice quiet. “You can’t say things like that.”

Kageyama follows. “What? Couldn’t hear.”

“Nothing,” Hinata says quickly, waving it off. “Let’s sit here.”

He tugs Kageyama by the sleeve, and they settle on the stairs along the side of the platform. The view shifts, no longer the spread of the city lights below, but the darker eastern sky, where the stars freckle the night, clearer and brighter.

They sit close. And the cold makes them sit even closer, until their sides press together. Until there’s no more space left between them. They fit snug, like two puzzle pieces.

“Do you know Orion?” Hinata scans the sky. “There… right above the trees.”

“You know about constellations?” Kageyama asks, squinting at the scatter of stars. “Where?”

“Just a few. But that one’s obvious—you can’t miss it.” Hinata giggles, then takes Kageyama’s open palm and gently traces a shape across it. “See the straight line of three stars? That’s the belt. Then here’s the body, the arms, and the bow… like a hunter.”

He draws his hand back—brief and fleeting. The touch lingers on Kageyama’s skin, and he curls his fingers into a fist.

“Yeah. I see it now,” he murmurs after a beat. “It’s big.”

Hinata’s smile softens, and he leans into Kageyama again, eyes back on the sky. He pauses on a bright white dot just over the horizon.

“You see that? There,” Hinata says, pointing to it. “It’s twinkling with so many colours—like a disco light! Do you think that’s Sirius? It’s the brightest star, right?”

Kageyama chuckles, soft. “Maybe. I don’t know. But it’s like… it's dancing.”

Hinata’s voice lowers, slow and hesitant. “There’s two stars actually. Remember binary stars? Sirius is like that. It has another star, a smaller one, always orbiting with it.”

Wordlessly, Kageyama turns to him.

“There’s two stars,” Hinata repeats, still watching the bright star. It flickers, and he lets out a quiet, awkward laugh. “I think… we’re kind of like that.”

“Wha…” The word dies on Kageyama’s tongue. He moves closer, not quite following.

“It’s a bit stupid.” Hinata’s smile wavers, eyes flicking down at him. “You don’t need to—”

“Tell me,” Kageyama says, holding his gaze steady.

Hinata swallows, and his cheeks flush red again. “You know… how two binary stars are bound together by gravity? Orbiting around each other? That’s like us… with volleyball.”

Kageyama stays silent, tension rising in his shoulders.

“And… you’re like the bigger star. Like Sirius, the brightest. All dazzling,” Hinata continues, rubbing the back of his neck. “And, I’m the smaller one. But don’t worry—I’ll catch up to you.”

Kageyama’s brows draw together. “Of course you will.”

“Yeah.” Hinata’s expression shifts slightly—too small to name. But the way his mouth curves holds a hint of bittersweetness. “They follow their own paths too but always orbiting together… helping each other grow.”

There’s a pause, before he adds, “Even when their orbits bring them closer or… pull them apart. That’s like us too.”

A silence blankets them, but it feels loud.

Kageyama doesn’t answer right away, his mind replaying Hinata’s words from the cafeteria that day, Won’t be seeing each other. Different countries. What if we drift apart?

“Do you… Are you…” He falters, the words coming out quieter than he means to. And all he finds the strength to say is—

“I don’t want us to drift apart.”

“Would you…” Hinata hesitates, then shifts closer, shoulder now firmly pressed to Kageyama’s side. “Would you be sad?”

There’s no response. Kageyama doesn’t even try to speak. He remains still. But his eyes shimmer—wet, or maybe just catching the starlight.

“I would be,” Hinata whispers, so soft even Kageyama barely hears it. “I want us to stay like this. Just… close together.”

This time, the world decides to wait. The wind stops. Even the air seems gone, knocked out, as the space between them shrinks, disappearing in small, instinctive movements.

Their foreheads nearly touch. Their breaths slow, almost to nothing. And everything melts away.

First, their noses brush. Once, then again—careful, cautious. Then, Hinata leans in, tilting his head, and their lips almost meet.

That almost asks them to be brave. Asks at least one of them to be brave. But neither moves. Not away, not closer.

Kageyama’s hand clenches tightly in his lap, knuckles white. He draws in a breath—shaky, trembling, and—

Hinata glances down, just a flicker.

In that moment, Kageyama leans forwards, erasing the final inch, pressing their lips together.

That’s all it is. A press. Not a kiss exactly. More of a contact. A release. A transfer.

All the emotions, pressure, longing they’ve tried to hold in, finally spills.

Like the mass transfer in a binary star system. When the larger star expands so big, it swells past the limit, spilling onto its companion. A process so immense it alters both stars in a way they never could alone.

Their dynamics change. Their orbits shift. Sometimes pulling them closer. Sometimes forming something new. Sometimes even merging them together. It depends, but it’s all beautiful, nonetheless.

And, just like that, they part—breathless.

The silence that follows is thick with the sound of unsteady breathing, as if forgotten how. Their breaths mingle—warm and shallow—while the winter air does nothing to slow the heat rising on their skin.

Hinata hides his face in the crook of Kageyama’s shoulder, a giggle slipping out. “I think… we’re supposed to breathe through our noses when we kiss.”

Kageyama lets out a faint hum, then rests his head against Hinata’s, the orange curls soft and ticklish.

They stay like that as seconds slip by. Hinata’s gaze drops, landing on Kageyama’s still clenched fist. His hand hovers before gently wrapping over it.

Gathering every ounce of courage, Kageyama whispers, “Again. I want… again.”

Hinata lifts his head, meeting those ocean-blue eyes. A slow smile curls on his lips—radiant like the crescent moon.

This time, he opens Kageyama’s hand and laces their fingers together.

This time, when they lean in, there’s no pause.

This time, the kiss deepens.

Hinata parts his lips, brushing over Kageyama’s lower lip in a soft caress.

And Kageyama responds, mirroring it, matching the intensity—tentative at first, then with more certainty.

His free hand travels up Hinata’s arm. Grazing his shoulder, sliding along his neck, stopping at his jaw, thumb ghosting across his cheek.

The kiss tastes of meat buns and winter. Of stars and moon.

And they simply stay. Close. Together. In orbit.

Chapter Text

The night slips into dawn. The sun has not risen yet, but the stars fade into the deep blue, leaving only a scattering of bright ones behind.

Just outside the school gates, the bus waits patiently. And quietly, even with half the volleyball team already on board as the early hour has lulled them to sleep. Only Takeda-sensei and Yamaguchi stand by the door, both snuggled into their scarves.

Then, a thud of rapid footsteps breaks the soundscape. Kageyama appears, sweat beading his forehead, breath ragged.

Seconds later, Hinata bursts in on his bike, bringing a gust of wind with him. He slams the brake so hard, the screech cuts through the stillness.

Yamaguchi blinks at them, then snorts, “You guys... there’s still time.”

“You’re not late,” Takeda-sensei says with a reassuring smile. “No need to rush.”

A short, awkward laugh slips out of Hinata, while Kageyama exhales sharply, swiping his sleeve across his forehead.

Today, they’re just on time. Not early, like they usually are.

Hinata turns to Kageyama. He gives him a small nod before brushing past, muttering, “I’ll be back. Need to lock my bike.”

So, Kageyama steps onto the bus first. He finds the nearest two empty seats and settles into the one by the window.

When Hinata returns, he’s bouncing on his heels. Without hesitation, he slides into the seat beside Kageyama’s with a grin so bright it lights up the bus in a sunrise.

“Morning,” Kageyama murmurs, low, glancing out of the window—not meeting Hinata’s eyes. But their arms touch and stay there.

“Morning,” Hinata echoes. Then, looking around at the half-asleep faces, he whispers, “Mom didn’t say anything weird, right? She came back so late after dropping you home.”

“She did,” Kageyama blurts, lips quirking in an unmistakable tease. “I now know how you tried to climb a tree…” A pause. “Then fell down…” Another pause. “And needed three stitches on your forehead.”

Hinata nudges an elbow, pointed but light. “That never happened. You can’t even lie, Yama-yama.”

“Memory loss,” Kageyama deadpans, chuckling. “My mom invited her in. They were catching up.”

“Makes sense,” Hinata hums.

A silence follows. Then he leans sideways until the touch on his arm deepens, the pressure steady and comfortable. Just the familiarity with each other. No awkwardness—

It reminds Hinata. It reminds Hinata of last night, when his shoulder was pressed to Kageyama’s side. Hot and heavy. Mere moments before the gap closed, and they kissed.

A sound catches in Hinata’s throat. Heat rises to his cheeks. And suddenly, the warm press of Kageyama’s arm against his burns.

He jolts upright and pulls away—slightly. Not fully detaching, just enough to linger.

Kageyama raises a brow.

Hinata doesn’t say anything more and lets the silence between them drag.

But around them, the chatter swells as the last of the members board. With the entire Karasuno team on, the engine hums to life. The scenes change, from the quiet, drowsy streets of Miyagi to the long, stretched highways towards Tokyo.

Hardly an hour in, Kageyama blinks heavy, his head bumping softly against the cold glass window.

“Last night. Did you sleep well?” Hinata asks quietly.

“Could have been better—” Kageyama cuts himself off. “I slept okay.”

A smile tugs at Hinata’s lips, a little mischievous. He pats his own shoulder—a wordless offer.

A few moments pass before Kageyama shifts, tilting his head to drop to Hinata’s shoulder. The angle strains his neck, and he grumbles, “You’re short.”

Hinata opens his mouth in a mock gasp. Then he tips his head on Kageyama’s shoulder, looking up with wide, twinkling eyes. “Now?”

Without another protest, Kageyama lets his head come to rest on top of Hinata’s—easy and natural.

Soft, orange curls tickle his cheek. Like last night.

It reminds Kageyama too. This similar position. The weight of Hinata’s head on his shoulder—firm yet delicate against his collarbone. Those fleeting seconds between the kisses.

Kageyama shuts his eyes tight.

The memory clings, warm, on both of their skins. And maybe some awkwardness does creep around the edges.

The physical distance between them increases gradually, inch by inch.

It starts at noon, once the bus rolls into Tokyo.

The first inch is at lunch. Hinata sits across from Kageyama. Not beside, minimising the casual brush of an arm or bump of the shoulders. In return, glances are stolen, and a foot finds the other under the table, kicking lightly—on purpose or not.

The second inch is added in the gymnasium. They move through the warmups flawlessly. Every toss spiked with such power and precision that it sings. But the words between them could be counted on one hand. Yet their hands meet for a high-five after every quick.

The third inch happens in the bath. Their gazes stay lowered, and words zilch. Only clouds of steam and chatter of their teammates fill the quiet, deliberate space they leave between them.

So, when the lights go out, Kageyama’s futon lies exactly three inches away from Hinata’s. Still side by side. Close enough to hear the rustle of each other’s sheets.

Those three inches don’t last long. All it takes is the next morning, and the Tokyo Metropolitan Gymnasium coming into view.

It’s sight—tall, grand, gleaming—commands all their attention to the competition.

The crowd outside is massive, voices overlapping, mascots waving, flags fluttering in the air. As they weave through it, the awkwardness evaporates, leaving no trace behind.

At the opening ceremony, Yamaguchi stands proud at the front, holding the placard high—Miyagi, Karasuno. Then Kageyama, calm, shoulders squared. Then Tsukishima, taller than anyone. Then their libero, a second-year, a little stiff in his walk.

Then Hinata, with a grin that barely contains his excitement. His fists clench tight at his sides, gaze falling on Kageyama—ahead, glimpsed between two backs.

His eyes follow the curve of his shoulders, the subtle stretch in his jersey as the black fabric glints under the bright gymnasium lights.

Over the three years, Kageyama’s always been ahead. Always in front. A 9 to a 10.

Now, a 2 to a 5—the gap had widened.

The ceremony ends in no time. Before they know it, they’re stepping onto the orange court for their first match.

They line up at the back, bowing in unison, to their opponents, to the officials.

“Let’s do this,” Karasuno shouts, voices united, reverberating loudly off the high ceilings.

Then they break formation. They jog to their starting positions, Kageyama at the service line and Hinata at the front row, glancing over his shoulder.

Their eyes find each other.

“No-touch ace,” Hinata says quietly, meant only for one person. Then, smaller, swallowed by the cheers of the crowd, “Score five points.” And softer, he mouths—

Let’s win, Kageyama.

Instantly, Kageyama’s lips twitch, just shy of a smile. His reply is sure, certain, and silent—

Yeah. Let’s do this.

The whistle blows.

The ball is tossed high. The commentators’ voices rise. And the ball zooms across the court.

Every serve meets a desperate dig. Every spike counters a well-timed block. Every pass builds up to the attack.

Time blurs. Karasuno wins. Then another day, another game. Play. Rest. Analyse. And repeat.

That’s how the first three days of Spring High go—climbing the ladder, rung after rung, steadily and resolutely.

On the fourth day, they reach the centre court—the semi-finals.

Here, the noise is sharper, louder, even in the corridors. It hums through the walls—the bass of taiko drums, the piercing trill of flutes. Karasuno’s cheer squad in full glory.

Karasuno walks forwards, everyone carrying their nerves in different ways.

Yamaguchi breathes deep, slow and measured, shoulders rising and falling. Yachi forces a smile, talking softly with the second years, calming them. Tsukishima stares at his own palm, opening and closing like clockwork.

Meanwhile, Kageyama slows his pace and falls behind, letting the group pull ahead.

Footsteps slide in beside him, in sync with his. Hinata.

The space between them narrows, and the back of Hinata’s hand presses against his.

Kageyama’s glance drops for a second. He hooks his fingers loosely through Hinata’s—unhurried but deliberate.

Hinata doesn’t look back. He simply laces their fingers together and squeezes once.

A beat later, Kageyama squeezes back.

Then again. Both at the same time.

Three in all.

And without a word, the touch slips away, their hands easing apart.

The lights flood as the corridor opens wide to the gymnasium. The centre court stretches in vivid orange—glinting, waiting, and demanding attention of everyone present.

On the sidelines, a multitude of cameras blink, while men and women in suits shuffle into their position—scouts.

One of them meets Kageyama’s gaze and smiles warmly, head dipping in acknowledgement.

Kageyama returns the gesture before moving on with his team.

Around him, everyone falls quiet, taking in the sheer scale of it all. It’s bigger than anything they’ve stepped into before.

Then Itachiyama enters, and the cheers grow deafening. Every one of them walks with imposing confidence, not a shred of nerves showing—a powerhouse down to their bones.

Separated by the net, both teams ease into their warmup drills—serves, spikes, passes.

But for Karasuno, the anxiety doesn’t fade. The jitters thread through their movements, slowing them just slightly—only enough for Kageyama to notice.

The referee signals. The teams bow, then scatter to their starting positions.

The whistle pierces through the air.

Itachiyama’s server is up first. The ball leaves his hand, spinning once before his palm smashes into it. The serve is nothing short of perfection, skimming just over the net.

Karasuno’s libero meets it head-on, arms absorbing the sting and sending the ball up clean.

Kageyama slides under it. Knees bent. Fingers already shaped in the air.

And in that instant, he hears it. The loud, familiar rhythm of shoes squeaking against the polished floor. Then the boom.

He doesn’t hesitate. Not for a fraction of a second.

There’s no better way to shatter the nerves. No better way to announce Karasuno. No stronger choice than the thing they’ve honed for years.

Give me your best. Kageyama doesn’t say the words aloud, but it’s there, tangible between them. Your highest jump.

The set leaves his fingertips, featherlight and precise, meeting Hinata at the apex of his jump.

Under the pouring white light, he seems to float in the air—impossibly high, right arm drawn back, legs coiled.

Kageyama watches him. Watches his palm connect to the ball. Watches the white glow drench him so bright it’s hard to tell where the court’s illumination ends and his own light begins.

A star.

The ball slams home on Itachiyama’s side. Hinata’s feet touch down—blinding and brilliant.

Hinata is always shining. These past three days. These past three years.

The audience erupts in cheers, but soon the symphony of drums and flutes takes over. The scoreboard flickers, first point to Karasuno.

The steadfast kind. The kind that anchors you, shines with you. Yet surpasses you, always believing you’ll outshine in return. Because you will—both will.

Kageyama’s pulse hammers in his ears, and Hinata’s words echo—There’s two stars.

So this is what you meant, he realises, eyes following Hinata as he high-fives Yamaguchi.

I get it.

Hinata turns to him—and beams. “Send the next one to me too.”

Kageyama’s face simply softens, just a hint. Then it sharpens again, mind already on the next play.

The game continues. Itachiyama goes all out, each rally pushing harder. And Karasuno answers with equal tenacity.

The scoreboard climbs in single increments. 2-2. 2-3. 3-3. Neither side willing to yield.

One more point. One more toss. One more set. One more match together.

The sentiment flows between them in a steady current—unspoken yet understood—driving them to their limits.

Kageyama delivers every toss with meticulous care, each one a prayer. And Hinata jumps. He jumps because that’s the only answer.

The rallies stretch long—feints and receives, blocks and quicks. The pace grows relentless, but their focus remains absolute, locked onto this eighteen-by-nine-meter court.

That’s where their world narrows to.

That’s what their gravity is about.

Two binary stars. Two binary stars locked together in gravity.

And the audience begins to see it too. First in murmurs, then in cheers. Not just for Karasuno—but for them. Their constant push and pull.

The commentators chime in. Their names colour every play. Their shared brilliance is dazzling—so dazzling, it captivates, pulling every eye towards them and refusing to let go.

Just like a supernova. When the larger star exhausts its nuclear fuel first, it bursts—shedding its outer layers, ending a chapter of its life as its core collapses into something new, something denser, something magnificent.

The energy floods out, unstoppable. So luminous it outshines the entire galaxy. Capable of turning the entire night sky into day.

It’s beautiful and breathtaking.

Keeping the entire gymnasium at the edge of their seats, every breath stilled.

The scoreboard blinks. Fifth set. 16-15 in Itachiyama’s favour.

A long ball hovers over the net. Kageyama moves, then spins around. Tips it soft against the blockers’ palm—a rebound.

Yamaguchi receives. Kageyama sets. Hinata sprints.

In that moment, as fatigue begins to fog their minds, the blockers follow the most obvious threat. And Hinata’s fire, the burning willpower, draws all three with him.

The ball goes to Tsukishima.

But Itachiyama’s libero digs it. The first touch turns into a set. Their ace swings cross-court.

Tsukishima blocks—barely. Ball ricochets off his fingertips, veering wildly, spinning out of bounds.

Hinata charges after it, quick as flash, muscles screaming in exhaustion. Kageyama does too, lungs drained empty. But all that runs through their heads is—

One more. One more. One more match. Get the ball up. It hasn’t dropped yet.

They dive at the same time, fingers skimming the floor, chests slamming down—

So does the ball. It touches the floor just millimetres from their reach.

All goes silent.

They don’t hear anything—not the gasps, not the cheers, not the whistle. Neither the celebration nor the heartbreak.

Their gazes stay on the ball as it bounces once, then again, before rolling away. Their jaws tighten and fists clench.

That’s when their high school volleyball journey ends. Right outside the orange court, on the blue floor, a chapter closes.

Minutes drift by. Karasuno gathers shoulder to shoulder. And they bow—slow and heavy, lasting longer than all the ones before.

Applause swells around them, but their heads stay low.

Yamaguchi straightens first. He jogs up to Coach Ukai and Takeda-sensei, bowing again. Hinata, Kageyama, and Tsukishima follow, but Coach Ukai pulls them to a hug instead, his hand patting their backs with quiet pride.

“Keep your head high. You played brilliantly,” Takeda-sensei says, simple as the truth.

Yamaguchi’s vision blurs, and a small laugh breaks free. He pulls the other three into a hug, before the rest of the team crashes into them, all weak smiles and glossy eyes.

They trail off the court together, settling in the rest area. The noise dims, but the heat from the match still hums on their skin, sticky like the sweat.

Hinata plops down beside Kageyama, holding out a protein bar.

As always, Kageyama accepts it.

They eat slow, breaths evening out. Their limbs still feel heavy, but for the first time that week, there’s no rush.

Then, low murmurs from the hallway catch their attention. Kageyama glances towards the approaching group—there’s Takeda-sensei, Coach Ukai, one familiar face from Youth Camp, others new.

Hinata follows his gaze, watches Coach Ukai nod at Kageyama, subtly calling him over.

“Go,” Hinata says, firm, no hesitation. Then softer, pointing at the half-eaten bar, “Give it to me.”

Kageyama blinks at him. “I’ll be back,” he replies, handing it over before stepping away.

And Hinata’s eyes remain on him. He doesn’t hear the words, but catches the fumbled handshake, the way Kageyama’s mouth flattens, face stiffening—the expression he always wears when complimented.

A chuckle slips out of Hinata, helpless and fond.

The rest of the day slips past in a blur. The loss lingers like a bitter aftertaste, but by nightfall, its sharpness dulls too.

In its place, a firm resolve takes root, and a sense of fulfilment starts to creep in—centre court, semi-finals, third in the nation. No small feat.

Thus, after the bath, the entire team finds themselves sprawled across the floor with newfound energy.

Among the first and second years, words toss back and forth, jumping between teams and tactics—already envisioning next year’s matches.

Kageyama’s gaze drifts from them to Hinata beside.

“Run?” Hinata asks, springing to his feet. “Let’s go for our run, Yama-yama.”

He doesn’t wait for a response. Just bolts towards the door, and Kageyama follows, nearly on his heels.

Outside, the breeze brushes through their hair, cold against their cheeks. Yet compared to Miyagi, it feels warm, almost gentle.

Same with the sky. Fewer stars scatter—just a handful—under Tokyo’s glow.

They slip into their usual route around the neighbourhood, their strides falling in sync.

The streets stretch, soaked in yellow from the streetlamps. And they trace them the way they have for the past three years. Memorised only on winter nights.

Around the corner, a convenience store spills light onto the pavement. Hinata slows, head turning, eyes catching on the neon sign.

Kageyama only speeds up.

Hinata squawks. Then scrambles to catch up.

Next, the white lines painted down the side of the road become his game. He runs along it. When it curves left, he curves with it, leaving Kageyama no choice but to keep pace.

On the tiled sidewalk, Hinata hops between squares—never stepping on the same one twice. Kageyama, meanwhile, sprints through them without care.

The rhythm continues that way—sometimes leap and chase, sometimes fall back and surge forwards. But always returning to the same steady pace, side by side.

By the time the route carries them through a small park, their running slows down to a jog, then a walk.

Between the trees, a waxing half-moon hangs, larger and brighter over the horizon—too beautiful not to look at twice.

“It’s here. Tonight,” Kageyama mutters, absently.

“What? The moon?” Hinata tilts his head, stepping close enough for their arms to brush. “It’s always there. In the sky, you know?”

“I know,” Kageyama shoots back before his voice dips, shy, trailing off, “I meant—like… that night…”

Hinata blinks. Then a slow, soft smile spreads on his face. “Yeah. It hasn’t set yet. Tonight.”

“Dumbass—” Kageyama huffs, taking a long step and pulling ahead. “Dumbass Hinata.”

A chorus of low giggles escapes Hinata.

The walk continues towards the Moon. Its glow rivals the streetlamps, yet together they stretch their shadows long, overlapping them close and closer.

“The people from today…” Hinata begins, fingers fidgeting at the hem of his jacket. “The scouts. Any… news?”

“Yeah.” Kageyama turns to him. There’s a pause as he breaths deep, before continuing, “They invited me to their tryouts.”

“Really?” Hinata beams—brighter than the combined shine of the lights around them. His hands find Kageyama’s, cradling them. “Which teams?”

The energy is contagious, and it blooms across Kageyama’s face too.

“Schweiden Alders,” he answers, eyes twinkling as excitement finally spills free. “There was a scout from EJP Raijin. And Azuma Pharmacy! One of my National Team coaches was here too. Acknowledged me!”

“Yama-yama!” Hinata bounces their joined hands, unable to keep still. “When—When are the tryouts?”

Kageyama laughs wholeheartedly. “Around the month-end. I’ll know more once I receive the official invites.”

“Congrats!” Hinata bursts into a jump, arms flung high. Then the next second, he’s wrapping Kageyama in a tight embrace, words muffling in his shoulders—

“You deserve it. More than anyone. You were amazing. Your tosses too. They were all… woah.”

Kageyama chokes back a sound. His arms hover midair, body growing hotter with every heartbeat.

“You… were too,” his voice catches, hushed against Hinata’s ear. “They saw you too… The scouts.”

Hinata pulls back, meeting Kageyama’s gaze. “That’s not my plan. Besides, you know, I still have a lot to level up.”

“Are you…” Kageyama falters but chooses his next words with utmost care. “Are you going somewhere far?”

Hinata’s fist clenches and unclenches. He smooths down his curls, dropping his voice an octave, “I’d rather receive, spike, and toss all by myself—you said that once.”

Kageyama waits, eyes fixed on him.

“I want to say that too. And mean it,” Hinata declares, unwavering. “I want to be my best. That’s why…” He inhales. “Brazil. I’m going to Brazil to train in beach volleyball.”

It lands gently, like a feather. Yet it weighs heavy, like a mountain.

And it lodges deep in Kageyama’s chest, swelling against his ribs until his throat runs dry.

A memory surfaces in his mind from their second year. Hinata. In Sakanoshita Market. Intently watching video after video of beach volleyball matches. That quiet, unmistakable obsession.

It all clicks.

“You thought it through,” Kageyama says. Then softening, almost glowing with pride, “Two players, right? You’ll have to… you’ll become really good. The sand. It’ll help.”

Hinata nods. “I’ll learn everything.” A beat of silence stretches—fragile—as his eyes trace over Kageyama’s face, searching, before he says, “I’m going for two years.”

The ache thrums through Kageyama. But beneath it, something else—something fiercer surpasses it all.

“Even if it takes ten or twenty years, I’ll defeat you,” he recites, with the same intensity Hinata once spoke the words, as if they’re the thesis of their whole connection. Maybe because they are. “Two years is easy.”

Hinata’s shoulders lift, and his posture eases, leaning back—so subtle, Kageyama might have missed it, if not for the moonlight framing him.

His heart stutters. He reaches across, slipping his fingers into Hinata’s.

“Yeah?” Hinata breathes, a whisper.

Kageyama’s hand tightens around Hinata’s—a wordless vow.

“Yeah,” he confirms.

The weekend after the Nationals is calm, carrying that soothing relief of balm on sore muscles. Birds chirp outside, bathed in the warm sunlight that slowly melts Miyagi’s frosty Sunday morning.

Similarly, inside, Kageyama’s phone chimes—and vibrates, rattling against his study desk in a mini earthquake.

Hinata’s messages flood his screen.

Kageyama skims through the string of texts. His brows furrowing deeper and deeper with every exclamation mark—

‘Yamayama!!! Any plan for today?? Are you home? Be at home. I’m coming over!! It’s going to be so fun!!!!!’

Which is how, moments later, Kageyama opens the door to find Hinata—out of breath, hair windswept, cheeks red, but smiling warmer than the sunshine.

“Dumbass. Are you dumb?” Kageyama grumbles, though there’s no bite. Rather, his hand reaches out to pull Hinata in, gentle as ever. “Aren’t you cold? You didn’t have to bike that fast.”

“I’m just so excited,” Hinata laughs. As he tumbles in, he takes a step closer, murmuring, “And couldn’t wait to see you too.”

Kageyama stares—for a long beat. A flush travels up his neck, spreading across his face, nearly matching Hinata’s. “You can leave now. You’ve seen me.”

Hinata, halfway through fishing out a pair of slippers, just drops them dramatically. “Not happening. Besides—” he puffs his chest a little “—I haven’t even shown you what I’ve brought. You’re going to admit I’m a genius.”

“What… did you bring?” Kageyama swallows, wary.

“Have some trust in me.” Hinata swats at him—Kageyama dodges effortlessly, on instinct.

Before he can retort any further, Hinata pulls out a small stack of DVDs from his bag.

“This is for Adlers.” His eyes glint as he hands them over one by one, explaining, “This is Raijin. Azuma. And a few others too. All the latest matches. Took me all of yesterday to collect these. Genius, right?”

Kageyama glances at the cases, then back at Hinata. “Why?”

“Scouting,” Hinata declares proudly—like it’s the most obvious answer.

Kageyama stays quiet, so Hinata continues, “We need to know everything about them. The players. Their playstyles. One of these is going to be your team. Can’t take this lightly.”

“I haven’t even been selected yet,” Kageyama mutters low, stunned.

“Exactly.” Hinata’s grin only widens, carrying the same certainty he plays with on the court. “You will be once you try out. So we watch.”

Whatever protest Kageyama has dies in his throat. Hinata’s confidence settles over him, dissolving any traces of nerves that had crept in.

And all Kageyama manages to mumble is a soft, “Idiot…”

“Come on!” Hinata darts towards the living room. “Let’s start with the Adlers.”

Soon the TV hums to life. They tuck themselves under the kotatsu, sides pressed together, with a bowl of tangerines between them.

The announcer’s voice booms over the cheers of the crowd as the camera pans across the court, focusing on players one at a time.

“You’ll be playing with the Romero.” Hinata leans forwards, pointing eagerly. “Isn’t that awesome?”

Kageyama, unconsciously, leans in too. “Wonder what kind of tosses he likes…”

“That’s what we’re going to find out,” Hinata giggles. The screen shifts to another player, and he bumps their shoulders together. “Oh—that guy! Number 8. He won the best attacker last season. An ace.”

“Look at the libero too. Another national team starter,” Kageyama nods. “No wonder they’re one of the strongest V. League teams.”

And just like that, they’re gone—lost in the match, the cosy shared warmth of kotatsu, and the sweet tangerine scent that wraps around them.

The first thing Kageyama does after the Adlers’ tryout is switch his phone on.

He navigates to his messages. Hinata sits at the top of the screen, the last text from him reading—‘Good luck!!!!!!!!!!’

Kageyama’s thumb hovers over the keyboard.

The door to the Adlers’ facility swishes open and close, and waves of chatter escape, ebbing and flowing. Warm air sneaks out too, washing over Kageyama.

He taps the call button instead.

Each ring feels stretched, dragging on longer than the last one, extending the wait.

His gaze wanders, past the flow of pedestrians, the cars, the rooftops, to the tower standing tall against the muted, dusky sky.

A click. Then—

“Kageyama!” Hinata’s voice bursts through the speaker, bright and cheery, sprinkling colours into the city around him. “How did it go?

A smile appears instantly on Kageyama’s face. “Good. It went really good.”

Hinata whoops. “Knew it—” A loud bang cuts him off, followed by a wince.

“Dumbass,” Kageyama laughs. “Did you just hit yourself?”

“My elbow… on the table,” Hinata groans. “Don’t laugh at me!”

“I’m not.” Kageyama presses his lips tight, but a chuckle slips through anyway. “I’m definitely not laughing.”

“Yama-yama. I know you!” Hinata shoots back, before breaking into giggles himself. “Tell me. Tell me. Give me all the details.”

The line goes quiet, and an image builds up quick in Kageyama’s mind. Hinata, phone to his ear, eyes wide and sparkling—just like himself now.

Kageyama’s happiness multiples tenfold, and the words tumble out.

“They have so many gyms. Different types. Started with a tour of the facility—I counted them. More than ten courts! Huge too! It’s amazing. Then, introductions and warm-ups. Pretty normal, right? But then they had some players come over—”

“Did you meet Romero?” Hinata asks, equally eager. “Who else was there?”

“Huh—no.” Kageyama pauses, thinking. “None of their starters. Just reserves today, I guess.” Then, with a huff, “Don’t interrupt me!”

A mock gasp, though it dies midway as Hinata steadies his voice. “I’m listening.” Still, the giddiness seeps through, “Continue, Excited-yama.”

“I set to them!” Kageyama blurts, finally letting himself breathe. “Missed a few tosses at first, but eventually got the hang of it. The games move at a different pace here.”

“Pro players,” Hinata offers knowingly.

“Pro players,” Kageyama hums, before launching back in, “After that, they made us do all kinds of drills—”

February doesn’t knock on the door. It just lets itself in and snuggles comfortably, counting down the winter days, towards the arrival of a new season.

For Kageyama, it starts with a letter.

And an empty classroom drenched in the soft blue of early morning. The only sound being the low thud of the bag hitting his desk, then the scrape of his chair as he settles in.

However, the quiet shatters quickly. Pat-pats of footsteps echo from the hallway, growing faster, louder.

Kageyama’s lips twitch into a smirk.

The moment Hinata appears at the doorway, he announces, “Today. I win.”

With a small huff, Hinata moves to his seat. “I won yesterday. So…” He flashes a cheeky grin over his shoulder. “I let you win today.”

Kageyama tugs open his bag. “Just admit you woke up late.”

Hinata drags his chair over and plops down beside him, raising a brow. “Late?” He gestures around. “See anyone here?”

“Doesn’t help your point, dumbass.” Kageyama flicks his forehead—gentle, barely a tap—but Hinata yelps anyway. “Because that’s what we do now.”

From empty gym to empty classroom—just a change of scenery after the Nationals.

Same reason. Same ritual. Same routine.

Like they need those extra moments together before the day starts. Doesn’t matter if there’s a court present or not now.

The only addition this morning is—

Kageyama placing a pristine white envelope on the desk. And nudging it forwards.

The neat black print of his address catches Hinata’s eyes first, before they lift, meeting the bluest gaze he’s ever known. “What’s that?”

“Got this yesterday,” Kageyama murmurs, leaning sideways, reducing the space between them. “I want you… read it.”

Hinata slides the letter free. He unfolds it, fingers impossibly careful.

The majestic eagle logo greets him.

“Adlers!” escapes him automatically. Then he hunches over, scanning the words, while a hand reaches across blindly—finding Kageyama’s and holding on tight.

Kageyama keeps his grip steady, watching Hinata—studying every minute flicker of expression.

His eyelashes fluttering over the lines. His cheeks lifting with a glow. The corner of his lips curling up, until they part—

Kageyama feels it before he hears anything.

Hinata is on his feet. Launching forwards. Arms locking around Kageyama’s shoulder.

The chair topples backwards with a bang.

But Hinata’s voice rings out, loud and clear, “Yama!”

As if saying more could ever be enough, he just dissolves into bubbling laughter. The sound vibrates against Kageyama—coursing through him from head to toe, lighting up sparks in his chest.

And this time, Kageyama doesn’t hesitate. His arms come up, circling Hinata’s back—palms splaying warm and sure.

“Yeah,” Kageyama breathes against his neck. “I got in.”

After school, Hinata, Kageyama, Yamaguchi, and Tsukishima spill into a bookstore. Because somewhere along the line, volleyball has moved onto the back burner as the Nationals prep gave way to exam prep.

Hinata bounces on his toes, steps airy and springy. “How do you burn all this energy?” He whirls towards Kageyama, miming a spike. “I need some tosses.”

Kageyama perks up. “Should we—”

“By using your brain to study,” Tsukishima cuts in with a sneer. “Sad that you don’t have any.”

Almost immediately, Yamaguchi elbows him. “Be gentle. Volleyball withdrawal’s rough.”

“Hey!” Hinata stands tall, hooking his arm with Kageyama’s. “If we want to play, we play. No one’s stopping us.”

Tsukishima’s lips twitch, visibly trying to hold back, yet it slips out, “Are you sure? One failed exam and you guys will be stuck in high school forever.”

“That’s a bit extreme,” Hinata winces. “I’ll pass. Definitely. Yama-yama too—hopefully.”

In one smooth motion, Kageyama jerks his arm back. “No way I’m failing if you pass, dumbass.”

Their bickering spirals. Tsukishima exhales a long-suffering sigh. “I’m going to get my workbooks. Tadashi, watch them.” Then, with a glare at other two, “Behave. We’re in a store.”

Kageyama’s eyes trail after him down the aisle, before wandering to a different shelf. He veers off, muttering a quick, “I need something too.”

Hinata blinks but shrugs it off as Yamaguchi tugs him in the opposite direction, saying, “Let’s check out some magazines.”

Moments later, Tsukishima finds Kageyama scowling—in the Travel corner.

With piqued curiosity, he sidles up. “Need any help, King?”

“Can you not?” Kageyama clicks his tongue. But after a beat, he flips a book towards him. “Is Brazil here?”

The lush terraces of Machu Picchu stare back, along with the title, ‘Know before you go: South America.’

Tsukishima pushes up his glasses. Then gives a small nod. “Yes.”

Kageyama’s face relaxes, a faint smile appearing and taking root there. He tucks the book under his arm, about to turn away when—

“So Hinata told you,” Tsukishima blurts, though he grimaces right after.

“About Brazil?” Kageyama looks at him steady. “Yeah.”

Tsukishima clears his throat and mumbles, “How do you feel?”

There’s no answer. Instead, Kageyama tilts his head. “About?” he asks, not quite understanding.

“About… Hinata.” Tsukishima scoffs, shifting his weight from one foot to another. “He’s going to—”

“Brazil. Yeah.” Kageyama finishes. And as he continues, his eyes brighten, a fire aglow. “He is going to conquer sand. I’m not letting him be the only one getting stronger.”

Tsukishima wrinkles his nose, possibly in disgust. He massages his temples, saying, “There should be a better book than that.”

“What—” Kageyama’s voice rises. “Which one?”

Tsukishima almost laughs but clamps it down. He glances around, and once he finds it, he tips it off the shelf.

A vibrant blue cover, Christ the Redeemer spreads wide across it. Above it, the bold white print reads, ‘Everything you need to know about Brazil.’

“This is better,” Tsukishima snickers. “Or you’ll get lost trying to find Brazil in South America.”

Kageyama snatches the book and stomps towards the register, though not before grumbling a low “thanks” under his breath.

Meanwhile, at the magazine racks, Hinata’s enthusiastically thumbing through Monthly Volleyball.

He lands on a glossy, two-page spread of Adlers’ recent win in the V. League, and his grin widens.

“Soon Kageyama will be here too!” He flips it around to show Yamaguchi. “I can see him frowning at the camera already.”

“Like his Youth interview!” Yamaguchi quips. “His face was completely blank in that picture.”

Hinata giggles. “He knows how to smile though. Looks so beautiful when he does.”

Yamaguchi smirks, murmuring, “I’m sure it’s more to do with who he is smiling at.”

“Me,” Hinata blurts—full of confidence, pointing at himself.

“You’re impossible.” Yamaguchi cracks up. Then more gently, he asks, “But… how do you feel? You know, with you there and him here.”

Hinata hums in thought. “I know he’ll keep getting better. I’ll too—a lot better.” His eyes sparkle, lit with determination. “I just can’t wait to share the court with him again.”

“It’ll be one epic match,” Yamaguchi nods. But before he can add more, a voice cuts them off—

“We’re done. Let’s go. Yachi must be waiting for us,” Tsukishima calls.

Naturally, Hinata falls in step beside Kageyama. “Did you find what you needed?”

“Yeah.” Kageyama leans in, whispering, “Tsukishima even helped me.”

Hinata snorts. “He’s gotten all soft.”

And they both break into a small, easy laugh together—shoulders brushing, fingers grazing.

Because that’s how binary stars persist—after the mass transfer, after the supernova. The dynamics have shifted, but the gravity remains, invincible and unwavering.

Letting them drift into, and find, their own new stable orbit around each other. This time, closer.

“Hinata. Kageyama. We’re going home. You guys staying back today too?”

Hinata turns to their classmates. “A little longer. Need to finish copying these notes.” He waves at them. “See you tomorrow.”

“Good luck,” one of them chirps as they head out the door. “Bye Kageyama!”

“Bye,” Kageyama echoes.

And so, the classroom empties. The footsteps shuffle down the hallway, fading until only the last rays of daylight remain around them.

The classroom paints in gold, complementing the sky outside—a fleeting moment where neither the sun, nor the moon, nor the stars adorn it. Just the vast expanse of ombre glow.

Hinata shifts sideways, knee bumping against Kageyama’s. They sit crammed together at his desk, with notebooks overflowing, sprawled across the surface.

With a small giggle, he moves again. Now a hand sneaking out, doodling at the top corner of Kageyama’s page.

A volleyball.

It’s drawn right at the centre between them.

“Dumbass,” Kageyama huffs, but he shades between the stripes with meticulous care. “Keep wasting time. I won’t lend you my notes later.”

“The one you’re currently writing?” Hinata teases, rocking his chair back and forth. “Let’s take a break, Yama.”

“And do what?” Kageyama finally peels his eyes from his artwork.

Hinata beams. “Anything. You tell.”

Kageyama stares at him. Rather than racking his brain for an answer, he catches the tiny rainbow speckles dancing in the orange curls, lit by the slanting sun.

He averts his gaze.

He slips his hand into his bag.

He pulls out the thin blue book, flipping through.

The pages flutter past until it lands on the one marked by a folded corner. He opens it wide between them, revealing a colourful map of Brazil, dotted with illustrations of popular attractions and city names.

Then softly, he asks, “Where in Brazil?”

Hinata doesn’t respond immediately. His fingers reach out, lingering on the crease before flattening the folded corner. “Rio,” he says, lips curving faintly.

Kageyama nods once and turns a couple of pages over, further into the book. It’s not smooth—he fumbles and backtracks, but takes his time, navigating through it.

The rustle of crisp pages stirs the silence. Hinata sits tight, a surge of affection swelling in his chest, breaking across his face in a fond smile.

Not long after, the large, bold heading ‘Rio de Janeiro’ appears. But what grabs his attention are the pencil marks that circle two words in the paragraph below it.

Beach Volleyball.

And the page flips, opening on a spread of multiple bright photographs—sand warmed golden by the sunlight, sea so vividly blue it spills out of the frame, a mid-game beach volleyball match with a crowd so big their cheers seem to reverberate off the paper.

“Which beach?” Kageyama slides the book towards him. “Do you know?”

“Pretty.” The word escapes Hinata before he can help it. The endless blue holds his gaze for a second longer, then he straightens, answering, “Flamengo. That’s where Coach Lucio usually teaches.”

“Who?” Kageyama leans in, erasing an inch between them.

“Coach Lucio. He’s an alumnus of Shiratorizawa.” Hinata leans closer too, and another inch vanishes. “Coach Washijo introduced us. He switched from indoor to beach—the only person we know. But he lives in Rio.”

Kageyama’s arm brushes his slightly. “That’s why Brazil?”

Hinata nestles into the touch, voice softening, “Yeah. We asked around a lot. Old Coach Ukai. Coach Nekomata. Everyone. But no luck. He was the only choice.”

“Good that you found him,” Kageyama replies, steady. No hesitation. Yet the next words come quieter, “Have you booked your tickets too?”

Hinata shakes his head. “Not yet. I’m taking some time to prepare after graduation.” His fingertips trace the coastline, just for an instant, before adding, “I’ll tell you first when I get them.”

A low hum. Kageyama glances down at the book, at the photographs, at the trail left behind by Hinata.

In the beach volleyball snapshot, he can already see Hinata on the court. Laughing. Sun pouring over him. Surrounded by a crowd. The radiance everyone’s watching, holding the scene together.

The stillness expands, enough for the distant chatter of the school courtyard to drift through the window, into the classroom—the only sound now. But it feels neither heavy nor stifling.

“This beach here… Co-Co…” Kageyama frowns. He squints at the caption, lips shaping the word carefully. “Copacabana. It says it’s very popular. You should go there too.”

“Is it? I’ll surely go,” Hinata chuckles. Then, with a smile slowly following, “And send you loads of pictures.”

“Yeah.” Kageyama grins back. “Send me. I’ll do too. Tokyo and… all the new places I go.”

“Only the new places?” Hinata nudges him with his elbow. “Send me all the places—Old ones too. No matter how many times you’ve been.”

A short breath of laughter slips free. “Only if you do too,” Kageyama says. After a beat, as if remembering, he turns a few more pages.

This time, rich, vibrant Brazilian dishes spread between them. He points to the foreign words highlighted in pencil. “What about the language? They speak… Portuguese?”

“I’m learning it! Let me show you.” Hinata perks up. “You’ll be so impressed.”

With that, he rummages through his bag. And pulls out a stack of flashcards in a flourish, beaming, “This is the one I’m currently working on. I’ve many more at home.”

Kageyama falls silent. He flips through them slowly, fingers dragging along the width.

That’s when he notices. The edges are frayed, the corners bent—worn down from being carried around too much. A few cards even bearing a crease down the middle, some already stained with ink.

He pauses on the one with a faint water stain rippling across it. “You’ve been using these a lot.”

“Of course. Watch this.” Hinata clears his throat. He places his palm over his chest and recites—

“Meu nome… Hinata Shouyou. Eu… sou-do Japan. Eu amor voleibol!” “My name… Hinata Shouyou. I… m from Japan. I love volleyball.”

He tumbles through it awkwardly, the grammar broken, pronunciation all over the place, but his face remains bright, glowing.

The meaning gets across—clear.

Kageyama’s expression goes blank—shuttered, guarded.

His gaze lingers on Hinata before dropping to the cards. “What…” He begins, reading off of it. “What’s house in Portuguese?”

“Quizzing me? It’s easy. It’s…” Hinata’s smile wavers. His mouth parts open and shut. “Wait. I knew this… something with sa?”

Kageyama turns the card over. “It says casa.”

“Ask me more,” Hinata insists. “I’ve these memorised.”

“What about rain?”

“Uh—neve?”

“Wrong… That’s snow. What about street?”

A long silence follows.

Hinata’s forehead falls onto the desk with a soft thud.

“I forgot!” He mumbles, small. “Is it because I’ve been busy with exam studies?”

“I’ll help you.” The words slip out of Kageyama. Then more deliberately, he repeats, “I’ll help. Once the exams are over. I can quiz you.”

Hinata lifts his head. “Really? That’ll help a lot.” He giggles, the sound ringing out sweet. “Now, I can’t wait for the exams to be over, Yama-yama.”

And under the fading sun, muted, darker colours bleed into the golden sky. The classroom sinks dimmer, into the shadows.

A nearly full moon emerges, still underdeveloped against the background light, yet peering through the window.

Watching them.

While Kageyama watches Hinata—all uncontained joy and happiness, brimming over.

In that split-second, they’re the stars, binding the whole sky together, above and below.

Something finally snaps.

Kageyama’s hand reaches out. Finds its way into Hinata’s hair. Threads through them. Catches briefly in them too, before easing the knot free—gently, with reverence.

Hinata turns fully, eyes glued on him.

“I want us to talk,” Kageyama murmurs. His fingers trail down the curls, lower and lower, until they graze Hinata’s ear. He slowly traces along the shell. “No matter what.”

Hinata nuzzles his cheek into his palm and whispers against it, “We do talk.”

“We didn’t before.” Kageyama’s hand splays wide across his jaw, down to his neck. “I don’t want that again. I want us to be able to tell each other.”

His warmth spreads across Hinata’s face, tinting it pink. “We do that now.”

“Yeah.” Kageyama’s lips curve into a tender smile. His thumb caresses the freckles blooming clearer beneath the flush. “I like sharing. With you. Listening to you.”

“I do too.” Hinata edges closer.

And only inches separate them.

Kageyama draws in a breath and says, “There’s a time difference. Your night. My day.” Then, slower, steadying his gaze, “Try to make some time for... I’ll too.”

Hinata’s throat tightens. He feels Kageyama’s fingers curl into his skin, as though afraid to let go.

“I promise you,” Hinata’s voice trembles, yet he forces it out. “You’ll never go a second without me calling you.”

Kageyama huffs a quiet laugh. His fingers drift higher, one settling behind Hinata’s ear while another rests on the lobe, hot—achingly hot. “That’s too much, dumbass.”

“It’s never…” Hinata’s hand slides into Kageyama’s free one on the desk. Skimming the knuckles, tracing the veins, before gliding around his wrist.

In a whisper, Hinata pushes on, “It’s never too much. For you. You mean…” He searches for the words, none of them enough, none of them even close to being enough. At last, almost helpless, “You mean… to me.”

“You mean to me too,” Kageyama replies, low.

But Hinata doesn’t hear it, glancing down instead.

Because beneath his fingertips, just below Kageyama’s thumb, there’s a strong, rhythmic thrum of a heartbeat.

One. Two. Three.

Kageyama’s pulse point. Hinata presses there—every throb piercing through him, drowning him.

Four. Five. Six.

“Hinata,” Kageyama calls. His hand shifts from ear to chin, tilting Hinata’s face up until he locks with the brownest gaze he’s ever known.

A hush falls over Hinata. His own heart thumps wild. And he finds the words.

The words that have already been conveyed countless times through touch alone. Revealing every truth. Baring their hearts for the other to read. Over and over.

“Yama—Tobio.” The name spills out, then the words, “I love you. Tobio.”

The air punches out of Kageyama. “I… I too.”

Hinata pushes himself up on his elbows. The chair scrapes backwards. And the remaining inches between them evaporate.

Their lips meet.

He drinks the sound before it even leaves Kageyama. Nips at the softness, delicate yet desperate—chasing after it, sinking deeper, trailing, and melting into the kiss.

Kageyama loses his breath first. He breaks away, gasping.

“Shou… Shouyou.” He brings his forehead to rest against Hinata’s. “I love you.”

Hinata’s lips curl up. “I love you too.”

This time, Kageyama claims them back.

March embraces spring with a splatter of pink across the tree branches. The air is mellow, no longer the harshness of cold. And as exam period draws to a close, the world feels weightless—like freedom.

Like volleyball.

That’s why, first thing in the morning, Hinata and Kageyama are sprinting towards the clubroom.

Their footsteps tear through the courtyard—having shattered the stillness, having shattered everything and anything that once stood between them.

With an impossibly wide grin, Hinata slots the key.

The door cracks open, and Kageyama shoves past. “I win.”

“No!” Hinata yanks him back, throwing out an arm to barricade the doorway. “I win. I opened it first.”

“Because you had the key.” Kageyama ducks, wedges himself through the gap, and extends a foot inside—claiming it.

Hinata squawks in protest. “Then you won because of me!”

“So you agree I won?” Kageyama’s brows lift mischievously.

“Because of me!” Hinata scoffs before dumping his bag with a loud thunk on the rack.

Kageyama chuckles under his breath and follows him in.

They change into their uniform—the official Karasuno jersey—with their backs facing each other.

But also not really, since Kageyama instinctively angles himself just enough to glimpse Hinata from the corner of his vision.

Bright curls brush against his nape, a perfect complement to his smooth, pale skin. Moles scatter there, forming a loose shape down the curve of his spine, towards the waist—

A black fabric drapes over. And a bold ‘5’ glares back.

Hinata spins around. “Yama-yama. Hurry up.” He bounces on his heels. “Volleyball is waiting.”

Kageyama meets his eyes in silence, only to break it and turn away.

Now Hinata’s gaze remains on him.

Wispy black hair falls neatly, though one strand sticks upwards. It blends with the hue of the jersey as he tugs it on, but against his skin, the contrast is striking—a wave of dark rippling across light.

A bold ‘2’ takes its place.

“You’re staring,” Kageyama murmurs.

Hinata heads for the door. “You did too.”

The gym welcomes with a wash of stale air over them. And they perk up, soaking in the sight of the empty court lit by the early sunrays. Saved only for them.

Giddy, infectious joy spreads quick.

Without wasting another moment, they are rushing in.

Together, they move through the motions synced in a bone-deep ritual—fetching the volleyball cart, stringing the net, securing each loop.

“Yama-yama! What do you say? Should we start with your tosses?” Hinata hops around Kageyama, energy cranked high. “I want to spike.”

“No.” Kageyama rolls the ball between his palms, unhurried, certain. “We need to work on your other techniques first. What’s your weakest point?”

Hinata stiffens. He stumbles back a step.

“Your setting,” Kageyama answers without the slightest falter. “That’s your weakest.”

“Well… I’ve always had you.” Hinata scratches the back of his neck, laughing—nervously.

Kageyama fixes him with a stare.

Immediately, Hinata’s face sharpens, shoulders squared. “Teach me. How to keep my sets clean. In beach, unlike indoor, the rules are strict. Minimal spin. Or else whistle.”

“Bump set’s the safest for that. Like this,” Kageyama says, bouncing the ball on his forearms. Then tossing it high, using his wrists and fingers to propel it, “Or a hand set. Harder to be precise. Easier to get called for a double.”

“I need to learn both. For beach and indoor,” Hinata replies. He takes his stance, knees bent, and feet planted firm.

The corner of Kageyama’s lips lifts.

“Just focus on positioning. Catch. Hold. Throw,” he instructs before launching the ball at Hinata.

That rhythm builds, flowing from one drill to the next, seamless and unbroken. Shadows shorten, and the entirety of the gym transforms into a stage for their waltz.

When they finally pause, Kageyama sits cross-legged on the floor, journal open across his lap. In quick, clipped phrases, he notes the progress, recording thoughts before they fade away.

Each line ends with Hinata. His improvements charted with exercises that hone, techniques that require revisit, and routines already mastered.

Kageyama taps his pen. “How about we tape the court?” he asks, glancing up. “What were the dimensions again?”

“To make it like beach court?” Hinata skips over and drops down, sliding closer until their knees graze. “Sixteen by eight.”

Kageyama scrawls and boxes the numbers at the margin. “We’ll do that. Once everyone is here.”

Hinata giggles. “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Of course. It’s volleyball.” Kageyama shrugs. After a moment, as a grin follows, “Beach or not. Together it’s—”

“Double Volleyball!” they declare simultaneously.

And Hinata bursts into a laugh. “Know all the differences?”

“Mostly,” Kageyama admits. “Still run me through them.”

“There’s quite a few,” Hinata replies. Something strikes his mind, and he lights up. “For one—you can’t just do your super-amazing, super-scary dumps, Yama-yama. Has to be palms or knuckles. No tipping over the net.”

Kageyama makes a direct swipe at his arm.

Hinata rocks back and dodges efficiently. He continues, “Also, it’s played on actual sand. There’s sun, wind—”

“Dumbass. That’s obvious,” Kageyama snaps.

“Idiot-yama. It’s important,” Hinata says, snatching his journal and pen. He bullets as he explains, “Each set’s 21 points. Court changes every 7th. Final set’s 15, so switch every 5th. Keeps it fair.”

Kageyama lets out of faint “Oh.”

“Yeah. And you play both offence and defence. Because two players… but that makes it easier to keep track of the ball.”

Hinata barrels on, full of scribbles and sketches, while Kageyama leans forwards, listening.

Between sentences, Hinata rakes his fingers through his hair, sweeping it off his forehead and pushing it back.

And Kageyama’s focus drifts. Climbs up and up from the page. More interested in the slow tumble of the curls falling loose again.

He continues to watch, but once they curtain Hinata’s gaze—his hand moves faster.

This time, Kageyama brushes them aside.

Hinata’s eyes flick up to him. “Are you listening?”

“Your hair’s getting long,” Kageyama murmurs. He tucks the strands behind Hinata’s ear, fingertips delicate against his skin—only for them to slip free. “You need a haircut.”

“Want me to match you?” Hinata beams, holding his palm flat over his brows in imitation. “Think I should cut mine this short too?”

“Du-Dumbass,” Kageyama splutters, cheeks burning. “At least I can see, stupid.”

Meanwhile, at the gym entrance, Yachi elbows Yamaguchi and whispers, “I might’ve missed some developments. This… isn’t friendship anymore, right?”

“This is… Whatever this is… They’re definitely flirting,” Yamaguchi snorts, but muffles it quickly too.

Behind them, Tsukishima groans. “I didn’t sign up for this—”

“Tobio,” Hinata chuckles. “Don’t be shy. Your new hairstyle’s actually pretty good.” He shifts on his knees and leans, lips hovering just above Kageyama’s forehead. “Easy access. I can kiss—”

“Not in public!” Tsukishima blurts, louder than intended. The next second, he’s turning around, ready to flee, but Yamaguchi clamps an iron grip on him.

Yachi hurries forwards, cheery. “You guys are finally together. Congrats!”

Hinata plops down instantly. Heat flares up his neck, painting in scarlet. “Wh-What? Toge—Huh?”

Kageyama doesn’t even try to open his mouth. He remains frozen in place, his face the exact shade as Hinata’s.

“Together,” Yamaguchi repeats, not without a teasing lilt. “You two. Are together. Congratulations.”

“It’s too early for this,” Tsukishima sighs. He pinches the bridge of his nose and drawls, “Just say thank you so we can all move on.”

A pause drags, longer than necessary. Hinata and Kageyama’s heads dip low, yet they can’t stop stealing glances at each other, biting back smiles.

Then, in perfect unison—

“Thank you,” they mumble, nearly tripping over the words.

After a few deep breaths and silence punctuated by Yachi’s giggles, Hinata springs to his feet first.

“Let’s take the picture!” he chimes, bright enough to shake off the embarrassment, even as the blush clings.

Soon, a phone is perched straight on a chair. The timer counts down, flash blinking—

5, 4, 3, 2, 1.

Hinata sprawls on the ground, limbs flung out. Yachi flashes a peace sign, radiant. Tsukishima wears his unreadable look, brows vaguely taut. Kageyama mirrors him, except his mouth juts in a subtle pout.

And Yamaguchi grins the warmest, freckles deepening with the lift, crinkling his eyes.

A snap—timer goes off. The sound echoes through the high ceilings.

Then another. And another. Until there’s enough to bottle all of their combined happiness.

They huddle together. Swiping through the photos. Laughing at the ones caught mid-blink or mid-pose—blurry and goofy.

Preserving the memories. Expanding the galleries. Updating the wallpapers.

Kageyama sets his phone aside, satisfied. “Volleyball now? Hinata and I on one side. You and Tsukishima on the other.”

“Beach style!” Hinata cheers before spinning towards Yachi. “Take a picture of us when we win.”

“As if,” Yamaguchi fires back with a smirk. “Karasuno’s freak duo is going down today.”

The graduation day is a mix of everything. Glee and gloom. Smiles and sniffles. Cheers and cries.

A finale for the start of a new season. Just like the breeze weaving past the trees. Some still bare, others green, few already white and pink.

The school courtyard bustles with the spirit, every corner drenched alike—air humming sweet with flowers, cerulean sky atop, and laughter, chatter, tears beneath.

Karasuno volleyball club echoes that—loud. The first and second years are nothing but glossy eyes.

“You can’t just… leave us,” one of them mutters, voice breaking. “Karasuno won’t be the same without…”

Hinata laughs weakly. “Yeah. Karasuno will keep getting stronger.” He pats him on the shoulder. “Have fun. Play lots of volleyball.”

“We’ll. Definitely,” another murmurs, nodding a little too hard. “You too. Enjoy your time in Brazil.”

“You bet.” Hinata forces a grin, trying his best to lift the mood. “I’ll be best friends with sand in no time. And make Kageyama eat sand in a match too.”

A light giggle follows. “Do you know where he is? We want to wish him too.”

“Right here…” Hinata turns automatically to his side, but the spot is empty. “He was with me.”

He twists on his heels and scans the sea of uniforms and bouquets.

A couple of paces away, Yamaguchi wipes his eyes while Tsukishima hovers near, pressing tissues into his hand. Their circle holds tight with the others.

Yachi, too, is surrounded by the younger managers. Their chatter gentle and mellow, yet undoubtedly threaded with goodbyes.

But no sight of Kageyama.

Hinata shuffles back a step. Then again. “I’ll be back,” he says, before disappearing into the crowd.

“We’ll wait here!”

The response booms over the hum of the courtyard. Hinata lets his legs carry him, instinctively. He weaves through the maze of bodies, down the familiar path, past the classroom wing.

Towards the one place he could even reach blindfolded.

The gym.

The door already hangs ajar. And a smile blooms on his face, a genuine one now.

It feels like teleporting back to his first day at Karasuno. Three years younger, striding and leaping towards the same gym, being greeted by the same sight—

Kageyama.

Volleyball in hand. Alone on the court. Sunlight cutting across him brilliantly.

Only difference is the corner, where his jacket and diploma scroll are discarded carelessly.

This time, Hinata doesn’t barge in. He stops at the threshold, watching.

Kageyama pads to his service spot. Then bounces the ball against the floor, twice.

The sounds are sharp against the hollow quiet, enough to prickle goosebumps against Hinata’s skin.

A beat—and Kageyama tosses the ball high.

Hinata darts. Feet pounding across the court, body curving low, arms outstretched.

The serve cuts through the air, and he digs it with pinpoint accuracy.

The ball floats in a graceful arch near the net, at the setter’s spot, as he crashes down in a graceless thud.

Laughter bursts out despite the sting jolting up his bones. “Nice serve,” he yells.

Surprise flickers across Kageyama’s face, but softens the next moment. “Idiot. How? You received it…” He mumbles the rest, meant only for himself, “…perfectly.”

“That’s why. Nice serve, Yama-yama,” Hinata sing-songs. He pops back up, hair mussed. “One more! Send it again.”

And Kageyama does. One after another. Each a little different—strength varies, angle changes, aim shifts, until the gym breathes to life again. The same as the first time. The same as the always.

After a few serves, Kageyama is the first to ask, “What are you doing here?”

Hinata tilts his head. “Playing volleyball.”

“Dumbass,” Kageyama huffs. “Shouldn’t you be with them?”

“You should be too,” Hinata shrugs. “But you snuck out. So I followed.” Then gentler, ducking under the net to Kageyama’s side, “Why are you here?”

“Where else would I be, if not on a volleyball court?” Kageyama counters with a smirk.

Hinata bites down a giggle. “Exactly. You’re predictable.”

And they crack up together, without even trying, simple and natural.

Kageyama’s posture eases. “Next time,” he begins quietly, “I’ll be standing in a different gym.” His foot taps against the floorboards, and a familiar clunk resounds. “I like this court.”

“I like this court too,” Hinata murmurs, slipping his hand into Kageyama’s. “I found a—my first team here. A family here.”

Kageyama’s thumb drifts over Hinata’s knuckles in a lazy circle. “I found one that accepted me.”

“I also found…” The last word dissolves into the tender lift in Hinata’s lips. And his fingers curl tight around Kageyama’s as he leaves the unsaid hover between them.

Kageyama only chuckles, like he’s heard it anyway. “I found too.”

I found you.

“But the next courts will be without you,” he blurts before he can stop himself. He quickly looks away, scowling. “Just… hurry up. Don’t keep me waiting.”

Hinata surges forwards—instantly. He cups Kageyama’s cheeks, drawing him in until their foreheads nearly touch, gazes locking. “You won’t wait for me?”

“I’ll wait,” Kageyama replies steadily, yet it follows with a stumble, “Just be… quick—Don’t take too long. I’ll still wait though. But… hurry. I want to play with—”

“Tobio.” Hinata’s voice cuts through, certain. “I’ll stand by your side. Every single court.”

“Every single court?” Kageyama repeats, almost in a daze.

Hinata’s palms press into his skin, warm. “Yes. Always. As your teammate. And rival.”

“Shouyou.” Kageyama’s face breaks into a slow smile. “Every court won’t be possible. We’ll probably play a lot of different games.”

Hinata lets out a sigh, half-exasperated, half-fond. “You’re so stupid.” He knocks their foreheads firmly and adds, “Then I’ll cheer you for the ones we don’t share.”

Kageyama winces in pain, leaning away despite the softness lingering in his expression. “That works.”

“Right?” Hinata beams, proud. He gives Kageyama one last squeeze before pulling his hands back. “I’ll meet you on the pro stage next.”

“Huh? Not before then? I thought we were spending the whole day together?” Kageyama’s eyes glint, unmistakably teasing. “Didn’t you promise to help me move into Adlers dorm too? And come to my matches?”

Hinata groans, already turning towards the door. “I’m leaving you behind.”

“Wait,” Kageyama snorts, swiftly scooping up his belongings from the floor and hurrying to his side.

As they leave the gym, Hinata bumps their shoulders lightly. “Meat buns later?”

“Yeah,” Kageyama answers, lacing his fingers with Hinata’s loosely. “The ceremony was too long. I’m starving.”

“Same,” Hinata giggles. “I’ve an idea—let’s meet everyone real quick. After that…” He tugs him along into the golden afternoon light. “Run away with me again.”

Kageyama squints against the brightness, against Hinata’s brightness. “Sure. The same place. With some meat buns this time.”

And they simply stay. Closer. Together. In orbit.

Chapter Text