Work Text:
The house was always quiet.
Ever since Kageyama’s father and grandfather passed away, the lively, bustling energy of the Kageyama household had vanished. It wasn't just the physical absence of two towering, loud men; it was the sheer weight of survival that took their place. Going from a three-paycheck household to just one was a brutal transition. Miwa moving out for university helped ease the daily expenses, but the reality was still harsh.
His mother, Ayumi, worked relentlessly. She took on extra shifts, came home long after Tobio was asleep, and left for work before חw had wokenup. Her love was fiercely practical, left behind in the form of three perfectly portioned Tupperware meals stacked neatly in the fridge every single day.
She had taken every yen of his father’s life insurance and locked it strictly into college funds for Miwa and Tobio. Tobio hated it. The guilt of knowing that money was sitting untouched while his mother worked herself to the bone ate at him daily. He had tried, multiple times, to convince her that he didn't need it. He was going to go pro. He could get a part-time job now to help with groceries.
“Absolutely not,” Ayumi had told him, her voice tired but immovable. “You are going to be a student, and you are going to be a normal teenager. I will handle the rest.”
But the stress was a living, breathing thing in their house. They were both desperately lonely, both grieving, and both carrying too much weight, but they barely spoke. The tension had been building for months.
On Thursday night, it finally snapped.
The clock in the kitchen ticked loudly, marking 11:43 PM. Tobio sat rigidly at the small table, staring at an untouched glass of water. His foot bounced a frantic, nervous rhythm against the linoleum. He had practiced what he wanted to say five times in his head, but as the minutes dragged on in the silent house, the tight, defensive feeing in his chest only wound tighter.
Finally, the sound of keys jingled in the front door. The lock turned with a heavy clunk.
Tobio stood up, walking out into the dim hallway just as the door swung open. Ayumi stepped inside. She didn't even notice him at first. She leaned heavily against the wall as she kicked off her work shoes, her shoulders slumped under her dark coat. She looked smaller than she used to, her face pale and drawn in the dim entryway light. She let out a long, trembling sigh that sounded like it had been held in all day.
"Welcome home," Tobio said, his voice stiffer than he intended.
Ayumi jumped slightly, her head snapping up. She blinked, her tired eyes struggling to focus on him in the dark. "Tobio? Why are you awake? It's almost midnight. You have morning practice tomorrow."
She reached out to brush a hand through his hair, but Tobio stepped back before he could stop himself.
Ayumi’s hand dropped. Her expression shuttered, exhaustion pulling at the corners of her mouth. "Did you eat the dinner I left you? I can warm it up if—"
"I want to get a job," Tobio interrupted, the words tumbling out blunt and heavy in the quiet hallway.
She stared at him for a long moment before closing her eyes and pressing her fingers hard to her temples. "Tobio, please. Not tonight. I just worked a fourteen-hour shift. I can barely stand up."
"That's exactly why," Tobio pressed, his hands balling into fists at his sides. He hated seeing her like this. It made the static in his head hum loudly. "You look like you're going to collapse every time you walk through that door. We don't need the life insurance locked away for a college fund. I'm going to go pro anyway. We can unlock it, or I can get a part-time job—"
"Absolutely not," Ayumi cut in, her voice suddenly sharp, carrying a tone she rarely used with him. "We have talked about this. You are a student, and you play volleyball. That is your job."
"But it shouldn't be your job to kill yourself working!" Tobio argued, taking a step closer. The static in his ears was spiking into a roar, drowning out his usual restraint. "I'm not a kid anymore! I can help!"
"I am the parent, Tobio, and I said no," Ayumi snapped, hanging her coat on the hook with unnecessary force. "I am handling it."
"You're not handling it, you're just never here!" Tobio yelled, the words tearing out of his throat before he could stop them. "I don't care about a backup plan for college! I don't care about the money! I just want my mom back!"
Ayumi flinched as if she had been physically struck. Her eyes widened, shining suddenly with unshed tears, and for a terrifying second, Tobio thought she was going to cry. Instead, her own grief, stress, and bone-deep exhaustion finally boiled over.
"Do you think I want to be gone all the time?" she fired back, her voice trembling with raw, devastating anger. "Do you think I enjoy missing your games? I am trying to keep a roof over your head! I am trying to make sure you have a future because your father isn't here to do it!"
Tobio took a step back, the words hitting him like a spike to the chest.
"I am doing everything I can," Ayumi gasped, her voice breaking on the last word. She wrapped her arms tightly around her own waist, suddenly looking incredibly fragile. "I cannot have anything more on my plate right now, Tobio. I just can't. Go to sleep."
She turned her back to him, walking toward her bedroom.
The guilt and the anger twisted violently in Tobio's stomach, leaving him feeling completely raw and misunderstood.
"Fine!" Tobio yelled to her retreating back, his throat burning.
He spun around, marched into his room, and slammed the door behind him, the sound echoing like a gunshot through the empty house.
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The next morning, the house was suffocatingly quiet.
Tobio dragged himself out of bed, his eyes burning from the lack of sleep. The heavy, ugly weight of the fight still sat squarely on his chest, making it hard to take a full breath. He walked out into the hallway, bracing himself for the silence. Ayumi had already left for her early shift. Her coat was gone from the hook.
But when he walked into the kitchen, a note was resting on the counter.
I love you. Have a good practice.
Next to the note was a freshly prepared breakfast, kept warm under a cloth, and a meticulously packed bento box ready for him to take to school. It wasn't just a quick meal; it was a silent, desperate apology from a mother who didn't have the time to say it in person.
Tobio stared at the food. He felt sick to his stomach. The guilt crashed over him so violently that the static in his head immediately spiked into a dull, roaring hum. He forced down a few bites of breakfast so she wouldn't worry, grabbed his lunch, and left for school.
The rest of the day was a blur.
Kageyama went through the motions of his classes and afternoon practice in a complete, localized daze. He didn't yell at Hinata for being a dumbass. He didn't demand tosses or hyper-fixate on his form. He just existed on the court, trapped inside his own head, completely shut down by the heavy, suffocating guilt of yelling at the person who sacrifice everything for him.
When practice finally ended, Kageyama sat on the gym floor, aggressively tying and re-tying his shoelaces just to avoid looking at anyone.
"Hey, Kageyama."
The voice was soft, lacking its usual nervous edge. Kageyama looked up, his expression fiercely guarded. Yamaguchi was standing a few feet away, holding his gym bag.
Yamaguchi rubbed the back of his neck, looking slightly uncomfortable but holding his ground. "My mom texted me. She said your mom called her on her lunch break. Your mom has to stay overnight for an emergency inventory shift, and she didn't want you to be alone after... well. She asked if you could stay at my place tonight."
Kageyama froze. Anger, hot and immediate, flared in his chest, momentarily cutting through the guilt.
She couldn't even text him herself. She was managing him like an appointment, handing him off to a teammate's mother because she was too busy to deal with him. But beneath the sharp flash of anger was a hollow, exhausting sadness. He had pushed her away, and now she was staying away.
"Fine," Kageyama muttered. He grabbed his duffel bag and stood up, not waiting for Yamaguchi to lead the way.
The walk to Yamaguchi's house was painfully silent. Kageyama felt like his skin was vibrating with unspoken words and trapped energy. By the time they stepped into Yamaguchi’s bedroom, the air was thick with awkwardness.
Kageyama dropped his bag by the door. Shortly after, Yamaguchi’s mother popped her head in, leaving a tray of warm pork buns and a plate of sliced apples on the low desk. They ate in heavy silence. Kageyama chewed mechanically, not really tasting anything, his eyes locked on the grain of the wooden desk.
When they finished, Yamaguchi pulled out his English textbook, getting a start on his homework. Kageyama numbly mirrored the action, pulling a worksheet from his bag. But he couldn't focus. He stared at the paper, but the English letters just swam wildly on the page. The static in his head was a low, deafening roar, drowning out any ability to think.
Yamaguchi tapped his pencil against his notebook. "Hey, Kageyama?" he tried gently, attempting to break the ice. "Did Takeda-sensei say we had to do the front and back, or just the front?"
Kageyama looked up. He opened his mouth to answer, but his throat seized. The words were physically trapped behind his teeth, blocked by an invisible, impenetrable wall. He swallowed hard, trying to force a single syllable out, but his vocal cords felt entirely disconnected from his brain.
He snapped his mouth shut, his chest tightening in panic, and just shook his head tightly, his shoulders curling inward.
Yamaguchi watched him for a quiet second. He calmly closed his English book and pushed it aside.
"Actually, I think I'm done looking at this for tonight," Yamaguchi said lightly, keeping his voice totally casual. "Do you want to just watch a movie? My brain is fried from practice."
Kageyama offered a stiff, jerky nod, overwhelmingly grateful for the out.
He moved to sit rigidly on the guest futon they spread for him while Yamaguchi walked over to his TV, put on a movie with the volume kept low, and sat on his bed. Kageyama glared intensely at a fraying thread on the carpet, entirely shut down. The silence stretched, heavy and uncomfortable, but at least the pressure to speak was gone.
Ten minutes into the film, a spiral-bound notebook landed gently on Kageyama’s lap, followed by a pen.
Kageyama blinked, pulling his eyes away from the carpet. In neat, careful handwriting, Yamaguchi had written:
You don't have to talk. But if you want to, you can write it down. I won't tell anyone.
Kageyama stared at the paper, then picked up the pen. His handwriting was aggressive, pressing so hard into the paper it almost tore the page.
my mom and I had a fight. She works too much. She won't let me help.
He tossed the notebook onto the bed. Yamaguchi picked it up, read it quietly, and scribbled a reply before handing it back.
Moms are stubborn. She just wants to protect you.
I don't need protecting. I need her to be home, Kageyama wrote back, his hand shaking slightly. I told her I just wanted my mom back. She looked like she was going to cry.
Yamaguchi read the words, his expression softening with intense, quiet empathy. He didn't look at Kageyama with pity—something Kageyama would have immediately rejected. He just wrote his response carefully and handed the notebook over.
You’re both just really tired. She made sure you had a place to go tonight because she cares about you. It’s okay to be mad at her, but it’s going to be okay.
How? How will it be okay? The setter replied.
"You guys are on the same team, Kageyama. You just need to figure out a new rotation so neither of you gets completely burned out. It's going to be okay beacuse when people love each other, they find a way to makes things work." Yamaguchi told him, his voice smooth and calm.
Kageyama let out a long, shaky breath, feeling the tightest part of the defensive coil in his chest finally start to loosen. He looked over to Yamaguchi.
"I'm tired."
Yamaguchi offered a small, understanding smile, the kind that didn't demand anything in return.
"Get some sleep, Kageyama," he said softly, reaching over to turn off the TV. "Ukai is going to run us into the ground at practice tomorrow."
Kageyama offered a small nod, pulling the extra blanket Yamaguchi had given him up to his chin. The room went dark, save for the faint glow of the streetlamp outside the window.
"Goodnight, Yamaguchi," Kageyama said. His voice was slightly raspy from disuse, but the words came out easily, the invisible wall in his throat finally gone.
"Goodnight," Yamaguchi replied softly, his voice warm in the quiet room.
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The next day, after school and practice finally ended, Tobio walked home alone. As he reached his house, the nervous flutter in his stomach returned.
He dragged his feet up the front steps, bracing himself for the dark, empty hallway. He turned his key in the lock and pushed the door open.
The lights were on.
The rich, warm smell of curry powder, simmering vegetables, and pork was wafting down the hall.
Tobio dropped his gym bag right in the doorway. He walked into the kitchen. Ayumi was standing at the stove, wearing a faded apron over her casual clothes. She turned around when she heard his footsteps. Her eyes were wide and rimmed with red, looking just as exhausted as the night before, but entirely present.
"Tobio—" she started, her voice cracking slightly on his name.
For Tobio, who hated casual touch and avoided physical contact like a shock to the system, his next move was entirely instinctual. He crossed the kitchen in two massive strides and wrapped his arms tightly around his mother, burying his face in her shoulder.
Ayumi let out a wet gasp. She immediately dropped her wooden spoon onto the counter and hugged him back just as fiercely, her arms locking around his shoulders.
"I'm sorry," Tobio choked out, the words finally breaking free. "I'm sorry I yelled. I shouldn't have said those things to you. I know how hard you try, I'm just scared you're going to get yourself sick."
"Oh, Tobio. I am so sorry," Ayumi cried softly, her hand pressing firmly against the back of his head, holding him close. "I'm so sorry I've been shutting you out. You are right. I've been pushing too hard."
They stood there in the kitchen for a long time, the bubbling pot of curry ignored on the stove.
"We'll figure it out," Ayumi whispered, pulling back just enough to look him in the eyes. She reached up, wiping a stray tear from his cheek. "I will ask to drop my weekend shifts. We will sit down and look at the budget together. I promise you, Tobio, I will be here more."
Tobio nodded, his chest filled with profound, overwhelming sense of relief.
Twenty minutes later, they were sitting across from each other at the small kitchen table. There was no Tupperware in sight. The pork curry was ladled hot into real ceramic bowls, the kitchen was bright, and for the first time in a very long time, the Kageyama household didn't feel quiet at all.