Chapter Text
January 2013, Karasuno High School Gymnasium,
Miyagi Prefecture, Japan
Hinata Shouyou does not expect to step back in time to his first year at Karasuno High School. The very gymnasium that had taught him to fly, where he had met friends that would become family. His first team, his first partner, his first love, his first broken bone. An accumulation of introductions to life and its marvels.
To his credit, Karasuno Volleyball Team 2013 was not expecting him either.
He appears in a flash of light. The sun he was known as manifesting within the drab gymnasium that remained standing with the stubbornness of its occupants. If the Vice Principal had his way, it would have been torn down ages ago. If you ask Nishinoya Yuu, he’d say the Vice would use the money from the scraps to get a new toupee. That’s why you don’t ask the libero things.
If Sawamura Daichi had his way, he’d tape his libero’s mouth shut (Sugawara Koushi had tried but Nishinoya apparently had a taste for the adhesive—) but even he would privately agree the Vice was in dire need of one. Surely, he could use one that didn’t fly off with a breeze. Sawamura would too, if it meant he didn’t have to live through the events that led to the reveal of the Vice’s shiny head. He sees it enough in his nightmares.
As it happens, Nishinoya is conspicuously un-taped and let loose to exclaim at the interruption to the practice, “WOAH! LOOK AT THAT!”
“We’re all looking,” Tsukishima Kei’s snark is lacking. It’s rare but warranted for the rip in the fabric of reality as they know it. His glasses flash with the force of the inexplicable light filling in as he steps in front of Yamaguchi Tadashi. The shorter boy’s freckles are stark against his pale skin.
The whole cadre of the volleyball team has abandoned their practice to gape at the disruption, regardless of the year. Sawamura cannot bring himself to berate them for it. Amidst the surprise, an unease takes root in the back of his mind. He turns to his side and meets Sugawara’s gaze who’s already looking at him. With a nod, Sugawara nudges Ennoshita Chikara at his side and sends him running to find their coaches.
“HINATA!” The unease takes root in Sawamura’s mind. Alarm bells blare at Kageyama Tobio’s startled call. He’s never heard Kageyama like that and there should be no reason to. Hinata, Hinata Shoyou, the overzealous striker was all but attached to the setter’s hip.
Sawamura whips his head around. His and all his teammates’ attempts are futile as the redhead is notably absent. Sugawara comes to stand beside him. Sawamura can tell by the warm hand on his arm. He can’t look at his co-captain however, he can’t assuage Sugawara’s worries when he didn’t have a clue what was happening himself.
“Wha—?” The groan comes from the end of the court where the universe had twisted and turned into itself. They had nearly forgotten it in favour of their missing spiker—gods, where was he?
Kageyama’s neck gives a concerning crack when he whips his head to look at the stranger. He’s the first to realise the pained albeit annoyed groan as the answer to his call. The understanding spreads like wildfire however, set alight by the extremely familiar flash of red, deceptively orange head sported by the stranger.
A stranger that might as well not be one when he lifts his head to pierce them with the weirdly intense fiery gaze of Hinata Shoyou.
“What the fuck,” Sawamura cannot begrudge Tanaka Ryuunosuke for cursing because, what the actual fuck.
It’s Hinata—it’s not their Hinata. No other human person can have a hair colour that striking. Tanaka, Nishinoya and last week, Kageyama had attested to the vibrant hair colour as singular to the Hinata family. But then, Hinata was scrawny and short—shorter than average but don’t let him hear you say that.
This—this interloper with Hinata’s hair (No, Tanaka it’s literally inconceivable to think someone had kidnapped their tangerine and made a toupee out of him) was tall. Still shorter than your average volleyball player but ginormous to their mental Hinata Shoyou. And built—fuck why’s he so jacked?
“Que—?” The stranger stumbles over halted exclamations and what seems to be the most ardent curses in a language they can’t identify.
“Doppelgänger?” Hisahi Kinoshita mouths to his friend, Kazuhito Narita. Narita stares at him wide eyed, uncomprehending. As substitute players, they had time to explore the crazier sides of the Internet but were yet to develop telepathic communication.
“This is crazy,” Maybe-Hinata, maybe-doppelgänger, maybe-alien (someone will be ecstatic to hear about this) mutters in Japanese. Clumsy and well worn in the way someone that was born into the language would say. “And no one would even believe me,”
“E—excuse me?” Azumane Asahi is braver than people give credit for. His so-called friends that rag on him for his guts or lack thereof gawk at him.
For all of Azumane’s height and rare stroke of courage, he falters when Maybe-Hinata fixes his gaze on him. Their actual Hinata’s dead eyed stare is creepy but those ruthless beryl eyes set in a strong face is downright terrifying. Even Sugawara wouldn’t rib Azumane for it.
“Hey,” Sugawara’s smile is cautious for those who know him. Entirely welcoming for those that didn’t. Maybe-Hinata turns to him. It’s almost enough to make him falter but Sugawara’s stronger than he looks. “May we know how you found your way here? This is a closed practice,”
The older, stranger facsimile of Hinata blinks at him. “I’ve no idea,” he blurts out. Honest and forthcoming as a kouhai would be to their senpai, a decade and change time leap notwithstanding. “Oh what the—“ a string of curses spill out of the man as he presses the heels of his palms to his eyes.
“Hey,” Sugawara calls out, eyes darting to his Captain. Sawamura steps forward with him, an unsettled twist to his lips. “Hey, man, maybe chill—?”
“Give me two seconds Suga-san,” for all the weirdness of the situation, Maybe-Hinata sounds composed. As nonchalant as one can be as he assures, “I’ll wake up from this dream and I swear I’ll call you—“
It fills Sugawara with more intrigue than suspicion. Sawamura bites back a sigh. “Call me—?”
“I know, I know,” the stranger grouses, “it’s been a month since we’ve properly talked but that’s no reason to haunt me in my dreams,”
He sounds put off. Appropriately chided and annoyed at being fussed by his senpai. And there’s guilt too, the shade Hinata wears when Suga and Daichi chew him out and Kageyama out for private practice after actual practice. It doesn’t keep him off the court but it’s something nonetheless, as Sugawara says.
“This is not a dream,” the proclamation is loud in its soft delivery. Maybe-Hinata and the rest of Karasuno stand at attention as an unassuming figure steps into the gym. Takeda Ittetsu’s demeanour is uncharacteristically serious and it’s a stranger sight than the possible grown up version of Hinata Shoyou. Ukai Keishin follows, nearly dropping the stick in his mouth as he digests the scene.
Maybe-Hinata’s jaw hangs open. “Takeda-sensei,” the familiarity remains, bleeding through the slight bow that accompanies the greeting as if it’s unnatural to not tack it in, “Ukai-sensei, what’s happening?”
“Hinata,” Takeda‘s smile wobbles and he amends, “Hinata-kun?”
Maybe-Hinata nods, seemingly incapable of doing anything else.
“No way in hell!” Tanaka’s yell is something between a horrified whisper and near indecipherable terror. “Hinata’s like—“ he makes a vague gesture at his hip as if to indicate the said boy’s stature.
Maybe-Hinata becomes Most-Likely-Hinata when he frowns at the innocuous and very accurate dig at his height. Or what seems to be, his younger self’s height.
Takeda nods, taking it all in with the air of a man that has seen too much dealing with teenagers. “Hinata—“ he struggles with the suffix he’s used to and the reason behind his struggle reveals itself when he asks, “How old are you?”
Bewilderment creeps onto the very old, very strange features of Most-Likely-Hinata. “Twenty five,”
Ennoshita sucks in a breath. Nishinoya thumps his back, none too gently. Yamaguchi snaps his baffled gaze to regard their next captain with worry.
Kageyama, seems more unimpressed than ever which is a feat in and of itself, and has different priorities. “Where’s Hinata?”
That’s right. Where was their fifteen year old sunshine boy? They look around as if he was hiding in their pockets and would jump out in a moment. The moment passes and another.
Takeda, appropriately assured by his doubts, asks, “Hinata-san, who are you exactly?”
Ukai makes a vague gesture for all to settle down by the benches. He pulls Takeda by his arm and sits the man down at the centre. He keeps his arm there, his surprise making way for suspicion.
Hinata-san who seems to be the most surprised at the honorific stumbles into place. Ukai’s wordless command has him moving before he nor anyone else can register it. “I’m Hinata Shoyou—“
“Hinata Shoyou,” Kageyama bites out and no one can figure out if it’s because of using redhead’s given name or his immediate dislike for the stranger. “Is fifteen,”
“I’m twenty-five,” the retort is instant, practiced.
“The Hinata we know,” Tsukishima interjects, sniffing an argument, “is fifteen and three apples tall,” and as is characteristic of him, adds gasoline to it.
Yamaguchi grasps for strands, “Let’s say you’re Hinata—“ Hinata-san’s scowl eases as the boy tries, “—and you’re twenty-five and—“
“And I’m a volleyball player,”
“Right,” Takeda nods gamely. Ukai’s eyes narrow further. Azumane doubts he can see at all, at this point.
“No!” Nishinoya shouts, pointing a finger at the stranger. “You’re his brother and you’re pranking us—Shoyou! Where’re you?? C’mon out!”
“I—what—Noya-san, no,”
“Doppelgänger,” Narita whispers to Kinoshita. The latter nods rapidly. Maybe telepathy was closer than they thought.
“He could be a relative,” Ennoshita, cleverer than the rest of the second years, agrees.
“HINATA’S BROTHER,” Tanaka’s agreement is a touch more enthusiastic.
Hinata-san, as a testament to his old age, grants them a deadpan look. The wrinkles were yet to set in but the years have given him exasperation in bounds. “Tanaka-senpai, don’t you think I would have introduced you to my brother?”
Sawamura, a considerable years younger than the twenty-five year old, nails the world weary look. “You’ve spent more weekends at his house than at yours, Tanaka,”
“You too, Nishinoya,” Sugawara points out. His underclassmen quieted with a mere gaze. He spares Ennoshita but—“Hinata talks way too much to not mention his apparently volleyball player brother,”
Hinata-san’s relief at being believed is short lived as Kageyama turns to Takeda, pointing his finger and everything, “This one is logical. He’s not Hinata,”
Hinata-san throws his hands up, “Alright! How does this go?”
Takeda regards the man with a perplexed look. Ukai asks the question all of them want to, “How what?”
“This—!” Hinata brandishes his arm between them and possibly the high school and his inexplicable life. “Ask me something! Something only Shoyou would know,”
“How do we know you haven’t gathered all the information about him?” Ennoshita also happens to be the most dubious of the second years.
“Ugh,” Hinata-san makes a sound between exasperation and wish for the earth to swallow him whole. “I’m not a stalker,” he sounds aghast, “or a relative or a—a doppelgänger,”
Kiyoko Shimizu is nicer than she looks, “Let’s ask him something,”
Yachi Hitoka nods beside her. The Management as a whole is angelic. “Hi—hi—Hinata-san,”
The gratitude is short-lived on Hinata-san’s face at the honorific tacked on as he nods, resigned.
“What’s Shoyou-kun’s birthday?”
Immediately, Karasuno voices its dissent. “That’s easy!”
“Everyone would know that!”
“I don’t know that,”
Kageyama, the unlikely saviour, cuts in, “What did you eat for breakfast on January fifth?”
Hinata-san blinks at him, dragging his eyes from a concerningly pale Yachi. “January fifth what?”
“This year,”
“What is this year?”
Kageyama snaps, “2013,”
Hinata-san pushes his fingers against his eyelids, looking as Takeda did moments ago. Resigned at being right and having this be his problem.
“Well?”
“Well what—“ Hinata-san snaps back, “what did I eat ten years ago? I don’t fucking know!”
Kageyama turns back to Takeda, pointing his finger at Hinata-san like that of a tattling child, “This one swears too much. He’s not Hinata,”
“Oh for the love of—“
“Your questions could be a lot less specific, Kageyama-kun,” Takeda suggests.
Ukai mutters under his breath, “Understatement of the century,”
“First match?” Kageyama begins, seemingly expecting the strange man to flounder, “What did you say at our first match? When we were a point from set point?”
Hinata-san’s face clears, emotions draining from his countenance to be replaced with nothingness that could curdle milk. “We haven’t lost yet,”
It’s true. Older Hinata’s dead eyed gaze is more potent than the younger one’s.
Tanaka breaks the eerie silence, “And you remember that??”
“It’s become a thing,” Hinata-san waves a hand. “Across different matches and interviews,”
Yamaguchi perks up at that, “You make it then?”
Hinata-san stares but a slow smile crawls onto his face. “Yeah, Tadashi, we all do,”
“Great!” Yamaguchi grins, shaking off the surprise at being addressed with his given name. “Tsukki always thought you would!”
“Shut up, Yamaguchi,”
“Sorry, Tsukki,” he doesn’t sound it. At all.
To Tsukishima‘s great annoyance, Hinata-san doesn’t look the least bit surprised. Instead, he waggles his eyebrows at the middle blocker and teases, “Is that so Tsukki?”
“Don’t call me that,”
“Okay okay,” Hinata-san throws his hands up.
“We’re positive then,” Takeda asks the crowd at large. It’s impossible but there’s no other explanation. The teenagers shrug in response with the exception of Kageyama who solemnly nods. “Hinata-san, could you tell us what happened?”
Hinata-san, settling himself cross legged on the floor with the rest, winces. “Sensei—please just call me Hinata,”
Takeda’s smile is empathetic. “Of course, Hinata—“
“Weird shit keeps happening around you Ginger,” Ukai has no such trouble. Etiquette is for wimps (Takeda is the only exception). “What’s it this time?”
“I didn’t do anything Sensei.” There’s no other word for it. Hinata whines. “I had just completed my practice, showered and I was about to head home,”
His appearance seems to track with his telling. His hair, much shorter now—then?—sticks back the way it always does after a shower. He wears a pair of shorts and a compression top. They were distracted by the fabric hugging his very distracting muscles earlier but now they could see that the monochrome, all-black outfit displays tasteful branding for a company by the name Bouncing Ball. There’s the gym bag that sits abandoned where the light had appeared that carries the same clip art of a ball.
Speaking of the light, “I remember a flash of light and bam! here I am,” Hinata looks around as if seeing it for the first time. “I’m in Japan,”
“You’re not in Japan now?” Sawamura’s play style is to gather information and then strike. Developed right alongside Sugawara and Azumane. He sees no reason to divert now.
“Nope,” Hinata-san shakes his head, “I’m in Brazil. I play for ASAS São Paulo.” It flows easily on his tongue, bright and natural as the sun that must have tanned his skin so lovingly.
Nishinoya whistles appreciatively. He grabs hold of the man’s arms, the pitch of his whistle growing at the muscle he feels beneath. “SHOYOU! International leagues, huh? That’s amazing!”
Hinata laughs, his cheeks red. “You said this already, Noya-senpai,”
Tanaka sidles up to Hinata’s other side. “Our kouhai, duh! I’m sure he’s making waves all across the globe!”
The light chuckle breaks off into rambunctious laughter. Tanaka and Nishinoya join in with no less drama. Others spare a smile.
“We’re glad to hear it, Hinata,” Takeda says, earnest and delighted in a mellowed manner. Even Ukai gives a grudging nod.
“Thank you, Sensei,” Hinata ducks his head. His age and the weird time travel forgotten as he mumbles, “It wouldn’t have been possible without you all,”
It would be customary for teenage Hinata to add it but this one from a decade later has lived it. It makes them shudder with the weight he latches to it.
“Same light,” Sugawara saves him from the attention but not without blessing him with a teasing grin at his still abashed disposition when it comes to compliments. “We didn’t know what happened either. Sudden light and you were there,”
Azumane borrows his friend’s worry. He always did wear it better. “Our Hinata’s missing,”
The levity of the situation flees, leaving them with more questions than what could logically be answered. What happened to Hinata? How does Hinata get jacked? Does dubstep still exist in the future? What about flying cars? What—
“Nationals,” Kageyama’s priorities are so skewed, Tsukishima would say. Karasuno swivels their head to stare at him. Of all the things—
“What?” Hinata tilts his head in confusion. Spring Inter-High National Volleyball Tournament was a decade ago for Hinata Shoyou at twenty-five years old.
“Nationals 2013–“
“There’re surely more important things,” Tsukishima cuts him off.
Azumane looks green. “That’s bad luck. I think,”
“Knowing it makes it no fun!” Nishinoya’s disagreement is born from an entirely different set of reasons.
“We shouldn’t influence anything,” Sawamura reasons.
“Ah,” Hinata’s exhalation brings their burgeoning argument to an end. All turn to him. Eerily in sync. Hinata looks to the side, up and away.
“No shit,” Tanaka breathes.
“We lost?” Narita cringes.
“Ah,” Hinata makes another sound, determined to map out the court with his eyes. His avoidance seems near secondary however as he muses out loud, ripe with nostalgia, “Oh man, it’s been a decade, huh?”
“Don’t tell me you forgot that too,” Kageyama grumbles.
Hinata rolls his eyes in response. It seems instinctive. “Of course not. It was one of the most important matches of my life, Kageyama-kun,”
They lean toward him with interest.
But, Hinata smiles at Takeda. “Maybe the most important. Thanks to you, Takeda-sensei.” Ukai’s soft smile freezes when Hinata turns to him, “You too, Ukai-sensei,”
The coaches, as old as this weird future version of Hinata himself, fluster at the heartfelt gratitude. They nod in tandem. Ukai throws in a nonchalant wave that resembles more of a spasm.
“We did lose then,”
Hinata sighs. “I lost my last match,” he leans back on his palms, looking at something none of them can and possibly won’t. Something lost all the way in Brazil, a continent away.
“So?” Kageyama has no interest in matches he does not play unless he can learn from them. Given that there are no recordings—on second thought, he should ask the time traveler about it.
“We lost,” Hinata’s answer is amused, supposedly privy to Kageyama’s thoughts and the roads they trudge through. There’s the undercurrent of remorse but Hinata seems far too at peace for a match he lost.
“I lost with you?” Kageyama’s frown might as well be carved from stone.
Tanaka leers, “What’s Natsu-chan’s favourite cartoon, you imposter?” A mature Hinata is a suspicious Hinata. A thousand questions are warranted.
It only has Hinata sheepish. “From the New World. Ma did not like it,”
Sawamura gapes, “Isn’t your sister like five?”
Nishinoya cackles as Hinata splutters. “It’s all his fault! He got her hooked,”
“It seemed fine—“ and it could be any other afternoon with Hinata being ribbed by his upperclassmen except—
“You’re not a sore loser,” Ukai’s remark is deceptively dry. “Good to hear that, small fry,”
“Ukai-sensei,” the admonishment falls flat given the wide grin Hinata bears. “It was a good game,” he insists, “great game, actually. Even Wakatoshi-san said so,”
Tsukishima tilts his head. “Wakatoshi?” Hinata’s cryptic grin confirms it for him. “Ushijima Wakatoshi?”
“Japan?” Even Kageyama startles. Karasuno oohs.
“He plays with you in Brazil?”
Hinata laughs at Sugawara’s question. “No, no, he wouldn’t leave Europe for anything less than the end of the world. My last match was the Olympics—“
“Shut up,”
“SHUT UP!”
Tsukishima and the most exuberant pair of second years’ remarks are extraordinarily different, given they’re the exact same words.
“Olympics?!” Yachi squeaks, leaping forward to take Hinata’s hands in hers. Her previous worries are forgotten as she gushes, “Hinata-kun, that’s amazing! You did it! You really really did it!”
The momentary surprise and amazement allow Kageyama to collect his bearings. Sawamura slaps a hand to his back with an embarrassingly proud grin. Sugawara ruffles his hair. That helps too. Hinata’s last match was the Olympics. Hinata’s last match was with him, Kageyama Tobio. He makes it too. He knows he will but he makes it.
“You lost,” it abruptly brings the celebration to a standstill but doesn’t quite discourage Nishinoya and Tanaka’s impromptu production of ‘Our Baby Birds Are All Grown Up’. Azumane would say it’s gotten better since his first year.
“We lost,” Hinata’s yet to let off the amusement. He sighs however, at the reminder of their loss. “Man, fuck Argentina. It was sooo—“ he pinches his thumb and forefinger together, “—close but you know how it goes. Six together are stronger than strong six,” he quotes with ease as if he’s spent the years chanting it over rosary beads, “and we might have been the monster generation but we had hardly spent two weeks together. Silver it is for Japan this year,”
“You lost at finals?” Sugawara grins.
Hinata shrugs, now more annoyed than amused. “We’ll get it next time for sure,”
It’s enough fodder for another rendition of ‘Our Baby Birds Are All Grown Up’.
Tsukishima drags a palm across his face. It has Yamaguchi torn between bemusement and concern. “Time travel’s real and I have to listen to a volleyball junkie talk about the goddamn Olympics,”
“Would you like to learn what you do now, Tsukki?” Hinata’s grin could cut paper.
“Don’t call me that—“ Hinata laughs, bright as the sun. “And no,”
“C’mon Kei,” it’s less mocking now, “live a little. Aren’t you a little bit curious?”
Tsukishima, Kei as he was called by Hinata apparently, squints at him. “Since when do you call me Kei?”
“Since it got annoying to confuse you with Akiteru-nee-san.” Hinata rolls his eyes. “I still have no idea why you’d think I’d call you Tsukishima-san when we were in our final year,”
Tsukishima leans back and settles his palms on his knees. “I’m done with him.” Yamaguchi pats his hand.
“I can’t wait to see you all get along finally,” Yamaguchi’s words belie his action.
Sawamura chuckles. “You first years all grow up as expected,”
Hinata seems eager to add, “We do lunch at least five times a year!”
Kinoshita frowns, “That’s not a lot—“
Sugawara nudges him, “They hardly seem to be in the same continent these days,”
“It’s huuuuge,” Hinata nods excitedly. “Yacchan and Tobio get to see each other then and now. Tadashi and Kei visit when they can,”
Yachi has stars in her eyes. “I go overseas? Where—where am I?”
Hinata grins. “Everywhere Yacchan!” He gestures to the world itself. “I swear you’re somewhere different every time I call you,”
“Really?!” Yachi grins back. The rest have to squint a bit. “Doing art?!”
“Doing art!” Hinata exclaims back, grabbing her hands.
“Woah,” she leans back. Kiyoko offers her a smile when she turns to her. “Woaaaaah,”
“It’s nice,” Hinata tells the room at large. “We have our ups and downs but we end up well,”
No one can doubt that disarming smile. Even if they try their hardest. Kageyama has ceded defeat sometime last month to a younger version of the redhead. Tsukishima tries his damned best.
“That’s wonderful to hear,” Takeda says and it’s in his voice. He means it with his whole heart—
“We’re building a shrine for you Sensei,”
“Eh?!”
Sugawara nods, his eyes wide and shaking Sawamura’s shoulder. “We should too,”
“We,” Hinata laughs, “do,”
“Wha—wait—“
“Least you brats could do,” Ukai has a rare gentle smile on his face.
Hinata throws his head back and laughs. It’s odd. The timbre of it deeper and suffused with joy that sounds fought hard for. But, Hinata’s hair bounces with every hitch and his chest caves in with laughter. Just like how it does—did when he was fifteen.
“Do you live at the court now then?” Azumane pokes, curiously looking at his admittedly large gym bag.
“Ah, ah no,” Hinata gives an embarrassed chuckle that seems to suggest that yes, he absolutely does. “Got used to being on the road,”
They watch as Hinata picks himself up and drags the bag towards the gathered circle. The band of teenagers and an adult (Ukai only counts sometimes) are properly invested in figuring out what the future holds.
Hinata, noticing their attention, rubs the back of his neck. “It’s not crazy guys. It’s only been a decade y’know and I don’t think it’s a good idea—“
“When did you get a brain?” Tsukishima drawls but his eyes hold a rare spark of interest. “How’s it then? Everything that seem mundane to you would be a marvel to people a decade in the past,”
“I s’pose,” Hinata mumbles. “This bag only has my practice uniform and ah, necessities—“
“Like a time travel machine,” Nishinoya ventures.
Hinata pauses. “Those are the things that don’t exist. I don’t have a time machine. Time travel’s not possible?”
Tanaka jumps up.
“Nope,” Hinata cuts in. “No flying cars. There are robots,” Narita gapes. “But no invasion,” Kinoshita pouts.
“You have robots but not time travel?” Sawamura ventures.
“I mean,” Hinata digs through his bag, his mumble suggests he’s finding an excuse to not meet their eyes. “I don’t think it’s real,”
“Dumbass,” Tsukishima grumbles, seemingly involuntary.
“I’m a volleyball player,” Hinata argues back, more out of instinct than anything. “Why would I care about time travel?”
“We should get an expert,” Takeda’s murmur carries in the rare silence. It grows heavier as the implications set in. “A physicist,”
“A mad one,” Ukai intones, biting down on his stick. “Someone that believes we’re not lunatics and he’s a time traveller,”
The time traveller in question is throwing a sleek contraption between his hands. A volleyball charm dangles at the end, clanging against what seems to be an onigiri charm. “Damn,”
“Why?” Nishinoya demands.
Tanaka’s the one to answer, to everyone’s collective surprise. “We’ve to find out how this happened,”
Sawamura nods, grave. “And we’ve to send him back,”
“Why? He could stay here,”
“Noya-san,” Hinata begins, softer than anyone’s ever heard him but he does not continue.
“How do we even begin to explain?” Sugawara wonders out loud. “There was light and—“
Sawamura takes over the narrative, “After God said let there be—“
Sugawara frowns. Azumane sees it as an excellent opportunity to continue, “And God saw that the light was good—“
They laugh at their upperclassmen acting silly. Hinata doesn’t though his lips twitch into one of his sunny grins. “I can’t believe Tooru-san isn’t here to hear this time travel shtick,”
Kageyama who hadn’t quite laughed snaps to attention at the name. The faint smile falls away. “Tooru-san?” He repeats, affronted.
Hinata huffs. “Yes, Tobio, Oikawa Tooru—that one,”
Ennoshita sighs. “I know you can befriend a lion if you put your mind to it but honestly—“
“YOU ARE FRATERNISING WITH THE ENEMY!?!”
“SHOYOU HOW COULD YOU?!”
Sugawara smacks the very loud second years upside their heads. “I’m pretty sure Oikawa doesn’t stay forever at Seijoh,”
“It doesn’t look good to have enemies at the V. League,” Narita reasons.
“Especially not petty rivalries from high school, kids,” Ukai snorts and turns to Hinata, “How many of these idiots make it there?”
Hinata smiles and assures, “We don’t do that, Ukai-sensei. We all play for the love of the game,”
“Tooru-san,” Kageyama’s repeating at the side, his mouth twisted into a disgusted grimace.
“V. League friendships lead to first name basis?” Sawamura pokes.
“Tooru-san’s not in the League,” Hinata smiles to himself. “And he’ll never be. We actually met before I played for the League. When I was in Brazil,”
He says it like it’s a matter of fact. Phases of his life that should be known to the wide world. They blink up at him.
“Oh—ah, well,” he cuts himself off, holding his chin with his fingers. “Maybe I shouldn’t say specific details,”
“Nooooo,” Tanaka and Nishinoya groan in sync.
“No, you should really say it,” Tsukishima’s always been better at manipulation.
“Nope.” When Tsukishima agrees, it’s a sure sign that things were about to go extremely pear-shaped for the blond’s amusement. Hinata, in his twenty five years, has hardly shared Tsukishima‘s sense of humour. “Yeah, no, not happening buuuut,” he drags. “If anyone would know about time travel, it would be him,”
He dives into one of the other bags, retrieving Nishinoya’s phone with ease. The libero’s always had the best phone out of them and as expected, simply waves Hinata nonchalantly when the redhead asks for permission.
“Are you going to call Oikawa?” Kageyama sounds horrified and looks it too.
Sawamura casts him a concerned glance. “If Hinata’s right, then he’s the best person,”
“Does he become a physicist?” Takeda enquires. He’s always left out of the juicier gossip and he’s glad for it. Yet, sometimes, like now, it has him wondering about the Seijoh captain.
Hinata nods confidently then rethinks and shakes his head. “He just believed in this stuff and he’s smart! He’ll know what to do,”
“He did,” Kageyama’s assent is dragged with a wheeze. Then, “Do you even know his number?”
“Yeah, of course, Bakageyama,” Hinata punches in the numbers, muttering about how he can’t wait for the technological revolution already. “He never changed his Japan number. He’s sentimental like that,”
“Hinata,”
“Mhm?”
“Why do you know so much about Oikawa?”
Hinata raises his eyes, perplexed before he takes in the faces. It has him sighing. “It’s so weird,” he mutters to himself. “Right, so I went to Brazil after high school,”
“Why?”
“Brazil, specifically?” Sugawara softens Tanaka’s demand.
“Beach volley,” Hinata grins. “I wanted to learn everything from ground up. And Beach, with just two players, leaves you with no choice but to learn everything,”
“And you did,” Nishinoya ruffles his hair. Tanaka presses in from his other side, “Enough for the Olympics!”
Hinata laughs, “Yeah! That’s where I met Tooru-san, after like six months. It was a complete accident! After that, we kept in touch and he was my closest friend in the whole continent so obviously,” he shrugs as if it compensates the Tooru-san ordeal.
“What was he doing there?”
“Ah, I can’t say that,” Hinata gives an apologetic shake of his head. “I can’t really afford to change things or y’know make people do something they aren’t sure of. For him, it was kinda personal,”
“And you have his number memorised,” Tsukishima points out. He knows exactly what not to poke.
Hinata’s too used to it to question, finally dialing the number. They hold their breath as the phone rings, courtesy of Tanaka who had enabled the speakerphone at the first chance. “Can’t let that bastard take advantage of our kouhai!”
“Tanaka-senpai, I’m twenty-five,”
“Our kouhai,” Nishinoya, ridiculously shorter than Hinata now, pats the redhead’s arm.
The call connects and the greeting is shockingly mundane, “Hello?”
Hinata doesn’t let it stay that way. “Tooru-san!”
There’s a pregnant pause where they imagine the Seijoh captain checking the contact at the very familiar greeting. “I’m sorry, may I know who this is?”
“Ah, yes, yes,” Hinata nods although the boy couldn’t possibly see him. “You wouldn’t know. I’m Shoyou,”
It clears up nothing as silence echoes from the other side. “Who?”
“Hinata Shoyou, uh, Karasuno’s Number 10?” He winces.
“Chibi-chan!” And the impersonal, bafflingly polite cadence falls away. “Why do you sound like that?”
Hinata, allegedly twenty-five, pouts. “I don’t sound like that,”
‘That’ is up to anyone’s interpretation. As of now, their running bet is something unsavoury as the disgust dripping from Oikawa’s tone seems to suggest.
“Chibi-chan’s fifteen and,” the suspicion flows like honey, sticky and thick, “you don’t sound fifteen at all,”
“That’s because I’m not,” Hinata runs a hand through his hair. “I almost forgot about that stupid nickname. I’m twenty-five, Tooru-san and I’m from the future,”
“Huh,” they hold their breath for some reason to hear more from the setter. Even miles away, his obnoxious laughter sets their teeth on edge, “Is this some sort of tactic? Has Karasuno fallen that low?”
Great, Sawamura thinks sourly, it’s about volleyball now. Isn’t it always? “He’s not lying, Oikawa. I’m Karasuno’s Captain. I can confirm,”
It shouldn’t make sense. In fact, it adds credit to Oikawa’s accusations but Sawamura Daichi is not one to resort to such tactics. And Oikawa seems to know that as he decides to entertain them a moment longer.
“Oi! Shittykawa, why’re you on the phone in the middle of practice?” Another voice echoes from his side and Hinata lights up.
“Is that Hajime-senpai?”
Oikawa scoffs. “Hajime-senpai,” he repeats, a lot more mocking than the redhead, “I’m talking with someone from the future,”
There’s a pause. “Have you finally lost it, Tooru?”
“Here! Listen—!”
“I’ve told you to stop it with your sci-fi crap!”
“Well,” Hinata interrupts their argument, “it’s helping me a lot now, Hajime-senpai. There really is no one else that would believe me,”
“I don’t,” the disagreement is instant. “But, I’ll give you a chance.” Hinata’s grin could light up a city. They hear more muttering from Oikawa’s side that suggests his best friend walks away, to supposedly call the psychiatry ward. “Tell me something only I would know,”
“How would I know something only you would know?” To Oikawa’s immense displeasure, Hinata sounds genuinely confused.
“Shoyou-chan,” he starts sweetly and Hinata (with Kageyama who’s heard it growing up) know Oikawa’s gonna tear them a new one. “You obviously know me well from the future you claim you’re from. A future I’m yet to live. There are chances I could have shared something that would help times like these. Something that you would know that I’m yet to share with you from my perspective. So, for me, it’s still something only I would know,”
Hinata hums, considering it. “Okay! Makes sense,”
“Right,” Oikawa vaguely sounds like he’s breathing hard. “Now, go,”
“Uh,” Hinata flounders.
“Ten more seconds until I hang up and call the psych ward myself,”
“Wait! There’s this store near Seijoh. You get your kouhai ice colas in the summer!”
“Alright,” for a moment, Hinata thinks he’s done it but then, “listen here, you stalker—“
“I’m not a stalker,”
“I don’t care what you call yourself—“
“Tooru-san, wait, wait,” Hinata drags a palm across his face. “Give me a moment,”
“I’ll give you half a moment,”
“Damnit, alright,” Hinata grits his teeth. “You leave me no choice.” His gaze catches on every Karasuno eavesdropping, silently asking them to keep this within these walls. “You’re leaving for Argentina. You want to play for San Juan. José Blanco is your favourite setter. Playing on the same team as him is your biggest dream or that’s what you say to everyone. Actually, you want to replace him and claim his spot for yourself,”
There’s silence and more silence. More of it until it becomes stifling. Someone coughs. It startles Oikawa into gasping, “Oh my god, did we fuck?”
Hinata flushes red. He presses his fingers against his eyes. He does not deny.
“Holy shit, Hinata,” Tsukishima hardly swears but this moment is enough of a momentous occasion to break some traditions. “You actually were fraternising with the enemy,”
“You’re tiny,” Oikawa continues before Hinata could clarify that it’s been a long time since he’s considered the setter an enemy. “You’re a baby! Oh no, I’m a pedophile,”
Faintly, they hear a monotone, “What?” on his side.
“Fucking hell—Tooru-san, I get big!” His height’s the first thing he has to defend and then—
“I know,” Oikawa blurts out, still in shock at accosting the tiny middle blocker he remembers. “I have a type,”
Kageyama faintly looks green. Yamaguchi shoves a plastic bag at him.
“And,” Hinata continues as if he’s used to Oikawa’s antics. “I was nearly twenty—“
“What do you mean ‘nearly’?” Oikawa nearly screeches.
“We were both consenting adults,” Hinata sounds pained, feeling every pair of eyes on him. Hell, he can feel Iwaizumi Hajime’s eyes all the way from Seijoh. “And it didn’t mean much. You’re not a pedophile—for fuck’s sake, how’re you worse as a teenager than at thirty?”
“I become thirty??” It seems a larger concern than being a possible child predator.
“Yes!” Hinata snaps.
“Oh my god, please tell me I’m not balding,”
At this, Hinata bites down on a grin. “No, no. Shigeru-san though—“
“Yahaba?” Oikawa shares the mirth. It’s creepy. “Yahaba-kun goes bald,”
“Sort—“ A snort escapes Hinata who’s doing poor job at reeling in his own mirth. “Maybe?”
Oikawa outright cackles. “Yo, Yahaba! You go bald at thirty!”
“He’s twenty-seven, Tooru-san—!”
“Holy shit—Yahaba, you go bald at twenty-seven!” Although the second year of Aoba Josai is very much a stranger to Karasuno, they feel for the guy all the way in Seijoh wondering if their captain’s off his rocker already.
In actuality, Yahaba takes a ball to his face as he was preoccupied frowning and carding a hand through his hair. His precious hair that he ostensibly will lose in his late twenties. Kunimi Akira calls out a sorry that he doesn’t mean. He has fantastic hair. He doesn’t care.
“And you’re on a first name basis with that guy because?” Yamaguchi couldn’t infuse more mockery if he tried. Tsukishima was a bad influence on him.
Hinata, who’s aware Yamaguchi’s a little shit in his own right, rolls his eyes. “We played volley together in high school. That’s all. There was no Brazil. And we kept in touch for the kids later on,”
“Kids?” Sugawara shrieks with alarm.
Hinata blinks. “Random kids!” He blurts out. “He’s an instructor. He teaches kids volley and I help him out when I can,”
“Oh,”
Hinata flushes a concerning red.
“For a moment there—“ Takeda mutters. He’s twenty-six and he has his hands full with a volleyball team.
“It seems likely,” Tsukishima can’t help himself but snark.
“I’m twenty-five,” Hinata groans. “I can fuck who I want. Shut up, Kei,”
“Hinata,” Takeda’s admonishment is more startled than actually chiding.
“Sensei, sorry—“
“And you want Oikawa,” Kageyama points out, his mouth twisted into that same judgemental grimace.
Tsukishima sneers, “You have questionable taste, idiot,”
“Not this again,” Hinata declares, “I’m not doing this again. It was a long time ago and it was just Brazil. That’s it. We have more urgent matters—“
“Yes, yes,” Sawamura clears his throat. Nodding towards the phone where Oikawa’s bound to be confusing teasing his kouhai comes to an end, he says, “How can he help?”
“Right,” Oikawa pulls away and the ambient noise falls away as he presumably finds a quieter place. “Are you missing a limb? Got a new one? If you have and you’re sharing stuff for all to hear—?”
“I’m risking losing more than one, yes,” Hinata fills in, by rote. “I’m not missing anything.” He looks down at himself, “Or grew anything. No new aches or scars I can’t explain and,” he squints at the sleek handheld device he had brought with him from the future, “I look the same,”
“It’s the butterfly effect, Shoyou,” Oikawa says after a moment. “The most minuscule change can bring the most devastating—“
“A flap can cause a hurricane, yeah,”
“Stop interrupting me,” he sounds annoyed now.
“Blame future you,” Hinata shrugs. Tsukishima hums in a way that does not appeal to Hinata. He shoots the blond a glare before returning to Oikawa, “You spoke about tests, tell me about them,”
“Sir, yes, sir,” the eye roll is a tangible thing in his voice. “It could be a stimulation. Time displacement remains fictional for a reason. It’s a form of teleportation at it’s essence, yes? Across space and fabric of time. If time travel’s possible, teleportation must be. Any chance that exists in your future?”
Hinata shakes his head, less taken aback by the intrigued tone Oikawa adapts. “Nope. Nothing like that. The future’s less crazier than that. And I pinched myself. It hurts,”
“It’s an expected response,” Oikawa argues. “It could be programmed. You’ll have to manufacture an entirely unprecedented event to properly rule out stimulation,”
“How about we challenge what we know?” Hinata queries and they turn to him as if he’s grown a second head. “Like, simulations hardly get everything right, yeah?”
“Yes!” Oikawa’s grin carries over the speaker. “You can try that too!”
“No, really,” Tsukishima interrupts, “how did you grow a brain?”
Hinata’s response is sheepish to their surprise. “It’s not exactly my idea. Pedro’s,”
“Who’s that?” Oikawa beats them all to the question, clearly expecting a better answer than—
“My friend. Back in Brazil,”
“Brazil?” Nishinoya narrows his eyes.
“I’m twenty-five,” Hinata mutters but does shake his head. “He’s a friend. We shared housing in my first two years there,”
“Brazil?” Oikawa’s question is far more innocent and Hinata deems it easier to deal with.
“I train in Brazil after high school and go pro. I play in ASAS São Paulo.” He gives Oikawa less than a moment to whistle appreciatively before he holds out an arm to Kageyama. “Tobio, punch me,”
“Wait—!” Sawamura says by instinct, watching Kageyama draw his arm back without hesitation. “Don’t you have anything else to confirm whatever you’re trying to?”
Hinata and Kageyama stare at him. Then, they decide in tandem, “Nope,”
“Seriously,” Sawamura’s argument is backed by the most unlikely setter, “Is there literally anything else? A particular food or something like that works too. Actually, it would work—“
WHAM!
Kageyama does not hold back. His fist connects with the hard muscle of Hinata’s arm and he suffers greatly for it. Kageyama glares, unwilling to cradle his arm like he so clearly wants to but can’t manage a word. That’s more than telling for those who know what to look for.
“Better,” Oikawa finishes, dry as ever. “Why did you think punching a professional athlete was a good idea, Tobio-chan?”
“It didn’t work,” Hinata says over Kageyama’s glare and simmering anger. “I forgot these guys are tiny now,”
“Says you,” Tsukishima scoffs.
“Food!” Tanaka exclaims. He turns to—“Suga-san! How about your shit soup?”
Sugawara crosses his arms. “What’d you say?” He’s not glaring. That’s worse.
“Right, right,” Azumane interrupts. “Daichi’s tamagoyaki could work, yeah?”
“Yes!” Sawamura is quick to agree. He rises to his feet to get his bag. “It’s your lucky day Hinata. The youngest exchanged this for this week’s allowance,”
“Your little brothers are wise, Daichi-san.” Hinata leans forward as if relaying state secrets. “Suga-san’s sisters may be right about the scrying,”
Sawamura’s lips twitch up into a grin. “I don’t know how to feel about another younger brother to add to my band, Hinata,”
“You’re happy,” Hinata says easily. “You took the whole of Karasuno,”
“When you’re not sleep deprived,” Sugawara amends. Hinata’s resounding laughter is answer enough.
“Charming,” Oikawa’s voice is tinny yet enough to carry his boundless exasperation through the speakerphone. “Can we move on to more interesting topics? Like, I don’t know, time travel?”
“It is time travel,” Hinata’s confirmation is warbled through—“Daichi-san’s special eggs! How I’ve missed you!” They’re sure he’s not speaking to anyone at the gym or otherwise.
“Mhm,” Oikawa’s answering hum is dubious. “How reliable are your tastebuds?”
“Very,” Karasuno says in a chorus.
“Right,” it takes a long moment for Oikawa to concede. “We’ve ruled out dream, simulation and possibility of altering your timeline,”
“What?” The question arises from Azumane. “How?”
Tsukishima speaks up, “Hinata’s very presence here should have had some effect on his form or at the very least, his memories.” He scrutinises the redhead that takes a short pause from inhaling the tamagoyaki to shake his head. “Since he doesn’t remember any of this, we can assume this is a parallel timeline,”
“Because it’s so similar to the one I’m used to.” Even the shock of time travel pales against Hinata’s apparent knowledge about multiverses. The man points an accusing finger at the phone. “He talks,”
“And you seem to listen,” Tsukishima sneers, “shocking,”
Hinata rolls his eyes. Oikawa sees it fit to interrupt, “If this is not caused by an intentional action, we’ve to figure out the cause with clues. What’ve you been up to, Shoyou?”
“I woke up,” Hinata begins, entirely naive to the setter’s dubious tone. “Went on a run, ate and then went for practice. Like I do everyday,”
“Boring,” Oikawa comments. “Nothing out of the ordinary?”
“Your routine’s literally the same Tooru-san,” Hinata complains. “You eat the same thing everyday! You’re boring,”
“I’m meticulous and diligent towards taking care of my body,”
“And I’m not??”
“No,”
“Hinata,” Takeda calls before they could prolong their pointless argument. “Oikawa-kun, back to solving this,”
“Right, right,” Hinata tilts his head apologetically. Oikawa calls out a ‘sorry!’ “Eh,” the redhead scratches his head, “I checked my messages. There really wasn’t anything strange except—“ Light flickers on in his wide eyes. “Kenma’s message!”
“Fraternising with the enemy!”
“You’re making a cult with their ace,” Ennoshita contests Tanaka’s declaration.
“Nekoma’s better than Aoba Josai,” Nishinoya placates his best friend.
“Nekoma’s setter Kenma?” Oikawa, either intrigued or electing to ignore their frivolous arguments, asks.
Hinata, who they can count on to have been invested in their current issue, makes an affirmative noise. His fingers fly across what now they’ve gathered to be the future phone. “Kenma’s messages are always odd but this—listen, Keep an eye on the clocks,”
“What does Kenma even do?” Oikawa speaks into the resulting silence, as incredulous as the others feel.
“I don’t know,” the man from the future shrugs, unconcerned about the possible cause for his predicament.
“What do you mean you don’t know?” Kageyama blinks at him. “You’re best friends,”
“We are,” Hinata doesn’t bother raising his head from his phone. “I’ve no idea what he does now though. He tells me he’ll have to kill me if I got to know,”
“That’s not suspicious at all,” Yamaguchi stares wide eyed at him, his lips curving down.
“A seemingly ordinary morning,” Oikawa lists, “and a best friend with a dubious job and an even more ominous warning. You have it right there,”
“But—“ Hinata frowns, “but how do I get back now?”
Oikawa sighs. “Parallel timelines rules out this Kenma possessing any knowledge of what has happened.”
“It’s similar enough,” Sugawara ponders out loud, “Maybe this Kozume would be able to figure out what his future counterpart actually meant,”
Tsukishima pushes his glasses back. “That’s not a bad idea,”
“Okay!” With renewed vigour, Hinata holds out his hand towards the blond.
“What?”
“I need Tetsuro-san’s number,”
“You know Tooru-san’s but not Kenma’s?” Tsukishima mocks and then seems to remember his reputation, “And I don’t have it anyway,”
“Kenma doesn’t have a Japan number.” Hinata wiggles his fingers, impatient now. “I know you have Tetsuro-san’s number, Kei. I know about the group chat,”
“I don’t open it,” Tsukishima scowls but reluctantly hands over his phone with the contact information on Kuroo Tetsuro.
“That’s rude,” Hinata comments, placing the call. “Only Keiji-san’s cool enough to ignore the group chat,”
“How’re you so familiar with literally everyone you’ve crossed paths with?” Yachi asks with no little awe.
“It’s not everyone,” Hinata smiles. “Just ones that matter,”
“Tsukki!” Kuroo’s voice sings as the ringer cuts off. “What a pleasant surprise!”
Hinata holds out the phone politely. The shit eating grin that he can’t stifle doesn’t hide his true intentions.
“No,” Tsukishima leans away, whispering furiously, “You wanted to talk,”
“Don’t be rude,” Yamaguchi chides, grinning shamelessly, “Tsukki,”
“Tetsuro-san,” Hinata greets once it becomes apparent Tsukishima has resorted to sign language and scathing glares to communicate from now on. “Can I talk to Kenma?”
“Wait—“ there’s a shuffle on the other side, “Who’s this? Why do you have this phone?” The grave tone he takes is surprising as much as it is comforting.
Hinata smiles though the boy at the other cannot possibly see it. “This is Shoyou. Eh—there’s been a situation, I’m from the future,”
“What,” in the same breath, a voice further away calls, “Is that Shoyou?” Kuroo’s voice grows tinny as he keeps his setter away, “No—Kenma, we don’t know—from the future—!”
The protests cut off with a dubious thump! On the phone, Kozume Kenma’s dulcet tones ask, “Shoyou, is that you?”
“Kenma!” Despite everything, Hinata perks up at the voice of his best friend. “Hi!”
“Shoyou,” Kozume maintains his dull cadence though there’s a lilt to it that’s picked on by those who know him. “You time travelled?”
“Yeah, Kenma, I have no idea what’s going on,” Hinata whines, “I was just leaving practice and there was this light and I’m back in Karasuno,”
“Mhm,” Kozume sounds impressively composed, “and how far back is it for you?”
“Ten years,”
“Were you nearby Miyagi when it happened?”
“Nope, all the way in Brazil,”
“Brazil?”
“Yeah! I play there now!”
This time, Kozume’s smile is audible to even those that don’t know him. “That’s great, Shoyou. You don’t know anything that could have possibly caused this?”
“There was your text, Kenma—“
“That was the only thing out of the ordinary,” Oikawa contributes, “presumably. I doubt he paid anymore attention to everything else that didn’t concern his practice,”
“Who’s this?”
“Oikawa, Seijoh’s captain, yo,”
“Hi,” Kozum greets back. “That’s true,”
“Hey!” Hinata’s protest is halfhearted.
“What was the text?”
Hinata quotes and when Kozume asks more about his own occupation and interests, he reiterates what he said earlier. Kozume merely hums.
“If I’ve been giving you warnings despite the imminent death awaiting us for it,” Kozume reasons, “I must have told you more about whatever project has landed you in this position,”
“Ah,” Hinata’s enthusiasm falters at whatever he finds on his phone.
Oikawa and Kenma do not know Hinata long enough in this timeline to decipher the despair behind the ‘ah.’ But—“What’s ah?” Kageyama does.
“Nothing.” Even at twenty-five, Hinata’s a shit liar.
Something the rest of the first pick easily on. “It’s not nothing,” Yamaguchi peers at him.
“It’s not,” Hinata folds like a cheap lawn chair. “But it’s not relevant to—this,”
“We should be the judge of that,”
“Yeah,” Kozume has become fast friends with Oikawa. It’s scary.
“As resident theoretical science experts,”
“As the actual time traveller,” Sugawara argues back, “Hinata can decide what’s irrelevant and not,”
Hinata’s grateful grin is blinding. “Yeah, take that!”
Oikawa groans. “Shoyou, c’mon now,”
“We should go there,” Kozume declares.
A snap is heard from Oikawa’s line. “Right!” And his voice grows farther, “Iwa-chan! We’re going to Karasuno!”
“I see it.” There’s no foreknowledge gathered in a decade required to know Hinata’s going to hate whatever Tsukishima’s about to say. “You just wanted Tooru-san here,”
“Kei,” Hinata sighs. “I love you man but I fucking hate you sometimes,”
Oikawa chokes on the other side of the town. “Wha—?”
“Tooru-san, can I reveal another piece of personal info about you?” Hinata’s tone is appropriately apologetic despite being faultless here.
“If I don’t have to face the fact I’m a pedophile anymore, then sure,”
Hinata rubs the bridge of his nose. “Cut that shit.” To Tsukishima and Karasuno at large, “Tooru-san’s getting married and I’m his best man,”
“What?” Oikawa seems more bewildered at this than time displacement being possible.
Tsukishima’s triumphant smirk falls. He rolls his eyes.
“How?” Oikawa demands as Karasuno shrugs. The setter’s always had girls and boys flocking to him after all.
“It worked out,” Hinata says, as vague as possible. “On the other side,”
“That makes sense,” the urgency wanes and comes back with a healthy dose of amusement, “then how—?”
“You were on a break.” Hinata snorts, “He thinks it’s funny,”
“I bet,” Oikawa remarks drily.
“It’s kinda weird,” Kinoshita thinks out loud.
“Don’t,” Hinata heaves a heavy sigh. “I had enough of a struggle explaining it to the whole Village,”
Nishinoya grins, rocking back and forth where he sits, “The Olympic Village?”
Oikawa comes back to demand, “Say where now?”
Hinata sighs again, more resigned than anything. “We helped with the proposal,”
“All the top athletes of the world?” Sawamura asks, bemused.
“We needed more glitter—“ Hinata’s reasoning sounds memorised. “And I knew the synchronised swimming team would have it. They got rhythmic gymnasts and they got the sprinters. Argentina was involved of course. Brazil latched onto me the moment I stepped onto the continent so—“ he spreads his hands, “it was all inevitable really,”
“Shoyou,” Oikawa’s voice lacks anything discernible. “Did you get the world’s best athletes to plan a proposal?”
“And,” Hinata crows, his emotional reception has always oscillated between extreme and nothing, “I executed it spectacularly!”
Karasuno shake their heads in amusement. Some opt to stare at the ceiling in askance as if the peeling paint would unlock the secrets of the universe.
“You got the best best man,” Kenma says.
“Aw,” Hinata turns a pleased red. “Thanks, Kenma,”