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This year, the Aobajousai Volleyball Club kicks off the season much like they had done the last: without Oikawa and with a practice match against Karasuno.
Everything else is drastically different, with Yahaba as the captain and Kindaichi moved to the wing to step into a very large pair of Iwaizumi-shaped shoes. Kunimi finds himself as a middle blocker and satisfied with the arrangement. Kyoutani is . . . Kyoutani, so there is no lack of surprises at any given moment.
Maybe that prepares Kindaichi for one of the more jarring moments in his whole sixteen years of life.
The game starts out in an eerily familiar fashion, as well. Karasuno wins the practice match by a hair, and Kindaichi sneaks off to the bathroom to relive every mistake he made throughout the five sets they played. He washes up, and then before he can escape, Kageyama is there.
“What do you want?” Kindaichi snaps, surprising even himself with the vehemence there.
Kageyama blinks at him, head tilted to the side in a painfully familiar way. It smacks of the empty-headed kid who had followed their senpai around, eyes wide with wonder as he soaked up everything he could.
That was the Kageyama he had fallen into friendship with, the one he had sorely missed when that new mutation of Kageyama forgot how to connect with his teammates. Or how to connect with him.
It’s not a surprise to Kindaichi, not really. This new foundation had been constructed brick by brick over the last year, starting with their falling out and slowly building up. Now he’s surrounded by a castle pieced together with growth and determination — something Kindaichi never got to be a part of.
“Damn it.” Kindaichi rakes his fingers through his hair, drawing a deep breath that comes out in a tired groan. “Why is this so hard?”
“Hair gel,” Kageyama deadpans, and Kindaichi chokes in shock.
That choke dissolves into laughter, which is soon joined by Kageyama’s raspy chuckle. It’s a sound he hasn’t heard in a long time, but he remembers the last time like it had been yesterday. Vivid images of a trio of stupid middle schoolers trying to break into the school after hours to hang out in the club room flash through his mind.
Kindaichi’s laugh leaves a lingering smile in its wake. He can’t help it, and after this long, he isn’t sure he wants to. Going from mild to mad in seconds flat is exhausting for both of them.
“Hey,” Kindaichi croaks, letting his hand fall limply at his side. “I miss that.”
And he does. More frequently than he cares to admit, Kindaichi spies a stray photograph he forgot to dispose of or hears a name that sounds like Kageyama’s. Almost immediately, he is assaulted by a cocktail of irritation, regret, and something he doesn’t care to classify because it is suspiciously reminiscent of yearning.
A soft dusting of pink blooms on Kageyama’s cheeks, and his gaze snaps to the floor to examine Kindaichi’s incredibly unremarkable court shoes. “Yeah.”
Kindaichi fights the urge to scratch away the itchy silence between them, to claw at those white and faded scars on his wrist from their failed venture years ago.
Curious whether Kageyama is thinking about that night too, Kindaichi’s question is answered before he can even ask. Kageyama’s hand wraps around Kindaichi’s wrist, and rough padded fingers trace the evidence. “I didn’t know you had scars from that.
With a snort, Kindaichi sighs and gazes at the ceiling, smile threatening once again. “You didn’t notice I was wearing my uniform jacket in August and dying the entire time?” He flexes his fingers, still in Kageyama’s grip. “You probably should have.”
Kageyama nods, and he releases his hold on Kindaichi. “I should have noticed a lot of things.” His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. “I never expect you to forgive how I acted, but I want you to know —”
The rest of Kageyama’s embarrassing apology is drowned by the sound of Kindaichi wrenching him into a vice-like hug that would crush a weaker individual. But Kageyama isn’t weak; neither of them are.
“Shut up or I’ll knee you in the nuts.” The softly murmured words belie their underlying threat, but he can feel Kageyama slowly relax. “I already know, dude. It just took me a while to believe it.”
They stand there tangled together despite the lingering humidity in the bathroom wrapping itself around them. It only takes a creak of the door to send them racing apart, however.
Some Karasuno first year darts past them into one of the stalls, and the last vestiges of their quiet understanding is eschewed by the sound of violent retching.
“Sucks to be that kid,” Kindaichi mutters, and his brows shoot up when Kageyama replies.
“Nah, he’s just like that.” With a wicked grin, he adds, “At least he doesn’t get the shits like Hinata.”
Recalling the inordinate number of bathroom run-ins Hinata had mentioned months ago at the prefectural development camp, Kindaichi slaps a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing out loud while the poor first year empties his stomach.
Kageyama isn’t exactly like he had been when they were twelve. He’s acidic and blasé and has a sense of humor one might call a mean streak, but the underlying mellowness is back. It’s something Kindaichi doesn’t realize he misses so much until it’s staring back at him with wide blue eyes and an almost-smile.
“Take care, Kageyama, and don’t lose to anyone else.” Kindaichi chortles and teases, “I’m the only one allowed to beat you.”
Challenge issued and accepted, Kageyama nods curtly and slides past Kindaichi and out of the bathroom.
Back in the mostly empty club room, Kindaichi finds a fully dressed Kunimi lying on the length of one of the benches, thumbs flying over his phone screen. “Where’d you run off to?” Kunimi asks flatly, not missing a beat with his movements.
“Nowhere,” Kindaichi tucks his hands into the pockets of his track bottoms and drops onto the next bench over. “Just burying a hatchet or two.”
“Good. Tell Kageyama I said hi and let me know how much steam comes out of his ears.”
Kindaichi doesn’t ask how Kunimi knows; that is a question he’ll never be able to answer. Instead, he offers Kunimi a clap on the shoulder. “As if you would ever let me keep that to myself, you gossip goblin.”
“Takes one to know one,” Kunimi fires back, his fingers finally slowing and stopping. “I think you both needed that.”
“Yeah. Just like you need this.” Kindaichi skulks over to Kunimi and hauls him over one shoulder, pinning him down with both their duffel bags slung over his lower back. “You’re gonna miss dinner again.”
Kunimi grumbles something Kindaichi can’t make out, but he doesn’t protest being forcibly ejected from the club room like one would a bratty child.
The two of them had learned their own level of give and take long ago, and Kindaichi looks forward to a day when he and Kageyama can reach a similar understanding.