Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“I am a star, a twinkling star. I’m an infant on the edge of a grave and an old man in a cradle, both a fish in the sky and a bird in the sea. I’m a boy on the outside but a girl on the inside, innocent in body, guilty in soul.”

― Fridrik Erlings, Fish in the Sky

“Look Tobio, it’s you!” 

Somewhere, sometime when Tobio was no older than four and his world revolved around his home where his grandfather often came over to watch over them when his parents weren’t around, and the confines of a warm lit gymnasium with the smell of air salonpas and the sound of balls hitting palms and bouncing off the floor, his sister showed him a picture. It was a fish out of the water and flying into the sky from a picture book she borrowed from the library.

Correction ― it was jumping out of the water. Fish don’t fly, silly, Miwa explained to him while laughing. She had this mischievous look in her eye when she talked to Tobio, like she was talking to a child who didn’t understand the ways of the world yet even long after Tobio had grown into adulthood, like she spoke of secrets Tobio would never learn, some cosmic joke she couldn’t be bothered to share. In a way, she was. There were nine years between them, and sometimes Tobio didn’t really understand her. But Tobio liked her, Miwa’s coolness and mischief coexisting. Plus, she played volleyball, and little Tobio, barely past four, would understand her then.

Tobio was no older than nine when he learned about the flying fish, Tobiuo (飛魚), which was similar sounding to how his name was pronounced, Tobio . The tobiuo jumps from the water to avoid its predators and can stay midair for at least 45 seconds, but they retract their wings when they are in the water. They are also attracted to light, thus making them easy to catch.

Miwa told him once that he was a fish in the sky, and Tobio stood there confused over what it meant. 

Kazuyo-san told him it was because he had yet to find a place where he could belong, but that he shouldn’t worry because he was going to find that place soon. Tobio didn’t say anything, not that he usually did, but he knew one thing: he already knew where he belonged. Tobio belonged on the court, he belonged wherever volleyball was; after all, his grandfather played volleyball and his sister too. These were all that he loved. There had always been him, Kazuyo-san, Miwa, and there had been volleyball.

So he really didn’t mind.

Tobio waded into the air instead of the water.

A fish in the sky.

“Kageyamaaaaa-kun, you still there?”

Tobio blinked his eyes open, unwittingly distracted while his mind wandered off somewhere else. 

He reminded himself where he was, and what he was doing.

He was in Rome, in Italy, playing for Ali Roma and just about to go out for lunch when Hinata called. Hinata, who often called him since he came back to Japan five years ago when the two years of separation were over, and they’ve maintained contact with each other again ever since. He liked to talk despite the eight-hour difference between them, and at some point, it had become a routine of theirs to talk at least once a week even when Hinata had left Japan two seasons later back to Brazil, somehow ingrained in their habits.

And what was Tobio but a man made up of habits?

“Kageyama, don’t space out while I’m talking.” The sound of Hinata’s disgruntled voice came as a whine through his phone. Tobio was in those rare moments where the locker room was empty, so he had accepted Hinata’s call and had put him on loudspeaker while he changed. 

“I didn't.” He did.

“Liar.” Hinata clicked his tongue. He was probably sticking his tongue out, Tobio could imagine if he closed his eyes and pretend he was in a different time, maybe six years earlier in an old worn-out gym that had floorboards instead of vulcanized rubber; the novelty of the flooring had worn off ― teenage Tobio had once been excited about it―playing on wooden flooring again at this age would be nostalgic. He preferred the rubber courts though for sure.

“I said, the next FIVB World Cup Championship is going to be held in Rome, isn’t it?” Hinata was huffing heavier than usual. He must be on his usual morning roadwork. If Tobio listened more carefully, he could hear the sound of waves. He must be on the beach then.

“Yeah, in Palalottomatica.” Despite roughly living in the country for three years, the foreign word still felt unfamiliar as it rolled off his tongue. Tobio had played some matches there, though, so there was some kind of familiarity to the place at least. It was big. Hinata would be ecstatic to see it.

“How about I come and drop by for a visit?” 

Tobio stopped filing his nails at the words, another ritual of his every after practice. The distant sound of his teammates shuffling in the shower rooms and making small talk made its way to Tobio’s ears while he mulled over what Hinata had offered.

“What?”

“I said― ah desculpe por isso, sim ―” There was shuffling in the background and more faded Portuguese which Tobio couldn’t hope to understand. “Anyway, since the finals are held on your home turf, wouldn’t you like it if I came over for a visit after the matches? You do have your own apartment, right?”

“Ah, yes.” Tobio thought about his place. It wasn’t too untidy, but that meant he would need to clean it up just to be sure. The last thing he wanted was to give Hinata any ammunition to tease him with. 

“Great. I’ll see you after the match after we crush you.” Hinata’s laugh was still as loud and lively as when they were in high school. He supposed nothing about him really changed even when placed in a new country. Though it wasn’t really new, was it? Brazil was probably a second home to Hinata by now. 

“What’s with that confidence?” Tobio snickered. “Are you even going to be the starting player when we meet?” 

“Oh, I will be. Are you saying you won’t?” 

“Of course I will be, dumbass.”

“Then there shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll see you later in Rome,” Hinata said as if it was fact, like he’d known for sure it would happen. He always declared things with confidence even if they didn’t work out the way he said it would, or the way he wanted it to be. There was frustration, yes, some manifesting longer than others but then he would pick himself up and calm down later. He always said things like it was fact, like it was the truth. You couldn’t help believing him when he said he’d get something done. He talked like he was always making promises.

Tobio knew first hand he always did keep his promises.

“I saw your last game by the way,” Hinata added, and there was more shuffling in the background, a faint sound of a door creaking open. He must be in his gym now, right on time for morning practice. “Six service aces on the third set. Absolutely ridiculous. Disgusting as always. You were trending a little on Twitter.”

“Didn’t know about that.” 

“Oh, you did. Every now and then you go trending. There was Rio at first. The 19-year-old pinch server who let loose service aces after service aces. Kageyama Tobio wins the heart of the masses. ” Hinata snickered. “Then apparently you trended again during the Tokyo Olympics too. Someone found your curry commercial and meme’d the hell out of it. It went viral after a few hours. You’re good meme material.”

Was he? Tobio didn’t do social media. It got in the way of volleyball. His phone was pretty much only used for messages and calls these days―that was what a phone was generally for anyway.

“I don’t know why that is.”

“It’s your face.” Hinata laughed from the other side of the call. 

“Ha?’’ he frowned, “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Someone made a thread of how terrifying you look on court vs. how much of an airhead you are out of it. I had to retweet that. All our friends did too. Everyone needed to know how much of a dumbass you really are.” Hinata sounded like he was grinning; his breathing was labored but he still had the energy to laugh.

“You’re the dumbass.” Tobio rolled his eyes.

“You’re totally rolling your eyes now, aren’t you?” Hinata called him out yet again. “Like I’d allow only you to go trending for getting five service aces in a row. You’ll see, I’ll do ten service aces and then I’ll be more famous than you.”

“Hm. Love to see you try.” Tobio packed his nail clippers and nail file back into his travel-sized bag.

“Just you wait. When we meet on the court, I’ll shove those serves of yours up your ass.” 

Tobio opened his mouth to quip back a retort, but some of his teammates started to file in the room after showering and it was starting to get noisy. Hinata too seemed to have reached his locker rooms and was ready to start his day with practice.

“I shouldn’t keep you long,” Tobio concluded. His bag was packed and ready, and he needed to get lunch. 

“Yeah. I need to shower anyway. And―oh! Hey Lucas!” He yelled something in Portuguese. Tobio thought it must be convenient. “Anyway―so Rome, okay? I’ll see you in a few.” 

“Yeah. See you, dumbass.” Tobio ended the call. 

Alright. He took a deep sigh. Time to get lunch.

📆 Countdown : 

⭐ EuroVolley: 35 days

⭐ FIVB World Championship: 116 days

“You’re not really good at talking, are you?” 

There was some kind of bluntness that existed with kids. Kids weren’t assholes per se, they could be quite kind if they were equally treated with kindness, how you treated them was how they were bound to grow up. The words you say may slide off them like water, but some of them stick forever. You never really knew which ones they’ll keep to heart and which ones they decided to ignore. 

Kids weren’t assholes, but they could be rather mean even if they didn’t mean to be. That was what little Tobio had thought while he was eating lunch in his school in second grade. His classmates thought it was strange of him not to own any video games, Tobio in turn thought of them as strange for not wanting to play volleyball. He thought them all strange in general, and they probably thought of Tobio to be strange too. 

The kid was probably his classmate but he couldn’t really remember her name. They had never really interacted before, but somehow she must have caught wind of Tobio and his disinterest in video games. He was an oddball, he heard teachers and adults say when they thought he wasn’t listening. He asked Kazuyo-san about it, as he always did when he ran into any sort of trouble. They talked when they did passing drills in their backyard. It was easier for Tobio to talk when he was holding the ball though only in passing.

“Why do you even like volleyball?” the girl said in a tone that sounded like when Tobio was trying to haggle Kazuyo-san so he wouldn’t need to eat his green peppers. Tobio didn’t like that tone, but he supposed growing up, most kids who talked to him sounded like pushing their plate of green peppers.

“It’s fun,” Tobio said honestly.

“So are video games and cartoons. So is playing with the other kids,” she insisted, and Tobio didn’t get why she was being pushy about it. “So is playing baseball or jumping rope.”

“I like volleyball. Not videogames.” Or cartoons, or baseball, or jumping rope, Tobio noted. Did he need a reason to like volleyball?

“You’re weird,” she said before walking away and leaving Tobio to his own devices, probably off to play with her friends.

Kids weren’t assholes, but sometimes Tobio would look at some kids and thought they sure made him feel weird for not wanting the things they like or understanding how they worked. The adults around him said the same things but in a more polite way, more professional. Kageyama Tobio, a resident fish out of water, was unreadable, head always in the sky or somewhere else.

For the first time, Tobio understood what Miwa was telling him years ago. He was a fish that jumped desperately out of water, somehow aiming for the sky. Fishes couldn’t fly, silly . They didn’t belong there. And yet Tobio was a fish in the sky, flying off somewhere other people couldn’t reach. He didn’t belong above the water, but Tobio had always been an oddball, a tobiuo . 

“Is it bad to be a fish in the sky?” Tobio asked Miwa one day while she was preparing dinner, their parents home late again, and Kazuyo-san off to an errand. It was their family curry recipe, and Tobio was waiting in anticipation on their dining table of six, though usually only three of those chairs were used. 

“What?” Miwa paused, turning to him. Confused.

“You said I was a fish in the sky,” Tobio elaborated. Apparently, he needed to elaborate on a lot of things for people to understand him. The ‘ you’re not really good at talking, are you ’ from one of his classmates struck him again. “Is it bad to be one?”

Miwa hummed. She contemplated her answer, as she always did when she talked to Tobio. There were nine years between them. Tobio was 7 and she was 16. Tobio had barely started Elementary school while she was already in high school. Sometimes Tobio thought she was too old for him to understand. What did 16-year-olds do anyway that was so different from what Tobio did, when he was 7?

Tobio would never know.

“It’s not really bad,” Miwa settled on. “It is weird to be one, usually.”

“Weird,” Tobio repeated the word in his mouth. “Am I weird?” 

Miwa shook her head. “It’s not a problem. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” With that, she went back to cooking supper. Tobio didn’t ask again, he didn’t ask for her to elaborate. That was the thing about Tobio, he always kept things close to his heart. When Miwa went back to work, it most likely meant the end of the discussion anyway.

She never denied he was weird.

“Ah.” 

Tobio stared at his half-eaten soba and fried salmon. There was a nice Japanese restaurant near his training area and surprisingly, it tasted nearly authentic. Most of the food here didn’t feel the same despite advertising its authenticity. He hadn’t had something like this since the last time he went for a vacation to Japan. That was last year and he only went to Japan because of the Olympics in the first place. 

“You’re Japanese?” 

Tobio saw an old woman in a kappogi apron approach him with a smile, her hair tied in a neat bun, mostly greying. She spoke in their mother tongue, and Tobio thought it was nice to hear Japanese again. He rarely spoke the language unless he was talking to Hinata in their calls, or when Miwa occasionally wanted to check-in. The latter was rare. Tobio figured it was a Kageyama thing to suck at communicating. Or maybe the former was just a Hinata thing to have such a large presence, to not be contained in a single country. Tsukishima and Yamaguchi certainly didn’t call him, and Tobio wasn’t sure if he would pick up. Yachi was too sleep-deprived to talk most of the time, and she probably still felt awkward with him. 

They did video calls once in a while. Birthdays. Holidays. When they won championships. Work achievements. The last time they did was on Yamaguchi’s promotion. It was good to catch up on everyone even if Tobio didn’t have much to offer on his part. He had done nothing but training after all.

“Yes,” Tobio said once he remembered the woman’s question. She waited for his answer patiently, still smiling with warmth. He wondered if she recognized him, or if she approached him just because he looked Japanese. Tobio wasn’t sure if there were any other Japanese people in Rome besides them, maybe there were but Tobio wasn’t the type to do anything outside but training. 

“How nice.” She clapped her hands together. “Where are you from, my boy? Are you just visiting? Working?”

“Working.” Well, it was technically work. “I’m from Miyagi,” he added after a second.

“Oh! My husband came from Miyagi too! In Sendai. He graduated from Shiratorizawa. I was from Kyushu, Fukuoka. We met here in Rome. It’s nice to meet people from home. We’ve lived here for a while, and we’ve pretty much adjusted to the environment, but it’s nice to be reminded of our old place, you know? Sometimes living here still feels weird, like we don’t belong.” She had a warm smile, bright and friendly even in her old age. There were wrinkles around her eyes when she smiled. Her kind personality reminded Tobio of someone, two someones, actually. “It’s not common anymore, but it still happens.” Tobio nodded. 

She kept talking to him about how her son was working hard in Milan, about the differences between Italy and Japan, little things, while he continued eating, gave nods, and the occasional hums as responses. It wasn’t unwelcomed.

After some moments when he noticed it was getting late for him, he said, “I have to go now.” He bowed, stood up, and left his payment on the table. 

“Take care, my boy.” She clasped his hand and finished it with a pat. The sudden touch surprised Tobio, making the back of his neck heat up. “Come back anytime.”

Tobio exited the restaurant with a funny feeling in his gut. It wasn’t the food, he thought. It probably wasn’t heartburn either. Tobio was blessed to not have any food allergies, and yet his throat was tightening. No, it wasn’t about the food at all. He was brought back a few years ago, when he was still small and younger.

“Am I weird?”

Tobio piped up on the way to the gym, his grandfather’s hand on his own, warm and safe. The road to the gym wasn’t too far, but they did have to ride the bus a little because Kazuyo-san said he wasn’t as young as he used to be. Tobio didn’t mind. The bus ride was nice and Kazuyo-san always let him have the window seat.

“Yep,” Kazuyo-san said without missing a beat.

“Oh.” 

“But so am I.” Kazuyo-san chuckled. “So is everyone. Everyone is weird in their own way.” 

“Even Miwa?”

“Yep.”

“And Mom? And Dad?” Tobio recounted everyone he knew. 

“Absolutely. Your classmates too. And your teammates.” Kazuyo-san grasped his hand tighter, waiting for the light on the intersection to turn green before they could cross the street. There weren’t many cars in their side of town, but Tobio still clung to his grandfather closely. 

“But―” The light turned green and he waited for them to cross to the other side of the sidewalk before he continued talking. “People don’t dislike you.” 

Kazuyo-san hummed. “Do people tell you that they dislike you?” 

Tobio stared at his white shoes. His outdoor shoes were white and plain, but his volleyball shoes were black and blue, and they were in the bag Tobio was bringing. He liked his volleyball shoes. “Not really.”

“I can feel a ‘but’ hanging there.” Kazuyo’s tone was calm and warm. It was what Tobio liked about him, Kazuyo-san was always friendly and understanding. His hand was firm but gentle whenever he held Tobio, and his laugh was always bright and loud, it never sounded mean. It never sounded wicked. It was very different from the kids Tobio played with. They felt cold instead.

“I don’t think I belong in that place,” Tobio murmured. “With them, I mean.” He wasn’t as oblivious as other people made him to be―he was to some extent, he knew that, but there were times he could be observant too. It wasn’t as much as Tobio not seeing what was happening, but rather not understanding why. In theory, he understood why people did things, why people played games, went out with friends, or had crushes, but he lacked understanding in a more primal, instinctual way that everyone just seemed to know from the start.

It was like Tobio was watching from outside the window, or some high, high wall he just couldn’t see the view on the other side of, something he couldn’t see on his own.

“Then you can find some other place you can belong to,” Kazuyo-san said once again. “Or they find you. It can happen anytime, or it can take a long time. You can’t really tell for sure, no one could--but once you do, I tell you, they’ll stay with you forever.”

Kazuyo-san said those things a lot, promises, words of encouragement, and little nuggets of wisdom that were never really clear cut for an elementary schooler, vague lessons to be learned that he would learn later when he was older . It seemed cruel to a child. Why couldn’t he just say it straight? Why let them suffer from one puzzle to another? But growing up made Tobio realize how knowing was different from experiencing, and knowing was different from learning as well.

Kids weren’t assholes per se, they could be quite kind if they were equally treated with kindness. They weren’t idiots either, but there was only so much you could tell them without confusing them, without dictating how they lived their lives. And they should get to choose how to, it was their lives after all. The words you say may slide off them like water, but some of them stick forever. You never really know which ones they’ll keep to heart and which ones they decide to ignore. They weren’t idiots, but sometimes you just needed to let them wade through life by themselves, let them learn how to fly and fall, let them learn how to swim and sink on their own.

When Tobio learned to receive spikes, his arms started bleeding from the inside. Getting hurt while training was inevitable in the sport, sometimes you get hit head-on by stray balls, sometimes you scraped your knee and elbow when you dug a near impossible receive. Sometimes, life was all about that. No one would get better at playing without it.

Tobio’s chest was heating up, his stomach queasy.

Maybe he should check out some heartburn medicine after all.

“Left!” 

Tobio’s body reacted with lightning speed. The ball barely grazed the tips of his fingers and sent it flying to the other side of the court, a satisfying sound of a spike echoed through the gym despite the noise of the game. The ball was blocked in an instant even with the power behind that offensive.

He growled. His plays weren’t working―and even if this was a practice match, Tobio should perform to the best. Never hold back, never strive for anything but the best, if he gets really good, he’ll find stronger people to play with, and then the game will be longer. The strongest stay in the court the longest, and the setter touches the ball the most.

The ball went up again from the opponent’s serve. It smashed its way to the arms of their libero then off course, Tobio had to chase it. An offensive setup from such a low angle. It didn’t matter to Tobio. So long as the ball was up, the game wasn’t over. The ball flew to the most optimal position for a spike and it whizzed past the blocks. An arm dug it out for a hustle, a few inches separating the ball from the floor, a palm between their point.

It just would not drop. The rally trudged on, one attack after another. One receive after a spike, one block after an attack. It never ended.

The ball was back to them once more for a chance ball. Higher. Faster. Tobio’s fingers crackled with electricity, lighting in his veins and thunder roaring in his ears. He needed to evade the blockers. He needed something agile. Tobio’s mouth spread into a grin. The ball on his hands, it was the perfect time for a quick and―

“What?”

The ball’s fall was soft but the thud was deafening to Tobio’s ears. It fell pathetically on the center, where a bright orange man would be, already mid-jump. Balls missing their spikers were no longer common for Tobio, but he certainly wasn’t unfamiliar with it. Heat made its way to his face, blooming into pink against his skin. His neck felt hot. 

“Hey Tobes, what was that about? That sucked,” asked Miguel Garcia, the newest recruit from America, with his characteristic high energy personality. He could get too loud sometimes, but he was a capable wing spiker so Tobio had no problems with him for the most part, and he spoke English more than Italian, which Tobio was grateful for because his grasp of Italian was still pretty bad. He could be quite blunt though, which sure had its advantages, but sometimes it could get on Tobio’s nerves. 

Somehow, he always ended up paired with people with too bright personalities.

“Sorry,” Tobio said between gritted teeth. “Force of habit.” 

“Dude, nobody could hit that!” Gracia laughed, though Tobio wasn’t sure what was funny. “That toss must have been for some kind of monster.”

Indeed, that toss was for a volleyball monster halfway across the world. He was probably practicing as well.

“ Vabbè, Don’t let it get to you, Tobio.” Giovanni Russo, an outside hitter and their captain, pulled Gracia from the scruff of his collar. His English was fluent and easily understandable for Tobio, who had difficulties wading through their accent. “Though it is rare to see you miss. Something happened?”

“It is nothing,” Tobio waved off with his limited English, “Won’t happen again.”

Practice went smoother after that. No more surprise unhittable quick sets due to resurfacing old habits. He was a pro athlete, damn it, not some 16-year-old kid in a new training camp, tasting his first experience on separation. It wasn’t a problem then, it shouldn’t be a problem now. 

Tobio finished practice a little early, evening for him and probably afternoon in Brazil. Calls between him and Hinata occurred only once a week after all, but he was itching to get his phone. He leaned his head on the lockers, sitting on the bench and trying to catch his breath. 

“Hey Tobio! Me and the boys are planning to get dinner together, you coming?” That was Luca Moretti, their starting libero. Tanned skin, bright smile. Garcia said he looked like some kind of model on the way to the runway, not that Tobio knew. The way he said Tobio’s name was lilting and thick with an accent, so different from the rigidness of Japanese. He wasn’t about to forget how his name was actually said, but Miwa was the only one who ever called his name properly nowadays since Kazuyo-san. She was the only one who did before Tobio left for Italy, period. His parents were barely around anyway, so they barely counted, not that Tobio had any problem with it.

There were things you got used to, and this was one of those things.

Tobio stared at his phone, lacking activity, and considered the offer. “Okay.”

Moretti blinked. “ Ma va’! Okay, wow. Sure. Okay. We’re going to that old pasta place downtown―you’ve been there before? It’s not far from here and if it is, I’m sure Giovanni can give you a ride, si? ”

Tobio nodded noncommittally. He wasn’t actually sure if he'd been there. He was bad with directions, and he feared he was going to get lost if he ventured into the city by himself with nothing but barely existent Italian and strung together English, even if it had been years since he came here. The latter had improved since high school, thank goodness, and maybe practicing with Romero in his old team was helpful. Communicating in volleyball matches wasn’t a problem at least. 

“ Bene . I’ll go and tell them.” Moretti clapped his hands and called the rest who were still stretching. There were surprised looks laced with disbelief. It was not like Tobio never went out with them so it didn’t make sense why they were making too big of a deal out of it. Back when he was still playing for Adlers, the rest of the team pretty much left him alone when they weren’t having practice. He did stick closer to Ushijima―him being the only familiar face in the team. Next, Hoshiumi joined them a year after Tobio joined. His company was mostly kept between them since then. Except Hoshiumi may sometimes bother captain Higurami, who was apparently the older brother of the Higurami he knew. Not that Tobio noticed till Hoshiumi pointed it out.

Beyond training, Tobio kept himself spare. It wasn’t that he disliked company, Karasuno proved otherwise, and it was not that he couldn’t get along with his teammates. It just wasn’t in the nature of Tobio to mingle with people all the time, it didn’t come naturally like how Hinata proved to be some kind of magnet for people, drawing them close and befriending them at a minute of interaction. He was simply like this. Maybe it was just a Kageyama thing, something his parents passed on to him and Miwa. Aloof, and maybe a little weird. Their family stuck to one thing they liked and stuck by it till the end. 

Kazuyo was a special case though, as he always was.

Anyway, the pasta was good, garlic bread and the wine as well. Tobio usually didn’t drink unless it was celebratory champagne after a victory, or during social parties. He had a diet to keep. Though red wine was said to be good for the heart occasionally, and so Tobio took little sips from the glass, enough to warm up his throat, his face, and his chest.

The rest of the team were busy talking to themselves, Italian peppered into the conversation, frankly too fast for Tobio to comprehend. He wasn’t sure what to do either, especially without anyone to goad him into eating contests or bother him with chatter a mile a minute. So he decided to focus on the garlic bread and the wine instead. His face was starting to warm up. His limbs felt loose, wow.

He hadn’t actually eaten in silence throughout high school, had he? With that in mind, Tobio drank another glass of wine. The taste was starting to get to him, tangy and a little sweet. 

“So Tobes,” Garcia turned to him, a bright grin on his face, “What do you think?” 

Tobio blinked slowly. It took him a minute to realize they were asking him a question.

“What?” The words felt heavy on his mouth. He took an even longer time thinking about what the English translation was.

“Who do you think is a bigger threat in the world championship finals? Brazil or Russia?” Martin De Luca was their middle blocker, who was past 200 cm in height. Tobio would love to see Hinata stand next to him just to see the latter squirm. 

“Russia has some tough blockers,” Garcia commented. “That one receiver they have—Morisuke Yaku, wasn’t it? It’s tough getting the ball through. He’s Japanese, isn’t he Tobes? You know him?” 

“ Mamma Mia, Miguel. Just because he’s Japanese doesn’t mean he knows them,” De Luca’s reprimanding chide followed Garcia. His face looked dour.

“No. Yaku—I know Yaku,” Tobio explained. “We trained in the same camps. National team too. He was in Nation’s League. Good libero.” Nekoma’s defense was formidable, and being the libero was an honor and proof of one’s abilities, one that Noya-san acknowledged. In last year’s Olympics, Yaku played rather well right next to Komori, saving balls after balls from hitting the floor.

“So who do you think is gonna win?” Garcia repeated.

“Brazil,” Tobio answered without hesitation.

“Oh?” That caught more attention from the table.

“I see.” Russo hummed. “So what do you think about our possible opponents, Tobio?” All their other teammates looked at him with expectant expressions, curious on what his takeaway was, probably interested in an elaboration of his answer. At least Tobio knew what to do at these moments, volleyball he could talk about easily. It came simply like breathing. Language was no barrier for it either. To Tobio, volleyball transcended all.

“First,” Tobio reviewed. “Russia’s blocks are high, their receives are strong, but their spiking power is umm—average.” Average was the right word for it, right? 

“ Mah, only Tobi would think of Russian spikes as average.” Ricardo Santini, a wing spiker, laughed from the other end of the table. Tobio thought of Ushijima’s strong southpaw spikes, Sakusa’s unique spins, and Atsumu’s serves, equally ridiculous. Indeed, Russia’s spikes were strong but they weren’t impossible. Not to mention, his receives had gotten so much stronger.

“Brazil’s Lucas Silva can rack up ten service aces on a good day,” Tobio enumerated. “Ronaldo Esteves is said to be Nicolas Romero’s successor having trained under the same team and coach. Brazil’s combination play is superior, adding to their individual strengths. Their setter too, Juan Pacheco, can do some incredible plays.” Hinata didn’t hesitate to tell him all about him when he started practicing. He couldn’t pull off 100% of his monster quick, but he sure could give insane quick sets to everyone in the team like crazy.

Of course there was more, Brazil didn’t earn their status as number one in the world for nothing, but it was these three who he needed to watch out for the most. Their defense was stable, their libero was good, Hinata as opposite hitter was good support too. He was digging crazy balls left and right after all. The international league was full of hard hitters. Tobio was never going to say it out loud to that dumbass, but that scrub had gotten really good.

“You know lots about Brazil, don’t you, Tobio?” Moretti nudged his chest. 

“I watch lots of their games,” Tobio explained. How else was he going to get Hinata to shut up? “Um… their opposite hitter, we need to watch him too.”

“Damn! I heard about him!” Garcia exclaimed. “My old college friend from back home used to show me clips of this crazy dude who does all these sick moves, right? He’s playing in beach now, and dude said ‘hey Miggy watch this son of a bitch here. He looks like a ninja’ and boy does this kid jump high! He’s less than 6ft! Appears outta nowhere to receive the ball. Dude! He’s Ninja Shouyou, isn’t he? I was surprised to see him compete indoors, but good for him!”

Tobio sipped more of his wine. He didn’t get half of it, save for ‘beach’, ‘ninja’, and ‘Shouyou’. The rest was speculation on Tobio’s behalf, but that dumbass’ moniker seemed to just follow him around everywhere didn’t it? He was so ecstatic to find out about it too. He didn’t need any more going into that head of his. 

“We will need to stop him,” Tobio declared. 

“Hey, he was in the Olympics too, was he not? And last June too.” De Luca looked at Tobio pointedly from the other side of the table. “Your quick was monstrous. It ripped apart blocks after blocks. Capista! That game against Argentina sure was something, wasn’t it?”

“Oh, Argentina?” Santini exclaimed. “Yeah, I was watching with my girlfriend. Nearly had a heart attack. The ball just would not fall!”

Indeed, Argentina was thrilling and stressful to play against. At the very least, Tobio wasn’t going to see Oikawa in the finals, or in EuroVolley. He was going to go against Ushijima, and while it wasn't entirely unpleasant, it was a strange idea playing against a former teammate. Orzeł Warszawa was an interesting team.

“We'll figure it out when it happens. No need to worry too much with EuroVolley still in the way.” Russo ended the discussion there, so that was that. 

The topic moved on to the next and Tobio was lost once again, mind swimming somewhere else. Without volleyball to talk about, he didn’t really have much to offer. What were his plans after the championship? He hadn’t decided on anything yet. What about you Tobes, got a girl you’re interested in? He was not interested. Planning to go back to Japan, maybe? Don’t you miss home? Tobio honestly did not know.

He drained the last dregs of his drink.

He was starting to feel his eyelids droop, his limbs more relaxed than they had ever been before. He thought of sake and after-party champagnes, some cheap beer from an izakaya with seniors and upperclassmen. Sugawara surely drank a lot that night, ended up sitting on top of Daichi and Azumane while passing out. Tobio didn’t drink too much, wasn’t really the type to. Alcohol made you reckless, and it was a hazard Tobio wasn’t keen on dealing with, not when it could come between him and volleyball. Alcohol wasn’t up to his taste anyway.

But there were two years of separation, two years of running and chasing, and there was homecoming, a match won, a promise fulfilled. There was Hinata Shouyou laughing under the Miyagi streetlights, a foreign and familiar thing. Tobio wasn’t sure why he was thinking about it now, Tobio didn’t usually think of Hinata outside of volleyball. It was probably the fact that he might be coming this autumn, or because of the wine, Tobio reasoned to himself.

“Hey Tobes, you good? You’re looking all red.” 

Tobio’s eyes opened blearily. The lights were a little muted, the world painted in such soft colors. Tobio liked the world looking like this. It felt a little bit amicable, like every orange tint was a friend and rich pools of honey amber were liquid happiness.

“Tobes? Tobi? Damn, aren’t you a lightweight?”

The words that left his mouth started as a garbled mess, but he managed to force out some reiteration of I’m fine , before the world faded into black.

 It might be a silly time to think about fish. And yet Tobio dreamt of fish that night, floating in the sky and swimming freely as if the air was water and gills and tails were used to traverse against gravity. They did as fish did, moving in schools, swiftly and gracefully as they cast a shadow over the sun.

It was a funny dream. There were fishes in the sky, and there were birds swimming in the water. Fishes don’t fly silly — all they can do is jump, but there were birds that swam underwater. Tobio was nine when he saw penguins from their school field trip to Sendai Umino-Mori Aquarium. He didn’t really put too much mind to it back then. It was just funny, a bird that dived into the ocean and a fish that jumped high out of the seas to the sky, both seemingly out of place, and yet natural and real.

In the dream, the fish that swam in the sky opened its mouth and swallowed the sun whole, devouring it all for himself, and then Tobio woke up.

He pried his eyes open by force, wondering what could have pulled him out of his coma, a little confused about what had happened before he fell asleep. First things first, he was in his own apartment. At least that meant he got home safely. Second, he was feeling like shit. Not even intense training could leave him this dead inside, not even a spartan five-set match in the finals. Tobio embraced that ache, this just made him feel like death. Lastly, Tobio noted that his stupid phone was vibrating on his table and his head was throbbing hard, the roof of his mouth dry and rough.

He had been careless last night. He drank too much and passed out. Tobio wasn’t even sure how he had gotten home.

Heat crept up his neck. No doubt he was already late for practice. 

If he hurried up, he could still make it on time.

But then the phone was still vibrating. 

Tobio rolled out of bed and grabbed his phone. It was just stupid Hinata. It wasn’t even time for their weekly calls, why was he calling now? He’d call him next time when he was no longer feeling shit. Tobio declined the call and threw the smartphone to the side of his bed. 

He needed breakfast and he needed to shower first.

The phone was just as insistent as the caller apparently, and just as annoying. It practically screamed at him to pick up. He could always turn it off though, but then Tobio was sure Hinata would see it fit to not pick up the next time Tobio called, and then it was going to spark competition, then it would end up having no contact from either side for months. It happened once, and Tobio was not keen on it happening again.

“What?” Tobio barked the moment the other side picked up.

“Wow, you sound like shit.” Hinata laughed. “Rough night?”

Tobio groaned. This was the second time Hinata woke him up with a call from overseas. “What do you want?”

“Grumpy.” Hinata huffed and Tobio was tempted to end the call right then and there. “I won’t be able to call you until later. The training schedule got changed with the South American volleyball championship coming close. EuroVolley starts the same date, yeah? September 1. And then there’s some interviews as well. Ads to shoot. You know them.”

He bit back a sigh.

“You called for that?” They should practice. Tobio’s own schedule was getting more hectic, the opponents across the net stronger. The European volleyball championship was also starting on his part. Tobio would accept nothing less from him too.

“Cold.” Hinata clicked his tongue. “It's just until after the games I think. Don’t miss me too much.”

“I won’t.”

“Again, cold. What are you, in the middle of practice? Isn’t it lunch break yet?” The other line went a bit shaky. He must be running again. Hinata’s breath was heavy, he was basically panting. Definitely running then. With a twelve-hour difference between Japan and Brazil, it transferred their call schedule from seven in the evening to seven in the morning for Hinata.

Tobio tipped his head back and stared at his ceiling. “I’m in bed.” 

The other line was silent for a minute. “That’s rare. Day off? You sick?”

“Hangover.” Tobio glanced at the clock by his bedside table. He really needed to get up now. He could still try for the afternoon sessions. “I think.”

“You think,” Hinata repeated, unimpressed. “Never been drunk before?” 

Somehow, he knew that the tone of the conversation was picking a fight with Tobio, or at the very least goading him into reacting. “Have you?”

“Yeah. Brazilians love to drink. Caipirinha tastes pretty great. The one from Heitor and Nice’s wedding was good, and Pedro always bought cheap beer when he’s having exams. And then Coach Lucio—the beach volleyball coach, remember? He said it’s better to know what kind of drunk you are beforehand so he offered me some during my breaks and I got drunk the first time, not that I plan to drink a lot from then on. But it’s cool.” He chuckled. “I may have started crying a bit. Pedro said I’m an affectionate drunk. I started clinging to everyone, but hey Rio is friendly and they laughed it off.”

Rio. Tobio had only been there once for the Olympics, and even though he had set foot in the country once, every story Hinata weaved from his two years there felt unreal. Two years, he stayed in a foreign land where he barely understood the language and barely had friends, learning his sport again from the start. It must have been hard. Tobio wondered how he managed, wondered what he thought of while he was there.

“That's… you were underage, weren’t you?”

After high school, they parted ways with the promise to meet again later. Why say goodbye? Their paths were always connected with volleyball, even back when they were fourteen and nothing more but strangers, opponents across the court. At nineteen, Hinata was in Brazil and Tobio played in the Olympics.

At nineteen, apparently, Hinata had gotten drunk for the first time and hugged everyone he could find. It shouldn’t be a surprise. There was something about that piece of information that niggled some memory in the back of Tobio’s mind, something he didn’t want to deal with now. Especially when he was trying to tame a hangover.

It really shouldn’t be a surprise.

“Brazilian drinking age is eighteen, Kageyama.” Hinata scoffed. “What made you get drunk anyway? That isn’t like you.” His voice was chiding, but part of it was also amused.

Tobio thought about last night’s dinner. Hinata’s question was something he couldn’t answer himself. As far as he remembered, he was drinking glass after glass until the taste had grown over him. While everyone around him talked, he was busy with his own food as he usually did when it was dinner time. Food becomes muscle, muscle becomes power.

“The wine was… interesting,” Tobio finally settled on for an answer.

Hinata burst into rambunctious laughter. Tobio pulled the phone away from his ear, mouth in a downward pout. Of course he would do this. He huffed. It wasn’t that pathetic. So what if he was pushing twenty-five and had only gotten drunk for the first time? It wasn’t in his interest to do something that could be a danger to his body. He was an athlete for goodness sake, he relied on personal maintenance and habits—drinking was not part of it. Maybe he should hang up, after all, see if Hinata found it funny.

“I’m leaving.” 

“Sorry, sorry. Don’t go.” Hinata wheezed. “And?”

“What do you mean ‘and’?”

Hinata hummed. “What kind of drunk are you?”

Tobio thought about what happened. The last thing he remembered was Garcia talking to him before everything else turned black. There was a loud thud, the last thing he heard, and perhaps some cut-off exclamations from his team. 

“I think… I passed out in the bistro.” He wasn’t sure but if head to guess, he might have fallen face-first on the remaining pasta sauce on his plate.

More laughter. 

Tobio finally ended the call and threw it on the heap of pillows across the room.

📆 Countdown: 

⭐ EuroVolley: 29 days

⭐ FIVB World Championship: 110 days

⭐ South American volleyball championship: 29 days

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There was running and then there was chasing. 

Tobio was familiar with both.

“Jesus Christ Tobi, you’re an animal.” Gracia panted next to him. “How are you so fast? We’ve been at this for three hours now.”

“This is my normal pace.” Tobio raised a brow. “Want to stop?

“Please.” Garcia’s hands were on his knees, one hand raised up, a general signal to wait. Tobio halted his pace, eyeing one of the free benches in the park. Without needing to say anything, Garcia trudged to the seat. Tobio followed.

“How brutal. You do this every day?” 

He’s got an average of a hundred kilometers in small separate portions per day. He’s been running since he was a kid, stamina was no problem and road work helped him keep his head clear. Day after day, without fail, Tobio had donned his blue jacket and black leggings, pursuing, in pursuit.

“Yeah.”

Tobio thought about Hinata who ran every day on the beach and how his balance no doubt got more ridiculous. Tobio hated it, but if it was about running longer, maybe Hinata could pass him easily now. He’ll just have to make it up with speed.

There’s a subtle difference between running and chasing. In running you are alone. In chasing, at the very least you have someone in front of you, no matter how far away. Tobio was familiar with chasing, but with it, he also became familiar with being left alone.

It was an interesting balance with running, with keeping up, with having someone keep up with you. When Tobio was young, he used to run with Miwa and Kazuyo-san. Miwa, being older and with longer legs, often ran past Tobio with a smug grin on her face. These were the times when her playful spirit came out, competitive in nature. Miwa was still competitive at thirty-something years old, it was just something that never left you. Tobio figured this too was a Kageyama thing.

Little Tobio Kageyama had been chasing his sister since he was four years old. Miwa had already been playing volleyball before Tobio was born, and he had been chasing her ever since. Miwa in front, Tobio in the middle, and Kazuyo-san always behind them with a smile.

“I’m quitting volleyball,” she said, fifteen and older than Tobio. It came as a surprise, though—in hindsight, it shouldn’t have. It was not as much as a ball straight to the face as it was a missed receive. His sister lived in a different world, something Tobio did not understand, like some secret he would never learn. She saw a different kind of Miyagi outside the window of their home, one with girls in pretty powders, dresses, lipstick rouge, little plastic combs, and hair clips. It was not bad. Never. Just because Tobio didn’t understand didn’t mean it was bad.

FIfteen, and in love, Miwa stopped running, and Tobio had gone past chasing her. Fifteen, and in love, but to what exactly? She had a boyfriend—not that Tobio knew anything in that area—but she didn’t devote herself to him. She did not worship him, not like Tobio worshipped volleyball anyway. This was not what she loved, this was not her master. In love and fifteen, and didn’t want to cut her hair, so she quit volleyball. So simple. You could always quit anytime, but Tobio didn’t want to.

So be it. Miwa no longer played, but at least Tobio still had Kazuyo-san. With chasing, you also become familiar with leaving behind.

“Maybe you should be in a marathon or something. You barely broke a sweat.” Garcia fanned his face, a towel hanging on his shoulders. It was odd for Tobio when Garcia was the one who wanted to join his road work, and the company wasn’t really a problem, just that his pace was making Tobio slower.

“No. I like volleyball more.” Tobio said with practiced ease. Like didn’t even begin to describe it. Volleyball was volleyball, more than a sport, something close to a feeling; a lifeline.

“Yeah. You never do anything in halves. It’s always all or nothing for you.” Gracia laughed. “You’re so intense about everything. That nail care routine of yours, the constant exercising, always on a proper diet, even the volleyball journal you write on every day—intense I tell you. That’s why I was surprised the other day when you passed out.” 

Tobio’s face turned pink.

“That was a mistake.”

“Yeah, I figured.” Garcia smiled. “You’re so disciplined, don’t you get tired of it?”

Past words rang back in Tobio’s ears. Personal maintenance is important to volleyball too, and y’know Tobio, if you get really good, you get to play more matches. The best players get to play lots of volleyball. Such old words, yet Tobio never forgot. Years ago, little Tobio held back his serves to play the game a little longer. He had never done that again ever since. He swore to himself to never do that again.

In a way it cost him. In a way, he gained so much more.

“It’s not so bad,” Tobio reasoned, because it wasn’t. Not really. 

“Yeah but,” Garcia gestured his hand. “Don’t you wanna do something else outside volleyball? Overdoing things isn’t the way to go.” 

It made Tobio frown, because he had heard of this so many times before, he didn’t expect to hear it here of all places. Why do you like volleyball? They asked and Tobio answered just as he usually did. It’s fun. He knew when he was overdoing things. Overdoing things would be playing without rest while having a fever, only to collapse on the last set. Overdoing it would be practicing serve after serve because some snotty fourteen-year-old kid had no friends and no outlet for grief. Overdoing might be practicing serves yet again because all traces of orange and honey amber had left Japan to train on the other side of the world and no one could keep with him and hit his tosses. 

Some of them tried to, but it just didn’t feel the same. 

Tobio shrugged. “Not really.”

“Oh, maybe you should get a girlfriend. That should get you to relax.” Garcia patted his back. Tobio immediately declined. Garcia laughed. “Boyfriend then?” 

This Tobio mulled over at least with a little hesitation before he declined again.

“No.” 

“But I see a little interest there.” Garcia immediately latched on. “Hey man, I ain’t no judge.” He’s really fine as a teammate. Except when he was being nosy, and Tobio didn’t know what to do about that. He was a year younger than Tobio, and yet— 

It’s fine , Tobio reassured himself. He had dealt with Tsukishima’s snark and cynicism for three years, and he could deal with someone like this. Sugawara taught him to maintain a good relationship with his team, coach Ukai taught him to see the conditions of his spiker. Karasuno as a whole taught him the importance of trust.

“I’m busy with volleyball now,” Tobio said at first, because knowing himself, denial was always first to greet everyone. Did you receive the ball with your face? His answer would be My nose isn’t bleeding. And when some orange ball of pure energy bounds to him and asked, Did you see my receive? Tobio would pout with furrowed brows, saying. No. I didn’t see anything. Tobio always denied before one could reach the truth, and the truth was something you needed to strangle out of him sometimes. It was instinctive by now, another one of his habits. “But maybe later.”

“And when you finish that and you  stop playing volleyball—will you have time for relationships, then?”

It’s a complicated feeling.

Garcia looked at him with this contemplative look. It was one of those expressions that Tobio couldn’t comprehend. He simply looked pensive, like he was assessing Tobio from head to toe. After a moment, he must have found what he was looking for, because he smiled. 

“Alright.” He stood up and cocked his hands against his hips. “Later then. For now, we go running.”

He didn’t have a lot of memories of Miwa when she had quit volleyball, nor was he any close to understanding her, but he did remember the different lovers—boyfriends. Miwa did not worship her lovers, and Tobio doubted if she really ever loved them. What did Tobio know about love anyway? Not when he was ten, and not when he was thirteen, or fifteen, or nineteen, or twenty-one, or twenty-five. 

She changed lover the way she changed her clothes. Tobio didn’t remember all their names, nor did he remember their faces. He did vaguely remember one of them with brown curly hair who played with Tobio once. He sucked, and Tobio couldn’t enjoy the passing drills properly with how much he missed every ball, but only he, among everyone else, tried to interact with Tobio.

Incidentally, that was also Miwa’s last in a long string of lovers.

They broke up, as most other boyfriends of hers did. There were no demands for explanation or outraged cries of questions. They just broke up, and the guy stopped coming to their house. By the end of the affair, Miwa packed up her things, dresses, powders, lipstick, hair clips and all, and decided to learn cosmetology in Tokyo. Until now Tobio didn’t understand what the change had been, didn’t understand the point of all those lovers. At twenty-five, Miwa married a man and had a daughter with him, trying her luck at romance again. At twenty-nine she was divorced. Tobio hadn’t been able to attend their wedding, which was a small ceremony in Tokyo, too busy training for nationals. Maybe romance just wasn’t in their department either. Another Kageyama thing.

When Tobio was twelve, he met a brilliant senior with national-level skills. He was in his third year when Tobio was still in his first. Oikawa Tooru, Kitagawa Daiichi’s starting setter. He was everything Tobio wanted to surpass, something he had wanted to chase. He had a terrible personality; he was arrogant, petty, and childish, but was servile to his teammates on court.

He was Tobio’s role model.

The only issue Tobio had with Oikawa (besides the terrible personality) was the girlfriends. 

Like Miwa, he had a long string of lovers too, he changed them the way he changed his moods—and he was very moody. Except, interestingly enough, he was the one getting dumped and not the other way around. Every other week or so, a girl would come and complain to him. Every now and then, Oikawa would pick up calls, only to be dumped by whoever was his latest beau. Tobio had no opinions about it save for the fact that all his efforts on finding and keeping a girlfriend could have been used practicing. 

One day, Tobio overheard Oikawa crying on someone’s shoulder, someone who was not Iwaizumi, relying on them. It was a woman that did not look like his girlfriend either, unless Oikawa was into older matured women now, something like pity and scorn dancing on her face as she tried to comfort the mess that was in her arms.

I had to love him of all people, Oikawa said mid sob, frustrated and angry at himself. I’m a fool. 

You weren’t a fool for loving him, you idiot, the woman said to him in admonishment, thick brown curls covering her face from Tobio’s perspective. You became a fool when you started dating women to forget you’re in love with your best friend, you dumb kid.

It took Oikawa a day of absence to recover. 

Oikawa, Miwa, both different and the same. 

From then on, Tobio decided that romance was not for him. It got in the way of volleyball and was too much of a nuisance to think about. So that was his promise, twelve years old, barely a first year in middle school. Tobio was familiar with promises, and he intended to keep most of them, but he was a little older when he realized he couldn’t keep every promise. Yes, I’ll eat green my green peppers; yes I’ll make sure to finish homework tonight; no I’m not overworking myself; no this is absolutely the last toss, we need to go home--

Tobio tried to keep most of the promises he made. 

Of course he really couldn’t keep all of them.

“Ah.” 

Tobio stared at the blank screen of his phone noticeably lacking in activity. When Hinata promised he wasn’t going to call, he definitely didn’t call. There were texts, but those were scarcer than usual too. 

It wasn’t like Hinata kept all of his promises either. One more toss and we’re going home; I’ll buy you milk tomorrow; I’m not tired; we won’t practice too late; I’m not injured, I’m not injured. I promise I can still play—

Hinata couldn’t keep all his promises. But between the two of them, Hinata was better at keeping them than him. It was what made you want to believe in him, always so earnest it made cynics like Tsukishima shudder. It defied all logic.

Tobio stared at his phone. It was so quiet without the constant conversation that filing his nails without the buzz of static layered chirps from his phone’s speaker was making Tobio antsy. Why—he wasn’t sure. He wasn’t in the habit of self-examining himself and his feelings when it wasn’t related to volleyball. He could hear the soft zhk zhk zhk of his nail file, the clip clip clip of his clippers. 

Every sound was ticking off something inside Tobio, and it was pissing him off. 

It was pissing him off mainly because he was pissed off and he didn’t want to be pissed off over something so trivial. It’s like he was fifteen again and couldn’t comprehend his feelings, couldn’t put them into words, like he was fourteen and he was grieving over how unfair the world was, skin itching over something he couldn’t reach and only when he was playing volleyball would it calm down. 

“ Oh! Tobio! What’s the matter? You look like you’re close to killing your nails, boy!” De Luca walked into the locker room with wide eyes.

Tobio stopped his actions and looked at De Luca. There was really no need to look that worried. Whatever was on his face was just his regular expression—-they should know that much.

“It is nothing.” Tobio gripped at his nail file and shoved it in its bag with a little too much force. “Don’t worry.”

“ Vabbè , if you say so Tobio.” De Luca carried on. “Want to join us for lunch? Moretti and I are going for pizza.”

Tobio thought he wasn’t really in the mood to mingle with anyone right now, not after the last incident. It was not like he hadn’t experienced whatever he was feeling right now before, and he was half tempted to screw lunch and practice serving again. He wanted to hit some balls—of course, if Russo caught him, there was going to be hell to pay, and besides, Tobio wasn’t careless.

“No. Please enjoy your meal.” Then, as an afterthought, he added, “Next time, maybe.”

De Luca pointed at him with a grin, “That’s a promise, si? I’m holding you on to that, Tobi.” 

“Yeah.” Tobio waved. Satisfied, De Luca walked out while the rest of the team were busy chatting amongst themselves, but Tobio drowned them all out as he packed his bag and left. 

Here was the thing about promises. 

You couldn’t really keep all of them. 

Tobio was familiar with promises, Kazuyo-san loved making lots of them after all, and he also taught Tobio the importance of keeping them. If you eat your green peppers, we will stay longer in the gym today; if you finish your homework faster, we will watch the match’s recording sooner; if you take good care of your health and body, you will be a better player; I promise I’ll take you to a live volleyball match if you do good, Tobio— 

If all promises were that simple, then nobody would have any problems keeping them, but then there were those that needed more effort, needed more thought, and more time. I’m fine, I promise I’m just a little tired. So don’t worry about me, Tobio; Of course I’ll be there to watch all your games; If you become really good, I promise you, someone even better would come and find you--

In hindsight, Kazuyo-san was probably set on fulfilling the second. In hindsight, the first one was probably a lie. And as for the third— 

Tobio took a deep breath.

Here’s the thing about promises. 

Promises meant trust. Promises meant there was half a chance of getting disappointed or hurt. There was always commitment involved in promises, and Tobio wasn’t sure if he had more of him to commit when all of him was already bound by volleyball. It made him wonder how Hinata did it, being able to give time for so many different things. It used to anger him, the way he wasted his time doing useless things, frivolous activities that could have been used for volleyball.

Now, Tobio wasn’t so sure.

He didn’t regret anything, of course not. Tobio was happiest playing volleyball, and he was playing against the best. But it made him wonder how Hinata managed to do all that and reach the same stage as him. It’s because I’m weak, Kageyama . He could imagine him saying that. That dumbass knew that, himself. Hinata accepted that early on. He was weak and because of that, people would help him—he explained this one night after late practice. When you were empty, all you could do is take, and all people could do is give. But then when Tobio thought about it, Hinata had so much to give too.

“We’re friends. Rivals. Partners,” Hinata said, all painted in such soft colors under the muted lights. It was probably the beer buzzing Tobio back into tipsiness, but it was making him feel fuzzy inside. Not drunk—just tipsy. Tobio hadn’t been drunk before. He wasn’t planning to now, but he sure was close to it. “It’s not like anything major has to change. I promise. It’s mostly the same but—” He gestured with his hands, because it wasn’t going to be Hinata Shouyou if he wasn’t animated. “More ‘gwah’ and ‘gyun’ in between.” 

If you asked anyone but Tobio, they’ll need clarification about whether Hinata was talking about volleyball tactics or something else entirely. But Tobio was not ‘anyone’.

“Nothing would change?”

“Not exactly nothing,” Hinata murmured, face a little pink—from the wine, from shyness—who knows? “But yeah, nothing much. There’s still volleyball after all.”

"Volleyball."

"Yep." 

“Okay.”

“Yeah?” He smiled just a little. “I’m holding you onto that, Kageyama-kun. It’s a promise.”

Here was the thing about promises:

Hinata was way better at keeping them than him.

📆 Countdown: 

⭐ EuroVolley: 10 days

⭐ FIVB World Championship: 91 days

⭐ South American volleyball championship: 10 days

☑️ Sora's Birthday: 0 days

Tobio did not consider himself a sentimental man.

The state of his apartment was one of the biggest proofs. 

When Tobio got back to his place after practice, his first business was to cook dinner. Lunch was always eaten outside, but Tobio made dinner by himself back in his apartment. It was easier like that, cheaper and healthier too. Their nutritionist was particular about their diet, but that was nothing new for Tobio. It was not so restrictive, at least not like the ones other athletes Tobio heard about had, chatter from the Olympics and whatnot. Tobio liked the meticulous meal plans he had.

His apartment was modest, but it had a good enough kitchen to make decent meals. He had been cooking dinner by himself since middle school after all. Much to Tsukishima and Hinata’s apparent surprise, Tobio wasn’t helpless living by himself. He did all the chores on his own, thank you. There was not a lot to keep anyway, and due to a deeply ingrained routine and a virtue for cleanliness, his apartment was just as reminiscent of his old childhood house, just as bare.

So no, Tobio figured he was not necessarily a sentimental man; and tamago kake gohan , despite being traditionally a breakfast meal, was his food choice for the night because he hadn’t gotten the time to go grocery shopping yet and he had just enough eggs and leftover soup from last night’s dinner for it. 

Tobio sat on the dining table, mid-chew as he took in his apartment in relative silence.

Really, living alone overseas wasn’t too foreign an experience for Tobio because it didn’t make too big of a difference from when he was living in Japan, whether it was in Tokyo or in Miyagi. He was still barely home, and the chores were all done by him anyway. Utensils, clothes, house slippers, mugs—all only good for one person despite the vacant room in his living space.

“Fuck—” 

His phone vibrated on the tabletop, startling Tobio out of his reverie. 

A call was coming through. Tobio snatched the sleek gadget off the table and accepted the call, brows furrowed together. “Dumbass, why are you calling? I thought you had a match to prepare for?”

"Tobio, is that how you should talk to your sister?" 

Tobio's eyes widened into saucers. It wasn't some annoying high-pitched voice that answered as he expected. Instead, it was cool, calm, and pointedly not male.

"Miwa-neesan." 

There was a chuckle from the other side, no doubt she was making fun of him as she always did when she had the chance. It wasn’t necessarily mean-spirited, but it annoyed Tobio sometimes. 

“Were you expecting someone else?” She was definitely making fun of him. Wasn’t it early morning for Japan at this hour? That’s an eight-hour difference between them. 

“Something like that.” 

“Is it Shouyou-kun?” 

Heat crept up Tobio’s face. The silence should be damning enough for him. Was he really that obvious? Or did Miwa suddenly gain some kind of inquisitive sense on reading Tobio like a book? Miwa was more perceptive than Tobio as the older sister, but she never voiced anything out loud before.

Tobio cleared his throat. “Why are you calling?”

“Did you forget? It’s Sora’s birthday.” He did forget and there was admonishment found in her tone that made Tobio wince. 

Ah shit. 

“I was… busy.” It sounded more pathetic out loud; a flimsy excuse.

“Mhm. Yeah, I thought so,” Miwa said. “Your schedule is pretty tight.”

“Sorry.” 

“Don’t worry about it. The European Volleyball Championship is close right? And the World Championship is this year, isn’t it?” Miwa hummed. “You might be facing Brazil.” That she felt the need to emphasize it was embarrassing enough. 

Tobio decided not to comment on that. 

“I’ll… I’ll be sure to send her a gift.” 

“Sure do that. And if you can, send some things for me too. I’ll text you what I need. Anyway, turn on your video. Sora wants to see you and she set an alarm and everything just to catch you on your break.” Ah, that explained the lateness of the call. There was a shuffle on the other side, but Tobio complied. His phone screen reflected his image and after a few seconds, another face popped out as well.

“Uncle Tobio!” A girl between ages seven to eight with a bright smile appeared on the screen, comfortably wrapped in her blanket as she spoke with visible giddiness that could be felt all the way to Italy from their apartment in Shinjuku. There were noticeable gaps between her teeth from where the baby teeth fell out. She was a split image of Miwa with her bowl cut, but looked like Tobio when he was a kid as well. It was a little disconcerting. “Hi!”

“Happy birthday Sora.” Tobio did a small wave, not really sure how to act around children.

“I missed you! How’s Italy? Are you winning? Are there pretty girls there? Are you coming home soon? I want to learn volleyball from you again!” She talked a mile a minute, the one hand that wasn’t holding the phone was animated with gestures to accentuate her words. Despite Sora looking exactly like a Kageyama, her personality was nothing like them. 

It made Tobio smile a little.

“Your mother can teach you while I’m not there. She played volleyball too.” 

Sora pouted. “But she’s not a pro! And she also tells me to ask your uncle Tobio instead, he’s better at it than me. And then you’re also busy!”

There was snickering in the background. Miwa was having a kick out of seeing him getting told off by a kid, wasn’t she? 

“Sorry. I’ll make it up to you,” Tobio tried to appease her.

“Promise?” Her wide steel-blue eyes stared at him through the grainy screen. There he was and promises again.

“Yeah.” 

“Good! Because otherwise, I’d just ask uncle Shouyou instead!” Sora declared. Miwa was yet again snickering in the back. 

Tobio’s mouth turned downwards. “Shouyou.” The syllables were clumsy in his mouth. It made him flush a little.

“Yeah! He said to call him Shouyou ‘cause Natsu-ne plays with me when she has free time and it can get confusing. It’s a good thing her university is near our apartment!” Sora said. Indeed, Tobio vaguely remembered Hinata’s sister already in a university in Tokyo, something neither he nor her brother thought of doing. She was in Waseda, if Tobio was right.

“And anyway! Uncle Shouyou sent me a gift!” Tobio held back a wince at the fact he had forgotten to get her a gift, and yet somehow Hinata remembered. How embarrassing of him. Sora continued as she was midway relegating what she had done during the day. ”Oh yeah, by the way, thanks for your gift too. I liked it a lot!” 

“My… gift.” Tobio blinked.

“Yeah! Uncle Shouyou called earlier and told me all about it.”

If he wasn’t so stunned about the fact that he apparently sent a gift he didn’t remember, he would have been a little offended at the fact that Hinata called his niece, but not him.  

And for the third time, Miwa laughed in the background. So she knew something behind this.

Sora went off somewhere and the screen shook as she brought the phone with her, presumably towards her gift that Tobio apparently sent. “See! I love it!” Tobio was a hundred percent sure he didn’t send his niece videogames of any sort, but she claimed he did, and Tobio wasn’t going to refute that. “And here! This is what uncle Shouyou sent me!” 

Now she was holding a signed Nintendo switch by none other than the Kodzuken , so Tobio had a faint idea of what was happening. That dumbass, really. He could have said something beforehand.

“I’m happy you like it. Make sure to thank your uncle Hinata. Anyway, can you give the phone back to your mother? It’s late. You should be sleeping.” 

Sora looked a little disappointed, but after promising to call again sometime, she relented and returned the phone to Miwa. She was trying to hold back a smile when Tobio saw her again.

“If you wanted me to send you things, you could’ve said that.” Tobio sighed.

“Where’s the fun in that? Seeing you squirm from guilt is more entertaining.” Miwa snickered. “You’re still buying Sora a gift though, you airhead.”

“Yes.” Tobio was going to do that even without her telling.

“Thank Shouyou-kun for saving your ass.” 

“I will.” Tobio huffed, that is if he could contact that dumbass. “Listen, I’m still eating dinner.” Nevermind how it had long gone cold. He should heat it up again.

"Yeah yeah. We need to sleep anyway." Miwa stretched. "I'll call you again sometime."

"Yeah." 

And with that, the call disconnected. Tobio sighed, got up, and reheated his soup at least. He had barely made a dent on his meal.

Dumbass Hinata

You didn't say anything about giving Sora a gift dumbass.

You could have warned me.

✓read: 8:16 PM

Tobio didn't bother waiting for a response. It was probably afternoon in Sao Paulo, and he should still be training. Tobio did indulge himself in scrolling through his Twitter instead, one of the rare occasions that he bothered to. His team's PR handled his official verified Twitter used for sponsorship promotions and the like, and he barely ever used it—or any social media really. It was a stark contrast to Hinata who liked to broadcast whatever it was he was doing to the world. For more exposure he said; something that Kozume and Kuroo apparently told him to do.

And it was paying off. Hinata was getting sponsorships on top of sponsorships, and even more interviews lately  He had somehow managed to get more people getting interested in volleyball through him—or at least interested in Hinata, if not the volleyball. 

Either way, Tobio's Twitter only followed his previous teammates and his sponsors' official Twitter accounts. So, with Hinata being an avid user of Twitter, most of his tweets are in Tobio's timeline.

"Dumbass." Tobio rolled his eyes. 

Most of it were pictures of the beach and whatever new food he was trying now. Occasionally selfies with his team. Sometimes they were random streams of thoughts and Atsumu was apparently one of the biggest interactors. He eyed the tweet he sent Hinata with the laughing emojis. 

Shouyou Hinata ✓ @ninja_shouyou. Jan 23

The world needs to see how much of a loser Kageyama really is 😂😂😂

[Image 🖼️] [image 🖼️] 

🗨️106 replies 🔄 2.5k retweets ❤️ 10k likes

           Atsumu Miya @setterMiya. Jan 23

           He needs to learn how to smile 

           🗨️4 replies 🔄 127 retweets ❤️ 1k likes

           Torou Oikawa 🇦🇷✓ @toto_0ikawa. Jan 24

           LMFAOO what a loser

           🗨️100 replies 🔄 4.5k retweets ❤️ 2k likes

                      Shouyou Hinata ✓ @ninja_shouyou. Jan 25

                      Someone help him 😭

                      🗨️6 replies 🔄 30 retweets ❤️ 39 likes

True enough, it was a thread of Tobio's face in low quality where he looked dazed and out of focus. Tobio frowned. The caption was in English. 

Even Tsukishima, Yamaguchi, and Yachi commented, albeit in Japanese.

Shouyou Hinata ✓ @ninja_shouyou. Jan 23

The world needs to see how much of a loser Kageyama really is 😂😂😂

[Image 🖼️] [image 🖼️] 

🗨️30 replies 🔄 2.5k retweets ❤️ 10k likes

         Tsukishima @k_tsukki1996. Jan 24

         For a king, he's terrible at getting pictures taken

         🗨️1 reply 🔄 26 retweets ❤️ 197 likes

                Yama @tadashi1201. Jan 24

                most of our pics of him have his eyes half open. How does that happen all the time? lol

                🗨️ 2 replies 🔄 retweet ❤️ 12 likes

                       Yachi 🔒@hitoka5352. Jan 26

                       By this picture alone, I think he's gonna kill me haha

                       🗨️ 1 reply 🔄 retweet ❤️ 3 likes

                               Shouyou Hinata ✓ @ninja_shouyou. Jan 26

                               Haha!

                               🗨️ 1 reply 🔄 20 retweets ❤️ 99 likes

                                       Tsukishima @k_tsukki1996. Jan 27

                                       You're not one to talk, shrimpy

                                       [Image🖼️]

                                       🗨️13 replies 🔄 2k retweets ❤️ 4k  likes

There was noise. Tobio snapped back to his stove which had his soup boiling by now, forgotten in favor of scrolling through his phone. He shut the fire off before pouring it back to the bowl.

Guess all of his friends were having a kick of making fun of him, Tobio huffed. But then again, when was that new? Especially Tsukishima, who would never let a chance to ridicule him pass.

Ignoring that, he continued to scroll down. There were more pictures, pictures of training, pictures posted from way back when he was still playing in Japan, even way back when he was still playing beach. Compared to Tobio, Hinata was definitely more sentimental. Tobio would never bother taking pictures of anything, keeping anything for himself as reminders.

Usually, anyway. Tobio saw a picture of Hinata on his way to his plane, smiling and waving at the camera. Tobio wasn't present to send him off, too busy training for the Olympics. Case in point, Tobio not sending off his first friend of three years proved how little sentimentality he had. But Hinata didn't mind, in fact, Tobio thought he would kill him if he missed training just to send him off.

Though maybe if training didn't coincide with the schedule, maybe Tobio would be there to send him off.

Maybe.

After that, Tobio never saw Hinata again for the next two years. He didn't plan to meet up with him after the Olympics in Rio, and Tobio didn't greet him in the airport when he came back. 

Tobio didn't consider himself sentimental. He couldn't even remember his niece's birthday, and he couldn't even be assed to send his friend off.

But if he saved that picture of Hinata, no one would know.

“Seems a bit drastic to come to Tokyo for a haircut.” 

“I’m actually visiting Kenma later, and you just happened to be in Tokyo,” Hinata explained with a smile, his newly cut locks were fluffy and lightweight, no longer bouncing in curls. As far as Tobio was concerned, they defied gravity just like how its owner defied all natures of physics. “So really, you’re more of a layover.” 

“And so you decided to bother me with your chores instead.” Tobio rolled his eyes. 

“Hey, you said you know a good place. What I didn’t expect was to meet your sister. Seriously, you have a sister? You really don't bother saying the important stuff, do you? This is like that V-League thing all over again.” Hinata pouted. He acted like some kind of betrayed child every single time. “And I’m bringing you someplace fun, too. For free! So don’t complain.

Tobio didn't bother refuting about how Hinata never told him about his decision to go to Rio, how somehow he had to be one of the last people to know about it. Even Tsukishima heard about it before him! There was no point arguing about it now, so Tobio looked around instead. Everything else was blue and luminescent.

“Fine. But why here?”

There was an eerie sound threatening to swallow him whole, a thrumming that felt like the whole place was alive.

“Kenma and I were supposed to go together but he was held up due to some meeting or another. He’s starting a company, you know?” Hinata shrugged. “So we decided to meet for dinner instead but Kenma already bought the tickets. Good thing too because now I have time for you, and since you won’t be there to see me off to Rio, think of this as your personal send-off. Not that you’re sentimental like that.” He rolled his eyes.

Everything was blue and dark and luminous. Everything was behind glass, refracting light to bounce into different directions, painting their faces with its colors.

“Oi, Hinata I want to tell you something--”

"What?"

Tobio frowned. He tried to say the words again.

“What?”

The thrumming grew louder, overpowering what Tobio was going to say. His mouth kept moving but no words were coming out .

Hinata couldn’t hear the rest. So Tobio repeated it again, this time louder.

“What?”

It was no use. Hinata couldn't hear him, and Tobio was wordlessly mouthing off sentences that Hinata couldn't grasp, the thrumming growing louder than ever, rumbling in echoes and straight to Tobio’s ears.

There were penguins flying around in thin air. It was normal for birds to fly—but not penguins. Fish don't fly silly , they belong in the sea, the same way birds belong in the sky. Not penguins though. Penguins evolved to swim underwater instead. It didn’t really make sense. Why were there penguins on air?

Tobio groaned.

How annoying. 

He was usually too exhausted to have dreams these days, especially memories repurposed into dreams. He hadn't thought about that incident since years ago, he wasn't sure why he was thinking about it again. 

Tobio blinked the sleep out of his eyes to find the source of the thrumming. It was too early to wake up, it was barely past midnight and Tobio didn’t like being disturbed from sleep. He shouldn’t be surprised to find his phone beeping a notification.

Dumbass Hinata

You didn't say anything about giving Sora a gift dumbass

You could have warned me

✓read: 1:25 PM

You were going to forget it

I know you

You can be an airhead most of time

You're welcome by the way

You should thank me

✓read: 1:29 AM

Tobio shouldn’t take the bait, and the logical thing to do was go back to sleep. But he was already awake and he could see the dumbass still online. Tobio typed out a response, the glare of his screen's LED lights making him squint. After hitting send, the reply was immediate.

Dumbass Hinata

idiot

✓read: 1:29 AM

!!!!!!!!!

KAGEYAMA!!!

YOU’RE AWAKE!

How am I the idiot???

YOU forgot about it not me

✓read: 1:30 AM

You didn't need to do any of that

✓read: 1:32 AM

And let the kid down?

I'm not a monster Bakageyama

If you want to just buy a better present next time

✓read: 1:33 AM

Tobio sent gifts before. He had never made too big of a deal out of it before though. Tobio didn't exactly grow up with people to give gifts for, and if he did have to give any, they always ended up being volleyball-related things.

It was not that Tobio didn't care about other people, it just was that he had his head in a different direction. When people said his priorities were somewhere else, they weren't exactly wrong. 

Dumbass Hinata

I forgot you suck at choosing thm

You probably don't even know what to give a little girl

If I leave it to you you'll give Sora-chan heat packs 

Or a month's supply of milk boxes

✓read: 1:36 AM

Tobio gritted his teeth. He was obviously goading him into making this a competition as well. He had used his connections with Kozume for a gift, and an autographed Switch from the YouTube personality was absolutely difficult to one up. This meant he needed to step up his game for his gift for Sora to even it out, and he needed to find Natsu a better gift than him during her birthday to win, and then send something for his mom too before he could send something for Miwa so Tobio could obliterate that dumbass out of the competition. 

But really, what irritated Tobio more was the fact that Hinata wasn't wrong at all. 

Dumbass Hinata

Or a month's supply of milk boxes

✓read: 1:36 AM

I don't suck at gifts

✓read: 1:37 AM

Lol you gave me a phone case

When I left for Rio

It had a milk box design

Who does that? Lmao

I think you just want me to remember you while I'm away 

Milk sucker lol

but then I remember you don't do that

✓read: 1:37 AM

Tobio's lips downturned, brows knitted together. He wasn't sure what Hinata meant.

Do what?

✓read: 1:38 AM

Mushy feelings

✓seen: 1:40 AM

Tobio's stomach lurched uncomfortably at those two words. He didn't know what to reply to that either, so he watched as the three dots appeared and disappeared on the screen while Hinata was typing.

Dumbass Hinata

Usually anyway

It's fine

It's more creepy if you were suddenly all sweet and gushy out of nowhere

I'd literally scream

Your smile is already creepy

The Kageyama Tobio branding is to frown and be grumpy all the time

✓read: 1:42 AM

I'm going to kill you dumbass

✓read: 1:42 AM

That's the spirit!!! 

(*˘︶˘*).｡*♡

✓read: 1:42 AM

Tobio rolled his eyes. Arguing with Hinata usually led nowhere, especially when it was behind a screen. Tobio's retorts had less venom, less impact; and yet somehow Hinata still managed to be just as annoying, like his energy was somehow transmissible through digital characters.

Dumbass Hinata

Anyway

It should be 2 am there

Go to sleep

I'm going to fight you if you get sick

✓read: 1:45 AM

I was asleep

Your texts woke me up

Dumbass

✓read: 1:46 AM

(人*´∀｀)｡*ﾟ+

✓read: 1:46 AM

He stared at his screen even as it turned black, effectively putting out the only light in the room. Tobio rolled to his back, staring at the ceiling, an annoyed huff at the tip of his lips. 

It was not that Tobio didn't care about other people, it was just that he had a different way of showing that he cared. The whole friendship schtick was new to him, even though it had been nearly ten years since high school. Tobio had different priorities. While his teammates sent his first friend off to Rio, Tobio was in a training camp. When most kids wanted to play video games, he was in the court practicing serves; and when his teammates didn't care about a match against a small orange-haired kid in a newbie school without prior experience, Tobio yelled at them to jump higher.

Most fish wanted to swim. Tobio wanted to fly in the air.

Maybe in hindsight, it was why nobody really wanted to be his friend since he was a kid. He was self-centered, some had even gone as far as to say he was an arrogant, tyrannical king. His priorities were elsewhere, and he pushed people past their limits. He was harsh, rough, abrasive—both inside the court and out of it. He was difficult to like, difficult to love. 

Kageyama Tobio was selfish. 

And because of that everyone abandoned him.

Tobio wasn’t a stranger to loss. He wasn’t a stranger to being left alone, his parents were the first after all, too busy to look after their children. Tobio didn’t hold it against them, and it didn’t stem from any form of self-loathing either. His parents were busy because their priorities were elsewhere and children were probably some kind of milestone their ever dutiful selves were supposed to fulfill. There were no questions about it as it was what was expected of them; like how Tobio was expected to join interviews and sponsorship meetings despite being a volleyball player. 

In hindsight, maybe Tobio’s detachment and misplaced priorities might have been attributed to his parents. In hindsight, maybe as Hinata put it, mushy feelings weren’t in his area because of it. Regardless, being left alone was a constant in the Kageyama household, and kids growing up there had no one but each other and their grandfather to rely on. 

Tobio was familiar with being left alone. His classmates in elementary didn’t like to play with him too much, and it didn’t really get any better. Miwa, after her decision that volleyball wasn’t really for her, packed her dresses, powders, lipstick, and hair clips to Tokyo, leaving Tobio on his own with Kazuyo-san. And Kazuyo-san—

Tobio rolled to the side of his bed.

Well. Even he couldn’t stay forever if he tried. 

And then there was junior high. That was a disaster. 

An egocentric king. 

Thirteen and venerated with a title he hadn’t asked for. The cape was too loose on his shoulders, it slipped; the crown was heavy against his brow. Built a throne for the king of the court; crafted a crown for a tyrant. Look at the brat who didn't know how to give and did nothing but take. 

The court split into a rift. A toss fell without a spiker. No one was there. It was utter rejection.

He couldn’t say he blamed them. Tobio was selfish, and maybe it was because he was empty growing up that he yearned for more, maybe it was because there was always some form of hunger gnawing inside him, a certain hollowness that feeds his greed. Decent wasn’t enough for him, average didn’t satiate him. The way Tobio loved was a gaping hole that threatened to swallow you whole, egocentric and miserly. Tobio loved in the way he loved volleyball, too much and never enough, somehow obsessive if not entirely impulsively desperate, pathetic.

And maybe, fifteen and freshly abandoned, Tobio thought perhaps this was what those long strings of lovers were, ever-changing like his sister changed clothes; or what crying in the locker room in the arms of some woman as if you had just lost your ticket to nationals in your last match in high school, angry at yourself for being in love. 

Maybe there was a hollowness in them too, a hunger, yearning, some cavity inside your body that begged to be filled. 

Kageyama Tobio had been selfish—still was. 

But Karasuno didn't mind.

They didn't mind his odd priorities, didn't mind what he deemed important and not. They didn't mind being threatened by his trust and his obsessive, desperate love for volleyball that would've overwhelmed anyone else, whether he was abrasive or harsh.

Karasuno didn't mind that he was greedy.

No one could tell what is and isn't important to you better than you do, uttered in their old backyard so long ago when Miwa quit, coming back to remind him over and over again, especially when he was on the cusp of doubting himself. Miwa stopped volleyball over something most people would think was shallow. Shallow was a subjective concept, in ways Miwa thought volleyball was compared to hair, in ways Tobio thought playing video games with friends and visiting shrines with them for good luck were compared to practice.

The words you say may slide off children, they usually did honestly, but some of them stick forever; and you never really know which ones they’ll keep to heart and which ones they decide to ignore. Kids had a different concept of what was important, but just because it came from a kid doesn't mean it's not worth anything, doesn't immediately flag them as pointless.

Tobio's concept of importance was just as different as he was. He's trying of course, but--

He huffed, rolling to his back and closing his eyes shut. 

He needed to sleep.

Training started early tomorrow. Tobio had other things to think about, and thoughts that reached no conclusions had no place in his head.

It occurred to him, just as he was on the edge of falling back into slumber, that this was the longest conversation Tobio had with Hinata in a month.

📆 Countdown : 

⭐ EuroVolley: 3 days

⭐ FIVB World Championship: 84 days

⭐ South American volleyball championship: 3 days

Team infighting wasn’t uncommon. 

Tobio should know that more than anyone.

“Get your sloppy receives in shape.” Santini slammed his hand fist on the locker door, after a rather intense practice. It was a bit too close to a match to have an argument, but the tension of an upcoming match must have affected some of his teammates’ moods. 

Fighting wasn’t bad, not all the time anyway. Sometimes, fighting could be good, but as Tobio grew up from being a first-year and became an upperclassman himself, he had lost patience for fights. Not that he grew out of it permanently--he still taunted Hinata when the occasion called for it, and he still rose against Tsukishima’s provocations, because it was Tsukishima and that cynical bastard was a pain in the ass.

“Shut up. Just because your girlfriend broke up with you, doesn’t mean you get to be a prissy little bitch,” Moretti snarled. “Your spikes are just as shitty.”

“Say that again to my face, pretty boy, ” Santini spat, throwing his towel on the floor.

At this point, Tobio tuned them out. Some of the first years before Tobio graduated from Karasuno were rather… passionate, and were often into scuffles with each other. Precocious brats often gave Yamaguchi and Tobio troubles. He wondered if this was what the senpais had to deal with when they were younger. Yamaguchi never failed to rub it in.

Infighting wasn’t bad; a loud outburst from both parties usually got the issue resolved quickly. They had to rip it off like a bandaid. He just lost patience for it, and he certainly did not expect to witness it when he was in professional clubs. The difference with high school and professional teams though, was that Tobio was sure they were mature enough to handle themselves. Moretti and Santini were often at each other’s throats, and at the same time, the bestest of friends: rivals. They shared a complicated relationship, one that Tobio knew not to intervene. It wasn’t the first time it happened after all. They just needed to cool their heads

Tobio only wished they didn’t choose to do it so close to EuroVolley. 

“Hey, guys—calm down. Getting physical isn’t the answer,” Garcia tried to intervene, the poor newbie. 

“Don’t bother them.” De Luca laughed. “They’re going through their routine lover’s spat.”

“When they are done,” Tobio sighed, “Tell them I’m in the court for extra practice.” One of them bounded to ask for training time with him after arguments like these. Tobio wasn’t sure how it started, but Tobio was grateful for any extra practice time. 

“Don’t stay too long, si?” Russo waved his hand.

“Yes sir.”

Tobio had his own fair share of fights, and he really wasn’t one to talk. His ugly temper was difficult to rear, his communication skills were abysmal, and often he said the wrong things at the wrong time. He’s been butting heads with teammates since he was in junior high, in fact, it was one of the greatest hurdles he needed to overcome for the longest time. 

Junior high was a tipping point, and as Tobio practices serves and tosses all alone in this gym, the thoughts of isolation still scared him, thoughts of his tosses rejected haunted him. Communication was a two-way street, and Tobio was better at it now—not the best, but better. 

“ Merda! Poroco puttana, quel fottuto stronzo!”

The door blasted open with the sound of Italian curses following. Tobio was going to have a good repertoire of curses the next time he went back to Japan, and he thought he was already vulgar growing up. 

Santini’s darkened glower made Tobio raise a brow. 

“Hit me some, Tobi.” 

He was practicing tosses tonight then. He wondered where Santini was blowing off steam.

Tobio wasn’t good with words, but he could help through volleyball. This was camaraderie, team building. It helped to be there when someone was going through something, if only to vent out frustration into something productive.

The spikes were erratic. The lines in Santini’s body tense and coiled, as if it was going to spring into lashing out anytime, a ticking bomb ready to explode. Distantly, Tobio wondered if he was once like that too--still like that too. There were only so many spikes you could do to ease out anger.

“We should rest.” Tobio stared at the fuming man who had his hands on his knees, bowed out while he rasped out pants. 

“No.” Santinti’s accent thickened with every harsh breath. “One more.” 

“Injure yourself, and we will have no chance of winning EuroVolley.” 

Santini glared at him, but Tobio knew he was in the right this time. Figuring out the conditions of his hitters was an important job as a setter, knowing when to push and when to pull was a skill. Setters brought the best out of their teammates, Tobio knew that now.

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

Santini sighed, the coil in his tense posture was unraveling. He laid on the gym floor, back flat, and face up the ceiling. “Lucas is planning to go play in a foreign club,” he finally revealed. “He’s already signed a contract. He’s leaving next season.”

“Ah.” That was news. 

“The bastard didn’t tell me,” Santini gritted out. “He should have told me. I had to learn it from Coach of all people.” He was more petulant in saying it, less angry, and more frustrated. It was all curious to Tobio.

“You’re angry because he didn’t tell you?” 

“Yeah?” Santini turned to him, a questioning look on his face. Tobio wondered if the answer to this was obvious. 

“Why? Would it change anything if he told you?” 

Santini laughed in near hysterics. Tobio wondered if he said something wrong. “Of course! It’s—you know, life-changing! He’s Lucas. My best friend! I won’t be seeing that bastard anymore. I won’t get to play with him. He’s in a whole different country! Fucking France of all places.”

Life-changing . Tobio had heard of that before. This whole conversation was familiar.

"What's the French got that we don't have? Fuck the French," Santini continued his tirade. "He doesn't even speak French. He’s going to get lost in there." 

Tobio didn’t really speak Italian either, but he didn’t point that out just yet.

"But then you can still play against him," he pointed out instead. “EuroVolley, worlds. Then you can play together during the Olympics and the nation’s league.” There were lots of ways for them to meet. It was not the end, so long as there was volleyball.

Santini scoffed, still agitated. “Oh come on Tobi, I don’t think you ever had a friend who went overseas,” Santini said, rolling his eyes. Tobio blinked at him. He didn’t seem to understand what Tobio was trying to show him. Santini stared for a few more seconds before realizing. “Oh. You’re the friend who went overseas.”

“Mhm.” Tobio sat on the floor, cross-legged. “I have a friend overseas too. A couple of them, actually. We’ll meet some of them soon.” Ushijima from Poland. Yaku from Russia. Tobio didn’t know where he stood with Yaku, but he thought they were acquainted enough to be called friends. Ushijima was his teammate, and so, in some way, they were friends—even if it was nearly unbelievable. Then there was Hinata.

Hinata, his… partner.

Tobio wasn't going to see him till after EuroVolley though. 

"You must look forward to seeing them," Santini mused.

“Yes.” Tobio was counting down the days, slowly, but surely. It made training meaningful, every burn in Tobio’s calves, in his back, and in his forearms, the ache in his fingers—they were all to meet him again. He had been waiting, patiently, carefully. 

Tobio was waiting for so long.

They fell into companionable silence, simmering in the air while they contemplated their thoughts separately; Tobio decided to stretch his muscles to cool down.

“Was it difficult? Leaving?”

Tobio looked up from a seated straddle that had his chest nearly touching the floor. Santini’s brows were furrowed, but it lacked the heat of his previous anger. 

“Not really.” The decision to leave wasn’t difficult. Adjusting to the new place was a different story, however. Tobio knew going overseas was important to improving. The top of Japan, the world stage. Tobio had been ready for it since he was a kid who knew from the start volleyball was what he wanted to do for the rest of his life. 

So Tobio had no right to say anything to people leaving. He knew he would have done the same— had done the same .

Santini laughed, a bittersweet sound. “Suppose it’s different being the one left behind.”

Tobio broke out of his seated straddle and picked his body off the floor, straightening his posture to look at Santini.

“No, I—I tried that too.” The words struck. That was the cost of improvement; separation was inevitable for Tobio. Separation was something he had been long acquainted with since he was young. Maybe that was what made the decision to move easy for Tobio. Being left behind was nothing. It just meant he needed to catch up, having no one to catch up—that was different. The latter was scarier in Tobio’s opinion.

Santini looked intrigued at his response, the question at the tip of his lips. 

“What do you mean?” 

There was the question. Tobio’s face was impassive, but his palms had sweated a little, and heat curled at the back of his neck, tickling his nape with tiny goosebumps. 

“A… a teammate left for two years to train.” Tobio hummed. “He didn’t say anything either. I found out by myself. He was planning it for a year.” Bright orange tint marching off to miles away as they parted ways, rich pools of honey amber looking back one last time before finally moving forward. The announcement wasn’t a stab in the back as much as it was a splash of cold water in the face; not a betrayal, just pure surprise. There were raised voices, and then there was silence. Tobio found out that the silence was harder to deal with than the explosive frustration. 

“What happened? You fought?”

Tobio tipped his head to the ceiling, and thought, recalled . The memory was golden, or perhaps Tobio simply spun that moment to look too dream-like; the price of forgetfulness and Tobio’s idealization.

“We’re not fighting right now,” Tobio said then. There weren’t bruised faces or screaming this time, no raised voices or short tempers. It wasn’t necessarily a fight, but that didn’t mean they were okay either. 

“No.” Hinata nodded to himself. “We’re not.” 

Tobio had too many arguments with Hinata to count, several of them physical, and Tobio had been in a lot of misunderstandings, but he only had serious scuffles with Hinata five times—two of them physical, four of them with raised voices.

That was always the odd one. 

“No,” Tobio confirmed. “Just tense. We didn't talk.”

"Bet." Santini chuckled. "Dick move not saying anything, you know?" 

Tobio nodded. 

"And he's my friend since forever," Santini continued. "He should've said something! That's what friends do! It's big! Life-changing! Didn't he trust me?"

Trust.

The nature of trust was different for each person. Tobio’s trust was absolutely different. 

Tobio’s trust did not come easy; it was not easy to handle. Trust should be something that you give up, something you offer as you lose control. Tobio’s trust was something he thrust upon his peers, like a problem he shoved to his teammates. If trust was the act of giving a piece from the brick wall you put up around yourself, Tobio kept his up until there was enough banging for him to open up, then he retaliated by throwing his bricks at people. 

It was not a good image if the metaphor even held up. Not that Tobio was ever good with metaphors; countless nights spent by Tsukishima and Yachi in despair while they studied for modern literature was good enough proof.

"Your friend," Santini brought the topic back to him. "He any good?" 

"Not at first." Tobio smiled. "He sucked. Bad. He hit the back of my head with a serve once." 

Santini guffawed. "Where's he now?" 

"Brazil. Superliga."

Santini whistled. "This was the orange ninja then? The shorty who toys with the blockers. Shouyou Hinata, was it?" 

"You know him?"

"Know of him," Santini corrected. "Difficult to miss. Jumps around like nobody's business. Saw him during the nation's league too. You still talk?"

“Yes.” More than they should actually. 

“And you’re fine with it? Fighting against him in court? He was your teammate once.” 

Before they became teammates, they were enemies. Hinata stood before him in his green jersey, all hunched while grasping at his stomach, too nervous for the first game of his entire career. Before they were partners, they were rivals. Tears streaming down his face, hand clutching at his chest, Hinata declared a promise to defeat Tobio. A year later, Hinata renewed that vow. Even if it took him ten or twenty years, he was going to defeat him. He was going to follow him, to the top of Japan, and the world stage.

Before they became the freak duo, they were Hinata and Kageyama.

“Yes,” Tobio replied. “I look forward to it.” Every day. Every hour. Every minute. Every second. The thought of meeting helped pass the months. It was not the whole reason why he played volleyball; Tobio mused he still would be playing even without Hinata chasing after him, but he admitted that he probably won't be where he is now without him.

"Well if you guys turned out okay…" Santini chuckled, looking away.

"Talk to him." The advice was awkward in Tobio's mouth. "Talking… works. Don't waste time. It's limited." He was not qualified to give any, especially when he rarely heeded his own advice most of the time. It sounded right anyway, and in a logical sense, it was a good course of action. 

"Nnhh." Santini got up and studied Tobio's face, green eyes dark even under the gym's lighting. He was not sure what he was searching for in his face, but it unnerved Tobio. Before he could speak, Santini opened his mouth and said, "Do you think talking to your friend beforehand could have made a big difference for you?" 

Tobio swallowed a lump caught in the tightness of his throat. The question caught him off guard.

There were two ways to answer it; two options stood before him. 

There were short answers and long answers when prying them from Tobio—though most argued the differences were nearly nonexistent; the answer depended on those who were willing to listen and those who did not. The short ones were usually defensive, the long ones usually just tragic.

The short answer was no. 

The long answer was denial at the tips of lips, dangling by his tongue as a reaction to anything that hit close to home. The long answer was a question left hanging in the air, pregnant pause palpable while Hinata Shouyou, home after two years of absence, six years of memories, and all twenty-two years of waiting fermenting in tension, waiting for Tobio who was trying to sort his emotions.

The long answer was still no. 

His answer was neither.

“Probably.”

There was no blunter way of putting it. He needed his teammates to get along before the game started, and based on experience, nothing was going to happen unless they communicate, talk it out of their systems—even socially obtuse Tobio knew that. If Santini knew Tobio’s thought process, he didn’t let it show, but being a professional was knowing when to be petty and when to take things seriously. It was just a part of growing up. Some things were more important than pride.

“Alright,” Santini said, and Tobio was half surprised he agreed to it. “I’ll talk.”

"Okay." Tobio stared as the other stood up with resolve.

"Okay." 

Tobio hoped it all went well.

"Okay."

📆 Countdown: 

⭐ EuroVolley: 2 days

⭐ FIVB World Championship: 83 days

⭐ South American volleyball championship: 2 days

“Hello, good afternoon. This is Kageyama Tobio speaking.” 

Tobio was not good at keeping in touch. 

His sister was a little better at it; his parents were just as horrible as he was.

So it surprised him to see his phone ring with his father’s name on the screen on the way home. Skeptically, Tobio picked up the phone and pressed the device on his ear, customary greeting out of his mouth, stiff, scripted, and practiced. 

“Tobio.” There was the gruff sound of his father speaking through the phone, the electric tone of his voice warbled by static was oh so familiar to Tobio by now. 

"Father," Tobio answered in kind. "How can I help you?"

There was silence on the other line for a brief moment. Tobio's father was twenty-seven when he married his mother, who in turn was just barely past twenty-five, like the responsible son and citizen he was. His parents' marriage was from a matchmaker where they found each other agreeable, settled into an agreement after a few months of seeing each other, and then held a small ceremony for the marriage. 

Both of them were an only child, career-driven, and a little too workaholic. Tobio supposed that was what made them compatible with each other. His mother worked as a sales agent between Miyagi and Tokyo, only home occasionally, his father was often working odd hours in a hospital as a cardiologist. With that in mind, it should be three in the morning in Japan. It must be important if he was calling between his shifts.

“How are you doing lately?” There was an awkward shuffle on the other side, a rustling of papers, and whatever trinkets that littered a cardiologist’s desk. Tobio never knew. Hopefully, he never would; learning about it late at life only meant one thing, and it’s not ideal.

“I’m good,” Tobio said. Belatedly, he added, “You?”

“Alright.” 

There was that pause once again, a dead air of silence, a lull in the conversation. It was the social equivalent of wading in a thick pool of water. It was a bit suffocating. 

“So, do you need anything?” Tobio cleared his throat.

“I have a conference next week in Zurich. I was wondering if you wanted to meet up? It’s just a train away, isn’t it? I can pay for the fare, if you want.” 

That was nearly a seven-hour ride. It was almost as long as a train ride from Tokyo to Osaka, and a ride from Osaka to Miyagi would have been longer. Logistically, Tobio could—if he wanted, or if he was free. The latter was impossible, the former was doubtful. 

“I can’t do next week.” Tobio tipped his head up, inhaling and holding his breath in. “I… I have a game.” He had been doing this for more than six years, half of it abroad. Something about the timing of that question made Tobio blanch. He wasn’t sure why.

“Okay.” 

“Is that all?” Tobio drummed his fingers against his lap. Talking to his parents always had some kind of looming difficulty in it, a tension like taut lines on a string pulling at him. Phone calls were difficult, even back when he was a kid. They haven’t changed now. 

“Have you heard from your mother?” 

Tobio had not. The last time she had called him was to invite him to the daughter of his colleague’s wedding, nevermind that he was in America for a training camp. She was probably going to urge him to find a woman to settle down with, as she often did when another of her co-worker’s children started having families of their own. 

His mother was strict. A woman who held on to traditional values despite being the exact opposite of the said values as a woman who opted to focus on her career rather than be a stay-at-home mother. Tobio didn’t call her out on it, even when he was grown old enough to. In some ways, all Kageyama children got their work ethics from her. 

Once they found something they wanted to take, they would focus on it alone. To his mother, it was her career, to Miwa it was hairdressing, to Tobio it was volleyball.

“No,” he said. “She hasn’t called lately.”

“Ah,” he said, though not at all surprised. “She must be busy. I’m guessing you’re busy these days too.” 

“I am,” Tobio replied. “You too.” 

“Yes.” 

Tobio waited for a full five seconds before talking once again. “I have to go. I need to go home and eat dinner.”

Free practice was done earlier than usual for the upcoming matches, and the gym was locked during these times to stop them from overworking themselves. Tobio felt like that latest rule was directed at him, being usually the last to leave the gym from free practice. His coach had sent him on a monthly visit to a masseuse so he could avoid body fatigue. 

If it wasn't for the change of schedule, the call would have gone to voicemail.

“Okay. We should...” He trailed off. “We should catch up soon.” He hadn’t talked to him in nearly a year, last time was probably Christmas, both to greet him for his birthday and to wish him Merry Christmas. He’ll probably call next around that time. 

“Alright.” Tobio shuffled on his feet. “Bye.” 

“Bye.”

Tobio ended the call and turned it off. He let out the huge breath he was holding. Communicating was never their strong suit, and he wondered if talking to him was like that—like pulling teeth. It made his temples throb. He didn’t dislike his parents, on the contrary, he was grateful. They’ve been kind enough to fulfill all written obligations expected of them, get him a good house, give him good food, a comfortable enough childhood to never be in need of anything more, supportive enough to let him pursue volleyball even when they thought it would stop as nothing more than a hobby. 

When Tobio insisted he didn’t need to pursue college, he had expected a strong talking down to reconsider. There had been none, just as Miwa decided to leave for Tokyo. It was more than enough for Tobio. His parents had no objections about his career choices, and they never pressured him over his grades, never even asked about them, save during the occasional small talk about how he was doing at school when they were around. And they were scarcely around to begin with, even more as he grew up, so his horrible grades were mostly a nonissue. 

His memories of them were just about the number of fingers he had on his hand, mostly memories from his birthdays where they were at least present. The most vivid one was from his tenth birthday where they bought him a brand new set of shoes as a gift, wrapped in elaborate blue paper and an orange bow. They were colored red and two sizes smaller.

It was an insignificant detail that Tobio latched on. Kids latched on the strangest things.

Tobio didn’t dislike his parents. He loved them, but Tobio loved them the way respectful kids were expected to love their parents and how hardworking citizens of this country loved their kids, the way children loved getting a different thing for their birthday from what they really wanted. Tobio loved his parents the way he loved those red-colored shoes that were two sizes smaller. He loved them as he bowed to them in thanks, box in hand and a smile rigid on his face--he never did learn how to smile. Love was filial piety, the wrong-sized shoes, and terse phone calls once a month or so.

It was the thought that counts. It was customary to give something for someone’s birthday, reestablishing connection and rapport from one party to another. Calling someone was just as expected, and that was what all those calls were. It’s their own method of raising children, valuing independence and resilience more than anything where others liked to keep a close eye on them, overseeing their manners and lifestyle, raising their voices at mistakes, and rewarding them at every good decision. This was where children usually learned things like please , sorry, and thank you. 

His parents never raised their voices at him since he was seven, and Tobio never had to apologize for anything, barely had to ask permission for anything after he turned fourteen. He never fought with his parents, not like some others he had heard from his past classmates. It was difficult to fight someone who was barely present. 

Tobio was familiar with fighting though, all tongue lashing and fire burning within him, anger consuming him like flash paper. His anger was quick to burst, easy to douse. Flash paper indeed. For some time, Tobio liked the rage. He liked how it gave him something else to feel other than numb or pain. It was easier to be irrationally angry than examine himself and all that was broken inside. 

Nowadays he was tired of rage.

Fighting was easy. Tobio had his fair share of fights. Even so, he was not familiar with the art of apologizing which usually came after the confrontation. Apologizing meant communication, and Tobio proved himself useless in that department, didn’t he?

Tobio scrubbed a hand over his face.

Fights. He had one in middle school. Five in high school, all from the same person. None after that. Kindaichi and Kunimi were reconciliation seven years in the making, but Tobio surmised that was only because of Hinata. Hinata was always there, a buffer between Tobio and the rest; way back his first year in Karasuno and even till they became upperclassmen themselves. Hinata, who kept his crown and cape when he was ready to bury it on the grounds of Karasuno. 

He was there when he played beach with Kunimi and Kindaichi. He was there when Tobio stood clenched fists on the court, teeth gritted together and itching to move forward. He was always there to guide Tobio through his clumsy apologies. 

Maybe that was why when it was time for Tobio to show remorse and ask him for forgiveness, Tobio floundered like a fish swimming in the air, a bird drowning in water. Maybe that was why all of his serious fights were only ever with Hinata.

He’d like to think he remembered that exact moment perfectly, but realistically he was bound to get some things wrong. The thing about forgiveness, you need to communicate to get it right. He never did learn properly how to communicate--a shared family trait, and in turn, he never learned how to ask for forgiveness.

"You know,” That lilting voice no longer as high as it was years ago spoke with a thoughtful hum. His curls bounced with every movement, the afternoon light seeping through the gym’s windows bleeding through him. He looked too pretty to be real, but memories had a tendency to be conflated with romanticisation “The first time we fought—like really fought—Yachi was there.”

The Tobio back then frowned as he tried to remember what the Hinata then was talking about, not that it took long. He remembered it clearly. What made him hesitate was the thick silence that loomed over them before Hinata decided to break it. 

“Yeah?” What about it?”

“I think that was the first time I seriously fought with anyone.” Hinata hummed, holding on to the ball, face spaced off, contemplative, as he always was when he was observing a game. He got quiet at times, not in the way where he was obviously psyching himself up, or worrying about ridiculous things from when he was younger than he was now. “I think I cried a little on the way home.” He laughed wistfully, the way someone older reminisced a distant past. Has it really been that long?

And Tobio, had he been anyone else, wouldn’t have picked up on where he was headed to; maybe if it was a few years, or maybe even months earlier, Tobio wouldn’t have either. But he was not just anyone, and so many things had happened in between. 

“We’re not fighting right now.” No, they weren’t. Not exactly. There weren’t bruised faces or screaming this time, no raised voices or short tempers. This wasn’t necessarily a fight, but that didn’t mean they were okay either. 

“No.” Hinata nodded to himself. “We’re not.” 

Here was one thing they don’t tell you (but by now Tobio supposed nobody really told him anything growing up): some things weren’t worth getting angry about, some things didn’t need divine fury. Tobio spent too much time in his teens with rage stuffed in his mouth till it exploded in venomous words. Maybe it was the maturity brought with time, maybe it was because of the new environment, but Tobio had mellowed out most of that wrath into something more manageable—palatable. 

Sometimes it was just disappointment.

(A decline to practice digs).

(A replay of old volleyball games stores in CDs postponed).

(Red shoes, two sizes too small),

Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. Sometimes you reach the end of the line, with no sickness, accidents, or pain. You lost because you weren’t strong enough, even if you practiced hard every day, even if you tried so hard for it, even if you wanted it so much you could taste it, you could feel it. You reached third of all the nation, and that’s all you can give for now. It’s bittersweet. It’s an accomplishment. You played a good game; you think as you stare at the lights on the stadium’s ceiling, stretching your worn-out muscles. It was a good game with little mistakes. Realistically, it was a good way to end your high school career and what little time you spent in it in the grand scheme of things. Realistically, three years were short compared to all the years one could play in the future. It was a good game. 

You still want more. 

But then, life had this thing where you needed to compromise. Settle for third for now, try again later. Lose a match, eat, rest, and train again. Lose a silly race, run faster the next time. You can’t always win. You can’t always be selfish. Tobio didn’t like compromises and Tobio was greedy. 

“So,” Hinata was tiptoeing around everything and Tobio would really rather he just fucking spit it out, “V-League, huh?”

“Yes,” Tobio finally gritted out. 

“You didn’t say anything.” The accusatory declaration finally dropped.

Hinata didn’t face him. He was dribbling the volleyball on the floor. Every smack of palm against rubber, a thud against the floorboards was louder with every second Tobio said nothing. “You never tell me anything,” he continued.

Tobio thought of his parents and their erratic schedules, cold dinners that needed to be put away, and mornings with leftovers for breakfast. He thought of Miwa who didn’t mention having a boyfriend until it came up, never mentioning breaking up and getting a new replacement. He thought of Kazuyo-san with harsh pants behind his warm smile. They never told him anything. Tobio, in turn, never learned how to.

“You didn’t tell me about Rio.” 

That was a foul. Hinata knew that too. In Tobio’s defense, the invite came just after nationals when everything had been a blur of emotions and highs. It wasn’t the priority. Hinata on the other hand had an entire year. 

“You’re angry,” Tobio said out loud, just so everything was out in the open, just so there was no more sulking. 

“Of course I am! It’s the V-League! Division one and everything! This is huge!” Hinata exclaimed, voice rising in pitch. “I don’t know, you could have said something. This is… it’s life-changing, you know? We’re partners. Shouldn’t you say something?” 

The thing was, Tobio thought it was a given. He thought Hinata understood that it was obvious. He wasn’t going to go to college. He was going to the top as fast as he could, by whatever means possible. Tobio examined the lines on Hinata’s face, the way they curved up in his cheeks and brows and jaw. He was wide-eyed with gritted teeth, not mad—not really. Just petulant, annoyed. So maybe he did understand and all this was just stubbornness on his part. Maybe this was Hinata, refusing to compromise as well.

“Brazil is literally halfway across the world,” he pointed out. If they were doing this, then this was coming out too. “Everyone knew but me. What’s up with that?” 

That was the thing about forgiveness, you need to communicate and bare yourself to truly earn it. 

Hinata’s cheeks puffed up, and he looked like he wanted to say a lot of things but could not give a proper response. He was like a kid this way. “Shut up!" he said, cantankerous and animated at the same time. "It's not my fault you're not as perceptive as the others! I wasn't even trying to hide it!"

If there was a lesson to be learned here, it was that Tobio was bad at communicating.

On one hand, Hinata can be just as bad as well.

“Welcome—oh you’re that kid! You came back.” 

Tobio blinked away the traces of the memory in the soft edges of his peripherals, no longer somewhere seven years ago, but back in the present in the familiar lights of a traditional Japanese restaurant. The image of a gym was forgotten in favor of the smell and sight of food.

He was a little surprised at being remembered. He last came here more than weeks ago and yet the old woman was there smiling at him. She was wearing a light blue komon beneath her kappogi and Tobio hadn’t seen one in a while. 

“I’m back.” Tobio stared owlishly, not sure what to do or how to act. He came here on a whim, really. The vacant free time before dinner gave Tobio the time to kill, and before he knew it, his feet had taken him in front of this restaurant.

“Come, sit.” The grandma ushered him to a seat, her wrinkled hand was warm but firm as they grasped his wrist to one of the tables. “Come, what would you like to eat?” 

The woman was fussing over him too much. But again, it wasn’t unwelcomed. Tobio sat on one of the tables and listened to the old lady talk while he nodded at opportune times. It’s not much, just small talk about the weather, how different living in Italy was, how her son was doing in his job through the details, all the while Tobio ate his curry.

It was good. Thoughts about parents and empty gyms were momentarily forgotten.

“I didn’t want to say it the first time, but you look a lot like my son when he was your age.” The old lady smiled. “Of course, he’s busy these days but it would be nice to hear from him sometimes.”

Tobio made a small sound of agreement. The conversation was leaning on one-sided, Tobio not sure what else to say—he was never good at talking. The old lady didn’t mind though, she seemed content on speaking Japanese on her own. She kept talking about her son, and how she missed Japan, how Italy was different, and how they managed to build a life here. 

“My boy is going to turn thirty tomorrow.” She said. “How about you dear? When is your birthday?”

“December.”

“Ah do stop by then. I’ll whip something up for you.”

It was nice to listen without the pressure to respond. He was bad at communicating, but he didn't mind listening. 

When he finished his meal, the woman sent him off with a pat on his head. It made Tobio’s cheek heat up, a queasy feeling fluttering in his gut as he walked out of that store.

📆 Countdown: 

⭐ EuroVolley: 1 day

⭐ FIVB World Championship: 82 days

⭐ South American volleyball championship: 1 day

”Rio,” Tobio said, unsure what else to say. “That’s life-changing.”

He nodded. “It is.” Then a beat later. “Are you mad?” Hinata looked at him with careful prodding, careful eyes. 

“Why would I be?”

“I didn’t tell you.” The answer came bluntly.

“I don’t care. It’s a good idea.” Tobio scowled. “I’m more annoyed that a dumbass like you thought about it. It’s perfect for you.” A good friend might have said something else. A good friend might even be mad, might've reacted more betrayed. Tobio wasn’t necessarily mad. He was thrilled.

Because this was another step to fulfilling their promise. Hinata would get better, and beach volleyball would do just the trick. Tobio was thrilled, because he was selfish and he wanted Hinata to catch up to him already, to play lots and lots of volleyball with him forever even if that meant pushing the man to the other side of the globe. 

“Thanks.” Hinata smiled, a smile unlike his usual ones. Tobio didn't have the capacity to decode what it meant. For now, Tobio tried to wrap his mind around the idea of Hinata leaving, Hinata who was constantly at arm's reach, Hinata who annoyed Tobio at every turn.

They didn't always hang out, not outside of volleyball anyway—though there were more moments in Tobio's days doing something related to volleyball than there were without. Hinata had other friends, because Hinata always had more of himself to give. They didn't always hang out outside of volleyball, so separation shouldn't be an issue.

Still, Brazil. Two years. Something about it made Tobio’s stomach twist itself into knots. His chest was squeezing into itself, throat closing in. Halfway across the world. It was a compromise.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” The words were out of Tobio's mouth before he could swallow it back down. The silence that followed was too loud.

“I don’t know." Hinata shrugged, looking pensive. "The same reason you didn’t say you were going to the V-League, I guess.”

Whatever that was, Tobio didn’t know either. He had a feeling Hinata didn’t as well. They were on the same page, but the page wasn’t something they could describe. It’s probably the trust. The trust that they were headed in the same direction, the same goal, even if they had to go their separate ways toward it no matter what. In hindsight, it was rather obvious, in hindsight, it shouldn’t have been a surprise. Too bad Tobio was bad at hindsight.

Tobio was thrilled, truly, but he hated compromises as well. Perhaps that was the reason for the churning in his gut when he found out of Hinata's plan out of the blue, referenced by everyone in conversations like they knew all along and Tobio was the only one out of the loop. He wasn't mad, not really, but he was irrationally irritated.

And he had already spent most of his teenage years being irrationally angry at the world. Tobio didn’t want to add this to the list.

Some things weren’t worth getting angry about. Not everything needed to be dealt with anger.

“Okay.” So Tobio sighed, letting the issue go. “Come back stronger.”

“I will,” Hinata said it in the same way he said his promises. Hinata was always better than him at promises. “I’ll come back after two years and beat you.”

“You better.”

📆 Countdown: 

⭐ EuroVolley: 0 days

⭐ FIVB World Championship: 81 days

⭐ South American volleyball championship: 0 days

It was late at night and he should be asleep by now. Usually, anyway.

With a game so close, the last thing Tobio was supposed to do was lie in bed and do the opposite of resting. It was too early for this.

It wasn't stress. He hadn't been nervous about matches in forever. 

Rome was noisy even at this hour, not too different from Tokyo, but certainly far from the stillness of Miyagi. Tobio could handle noisy—he had been handling noisy ever since, loud, orange, and overly energetic. Tobio slept like the dead anyway, most of the time. 

It was an unfortunate time to be losing sleep.

He was indulging himself. He knew this. Their next game wouldn’t start until Monday next week, but that didn’t mean he was free to lose sleep over this. He was going to regret this tomorrow during training.

Regardless, he found himself watching the Livestream of the South American Volleyball Championship on his phone right by his bed. The tiny image of red and jerseys flocking on court was impressionable, and despite the different people crowding around, Tobio knew just where to look for orange hair. It was an instinct, the general awareness of Tobio to Hinata’s presence. Because Tobio had always been attuned to Hinata, in court or outside, because Hinata had always drawn attention to himself. Ridiculous orange hair, absolute bright personality. No matter what you did, you just gravitated towards him. It was what made him an effective decoy.

Brazil vs Argentina. Both formidable teams. 

The last time they played Argentina was in the Olympics. They lost to them in the quarterfinals, who in turn won bronze. Oikawa had gotten better once again, and Argentina, who was already strong to begin with, improved even further. 

They didn’t make any mistakes. Nobody was injured. Tobio was at his best and so was Hinata. The entire team behind Tobio’s net were the top players of Japan, and yet they still lost. Argentina’s strength came from combination plays and strong teamwork.

Tobio admittedly still had a long way to go.

A crowd of cerulean and white marched forward across the court for their warm-up. The number 13 emblazoned on the broad back of one brunet was obvious in the camera as he ran to the orange-haired man with open arms. Oikawa and Hinata, in a surprising turn of events, got along swimmingly. They met each other like best friends during the Olympics too—somehow the greeting between them was more dramatic than Oikawa’s greeting to Iwaizumi, who was actually his best friend. 

It was probably after the chance meeting in Rio, two months before Tobio left for the 2016 Olympics. A coincidence—Hinata said after sending a selfie of them on the beach. Oikawa apparently had joined a foreign league, Argentina of all places, leaving immediately after high school. They were miles away from each other and somehow against all odds, met anyway by chance. 

There was a part of Tobio nagging him at the thought of them meeting, that made him glare at his phone when that cursed selfie came up. That same part of him also made his eyes twitch when Hinata turned down seeing him at Rio, not two months after that incident. 

The game was about to start, the players lined up in the center of the court as the commentator introduced the players. The South American Volleyball Championship was only five days long, compared to EuroVolley’s two-week scrimmages. By the fifth of September, they were already in the final round while Tobio had barely played his second game.

It meant Tobio got to play more games. Therefore he won.

Of course Hinata had some other ideas. 

Tobio squinted at his phone screen, eyes burning from sleep threatening to claim him. 

First to serve was Brazil; Hinata walked to the backline, volleyball in hand. The camera zoomed into Hinata’s grinning face. He looked absolutely enthusiastic, positively glowing, while holding that ball. He hadn’t seen his face in months and Tobio swore he looked bulkier than last time. He was probably tanner too. Something about that made Tobio frown.

There was that pre-service habit of his again, shaking off the ball as if sand still clung to the ball, like he was still playing beach. Tobio thought the beach would always cling to Hinata anyway, the sand always sticking to him even when he was already indoors. A man was made up of his habits. This pre-service ritual was proof of that.

The whistle blew its sharp signal. Hinata tossed the ball and flew in the air, sending the ball to the other side of the court with a loud smack. Argentina bumped the ball into play, sending it back to Brazil’s court in the back, but Hinata was already there waiting for it—ninja, as they all said. He kept it in play, and without a minute to lose, ran up to the front of the court for a quick. 

The first ball of the game landed on Argentina’s side, and the crowd went wild. The camera panned to Brazil who wrapped Hinata with open arms, ruffling his hair affectionately. Hinata, drunk in adrenaline and laughter high fived his teammates.

A shot to Argentina’s side showed Oikawa’s irritated smile. 

The difference between seeing a match live and watching it in a Livestream was too big. There were many moments between team members, both opponents and comrades alike that were hidden away from the prying eyes of the screen with the editing of a broadcast and a replay. There were benefits to both, but Tobio liked the rawness of a live game. 

Hinata was back on screen, his face intense and focused. Tobio pressed a finger between the creases of his brows from behind the glass of his phone. It was different seeing him on screen than seeing him in person, just like how it was different seeing a real game and seeing it from a broadcast.

Something about it made Tobio's chest churn.

Dumbass Hinata

I’m in Rio

Meet up?

✓read: Aug 1, 2016

Sorry!

Can’t see you

I have part time

And then training

Maybe next time?

Good luck tho

✓read: Aug 2, 2016

okay

✓read: Aug 2, 2016

The call came somewhere between four and five in the morning. He should have expected it.

"Hinata."

"Hey, Kageyama!" There was that chirpy voice that his phone's speaker could not give justice to. It sounded different here, deeper, robotic, wrong.

"You woke me up, dumbass." Tobio blinked his eyes open. Hopefully, he was not making a habit out of waking him up at odd hours of the morning with a call.

"Ah sorry."

To his credit, he sounded apologetic. It would be helpful if he didn't sound like a kicked puppy whenever he does so that Tobio didn't feel like a dick for admonishing him.

"It's not the first time you did." You needed to do something twice for it to become a habit after all.

Tobio rolled out of his bed, checking the clock for the time. The digital screen lit up the room in its soft blue lights: 4:52 AM it read. It definitely was too early for this, and yet it was too late to go back to sleep, too little sun to do anything. It’s that gray area between morning and night, where everything was too soft and too cold at the same time. 

"Haha… right." He was actually embarrassed. There was that slur in his vowels, elongating the stresses in his words, consonants sharper.

"You’re drunk, aren’t you?" he accused. It definitely wasn’t the first time for this either. 

"I'm sober!" Hinata denied vehemently. Then there was the spluttering usually present when he's trying to make excuses. "Mostly—okay I'm a little tipsy—but not drunk!" Tipsy, not drunk. The distinction was important.

Tobio rolled his eyes. He was definitely close to being drunk. Mistakes were often made in this state. Hinata and his little alcohol-induced calls were something Tobio had hoped to have stopped at the first time. The second time, Tobio had resigned him into accepting this being a thing now. 

"What do you want?"

It was too early for this. Bad decisions were made in the early hours of the morning and when you're riddled with alcohol in your system. The loss of inhibition was dangerous for them both. Tobio shouldn't indulge in this. Tobio shouldn't indulge Hinata at all. 

The words left his mouth anyway.

"I dunno. I just wanted to call." Hinata hummed with that stupid drunk voice of his, groggy and slow. "We won."

There was something vulnerable with the manner he said it. It was not gloating. He said it as it simply was, just a soft announcement of what was factually true. Brazil won. Hinata was saying this to him at four in the morning in Italy, probably midnight somewhere in Argentina.

He would've found out anyway in the morning from the news. He didn't know why Hinata insisted on telling him directly. He didn't want to know why it pleased him either, but it did please him. It was early morning. He could admit that much.

Tobio tipped his head up to look at the ceiling. He had memorized the cracks and chips of paint falling out of it at this point.

"I saw," he confessed, just as soft.

Hinata gasped. "You did?" He was always stupidly candid even when he was trying not to be. 

His gut was churning again, chest constricting at every passing minute. His throat was tight, muscles taut with tension. Even still, the air was soft and the dim lights were making it dreamy.

"Yeah. Oikawa was with you." Tobio drummed his fingers on his lap. He was getting agitated for some reason, like he couldn't sit still. It was making him volatile, impulsive. He shut his eyes and thanked whatever was out there listening to him that Hinata couldn't see him right now. At the same time, he wondered what Hinata looked like at present.

Probably flushed pink and drunk, droopy-eyed and loose-limbed.

Laughter came from the other side. It was loud and unrestrained. "He's still with me, actually—"

And whatever soft atmosphere they had hanging between them was immediately gone with the phone getting passed to someone else.

"Tobio-chan! Fucking eat your heart out and be jealous! Me and Shouyou-chan are having the time of our lives. Did you know he's got a piercing on his—"

The loudest voice blared against Tobio's ears and he had to pull the device away from himself before the sound of a crash. He suspected that the phone wasn't passed to Oikawa as much as it was snatched from Hinata's grip. There were signs of a struggle between the two men. Tobio would snicker if it wasn't too early in the morning for it.

"Yeah, he's kinda out of it right now." Hinata laughed, breathless as he came back to the phone seconds later. Tobio could only imagine what he did to immobilize the other man. "He's been trying to call Iwaizumi-san since a while ago but he's not picking up—" 

"Long-distance is a bitch!" 

It wasn't difficult to surmise what had occurred. Oikawa and Hinata grabbed drinks together after their game. Oikawa must've goaded him into calling Tobio just to be a pain.

"Okay, that's it. I'm going to have to get you to your hotel room, Oikawa-san." Hinata grunted with exasperation. "I'll call you later, Kageyama. Goodnight."

Tobio swallowed the tightness in his throat. This was for the best. 

"Yeah."

The call was cut off not a second later. Tobio dropped his arm onto his lap, the screen of his phone displaying Hinata's grinning face. 

Seeing him through a screen was different after all.

Just before Tobio decided to go back to sleep, a photo of Oikawa and Hinata popped out in Hinata's text box. Oikawa was leaning all over Hinata, nearly passed out drunk. Hinata was also flushed from the alcohol, cheeks tinged pink from the blush. This was the second selfie he got from these two, and he hoped it wasn't going to turn into a habit as well.

Tobio decided it was early enough in the morning to go for a run after all.

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There was no time left to think about other frivolous thoughts. 

Tobio sat in the waiting room, different emotions coursing through his body. Excitement, anxiety, exhilaration, impatience. They’re all crackling from his gut to the tip of his fingers as he filed them into neat measurements. The winners get to play more games, the strongest get to stay on the court longer, the best get to move up and go against stronger ones. Tobio was thrilled. Today, once again he took another step towards the world stage, towards that promise.

Head bowed down, chin nearly tucked to his chest in concentration. Tobio should buy a new nail file, his old one was getting worn out, a thought that flitted through his mind as he focused on nothing but the soft zhk zhk zhk of his routine. 

When you’ve done things enough times, it becomes a routine. Once an action becomes a routine, it becomes a habit. One’s habits make up a man, a constant repetition of actions. Practice enough serves, you’re bound to get some in; practice more than enough and you can control the direction and the strength with precision to take service aces. Toss the ball up your hands for as many times as you need until the ball is your friend, practice enough of your form until it deceives even the most observant players. 

Incorporate self-maintenance enough into your body as a kid, it becomes muscle memory; calm yourself down at every beginning of the match, breathe through your lungs, and listen to the pounding of your heart, convince yourself that this too was practice. Tobio had practiced enough, played every game like it was his last. This wasn’t any different.

If you think every game’s stakes were the same, then you have no more reasons to be nervous, and Tobio had always played like he had everything to lose.

Most people sitting where he was would be a bundle of nerves. 

Here was another thing that made him an oddball: whenever Tobio stepped into the court, the only thing he felt was giddy anticipation even when those who stood opposite the net were stronger than him—especially when they were stronger than him.

Someone called it Tobio’s drug, and he was in a deep addiction he couldn’t ever break free from. That someone suspiciously sounded like Tsukishima, so by default, something Tobio didn’t bother listening to.

If you played every game like it was your last, then you’ll play every game the same way you’ve always done. Here was the thing about Tobio, none of it will ever be enough. 

He knew about endings and beginnings, about last matches and ‘last’ chances. At middle school he was benched till the end of his last match. His last highschool match ended with them third in the nation after losing to Itachiyama. His last game with his first real team ended when Hinata collapsed. His last match with the Adlers ended with a win for them. Tobio played through all of them as he always had. 

(He thought of a lanky boy, barely fifteen clutching at his stomach and desperate to finally play after all three years of waiting; at sixteen high strung and deliriously feverish, a few points from victory and yet crumpled helpless on the floor; eighteen and quietly contemplative, up against the highest obstacle yet; twenty two and with a grin to his face, meeting the court like he was meeting an old friend.)

It’s not the start that made people like Tobio nervous. It wasn’t the thought of getting into court and throwing the first ball into play; in fact, Tobio could argue that starting was never the reason why people become stressed with tension. It’s not really the thought of starting as much as it was the thought of ending. Tobio didn’t want the match to end. Tobio never really wanted it to. 

“How are you holding up, Tobio? Nervous?” Giovanni Russo sat beside him on the bench, a small smile on his lips. The captain was around seven years older than Tobio, a veteran of this sport. He's sure to have more experience than Tobio had, but he still asked that every single time since Tobio joined Ali Roma, always checked his teammates' conditions one by one. In some way it might be strategic. The best six wins the game, one must always be aware of his teammates' state. 

In some way, maybe the captain just wanted to talk. 

"I am fine." Tobio stared at his nails, freshly done and clean. "Just pregame routines."

"Gets the nerves at bay, si?"  

"Yeah." Tobio blinked. "How about you?" It's a social courtesy to ask about the other person, something Tobio didn't figure out till a little later. Tobio was never familiar with the general rules of engagement. It's something that's always like he's outside looking in, not any different from watching the gym through the bars of a window, looking at a match under the shade of a towel while sitting on a bench from the sidelines. He knew about the game, understood it better than anyone, but it never felt like he was playing with them.

"Oh, I'm a little nervous. Never goes away even with more than twenty years experience." Russo smiled at him. Tobio guessed it never does leave you, even if you were a veteran.

"Yeah."

"Used to call my wife before games. We'll talk about something not related to volleyball. Love of my life, but ah she's busy with work," Russo continued, "Pulls all these crazy hours. We haven’t had enough time to bond with the kids. Wish I could spend more time with my babies.”

"I see."

"You have someone like that in your life?" 

Tobio looked down at his hands, fingers still holding his blue nail file, the rest of his kit on the bench beside him.

 "I'm not married." 

Russo laughed. " No , non letteralmente. A girlfriend? Someone special? Someone you make small talk with over the phone." He patted his shoulder. "I hear you in the locker room. You have someone, si ? I do not understand Japanese, but I hear it." 

Tobio thought of Hinata, the only person who he calls in the locker rooms, and immediately frowned. "Not a girlfriend either." 

Russo's eyebrows knitted together. Russo reminded Tobio of Romero sometimes.

"But," Tobio added, but he wasn't sure how and what to call his relationship with Hinata. It's not something you could put under a single label, or something you could describe with words alone. It could also just be Tobio's lack of communication skills, or his inability to grasp social etiquette. Hinata certainly was unique to Tobio, an oddball much like himself, an anomaly.

Hinata didn't label whatever they have with anything serious either. It's something that hangs precariously above 'friends', something not exactly what you'd call romantic, but not necessarily less. Tobio didn't think there was any innate romantic bone in his body even if he tried to use an x-ray; he's guessing Hinata knew this too.

A rival. A friend. Something more than that. Something less. Hinata Shouyou and Kageyama Tobio. They just were .

"A partner." Tobio settled on. 

“Partner, huh?” Russo looked wistful. “ Il compagno. Va bene, Tobio. ”

Their coach called them to gather around. The warm ups were about to start.

“ Oh, it’s time.” Russo beamed. “ Grazie, Tobio. Small talk makes me less anxious. Mi fa sentire meglio. ” A hand ruffled his head.

“It’s nothing.” Tobio shrugged, but his cheeks were warming up. “ Figurati. ” The words were slippery in his tongue, too flowery against the rigidness of Japanese.

The weight on his head disappeared, and Russo grinned at him with a thumbs up. “Anyway, let’s go kick those Orzeł Warszawa butts.”

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The game was spartan. 

Tobio could see the end of the match in picture-perfect clarity even after hours of the game. It replayed behind his eyelids in a loop, the moments leading up to it, mistakes, things to improve, the better course of actions. Tobio obsessed over it countlessly. The last toss, the last spike, the ball that slammed past the blockers, outstretched hands in desperation. One inch, one centimeter, one millimeter. All the possibilities. Tobio looked through it all.

Poland put up a hard fight, their setter toyed with their blockers a lot, those quicks were fast--and if Tobio wasn’t built with an anti-freak quick master plan in his body from creating a monster quick, he didn’t think scoring those points would be easier. Every set was fought tooth and nail, the difference in points was only in the ones and twos, and the deuce felt never-ending.

Ushijima's spikes were absolutely difficult to counter as well. His southpaw spun the ball in more erratic ways, plowing through their blocks.

The game went better than Tobio expected. 

Yet they still lost.

He was in top condition today, and so was his entire team. The finality of finally seeing the ball drop on their court and sealing Orzeł Warszawa win was finally sinking in Tobio, the adrenaline rush was settling down, and making him weak in the knees. His joints and muscles burned with fatigue, but he was feeling good. 

The game was satisfying even if they lost. There was comfort in knowing they could play some more after this loss. 2-3. There was no helping it. It’s been long since he screamed in frustration due to a lost game. It’s been a long time since high school. He didn't feel sad, just frustration at the thought of what he could’ve done better, disappointment, and finally a quiet sobering acceptance.

The next goal was the World Championship. Then the new Serie A season starts. Nation’s League, World Cup. There’s still more. More volleyball to play, more chances to redeem himself. It's not the end. It still left a bitter aftertaste.

Post match dinners were going to be held in a high end place with lots of sponsors and press, then there was traditionally an after party to celebrate the win, or mourn the loss privately. Tobio was already a tiny bit exhausted at the thought, but at least before that, there were stretches and showers. And then before that, there was the fan meet.

These were the strings attached to playing volleyball as a living, responsibilities in exchange of doing what Tobio loved the most. This was an obligation, and Tobio was just fulfilling them.

It's not exactly so bad, though it wasn't Tobio's favorite thing either. He didn't expect to find a lot of people queuing up asking for his autograph in Finland. There weren't a lot of fans in his first year, but he's found a growth in the length of the line waiting for him as the years passed by. He’s blase about fans really, but he knew very well how important it was to have an idol to follow as motivation--he knew first hand as well what limitations it could bring.

Their captain was busy taking interviews from the media, Gracia was the same. Tobio usually steer cleared from interviews if he could; partly, it was because of his lack of skills in the language, but also because even if he could speak fluent Italian and English, he was still awkward in handing out answers that weren't volleyball related.

So Tobio was resigned to signing autographs and taking pictures with fans.

" Signore ," A little boy with blazing red hair, just a little short of orange, grinned at him with gaps in his teeth, and pulled at the hem of his jersey for his attention. He should be somewhere in elementary school and was accompanied by his grandmother to the game. "You were so cool, signore Tobio! I came all the way from Italy to see the game! The way you made the ball go bam and bam! Setters are so cool!" 

He pushed his paper towards his hands, bouncing with excitement. His accent was thick and Tobio couldn’t understand him properly, but the energy was starting to affect him as well.

"Thank you." Tobio plucked the paper and uncapped his marker, ready to create the autograph Sugawara had taught him to make. "What's your name?"

"Luce!" The boy's eyes sparkled, blue eyes shining with excitement. "And I want to be a setter! They're the most important players on the team. I wish my teammates were as good as me but they don’t work hard enough.”

Tobio blinked, thinking about how fate had a funny way of playing with him.

“All players are equally important.” He told the small child as carefully as he could. Kids could be quite kind if they’re equally treated with kindness, how you treat them was how they were bound to grow up into. The words you tell children may slide off them, and they usually did, but some of them stick forever; and you never really know which ones they’ll keep to heart and which ones they decide to ignore. Kids had a different concept of what was important and what Tobio tells this wide eyed kid barely past ten just might be. “You cannot play volleyball without the other five, and the setter’s job is to bring the best out of his hitters.”

Tobio thought about freak quicks, the highest point of contact. He thought of tosses just slightly away from the net, of balls that allow the hitter to analyse the best course of action, of sharp crosses and straights. Tobio thought of arms wrapped around his waist in defiance, insisting to fight midair with his eyes open, of raised voices and short tempers that felt like forever ago.

That was, if forever was measured in something close to ten years. Realistically, it had only been six. 

Tobio came to Karasuno, rejected, abandoned, unaccepted. So be it. If he needed to play everything by himself, then he would. All the sets, and spikes, and receives. If no one else took the game as seriously as him, then it didn't matter. He came to bury a crown in the grounds of Karasuno. If asking was what made people push him away, then he would never ask for anything again. High School was a stepping stone to the pro league. Three years was small in the grand scheme of things, insignificant.

But then there was Hinata Shouyou, an anomaly who shattered all of Tobio's plans to the dust, mashed it all together and threw it out of the window, spiked it away like some kind of ball. He had a habit of interrupting plans--jumping to receive a ball in the middle of Tobio's spiking practice, calling at odd hours of his sleeping time, leaving Japan to go to the other side of the world.

Hinata Shouyou, who refused anything less from Tobio, who hit his fast tosses when no one else could, who made him cave into his demands, who would hit anything Tobio threw at him, believing it would come to him.

Maybe it was the blind trust. It was ridiculous really, Hinata had basically decided on trusting him from day one. Who spikes a quick attack with eyes closed? Who jumped without even looking? Hinata was crazy. Tobio was maybe even crazier for going along with it. 

Tobio’s trust did not come easy. Not like Hinata’s. His trust came like his temper, in brash drills of receiving practices because one could never be too sure, in never ending spikes from morning to evening, when the sun had yet to rise and when it had long gone down behind the mountains. Tobio’s trust came the way he loved, a gaping hole that asked for too much, always asking for more. It was a threat, the same way it was vulnerable.

And Karasuno stepped up to the challenge.

Kageyama Tobio was selfish. 

But Karasuno didn't mind.

Karasuno didn't mind that he was greedy, or that he had a heavy crown on his head and a too large cape slipping down his frame. They didn’t mind that he was a king. He came to Karasuno to bury his crown, to rip that velvet cape off and prove them all wrong. He was no dictator, he was not a tyrant. 

But then there was Hinata Shouyou, and then there was Karasuno. 

Tobio thought about freak quicks, the highest point of contact. He thought of tosses just slightly away from the net, of balls that allow the hitter to analyse the best course of action, of sharp crosses and straights. Tobio thought about eighth in all the country, and then later third. Back then it felt like a loss. Today it was a testament of the team’s strength. All six players were important, and the setter who could bring out the best form of the team whether by pushing or pulling, proved himself the best.

You cannot play volleyball without the other five. The child was still looking at him with expectant eyes. “The setter’s job is to bring the best out of his hitters,” Tobio repeated. 

“But,” There were raised voices, short tempers, the look of rejection. A toss without a spiker. Mr. Goody Two Shoes. The threat of being abandoned again. And then there was a weight on his head. A recrowning. “That doesn’t mean you can’t talk it out. Communication is important. And as a setter, you may still know what’s best. Sometimes your teammates do.” Karasuno taught him that, and now he was never afraid to give a toss again.

The boy was wide-eyed. His blue eyes were shining with wonder, like something had started to click but hadn’t reached there yet fully. 

“Hey,” Tobio cleared his throat. Communication was never his best suit, but communication worked both ways, and all of them taught Tobio that. “Trust in yourself and your teammates. It’s going to be fine. Just talk it out.” He pressed the signed paper to the child. 

“ Grazie signore Tobio,” the child murmured to himself. “I think-I think your words helped!” With that, he left back to his waiting grandmother, chattering about the experience.

Of course Tobio didn’t know if the kid got what he meant. Of course there was no way to know, but if it helped in any way, that’s enough for Tobio.

“Hey Tobes!” Garcia flung his arms around Tobio's neck, laughing with super high energy even with the loss. "Just finished interviewing. Let's go get cleaned up and finish business, huh?" 

"Yes. Let's do that."

"Cheer up a little dude. We'll take it back the next time 'round, yeah?" Gracia patted his back. "Anyway, coach wants us in and out fast. There's still a press conference after this. Then the banquet with the sponsors after a quick bus ride back to the hotel room." 

"Okay." 

The next bits were a flurry of activity, a press conference with media throwing questions on the spot, sometimes non related to volleyball that made it difficult for Tobio to answer; then there were photo opportunities, more meet and greets. It exhausted him to the point where he spent the bus ride back to the hotel deep in sleep. He should catch his rest now with how long the night was going to be.

The dinner with sponsors would be much better if they just let Tobio eat dinner in silence. Generally, Tobio didn’t talk during meal times unless addressed to. Then again, that was just generally how he spent most of his time. Regardless, dinners like these weren’t Tobio’s style. The food selections were too tiny with mostly glasses of alcohol served in trays. Then there was small talk which Tobio was worse at, people congratulating him and asking about personal things unrelated to volleyball. If the topic was anything about volleyball, Tobio would have no problem talking his way through. But Tobio had long learned these older men and women had little interest in the sport, just what it could give them.

Tobio hooked a finger on his collar. He didn’t wear suits often either. His movements were too confined, fitted around his shoulders and waist uncomfortably. Well, loose suits weren’t any better either in his opinion. A loose coat that hung over his frame like he was a coat hanger, the hem of his slacks rolling past his ankles, a too big pair of shoes. It was a grown up’s suit. He’s only ever worn something like that once and Tobio did not want to revisit that experience at all. 

There were experiences that stick with you after all. It’s not just words. There was muscle memory too, much like practice hardwired emotions and memories into you, polishing reflex and instinct into intuition. It’s like how Tobio immediately starts filing his nails at every lunch break; like how air salonpas immediately brings a nostalgic smile to him; how a faint had Tobio immediately diving to the floor; the perfect setup for a monster quick had him tossing to empty space to where a bright orange figure should have been.

Suits then evoke a feeling of distaste from his gut. It’s not necessarily because of the clothing, though restrictive as they were. No, it was the association Tobio had with suits to otsuya and ososhiki the same way lilies and white chrysanthemums are associated with death. It’s a rather morbid thought, but Tobio had only ever worn a suit once before he went pro. 

(He never got to attend Miwa’s wedding after all.)

All the people who came over back then might as well be strangers to Tobio. The Kageyamas didn’t often visit family, so when a reason to meet up arrived and was no longer something they could excuse themselves out of, the conversation often had a stilted atmosphere of small talk and catching up; and Tobio was never good at small talk.

It’s a quiet affair, traditional, private, stoic. It’s very on brand for a Kageyama. The smiling picture of Kazuyo was awkward in the sea of hardened austere faces. 

Nobody cried. Not even Tobio. He wondered if he should have. 

It’s the only time he wore a suit before turning nineteen, and the only time he wore one outside of work.

(He also wasn’t able to attend Tanaka and Shimizu’s wedding, the day coinciding with one of the games in the V-League. Tobio was selfish. Karasuno didn’t mind—doesn’t mind. It doesn't make him any less guilty.)

Tobio had long worn suits that fit him better now. 

And he had better significant events to wear a suit these days, events that were no longer so dour or gloomy. And yet, even if they were slightly better, it didn’t change the fact that they were tedious. Anything that needed a suit was immediately tedious, anything that needed small talk already too much trouble. 

Between the stress of the post game responsibilities, it wasn't till he was holding a glass of champagne, needing an excuse to look busy, that he turned on his phone and realized how much notifications he's been receiving. Tobio decided to comb through it, if only to snap himself out of the morose mood he’s gotten himself into.

The texts were well wishes from most of the people he knew, the old Karasuno team, various people from the Adlers. A couple from his agent with an explanation why he couldn’t attend the dinner, and please talk to the sponsors and the officials, Kageyama-san. Don’t forget to smile. One from Miwa, that was probably a congratulations as well. Some from Hinata. 

And then there were Twitter notifications from the app, which he apparently had not logged out of since the last time he was online and thus flooded his phone. Fans were wishing him good luck, then encouragement from the loss. Some of his old friends and teammates tagging him on pics from the game, some from those who he met earlier in line.

One by one he thanked those he knew through texts, the rest he prompted to ignore.

Except—

Shouyou Hinata ✓ @ninja_shouyou. Sep 14 2022

@kageyamaT That's 2432 wins for me and 2430 losses 52 ties

[Video ▶️]

🗨️10 replies 🔄 1k retweets ❤️ 7k likes

The video was basically just a compilation of Tobio goofing around...or it would seem like he was goofing around but really that's just how he acted out of the court, and it seemed to be compiled by someone else. Tobio didn’t even realize he was being filmed. It did seem like they liked his curry commercial a lot with how often it came up.

Tobio huffed, picking a quiche with one hand and the other texting out a reply.

Shouyou Hinata ✓ @ninja_shouyou. Sep 14 2022

@kageyamaT That's 2432 wins for me and 2430 losses 52 ties

[Video ▶️]

🗨️11 replies 🔄 1k retweets ❤️ 7k likes

         Kageyama Tobio @kageyamaT

         Replying to @ninja_shouyou

         Shut up dumbass. I'll kick your ass this november

         Translate Tweet

         04:12 PM · Dec 5, 2022· Twitter for Iphone

         🗨️ reply 🔄 retweet ❤️ likes

He typed in the response, and minutes after, his phone started vibrating like crazy once again. Not knowing what to do, he immediately deleted the twitter app and sighed with relief. 

But then his phone started to ping again, and Tobio groaned. What was it now?

Dumbass Hinata

Heyyy

Can you stop trending every other week? Stupid handsome face making you popular

Whatever I win

Must be difficult dealing with Ushijima's spikes

Oh wait you replied to my tweet lmao

Glad to know you're not a caveman

✓read: 6:45 PM

Tobio frowned. He's not that far behind the times, for goodness sake. He could use a simple app if he wanted to. 

Aren't you supposed to be training?

How did you even see my game?

✓read: 6:48 PM

I didn't

I was scrolling through twt while eating lunch and saw you trending

AGAIN

I'll be watching it while lifting weights

✓read: 6:50 PM

You're going to get into an accident

I'll kill you all the way from Italy if you get injured

✓read: 6:51 PM

You're right

I should watch it without rush

Savor it

That way I'll be able to see more of your mistakes

Wyd btw?

✓read: 6:54 PM

Banquet

✓read: 6:54 PM

Oof

✓read: 6:54 PM

Thought you enjoyed these things?

✓read: 6:55 PM

At first yeah

But then it gets a bit annoying

Gotta stay still too long. Not really fun

Has anyone asked you yet if you’re single? I bet you get a lot of those questions

Atsumu-san and Omi-san gets asked them a lot

At least Bokuto-san has Akaashi-san as an excuse

Some of them ask me too just in case ur curious

✓read: 6:57 PM

I'm not

And I haven’t

Yet

I’m avoiding them

✓read: 6:57 PM

For some reason, his dating status was a popular topic among people. It’s questions like these that made Tobio uncomfortable with these situations. He’d really rather not talk about his relationship status right now—or ever. Besides, he didn’t know how that connected to his skills as a volleyball player. It’s not like a relationship was automatically going to make him win more games or play more sets. Tobio didn’t understand it at all.

His agent even suggested using his relationship status as a way to promote him to his fans. Tobio, immediately, and very politely, declined.

Dumbass Hinata

But Kageyama-kun 

What’s the point of these dinners if you don’t talk to them?

lol

✓read: 6:59 PM

Shut up

✓read: 7:00 PM

As if you haven’t heard that from your PR and agent lol

Surprised you haven’t made any PR disaster with how awkward you are

I bet you give Misato-san a lot of problems

Oh hey brings me back 

the first time I attended one of those things, Atsumu-san, Bokuto-san and Omi-san nearly burnt down one of the table cloths

Well Omi-san would never admit it 

but if he didn't tell Atsumu-san that he can't brulee a creme brulee then Atsumu would never steal those tiny torches 

Atsumu said: if Samu can do it so can I

no it didn't go well

Bokuto-san panicked and threw wine all over it

And I guess you can guess the rest

Captain Meian nearly caught a stroke from stress

✓read: 7:05 PM

Tobio snickered. Somehow that fool always found himself in the most troublesome situations. Somebody really needed to take care of that idiot, keep him under control. 

Dumbass

✓read: 7:05 PM

Hey I’m not the one who got into it

...I just took a video out of it

JUst like what Atsumu-san said!

Though captain did tell us to delete it

✓read: 7:06 PM

Lol

I bet you didn’t delete it

✓read: 7:06 PM

Of course

[Video ▶️]

✓read: 7:09 PM

The video started with Atsumu holding a small torch with a small blue flame. Tobio didn’t turn on the sound so as to not attract people around him, but it seemed like Atsumu was telling Sakusa something. His mouth was moving and his hand was holding the blowtorch from who knows where. Tobio wasn’t sure where they got an unfinished creme brulee either but Atsumu pointed the flame on the dessert and it immediately burst into flames. The camera shook while everyone surrounding it panicked. Bokuto got over towards the fire, and doused the burning dessert with the red wine he was holding, causing it to grow bigger. And then while they all tried to put it out, the video had cut to the still of Atsumu taking off his jacket in an attempt to put out the fires.

Tobio huffed. He dreaded thinking about how that went down in the aftermath. 

“Oh Tobi, what’s got you smiling on your phone?" Moretti slid next to him with an easy smile, Santini right next to him. They were probably a little tipsy judging by the flush on their faces and the arms they had around each other to support their weight. They look awfully cheerful for someone who lost the game, and it seemed like they'd forgotten about their fight two days ago, like they weren't so close to ripping each other's heads off.

" Signore Tobio isn't such a lonely man after all, huh?" Santini offered Tobio a flute of champagne, and with nothing better to do, he accepted it.

Tobio eyed the screen where more dots appeared in the tiny speech bubble of Hinata's text, nevermind that he was apparently smiling. "A friend."

"Friend huh? The one in Brazil? Possibly be something more? Il tuo amante ?” Santini raised his brows. When Tobio said nothing, Santini continued. "Tobio, amico mio . You never smile at anything other than volleyball and food."

Tobio thought that comment should warrant an offended denial, disgruntled contradiction or maybe even an indignant splutter, but it was also right on so he didn't answer that and showed them the video instead. The two peeked into the screen of his phone as they played the file back and within minutes, Santini and Moretti were howling with laughter. 

“ Oh merda! These your friends?” Moretti slapped Tobio’s back, still wheezing. 

“You got a rowdy bunch in there.” Santini grasped at the phone, playing back the disaster on camera. “Oh wait. You got a message from your friend.” The message ping was obviously from LINE. Santini had a smile on his face and pointed the phone towards Tobio. The undeniable snap of a camera went off, and Tobio feared for the worst.

“Oi did you send that to his friend?” Moretti snatched the phone from Santini’s fingers and tutted disapprovingly. “Sober up Cardo.” 

“ Vattela a pigliare in culo. ” Moretti snorted. 

Santini rolled his eyes, pushing the phone back to Tobio’s hands. “Alright. Drink up and calm down. We don’t want you drunk before your bedtime.”

“ Levati dai coglioni. ”

Tobio was silently grateful for that even if he figured they wouldn’t be able to understand Japanese. Santini dragged De Luca to one of the corners of the room where they could settle down. The phone pinged once again and this time, Tobio peered at it with a bit of hesitation.

Dumbass Hinata

Lol

What’s up with that pic? 

You never take pics щ(゜ロ゜щ)

Are we doing this now?

Alright

I'm not gonna lose!

[photo 🖼️]

✓Read: 7:12 PM

Tobio rolled his eyes. Of course Hinata was going to take it as a challenge. The picture in question was a selfie of him doing a peace sign by the lockers, probably about to change clothes for afternoon practice. Hinata's bright grin shone bright, the once faded tan lines after playing for Japan in two years were prominent once more now that he's spent time under the Brazilian sun. It's very different from Tobio's awkward stolen photo in a suit.

Begrudgingly, Tobio had to admit Hinata won this, but since he never counted this as a contest to begin with, then it absolutely did not count. Plus, Tobio had a handicap so everything was null. 

Go to practice dumbass 

✓read: 7:16 PM

So I win

(づ￣ ³￣)づ ♥️

✓read: 7:17 PM

Tobio glared at the screen. That little shit. He kept his phone back in his pocket with a scoff, but not before saving this picture of Hinata as well. 

"Kageyama Tobio." 

Tobio looked up as Ushijima made his way to him. He looked older, bulkier, up close. They last saw each other in June. People changed a lot in the few months they were apart. It wasn't long after Tobio left for Italy that Ushijima considered playing for a foreign team as well. Tobio admitted that seeing an occasional familiar face was comforting.

"You played well." Ushijima had said. 

"Ohoho. It's been awhile since I saw one of the volleyball monsters in person." Another man grinned too wide and with too many teeth. It was a little uncanny. Tobio didn't notice the presence of another person trailing behind Ushijima, and it had come to him as a surprise. He spoke in Japanese as well, probably an old friend.

"Ushijima-san congratulations." He bowed in greeting. "And--" Tobio squinted at the man. His red hair and shifty eyes were familiar, but he couldn't put a finger on his name.

The man's face split into a wide and eerie grin. "Your face obviously says you forgot my name, hmmm?" 

"S-sorry." Tobio's face flushed. The man didn't sound offended, on the contrary, just amused. He smirked at his accurate jab, almost like he was particularly pleased about it. The expression started to jig something in Tobio's memory. "You were the guess blocker in Shiratorizawa." 

"I haven't been addressed that in awhile." He whistled. "It's chocolate man these days from the fine netizens of the internet. Wakatoshi-kun, why don't you introduce me again?"

He obliged with a prompt nod. "Kageyama Tobio, this is Tendou Satori. He's working as a chocolatier in Paris." Ushijima's introduction made the man grin wider, if that were even possible. "He's my best friend."

Tobio remembered now. He was the guess blocker in Shiratorizawa who was closest to Ushijima. Occasionally Tobio would catch them exchanging calls back when he and Ushijima were still in the Adler's. Despite Ushijima keeping his life private, it was obvious they were close even beyond graduation.

Tendou giggled. "No no. Wakatoshi-kun. I'm not your best friend anymore."

Tobio's eyes widened. Was he wrong? He looked at Ushijima questioningly.

"My apologies." Ushijima waved his hand without a hint of worry. "This is my fiance."

"Oh."

Oh.

That was a surprise.

"Congratulations. I didn't know." Tobio found the words leaving his mouth before he could think about it. The revelation still had him grasping for thoughts.

"He's surprised." Tendou smirked. "Like an innocent child who just found out about—"

"Tendou." Ushijima chided.

"—relationships." Tendou's smile was a little unnerving. He's watching Tobio like a hawk, never blinking or looking away. He usually didn’t mind the staring, but it did put him a little off.

"Do you have a problem with my relationship status, Kageyama?" Ushijima's face was impassive, yet chillingly cold in addition to the usual stoicism. His expression deadly sharp behind the calm.

"No. I'm just surprised." Tobio said. "The distance--it seemed difficult to maintain a relationship being countries away."

Ushijima nodded; the taut lines of his body language softened immediately. His tone was back to making amiable conversation. "It is challenging. But Tendou comes to visit when he has free days. And I will go when it is mine. We also call every day." He nodded at Tendou who beamed at him. "Of course, you would know all about it wouldn't you?"

There’s this expectant voice in the way he asked. Tobio wasn’t sure what he meant.

"What?"

"Arent'cha buddy-buddy with Chibi-chan? The distance is bigger between you, ya know?" Tendou leaned towards him, patting his shoulder with a grin. "He's in Brazil now, isn't he? How's your other half doing?"

Tobio blinked at the question. 

"Hinata Shouyou." Ushijima said. "He is your partner, isn't he?"

Partner. The way he said the word was like he was verbally tripping over it. Partner, yes--in whatever sense that he meant, Tobio wasn’t sure. It should still hold true, despite whatever implication they were hanging around it.

"He is," he confirmed. "Hinata is my… partner."

Ushijima and Tendou exchanged looks, the latter was playful while Tobio could never get anything out of Ushijima even back when they were teammates. Tobio liked Ushijima as a teammate though, despite the lack of communication from both sides. It was usually calming.

Right now, Ushijima’s face was blank. Tendou on the other hand was intrigued. It threw Tobio off the loop. Tendou raked his gaze all over him, those heavy lidded eyes and their red color was unnerving as they inspected Tobio, filing away things Tobio could not begin to guess. He’s being scrutinized and it took him aback.

"Hmmm. Never expected the two of you to be okay with separation." Tendou stroked his chin. "Both you and the little orange shorty were basically joined by the hip throughout highschool, no? Tsutumo told me so." 

"At camp." Ushijima turned to his friend--no, fiance, Tobio still could not believe it. "Hinata Shouyou made an opportunity he was not given. He was fine on his own without his setter."

"So he was." Tendou chuckled as he scratched his chin. They must be talking about the first Shiratorizawa camp Hinata had crashed into. "Very lively, that kid. He basically pushed everyone to do better, didn't he? Pulled everyone to dance his tune. Even that annoying first year with the glasses got moving." 

"Yeah." Tobio huffed. "He does that a lot, the dumbass."

Tsukishima was very disgruntled when he came back. Hinata was someone who did things at his own pace--a very fast pace, it was. And when it doesn’t go to his plan, he plows through a way for him by force, carving a place for him. He’s stubborn like that, ambitious, prideful.

"They won the South American volleyball championship, didn't they? They beat Oikawa." Ushijima nodded to himself, breaking Tobio from his train of thoughts. "You must be proud."

"Yes.” Proud. Of course. He was his partner. He saw his journey first hand. “And also irritated." Tobio scrunched his nose. 

"Mhm? Is this jealousy I see?" Tendou stared at him. "Don't worry about it. Wakatoshi-kun is simply stronger than Oikawa. Second place isn't too bad.” He nodded to himself. “Yes, it isn't too bad."

"That's not it." Tobio explained, It’s not jealousy. It’s something bigger than that, but not exactly envy. It’s something close to it, something unnamable, an emotion exclusively felt when he thought about Hinata. "He's my rival too. It's a competition between us." Maybe it’s jealousy, but directed at the wrong person, the wrong thing. He was not jealous of Hinata, but it did twist something inside him that made his pulse throb faster.

"Healthy competition is good." Ushijima chimed with his approval. 

"It's hot in bed too, isn't it? All that sexual tension from the rivalry." Tendou's comment choked Tobio and had him coughing as his face heated up from shock. The man’s laughter from his reaction rang with gleeful delight, clearly enjoying his plight. Ushijima on the other hand simply sent him an apologetic glance.

He certainly did not want to comment on that.

He cleared his throat. "When were the two of you engaged?" Deflection. Tobio thanked the smallest social graces he learned over the years to be able to change the subject to something else. When in trouble, mention an interesting topic to shift the focus.

Tendou probably caught on to his scheme, but let it go without another word as Ushijima replied.

"A year ago after the Olympics. He came to meet me as I went back to Poland as we promised when we met in Paris. At dinner, I asked him to join me in a legal union.” 

“It was romantic. He asked me while in the middle of a run. He decided to match my pace and everything, I thought it was strange at first. Wakatoshi-kun waits for no one, not even for me.” Tendou beamed as he showed off his ring, a simple gold band on his finger. The other match was on Ushijima’s own hand. “We’ll probably marry when he retires. It’ll be confusing when he changes his family name into mine.” 

Retirement. Even though he was still at the peak of his career, it was surreal to hear Ushijima make plans for when he no longer competed. The thought of Ushijima out of the competitive circuit was almost impossible to imagine. Ushijima Wakatoshi was the summit even back when Tobio was a kid in middle school.

“Wait, change his name?” 

“Yeah.” Tendou laughed. “You do that when you get married. Dont’cha know that?”

“No, I know that. But—” 

“I opted to take Tendou’s name.” Ushijima explained. “My family…” He looked at Tendou with an unreadable expression. “They were not so approving of my future decisions.”

“You’ll sound great with my name anyway--Tendou Wakatoshi-san! Speaking of, you’ll have to practice calling me Satori.” Tendou nudged him with an elbow.

“Mhm. I’ll be sure to do so.” Ushijima said obligingly as he glanced at his watch. "We should turn in early. Our train leaves early tomorrow." 

"You should mingle with your teammates, ya know? You just won against Italy, afterall." The redhead turned to Tobio with a smile, unapologetic. 

"I don't see you often. They'll understand." Ushijima nodded. “Yes. Let’s turn in early.” 

"Ah well, if you say so." Tendou didn’t look too bummed. In fact, he was delighted at the decision. He snaked an arm around Ushijima. His demeanor was awfully pleased.

"I'll be seeing all of you this November. Tell Hinata Shouyou I look forward to meeting him there." 

"I'll send your regards." Tobio bowed.

"Mhm." Ushijima looked satisfied.

"Volleyball monsters indeed." Tendou beamed. "It's different seeing Wakatoshi-kun with his brethren. He looks positively animated."

He could not see the difference. Ushijima acted exactly the same as he did, at least to Tobio. That was something he was not privy to, he concluded. People in relationships had that exclusivity to each other, to know their lover in ways other people did not know, from the most vulnerable to the peak of their strength. 

The thought made Tobio grip his flute of champagne harder, knuckles turning white.

“Ushijima-san, Tendou-san. Wait—” 

They stopped in their tracks, staring at him with intrigue. 

“Can I take a picture?” Tobio felt a little silly asking, but he was also competitive. This was in payback for that drunken picture with Oikawa. “I’ll send it to Hinata.”

Dumbass Hinata

[photo 🖼️]

✓Read: 8:02 PM

Is that Tendou-san?!!!

HAHAHAHA SOMEONE NEEDS TO TEACH ALL OF YOU HOW TO SMILE

✓Read: 12:08 AM

VOLLEYBALL JOURNAL ENTRY # 6473 

[September 19, 2022 - Monday]

European Volleyball Championship: Italy (Ali Roma) vs. Poland ( )

Result: 2-3 sets [LOSS]

Personal Statistics:

• Service aces: 20 - set 1 (4), Set 2 (3), Set 3 (6), Set 4 (2), Set 5 (5)

• Missed tosses: - none

• Blocked spikes: 29 - set 1 (5), Set 2 (7), Set 3 (9), Set 4 (5), Set 5 (3)

• Outs: 8 - set 1 (0), Set 2 (0), Set 3 (2), Set 4 (5), Set 5 (1)

Note: Orzel’s blocks are formidable. Work on spiking power. Add 5 more kg in weights for workout and 2 more reps. Practice the timing for the pipe with Russo and the quick with Gracia. Ushijima’s spikes became more unpredictable. (see manager’s notes for other stats)

Misc: 

Some sponsors want to shoot a promotional ad. Keep schedule open for when it's announced. The flight back to Italy is the day after tomorrow, then a day off. Adjust meal plan and exercise reps accordingly.

Met with Ushijima-san at the post match banquet. He brought his friend over. Tendou-san and Ushijima-san are engaged. Hinata would want to hear about it next time. Ushijima-san seems to already have plans after retirement.

Everyone seems to already have something planned ahead in their lives.