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what will survive of us is love.
❍
The first practice match with Seijoh doesn’t go as planned.
Not only does Hinata projectile vomit four different ways on the bus and sours Tsukishima’s already sour mood into nearly murderous, no one listens to Daichi’s militant scoldings or even bat an eyelash at Suga’s thinly veiled threats. A strong case could be made for both their captainship styles losing its potency; because when you have a Hinata challenging virtually everyone he sees into a jumping contest and a Daichi who yells at him to get off the damn ceiling nearly every day, intimidation tactics are only going to get you so far.
It’s not even any of those things that completely wrecks the already atrocious bus ride over to Aoba Johsai.
It is, of all people, Kageyama.
Kageyama who, frozen in his spot by the school’s gym entrance, Daichi runs into that Suga runs into that Tanaka runs into that Asahi trips and falls over into and so on and on.
“What the hell?” Noya grimaces, rubbing the back of his neck that Yamaguchi unfortunately elbowed when he tried to cushion his landing because going near Tsukki in his still homicidal state wasn’t an option. “What just happened?”
Tanaka is trying to shake Hinata out of it, eyes swimming in a loop at having violently bounced off Asahi’s back and straight into the ground. “Stay with us, Hinata!”
Ennoshita is quick to follow with a handheld fan he kept for emergencies, directing it straight to Hinata’s face. “At least win us Nationals first!”
Daichi manages to get his bearings first. He already has his mouth open to school Kageyama five hundred different ways into obedience, rolling up the sleeves of his jacket, the beginnings of an you idiot, don’t just stand there when you know your senpais are—
“Wait,” Suga is quicker to apprehend him, placing a hand on his forearm. “Wait, Daichi. I don’t think Kageyama even heard us coming.”
“What?” Daichi frowns, stomping over to peer up at his face more closely.
It’s then they see all the color drained out of Kageyama’s face. His usually sunkissed complexion just bled dry of all pallor, the lines of his face set in a tense expression; the corners of his lips trembling just so. He even looks smaller, somehow, a little more muted.
“Kageyama?” Suga tries, a gentle hand coming up on his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
Kageyama can’t hear them. There’s no sign of any comprehension in his eyes; blue grey that usually twinkled with so much activity and excitement, his gaze endlessly tracing all the dimensions of a court and its players. An incomparable imitation to now: eyes that just looked out of focus, pale, and; most importantly, nervous.
What the hell?
Suga traces his line of vision and meets eyes with someone wearing a mint green and white jersey, the colorway he knows belongs exclusively to Aoba Johsai. He strains his eyes to note the jersey number, #4, and tries to recall who it belongs to in Takeda’s information packet.
Unlike Kageyama, #4 at least isn’t wearing an expression that resembles someone being summoned to their execution.
On the contrary, Suga notes with some confusion, Seijoh #4 almost looked… curious. And maybe even a little expectant. Some of the players surrounding him looked unsure at this weird exchange between their first year and someone who was obviously around Suga’s age and could only be their senpai, if the worried glances they all kept shooting each other were anything to go by.
Daichi coughs to break the tension.
“You must be Aoba Johsai’s captain,” he steps forward, hands poised for a handshake. “I’m Sawamura Daichi, captain of Karasuno’s volleyball team.”
#4 stepped forward as soon as he did, but stopped short when he heard him speak. “Ah,” he rights himself, reluctantly shaking his hand. His grip wasn’t as firm as Daichi expected, almost hesitant. “No, no. Our captain is running late today. I’m the vice captain, Iwaizumi Hajime.”
“I see,” Daichi’s eyebrows shoot up just a fraction before regaining his composure. “Then, let’s have a good game.”
“Let’s have a good game,” parrots Iwaizumi back in return, voice molding itself more confidently. “Daichi-san.”
As soon as Daichi steps back, he hears Suga hissing in Kageyama’s ear to get it together for christ sake and no ones going to bite you. More murmurs of agreement are volleyed within the team, the loudest of them being Hinata, who is annoyed at Kageyama’s uncharacteristic jitterness and wants to make it known to every single person in the gymnasium. I didn’t know kings got cold feet!
At the mention of the reclaimed nickname, some people in the Aoba Johsai team avert their eyes away. Iwaizumi, however, doesn’t budge.
“So it really is you,” Iwaizumi says, voice levelled and controlled. “Kageyama.”
Kageyama, Suga notes, responds to the voice in a way he was only starting to see for himself. The square in his shoulders when one of them or the second years told him off or ordered him to do something, and the almost instinctive way he listens and does and services without complaint.
This, Suga thinks, is maybe where he got it.
“Iwaizumi-san,” Kageyama bows his head respectfully. “Let’s have a good game.”
“We were wondering which school you’d end up in,” Iwaizumi muses, tone gentler now that they’ve gotten the formalities out of the way. It’s easier to hear the familiarity in it now, too. “But I have to admit the crows weren’t even in my top five.”
“What’s wrong with Karasuno?” pipes Tanaka from behind, maybe a little too quickly and harshly, that Ennoshita has to wring his ear back.
Iwaizumi is quick to clear any misunderstanding. “Sorry,” he says, hands coming up in a pacifying gesture. “I didn’t mean it like that. Only that I know by the time Kageyama graduated, he had offers from other prefectures. Our coach even said so himself. I guess we’re just surprised, is all.”
Calm, level-headed, isn’t easily baited by overemotional underclassmen. Definitely the vice captain, Suga surmises with a hint of respect.
“Who is this we?" Hinata this time, voice laced with so much distrust and body poised like someone ready for battle. Daichi sends a sharp look his way to pipe it down.
This time someone from Iwaizumi’s back, who had for all this time been cowering behind him despite being significantly taller than most of his team, is the one who speaks out; albeit hesitantly. “Y-you didn’t tell them?”
Kageyama at least looks partly sheepish, glancing down to look at his feet. “Maa.”
Iwaizumi somehow finds all this amusing. “Kindaichi hasn’t stopped asking about you since he joined the team and noticed you weren’t here,” he says, gesturing to the kid behind him. “Kunimi too.”
The Kunimi and Kageyama share a look. There’s a little history in it, a language somehow only a few people in the room were capable of understanding.
What exactly, Suga thinks, has got all of them this tense?
“We all used to be in a team together,” Iwaizumi explains to the rest of the room, a hint of pride slithering its way in his declaration. “And your Kageyama over there is our captain’s precious kouhai.”
The doors to the gym swing open then.
❍
Seijoh obliterates them.
No, really. Literally.
Hinata is so underequipped to handle any of Oikawa’s serves that he even intentionally softens them sometimes, to give the kid a fighting chance to at least make contact with it. But it all ends up with Hinata being bludgeoned off to the floor as soon as he tries diving for any of his serves. Tsukishima is no better, all the height in the world and nothing to show for with those twig arms. Daichi and Noya are at least able to put up a front, but most of their first years—aka half the starting team—still have a long way to go.
“Jesus Christ,” Iwaizumi hisses under his breath, swiping a towel over his forehead. “Is this going to be another Kageyama and friends show?”
Oikawa is trying to get his breathing level before responding, glancing at the other side of the court in time to see Suga force-feeding Kageyama a bottle of water all the while murmuring words of affirmation. Don’t mind, don’t mind! he says gleefully, and to Oikawa’s horror, actually means it.
Before he can get a reply in, the referee whistles for the post-game greetings.
❍
Oikawa, unlike Iwaizumi, has a more confident gait about him. His handshake is firm and absolute, no room for hesitation and almost like a calling for you to level yourself with him and not the other way around.
“Good game, captain,” Oikawa says, smiling in that skittish way, that Daichi somehow finds both genuine and unnerving.
“Thank you,” Daichi replies. “You too.”
Beside him he can hear Suga and one of Seijoh’s third years—Mattsun, was it?—going into a semi-passionate reiteration of one of their earlier plays, both seniors coming from a place of genuine curiosity for the game and looking for ways to improve. That block was good, Suga-san, Mattsun says. But what about if you.. To which Suga replied, I see. I see.That makes sense!
Iwaizumi and Kageyama, on the other hand, are in the middle of a conversation that’s nowhere near as casual as it should be. Kageyama has his head bowed in turn, on the other side of the net, listening keenly on all the pointers Iwaizumi was rattling off about how he could do better in this and that and pointing out all the plays he did flawlessly. Listen here, Kageyama, he starts. How many times have I told you to use your height to your advantage in court?
Daichi feels Oikawa observing them closely too.
“Iwa-chan always had a soft spot for that kid,” he hears him say quietly, almost to himself. “I guess it’s hard not to be when you have someone like Tobio as your kouhai.”
Daichi is just about to ask what he meant when the Aoba Johsai coach calls for all the third years—Karasuno’s included—to huddle as he gave them his personal notes for the practice match.
The coach is lenient on Karasuno’s plays, and even anticipative of their first years, sensing some of their potential; but as his speech trudges on, Daichi notes in welcome surprise, that he was assessing Kageyama the same way he was assessing Seijoh’s players. Not with clinical interest like he did with Hinata or Tsukishima, but with a vested, personal stake at his development; so like he was on his own players.
After he leaves them alone with a promise from Oikawa to have his team perform suicide runs for their missed plays this time, Suga is the first to break the silence.
“Is is just me or did your coach sound angry Kageyama didn’t enroll here?” Suga glances unsurely at the senior crowd.
“Not just you,” Makki waves him off casually. “He regularly gets mad at Kindaichi for scaring Kageyama off from enrolling.”
“Kindaichi did no such thing,” Iwaizumi retorts at the same time Suga scoffs, “Kageyama never even considered Aoba Johsai.”
They lock eyes.
Oikawa is quick to defuse and butts in before things escalate. “My my,” he muses, looking nervously between the two. “I guess all of us have very spirited first years this time around, huh?”
Suga is still apprehensive, glancing unsurely at Iwaizumi who, for the first time, is showing signs of subtle hostility. It makes sense even Seijoh got territorial over first years—
“Kageyama used to be our shortest," Iwaizumi notes suddenly, proudly, with an air of confidence no one under six foot should ever have.
Suga decides then and there he wants to kill him.
“Are you saying our setter is short?" he quips back, taking a step into his space. “He’s still a first year. He’s still a growing boy. And really, how tall are you to even—”
Oikawa, feeling Iwaizumi flare up at the slightest slight to his height, is even quicker this time to get in between them. “Iwa-chan didn’t mean it like that,” he placates, smiling. “Just that Tobio was really tiny when we met him. Really. Like a round volleyball.”
Suga huffs, unconvinced.
“A-and well, he’s one of your tallest now, isn’t he?” Oikawa continues, a dip in his voice when he says “now”; like it was the first time he tasted the words and confronted the reality. That their “now” didn’t include Tobio. He wavered a little, then. “Kunimi-chan and Kindaichi-chan were taller than him then. They’re still taller now, but, I guess—”
“You didn’t expect Kageyama to grow as tall as he is?” Daichi finishes for him, feeling the air in the room settle into something less confrontational. Something more nostalgic.
Oikawa pauses. So does Iwaizumi.
History then, Suga notes. Obviously unresolved.
“The last time I saw Kageyama was after our graduation, when he was running around after us to teach him one last serve toss before we leave,” Iwaizumi says mildly, his gaze softening. “He couldn’t have been as tall as I am then.”
Suga deflates at that. There’s fondness in the tone of voice Iwaizumi takes on when he speaks of Kageyama, a little like his own, but restrained, somehow; like he felt he didn’t have the right to be as fond as he was. Suga wonders why that is.
“Sounds just like Kageyama,” is what he says instead, meeting eyes with Iwaizumi. A flash of recognition weaves its way in, the familiarity expanding itself, making room for Suga in Kageyama’s life in the “now”.
“Just—” Iwaizumi continues, still unsure. It’s a stark contrast to how he attacks the court, with a booming confidence in his steps and all the violence of an ace spiker. He looks a little unsteady on his feet now, like he’s stepping on someone’s toes. “Just be patient with him. He’s—he can be—well. He listens to his seniors well, but just don't give up on him right away if he doesn’t.”
Suga is stunned.
The way Kageyama talked about his middle school days—so riddled in isolation and anger—had maybe influenced Suga’s and the rest of Karasuno’s early prejudice towards Seijoh and met them with their own brand of ire that allowed for a child all of thirteen to have felt as alone as he did. But then he also wouldn’t put it past Kageyama to completely misread situations as often as he did. Even Suga had to remind himself not to take the things he said so personally.
Suga’s just about to reply, let Seijoh know that for whatever reason Kageyama who didn’t even consider enrolling in their school is now in good hands, when someone beats him to it.
“Tobio is a special kid,” Oikawa says somberly, not a single hint of that sarcasm or easy-going charisma in place. His face was the most serious they’ve seen of him today, his voice the most loaded with something close to a warning. “I didn’t teach him a single thing in middle school and yet he can still play like that. Watch out for him, inside and outside the court. He—ah—needs a lot of attention.”
❍
Just as they’re about to leave the gym, the rest of Karasuno having long filed out, Oikawa calls after them suddenly.
“Sorry?” Suga strains his ears to hear.
Oikawa seems to be going through a hundred internal battles before shaking himself out of it, face morphing into determination, as he says in a clearer voice that echoes off the gym walls: “Milk yoghurt.”
What, Suga thinks at the same time Daichi blurts exactly, “What.”
“Milk yoghurt,” Oikawa repeats himself with more conviction and no hesitation. “Tobio always feels better after losing a match if you give him milk yoghurt.”
Behind him they can see Iwaizumi, the ghost of a smile on his face.