Chapter Text
“I would do anything for this sport,” Hinata says, ignoring the vibration of his phone going off in his pocket and mentally cursing at himself for forgetting to put his phone on mute before he entered. “I think the greatest an athlete can be is when they are finally able to achieve their dream, to fight for what they want, to work with their passion.”
“You are passionate about volleyball, aren’t you?” The man sitting across from Hinata is dressed formally, but there is no mistaking it. A pin of the Brazilian flag attached to his blazer; the pictures of past Brazilian Olympic Volleyball Teams hung on the wall. This is the real deal, Hinata’s chance.
How he hopes and dreams this will be it.
“Of course, Mr. Campos,” Hinata smiles, nodding vigorously. “More than anything in the entire world. Ever since I was kid.”
“The Brazilian roster is a competitive team to join, as you know. And we are looking to rebuild this team with young new rising stars,” The man acknowledges, gesturing to a specific picture on the wall, Team Brazil winning gold in the Rio Olympics, 2016. Hinata remembers watching that match with his host family in the living room, most of the players recently retired, as well as the old coach. “Are you willing to do what it takes? To put in the work? An athlete is only as good as the work they put in; you know? The work they put in when nobody is watching.”
“Absolutely, Mr. Campos. I couldn’t agree more,” Hinata takes a deep breath, squeezing his hands as he nods with a determined grin. “The greatest players are not the ones born with natural gifts, but talent and instinct which is polished to…” Hinata pauses, noticing the man across the desk raising an eyebrow but still staying attentive. “Polished to perfection. Only passion can do that.”
“Good, very good,” Mr. Campos nods as he finishes his typing, closing the laptop on the desk. “I believe that is all I have for the interview. Thank you, Hinata Shoyo. The BVA will email you with further steps if needed.”
Hinata’s eyes widen as he subtly lets out a sigh of relief, an interview having gone without anything such as a hitch. On instinct, Hinata rises from his seat and bows towards the man sitting across from him. “Thank you for your consideration, Mr. Campos.”
“You’re young and have got a pure spirit,” The older man lets out a slight laugh, Hinata’s breath catching in his throat. “I like my players like that.”
“Thank you, Mr. Campos.”
“Coach Campos,” the man emphasizes, a small smile on his face. “Or just Coach.”
“Oh, alright. Thank you, Co—” Hinata almost falls to his knees as the realization takes over, Coach Campos grinning with determination, almost finding the scenario comical. “—Coach?” He stutters out, a face of shock slowly slipping into an ecstatic grin.
“Welcome to the roster, I’m looking forward to your work with the Brazilian National Team. We start practicing on Monday.” Mr. Campos waves Hinata off with his right hand. “Go on. Off you go, I’m sure we’re both very busy with the rest of our work.”
He did it. He made it.
“Thank you, Coach Campos. Thank you so much! I won’t let you down!” Hinata is smiling fully, forcing his legs to move and get him out of the small office. The pure euphoria is enough to carry him to the hallway as he backs against the wall outside, sliding to the ground in glee. He reaches for his phone and quickly sends a video call request to Kageyama.
The phone only rings once before Kageyama picks up, in bed with his sheets halfway up his chest. It is late over there, Hinata knows this, but Kageyama could not be more awake on this call. “So? How’d it go?”
“I’m in! I’m in, Kageyama!” Hinata gleams, and Kageyama’s face lights up at the news. “I’m on the roster for Team Brazil, international!”
125 days.
It has been 125 days since Kageyama last heard from Hinata.
Kageyama pauses at the photo saved on his phone; quality lower than a scratchy polaroid due to age. The authentic photo has been saved and remastered time and time again, but in Kageyama’s camera roll, a photo taken of the original physical photograph stays. It is a photo from his final year at Karasuno, his friends in the same year posing for a group photo, a last hurrah, they called it. It seemed so monumental back then, a final photo taken before setting off for Spring Nationals, their final tournament, but now? As much as Kageyama looks back at his high school volleyball days with fondness, it is a drop in the bucket in his life.
The people he met over the years, on the other hand; that is the true game-changer which came with doing the honor of serving as the startittng setter of powerhouse Karasuno High School for three wonderful years. That is all, but Kageyama supposes it is a good thing he did not peak in High School.
He quickly puts his phone away, switching to the volleyball journal which he kept with him. Anything to switch his thoughts up.
Kageyama idly flips the pages of his volleyball journal (version three), occasionally pausing to glance at past entries while the rest of his team files onto their team bus. It is one of the few volleyball habits he has maintained since high school; writing in the journal anything and everything volleyball related. It was that time of a professional athlete’s life again, Kageyama’s second Olympics, in their home country of Japan.
Although a part of Kageyama enjoys the traveling section of being an athlete on a national team, the other is content with being able to play the court in his home country, being the home team. He quickly flips to the first clean page of the journal, grabbing his pen.
Until the teammates he supposedly likes interrupt him, poking him on the shoulder. “What?”
“Aren’t you so excited!” Hoshiumi pops up from the seat behind Kageyama. “And we don’t have to go far, isn’t that great! No jet lag to deal with? This is going to be an awesome Olympic games, much better than the Asian qualifiers.”
“They weren’t that bad, we got third,” Kageyama shrugs, attempting to go back to his journal.
“Yeah, but it was so low pressure since we already qualified for the Olympics automatically, and that’s not as fun,” Hoshiumi sighs, and Kageyama must remind himself that if he deals with the wing-spiker’s shenanigans during the National season on the Adlers, he can do it now on the National Team at the Olympics. “Here, we get to play for real. Prove our worth to the world, redeem ourselves!” He grins. “With, the best of the best. Come on, you’ve got to be excited to be on the same team as Miya again.”
Even after all these years, Hoshiumi still reminds Kageyama of his high school teammate. “Um, right.” Kageyama sighs, attempting to return to his journal again. “We haven’t played together since Worlds… in 2018.”
“Exactly!”
“And those were shit.”
“Damn, don’t remind me.”
“Oh, he’s so excited to be on the same team as me, he’s ready to burst on the inside,” Atsumu jumps in, sitting across the aisle of the bus from Hoshiumi, Sakusa rolling his eyes and sitting across the aisle from Kageyama, both stars in their own right and starting players for the MSBY Jackals. “Ain’t that right?”
“Sure, Atsumu, just don’t go get yourself injured again,” Kageyama rolls his eyes, but there is a smile on his face as he finally is given some peace to look at his past journal entries (to the background noise of Atsumu Miya’s false offended retorts). This is going to be the first Olympic Games with everyone from the new monster generation, as the news likes to call it. Back in 2016, Kageyama and Ushijima were the only ones of their current roster to qualify to go to Rio and play for Japan (at least in their age range), and all the other players were years and years older than they were.
Now? Kageyama has years of experience, surrounded by people which provide a great sense of familiarity and comfort. Ushijima sits next to him, someone else who enjoys the quiet. Quickly, Kageyama opens his book to the first clean page, starting to scribble down the words which pop into his head.
July 17th, 2021
I think this is going to be a good Olympics. I really do.
Kageyama finishes putting his clothes into each of their respective hangers, outfits screaming Olympic pride hanging on the open wardrobe in the room he shared with Ushijima, faintly hearing Sakusa’s and Komori’s muffled conversations through the wall, the rooms set up to share one bathroom between four people in a two-room suite-style space. Even though his place of residence is not too far outside of the Olympic Village in Tokyo, there is a certain feeling of happiness finally settling in the room he is required to stay in for the next month.
Kageyama does not have many preferences when it comes to roommates, but he does enjoy the peace Ushijima shares, his only companion from the 2016 Olympics. Kageyama puts a small souvenir from Rio on his nightstand, never too sure what the animal was, but it no longer mattered. Rio 2016 was… all the way in 2016. It is 2021, a new era, and everything is finally unpacked.
Everything must be in order, and everything finally is.
Two knocks on the main door, and Kageyama is the first to approach the door and open it, Ushijima behind him. Kageyama opens the door a crack open, but it makes more sense when he sees Bokuto on the other end with Atsumu. “Woah, this is what your room looks like?” Bokuto pokes his head in, grinning ear to ear. “Cool!”
“Bokuto, all the rooms look practically the same,” Atsumu cracks a smile. “Don’t mind him, he’s just excited.”
Aren’t we all?
“Well, ours has this super cool hangout space right next to it, and there’s a coffee pot and a TV set up. You have got to come look.” Bokuto opens the door and directs down the hall to the place of reference. It is a nice space, barely large enough to fit their entire team as a whole, but amenities previously mentioned are present, and there is a wall full of open windows and a sliding door to a balcony overlooking that village. “See, isn’t it so cool!”
Then again, this is surely a space which is not reserved for the volleyball team alone. Kageyama is sure of it.
“Look what Coach made sure to bring!” Hoshiumi jumps up with a large banner, moving to unfold it. “To claim our territory.”
“Oh, that’s so cool,” Bokuto smiles. “Let me help you with that, dude.”
“Are you already claiming this? I’m pretty sure this is one of the common spaces for…” Yaku, likely the first to make use of the coffee pot in the room, says with a sigh and a shaking head (and a Styrofoam cup of coffee in hand). “…The entire floor.”
“There are other ones on the floor they can use. Besides, it’s not like it’s big enough for people to actively want to show up here,” Hoshiumi, after a few failed attempts of trying to help his teammate with the banner, hands Bokuto the banner and a few command strips which came with said banner, a small face of defeat. “Plus, it’s in our corner. I doubt the people on the south side even know about it.” Hoshiumi mentions, and Kageyama hates to admit he does have a point. “I say we claim it.”
“And, done!” Bokuto grins as he finishes pinning up a small banner onto the wall, the banner with JAPAN VOLLEYBALL in full capitalization. “And this room has been claimed.”
Kageyama quickly glances towards Yaku, the two sharing a sigh of their more energetic teammate’s antics. So many words shared with just looks. The libero smiles before scanning Kageyama up and down. “You headed somewhere, Kageyama?”
“Oh, yeah,” Kageyama zips up his sweater, the chaos slowly starting to come to settle. “I’m just going on my run.”
“Oh, awesome!” Bokuto smiles.
“My alone run,” Kageyama emphasizes.
Not that he did not enjoy his teammates company, but Kageyama’s extra runs have always been his and his alone. “Have fun, Kageyama. We are still waiting for some of the… others to finish unpacking. If we’re not here when you come back, we’ll be on our way to grab lunch,” Yaku mentions, the setter nodding in reply.
“Thank you, Yaku,” Kageyama nods in acknowledgement. “I’ll see you all around.”
A quick walk through the floor until he is standing in front of the elevator, Kageyama presses a button which sends him to the ground floor of the building, a few steps taking him outside of the relative peace of the building belonging to Japan and into the bustling streets of the Olympic Village.
We’ll figure a good route as we go.
This run is working less as a proper workout and more as a way for Kageyama to orient himself with all the locations of the village, quickly finding himself leaving the residential section and moving towards the village center which stood right across from the dining hall. There are signs advertising smaller cafes and shops within the center, but those are other amenities to explore when Kageyama is willing to let himself become distracted.
The run around comes to a quick halt as Kageyama realizes his route is quite miscalculated, Kageyama sees his track circling back to the residential district much before going to the other ends of the village. The larger countries have their own dorm buildings (Japan, the United States, etc.), and the sight of the building belonging to Brazil is a reminder that Kageyama should put more thought into his running routes from now on.
One of the Brazilian busses starts to pull in, and Kageyama steps to the side.
Kageyama pauses at the sight of the bus unloading in front of the large building, smaller than his own residential building but not by much. The Brazilian flag is plastered on the side of the bus, and the first to get out are staff (possibly coaches) shouting words in Portuguese, presumably.
The reigning champions, Kageyama thought to himself. The team with the biggest target on their back, any team able to take them down would earn the exclusive title, and bragging rights among players in the volleyball world. But Poland was able to beat them at Worlds back in 2018. They still got second place at Worlds, though. We really didn’t do as well back then.
“—Hinata?” The words are a piercing contrast from the Portuguese conversations which Kageyama tends to filter out, no mistake in what he hears. Kageyama stops dead in his tracks as his thoughts pop like bubbles, almost tripping at the sudden halt of his legs.
Hinata?
Kageyama shakes his head to clear his mind, turning to the mention of his friend’s name. His friend who has been missing in action for months. Months! “Probably unloading his stuff. You know he likes to have his own things.” Another person, presumably a player, replies in English. That fact is true, Kageyama knows. Hinata likes to handle his own things after almost losing his bag at Nationals during their first year. Small mistakes like that change a person and their habits, even permanently.
Upon this realization (and thankful for Team Brazil’s bilingual tendencies), Kageyama runs to the back of the bus, seeing the back of a player shorter than him, but iconic bright orange hair he can recognize from a kilometer away. “Hinata?” His mouth hangs open in shock as the other turns around. “Hinata!”
“What is it— oh my god, Kageyama?” Hinata stares at the other, wide shocked eyes. “Shut up, just— what the hell are you doing here?” His voice is hushed, looking over his shoulder before he lets out a sigh of relief, bringing his bag from the back of the bus and opening it, checking the contents inside before smiling and zipping it up. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“It’s the Olympics, dumbass,” Kageyama retorts. “Why wouldn’t I be— wait a minute, don’t go changing the subject,” he shakes his head. “Where the hell have you been?”
“Excuse me?”
“Dumbass, you know exactly what I’m talking about. It’s been months.” Kageyama sighs, but it does nothing to relieve the tension. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Hinata says firmly, closing the door, but his voice is laced with regret. “I know it’s been a while, I know, just— things changed,” Hinata sighs, and Kageyama turns his head to start hyper-analyzing what exactly has changed. Hinata looks more serious, professional, but no one can deny the obvious eyebags and overall lowering appearance.
“You look tired,” Kageyama comments, the words simply falling out slightly harsher than he intends them too. “Sorry, that came out wrong,” Kageyama turns away. “I meant… it’s probably just jet lag and shit—”
“It’s fine.”
“I’ve missed you.” Now, the words are tumbling out of Kageyama’s mouth too quick for him to regret, words unspoken for the past few months desperate to come out. Kageyama is a quiet person overall, but with Hinata? He does not consider himself talkative, but with Hinata, he could border that description. “Nice to see you finally made it to the Olympics. Took you long enough,” he cracks a smile.
Hinata’s breath hitches, and the wing-spiker rolls his eyes. “Very funny, Kageyama. Aren’t you hilarious?” His dialogue reeks of sarcasm, a stark contrast from his typical persona.
“Um— I didn’t mean that as an insult, sorry.” At least not a genuine one, Kageyama fidgets with his fingers, reaching for the right words. “It’s just hard when your best friend doesn’t tell you shit and now, he’s your opponent. When I imagined you making it onto an Olympic roster, I figured it’d be on…”
“Japan?” Hinata asks.
“Yeah,” Kageyama nods, glancing away slightly. “With us.”
“Brazil gave me my shot, Japan didn’t. You know this.”
“Dumbass, of course I know this. That was the last time you called me,” Kageyama sighs in frustration, reiterating the sudden drop of contact. “I’m saying you should’ve waited; Japan was bound to want you soon. You should’ve given it time before rushing into a contract abroad.”
“They rejected me, Kageyama.”
“They… what?”
Kageyama’s heart sinks, and he does not have to look much further to know this is a sensitive topic for Hinata, the other likely pushing down tears.
“I got the letter from the JVA a week before Brazil, wishing me luck in continuing my career in the Brazilian league, Kageyama,” Hinata attempts to turn his attention away, but it is no use. “They said no, that’s why I went with Brazil.”
“Hinata—”
“Maybe if I was as good as you, I would’ve tried again or waited. If I had that time—” Hinata sighs, slightly wavering in his stance but forcing a smile on his face. Not the smile Kageyama has grown used to over the past many years, but he cannot quite pinpoint what has changed. “We don’t all have offers lining up at our doorstep. Some of us don’t have time to wait. Brazil sent their offer, and I was going to do what it took to make it.”
How far would you go?
Kageyama’s eyes widen.
“Hinata, you gave up your citizenship for this.”
“For my dream? Of course I did.” Hinata smiles, strained and weak. “If it was you instead of me, I know you would’ve too.”
“Well, yeah… but—” Kageyama, for once, cannot find the words to fight back, but his anger fizzles away as Hinata leans against the back of the vehicle, head aimed upward and eyes shutting as he takes a few deep breaths. “Hinata? What’s going on, you don’t look so great.”
“Are you insulting me?” Hinata snaps back, but his back is still leaning heavily against the back of the vehicle.
“No, dumbass. I…” Kageyama frowns as Hinata shuts his eyes again, head dipping low.
Exhaustion.
Kageyama knows the face of exhaustion in an instant.
Cautiously, Kageyama reaches out and holds Hinata’s shoulder against the bus, Hinata blinking blearily before pushing the setter’s hand away.
“Sorry, I haven’t eaten much yet, and it’s been a long flight. Not that’d you would be feeling it right now, but jet lag sucks,” Hinata lets out a nervous laugh, straightening himself up. “As I was saying, I’m fine. Perfectly excited to beat you and the rest of the guys.” He pauses. “I saw the Japan roster, it’s a bunch of our friends from high school. That must be nice.”
“Yeah… it is.”
“I’ll see you around then, maybe with your team in second place. Brazil on top, of course.”
“Haha, very funny. Not going to happen, moron.”
“Hinata—” The rest of the sentence is a shout in Portuguese, and it is enough to cause Hinata to flinch and cover his ears before switching to a content and semi-bubbly personality within an instant, all like clockwork.
“Shit— um, I’m leaving now.” Hinata slings his bag over his shoulder and does not turn around again. “See you around, Kageyama.”
“See you… around?” Kageyama watches Hinata run off to the rest of his teammates, the group entering Brazil’s dorm building. He does not move from his spot on the sidewalk until Hinata is out of view, a pit settling in his stomach.
What the hell just happened?
“Guys, did you know Hinata is here?” Kageyama closes the door to their common area behind him, seeing how most of his teammates have already settled into their claimed territory. “Like… here. At the Olympics.”
“You didn’t know?” Hoshiumi raises an eyebrow. “I figured if anyone was going to be stalking the other team’s rosters, it would be you.”
“Yeah, I thought you and Hinata are best friends,” Bokuto jumps in the conversation. “I love Hinata, he’s great. I hope I get to see him around.”
“We are!” Kageyama is very quick to defend himself, or at least continue making the attempt to. If he is completely honest, the sudden shift in their relationship, not even he could see. It is as if Hinata vanished from all life other than as a player, friendship as if it never happened. “Well… we were. I knew he got the offer from Brazil but... that’s the last I heard from him. He just sort of disappeared after that. I didn’t even know—” Kageyama’s breath catches in his throat. It is not right, nothing is making sense, but if Hinata took Brazil’s offer because Japan did not offer any position, it is not Kageyama’s right to air it out to the rest of his team. “I didn’t even know he took the offer. He just— cut me off.”
The worst of it, Kageyama hates to admit it, he had never looked for Hinata. After a few nights without their daily calls before bed and a few weeks of unanswered messages about his whereabouts, he had assumed Hinata had moved on. It hurt a lot, but Kageyama was never the first one to reach out.
“Probably when he committed to team Brazil. They have been more closed off with their players since the last Olympics. Unfortunate,” Yaku looks up from his spot on the couch.
“He signed with Brazil?” Sakusa paled slightly at the mention of team Brazil, Kageyama eyeing one of their top hitters with an eerie sense of confusion. Sakusa does not care that much about outside players, so the emotion is a questionable sight.
“Yeah, catch up. This is old news. It was probably easier, he already played in their national league. They are also the reigning champions, who wouldn’t want to play with a team like that?” Hoshiumi sat down on the couch in their common area, next to Yaku. “It’s all over his twitter and Instagram posts, the only thing on his account. Don’t tell me you guys don’t follow him on anything?”
“Oh, well I’m sorry we aren’t all as obsessed with him like the rest of you,” Sakusa rolls his eyes. “And it’s not that. Team Brazil is currently rebuilding, new coach, new admin with the BVA. They have a reputation—”
“I check his pages at least once a week, and I can guarantee you that he doesn’t even know the passwords. His fun posts from when he only played on São Paolo are deleted too.” Atsumu clicks his tongue, moving to sit in between Sakusa and Yaku on the couch in the common room, much to Hoshiumi’s enjoyment and to Sakusa’s annoyance. “Those posts are so PR coded, it is definitely not him running those accounts. My bet is on the BVA marketing team. Especially with the national leagues on their off-season, the BVA is on their shit because there’s nothing else to focus on,” Atsumu grins. “Nothing but the Olympic team—”
The once relatively quiet lounge area quickly shifts to loud discourse over which players follow Hinata on social media and which do not, Kageyama groaning as the noise grows overwhelmingly loud. “Guys? Guys, please?”
“Everyone! Everyone settle down, please,” The arguing and bantering fizzles out as Coach Hibarida enters the lounge, shaking his head. “Remember, this may be our home country, but we are guests here in this space. I appreciate the enthusiasm about our competition, but we can be a little quieter about it,” he gives a soft smile. “We’re practicing from six to eight tonight, so make sure your dorms are all set by then.”
“Yes, Coach,” the team responds, and the discourse dies down, mostly returning to their individual conversations. The second the eyes of his teammates are off him, Kageyama exits the lounge and goes into his dorm room, opening google on his phone and cautiously typing into the search bar.
Hinata Shoyo.
Unsurprisingly, the first item to pop up onto the screen is a direct link to his socials. It is not that Kageyama actively did not follow his friends on social media, it just is not his main priority. He is not as active with the fans as Bokuto and Atsumu, but that is supposed to be fine.
What is not fine? The second Kageyama clicks on the link, Hinata’s pages are full of professional volleyball pictures of him and the occasional text post thanking fans for their support after games.
Boring texts. No fun remarks, none of it even feels like it belongs to him.
“What the hell is up with you?” Kageyama whispers to himself as he turns off his phone, gaze slowly lifting and drifting towards the window. “You never made any sense to me.”
Kageyama, for the first time in about four months, sends a text to Hinata. He has half the right mind to assume he has been blocked, or contact obliterated, since Kageyama cannot even see Hinata reading his messages, but the quick text is sent right after practice as the team packs up.
I hope you’re okay.
It is dry, plain, and simple, but deep down, Kageyama hopes and prays that the message will get through to Hinata. He lets out a shallow breath and sits down on the side of the gym, grabbing the tape from the first aid kit.
Kageyama is wrapping his fingers with tape, half fidgeting with the tips of his nails, when athletic trainer Iwaizumi Hajime taps him on the shoulder with an extra water bottle in hand. “You look nervous.” He sets the bottle beside Kageyama, offering to finish taping on his fingers for him silently.
Kageyama would never admit it aloud, but he likes it when Iwaizumi tapes his fingers after long practices.
“It’s not like it’s my first Olympics,” Kageyama sighs, letting his hands rest while Iwaizumi slowly wraps the white tape around his right index finger. “I’m not nervous. I’ve done this before. I shouldn’t be nervous.”
It is as if Iwaizumi can read Kageyama’s mind. With one look, he understands the inner turmoil sending shockwaves in the setter’s head. “Yeah, but Hinata is here,” he comments. “That’s different.”
“He’s not here. He’s not with us,” Kageyama speaks up, rather abruptly. “He’s on team Brazil, and I don’t think he has much interest in making friends.” The latter part of the sentence comes out melancholy, the longing for Hinata’s personality shining through otherwise monotone words.
“That… doesn’t seem like him,” Iwaizumi responds.
“It’s not,” Kageyama looks away.
Iwaizumi finishes taping up the index finger and moves to Kageyama’s pinky finger. “Maybe you should try talking to him. If you are so worried about him, check on him. We have lots of time to chill around. We’re here for three weeks, plenty of time.”
“You think that’s okay?” Kageyama looks up.
“I mean, yeah! There is a lot of stuff to do around here,” Iwaizumi finishes taping up Kageyama’s finger before setting the tape aside. “It may not be your first time here, but it is his first Olympics, right? He’ll be dying to explore. I’m sure of it. He’s been in Brazil for a while too, you can show him around.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” Kageyama sighs, his mind slowly starting to wander away from its emptiness.
“And you, our starting setter,” Iwaizumi gives Kageyama the look. The look a person of authority gives their players when they get too in their heads and that starts to affect the way they play. “You need to clear your mind. Take a walk and not a run, listen to music. Something not volleyball-related for once. Otherwise, you’re going to overthink things and freak yourself out before we even walk in the opening ceremony.”
Kageyama nods before standing up and moving to head out with the rest of them. “Thanks, Iwaizumi.”
“Of course,” Iwaizumi nods. “Remember, have some fun. We’re at the fucking Olympics.”
It is only day two, and these Olympics are definitely going to be different. Kageyama can already tell, with the unease settling in his throat and forcing the feeling of anxiety in every already limited word he spoke.
Kageyama is strolling through a quieter sector of the Olympic village mall. It never did not surprise him how a whole city could be created just for this occasion every four years. Most of the team was probably having lunch in the dining hall, but not him.
Kageyama is going to try and take Iwaizumi’s advice. A stroll to clear his head on their day off, and maybe he will catch sight of…
“Hinata!”
So much for clearing his head.
Kageyama stops in his tracks, Hinata stands by a water fountain filling up his water bottle. The Brazilian colors spread throughout the hoodie he is wearing, even though the weather is warm enough for Kageyama to tie his own Olympic sweater around his waist. “Hinata, where’d you head off to? You just disappeared on me earlier,” Kageyama walks towards his former teammate, the shorter male turning left and right and searching for a person Kageyama could never read from just Hinata’s looks.
“Sorry, I’m not here to waste my time,” Hinata sighs, putting his water bottle into the side of his backpack, barely keeping eye contact with Kageyama. “Busy. Please don’t talk to me.”
“You’re joking,” Kageyama shakes his head. “What are you even saying?”
“I’m here to play… because that’s my job,” Hinata shrugs, slinging the backpack onto his shoulders rather slowly. “Same as you.”
“Hinata, you’re acting weird. You went completely off the grid other than the news articles about you on team Brazil. Those posts? Those aren’t even yours.” Kageyama reiterates, looking Hinata up and down. His hair is shorter, his skin paler, his eyes much too sunken for a professional athlete. “I’m going to be honest; I’m worried about you.”
“Then don’t,” Hinata replies, fidgeting with the tips of his fingers. “We’re opponents, I don’t want you wasting your energy worrying. I want you at your best on the court against my team,” he looks up with a half-hearted glare.
“Is it something I did?”
“Just leave me alone!” Hinata shakes his head, but even though the hitter seems so irrationally upset, Kageyama is not intimidated by his brashness at all.
He has dealt with worse before.
For a second, it is as if Kageyama is looking at his younger self. Selfish, standoffish, a kid fresh in a real volleyball setting. How competitive it the world was back then; how destructive he was to himself when he was only a kid.
How lonely he was, a team who hardly cared about him.
“Leave me alone, okay? I’m busy, Kageyama.”
How Hinata looks just like how he once did.
“I’m happy that you made it.” The words come out awkward, and Kageyama slowly realizes he is talking to his younger self, rather than Hinata, but he continues to talk, nonetheless. Through the social awkwardness and severe lack of emotional intelligence, he tries to provide words of comfort.
Words his younger self would have wanted to hear from a friend.
“I’m happy for you, that you got what you wanted, okay?” The declaration starts off more along the lines of a standoff, Kageyama taking a breath to readjust his tone. Even after all these years, it is something he is still working on, and he continues. “We’re at the Olympics! Not together, but together,” Kageyama gives an awkward but sentimental grin. “I know you’ve worked hard, and I’m happy you get to see the view we talked about in high school. I don’t know what’s going on with you, or what I did to make us stop talking, but I’m happy I get to see you again… even if it’s as your opponent.”
Hinata’s mouth goes slightly agape; they both stand silently.
“Hinata?” Kageyama asks.
“I’m sorry…” Hinata mutters, looking up for the first time in what feels like a millennium. The bright eyes Kageyama is used to are not what he faces, the brown gaze dull and lackluster. “Can I… have a hug? Weird question, I know…”
“Er… yes,” Kageyama nods immediately, all the air slipping away from him, awkwardness replacing the oxygen Kageyama takes for granted as he moves in for the hug. He has not talked to Hinata in months, let alone seen him in person. He spreads his arms out slowly. “You can.”
“…Cool,” Hinata immediately rushes in, his face half buried into Kageyama’s chest. It is a vulnerable moment which brings a smile to Kageyama’s face.
He has not hugged Hinata in… years.
The hug only grows tighter as Kageyama cautiously pats Hinata’s back. “Moron, I missed you…” Kageyama hesitates as he feels the hug grow unnaturally heavy. “Hinata?” He looks at Hinata’s face, the color draining as the other’s legs start to buckle. “Hinata? Hinata!” He shakes Hinata, bringing the other out of the episode. “God, Hinata? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, sorry,” Hinata quickly apologizes, releasing his tight hold on the setter and plastering on the most obviously fake smile even Kageyama could tell it was lacking in genuine sentiment. “Just tired, and nervous. Nervous for the games... It is my first Olympics, that’s all.”
“Don’t apologize, you should take better care of yourself. Are you injured or something?” Kageyama asks as Hinata looks away, not responding to the question. Any progress in having the hitter open up is tossed away, Hinata as closed-off as when their first real conversation in 125 days started. “Fine, whatever. Don’t tell me then, but you need to start taking care of yourself more. You can’t play like this.”
“I can do my job just fine—”
“Hinata Shoyo!”
Hinata freezes; his eyes widen like a deer staring into oncoming headlights.
An older man approaches, the source of Hinata’s sudden shift in emotion. The familiar colors of team Brazil are on this man, the badge around his neck reading Brazil, Men’s Volleyball, Coach. Kageyama watches as Hinata immediately recoils from Kageyama’s touch, eyes darting away and drifting towards the floor. “Kageyama Tobio, is it?” The coach talks in English, almost talking down while Kageyama nods awkwardly to try and keep up with the language. “Gabriel Campos, head coach of the Brazil men’s volleyball team. It is a pleasure. I have heard so much about you.”
The words, in English, take a few seconds to set in. Language barriers: Kageyama can feel the walls actively being built up to keep him away from Hinata’s life again, figuratively and quite literally as he knows his control of the situation is slipping away. “Oh, good things, I hope,” Kageyama shares an awkward smile of acknowledgement. “Sorry, my English is a bit—”
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” the coach interrupts, reaching out for Hinata’s arm, before stopping hesitantly at the sight of Kageyama’s eyes drifting towards the possible contact. “As I was saying, I am simply here to collect one of my players for practice.”
“Oh, of course—”
Kageyama seems to be in the background as the Coach immediately turns all his attention to Hinata but choosing to continue their conversation in English rather than Portuguese. “You should know better than to be fooling around here, and at your first Olympics? Hinata, please behave yourself.”
As if it is a warning to stay away, a warning for Kageyama as well.
“Of course. Sorry, Coach Campos. It will not happen again. I’ll be at my best at practice today,” Hinata nods, shrinking into his sweater. “I will not disappoint, Coach. Don’t worry.”
Kageyama is taken aback by the shift in personality, remembering Hinata almost passed out in his arms, and now is immediately talking about practice to his coach like nothing happened! “You’re going to practice in your condition?” Kageyama asked, raising an eyebrow. “You should rest—”
Coach Campos gives a glare, Hinata’s eyes widen before he clenches his fist. “I am in perfect condition, Kageyama. Mind your own business,” he glares before his Coach nods in approval, starting to head off. “I will see you in the tournament,” Hinata mutters before following his coach.
Kageyama feels his feet glued to the floor as Hinata and Coach Campos walk away, his friend not even bothering to wave or turn around and give the setter a second look. A feeling of uncertainty settles in Kageyama’s stomach as the pair turns the corner and exits from Kageyama’s field of vision.
Something is wrong, Kageyama forces his legs to move as he turns the other way to make it to where the rest of his team is. Something is really wrong.
Kageyama rushes to the dining hall in the Olympic village, his teammates still eating their lunch. “Something’s wrong with Hinata,” he bursts only slightly out of breath, he speaks to the rest of the team. “I think. I don’t know.”
Iwaizumi is the first to perk up from the table. “You’re back early. I thought you were going to clear your head, take your space.”
“I found Hinata, and I think there’s something off about him,” Kageyama sighs, pulling out the empty chair at their table and sitting next to Iwaizumi. “I was talking to him, and we were getting somewhere! But then, his coach came and basically took him away,” Kageyama lays his head against the cool table. “He said he had practice. It’s fine, it’s whatever, he’s a busy athlete.”
“No, he doesn’t,” Sakusa shakes his head, joining the conversation for once (he hardly ever did.) “Team Brazil has a practice scheduled for late tonight. I saw it on the calendar outside the gym for volleyball after practice last night.”
“Maybe they practice twice a day?” Bokuto jumps in.
“That’s a stupid decision on their coach’s end if that’s the case. You can’t overwork athletes before the tournament, that’s not smart.” Sakusa says, eating the last of his rice. “We practice three times a week here. Even practicing every day is too extreme. There needs to be a recovery period.”
“Well, I heard team Brazil’s coach is kind of a dick,” Atsumu rolls his eyes, playfully shoving Sakusa in the arm to pushes back even harder. “What? Have you seen their team? They barely talk to anyone! It’s like they’re robots, and winning is their job. Their trainer looks sweet though.”
“It doesn’t matter how serious they are, we’ll still crush them,” Bokuto grins.
“Yeah! If they make it that far.” Atsumu adds on. “They are in the other group. We both have to make it to the bracket, and they’ll probably seed high too, so that’ll push a face off even further in the event.”
“So, we probably won’t meet them until either the semis or the finals.”
“Assuming we also make it that far.”
“They probably will.” Bokuto pauses. “We totally will!”
“Enough!” Kageyama shouts, and the table goes silent. “Everyone, I’m serious.” Kageyama sighs, rubbing his temples to collect his thoughts before addressing his team. “Hinata, he just looked so… different. I don’t know how to say it, but I don’t have a good feeling about it… at all.”
“People change, Kageyama,” Atsumu lets out a sigh and crosses his arms. “Sometimes, not for the better.”
The words sit salty on his tongue.
“You wouldn’t say you’re the same person you were your first year of high school, would you?” Atsumu raises an eyebrow, and the table goes awkwardly silent. “I wouldn’t, you’ve grown a lot since then. Not the little goody-two-shoes I met…” Atsumu starts to count on his fingers. “Nine years ago? Damn, it’s been nine years. Are we old, Omi?”
“Speak for yourself, are you planning on getting another back injury this tournament?”
“That was one time, man,” Atsumu sighs and lays his head on the table.
But it hasn’t been years, Kageyama wants to argue back, to defend his best friend’s honor, but the words die in his throat and the setter caves. It’s been a few months. How can someone go 180 with their personality in a few months?
Kageyama is staring at the ceiling of his shared room with Ushijima, the latter of the two sleeping like a corpse. Unlike his teammate, Kageyama could not sleep. His eyes refuse to even close, and the frustration at not being able to sleep when he knows fully well that he has practice in the morning, only worsens his mood.
It is about 11 at night when Kageyama has had enough and decides to do his own practice on serves. His mind is all over the place, a constant buzz in the back of his brain preventing him from falling asleep like the rest of his teammates. Nothing too serious, a few serving drills would fix it easily and send him off to bed.
What Kageyama had not expected to find, was the Brazilian men’s volleyball team exiting the locker rooms, this late at night. They seem infinitely more socially awkward than him, each member silent as they exit with their bags in hand, no coach in sight.
No Hinata either.
Kageyama holds his volleyball bag closer to him as they all file out, hardly acknowledging him, before heading in. The locker room, empty and silent. Kageyama’s breath is let out in a quiet shudder as he sets his bag down on the bench before taking out his volleyball shoes from his bag. It would be quick and useful practice. In and out.
At least, until he started hearing a few panicked gasps from the bathrooms in the locker room, the sound of throwing up following soon after.
Kageyama typically hates any extra social interaction (and anything along the lines of throwing up), but he likes to think he was not completely heartless. Slowly, he started making his way to the bathroom stalls in the locker room, one of the stalls slightly ajar. “Are you— Oh my god, Hinata?” His eyes widened.
Before him, kneeling on the ground and gripping the toilet seat to the point his knuckles had run pale, was no other than Hinata himself.
“Mm… ‘Yama?” His voice is so drained, slightly distorted in exhaustion, but the other rushes to brush away stray tears. “This is normal... just give me a few minutes,” a voice weak and (Kageyama hates to admit it) full of fear. “I’m… I’m okay,” the words bordered sobs, tears streaming down his face as the eye contact was only broken by Hinata continuing to throw up.
“No, you’re not.” On instinct, Kageyama ran back to his bag, grabbing the water bottle and rushing back to the stalls in the locker room. He kneels by Hinata, moving to rub soft circles on his back as comforting as he can until he finishes. “Drink. You’re probably dehydrated as hell,” he offers his water bottle.
Hinata’s hands shake as he reaches for the water, a small sip shifts into a large gulp of the water. He sets the water bottle down on the floor, moving to lean against Kageyama, hardly coherent. “…Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” Kageyama shakes his head, moving to wrap his arms around Hinata as if he is moving to shield him from all the cruelties in the world. “You need to stop pushing yourself, otherwise you won’t be able to play during the actual tournament,” Kageyama scolds, but there is no actual harshness to his voice. “It’s the Olympics.”
“It was team practice. I can’t skip those,” Hinata mumbles, barely aware of his surroundings, it appears. “The one my Coach was talking about earlier,” a small smile grows on his face, bittersweet.
“You’re joking.”
“I didn’t think what I said was funny.”
Kageyama let the words set in. The Brazilian coach came to drag Hinata away around two that afternoon. It was almost midnight. “Hinata. You can’t be serious,” Kageyama pauses to count the hours on his finger. “That’s like… almost nine hours,” he shook his head. “You need to rest… or sleep, or something.”
“We took a break for dinner somewhere in between,” Hinata nods, slowly laying more of his weight into Kageyama’s side. “It’s just more serious up here. You know how it is.”
No. I don’t know. Kageyama wants to say, but before the words come out, Hinata is completely leaning on him, eyes starting to slip shut. That’s not how it’s supposed to be.
Kageyama’s eyes drift away from Hinata’s face and toward his hands, calloused and taped up more than what could come from normal practice. Hinata is a small player, but only physically speaking. Kageyama has grown to adore the way Hinata’s loud and large personality filled up every room, even if the room has changed from the Karasuno High School gym to their digital space of phone calls from the past few years.
Kageyama cannot find that version of Hinata anywhere.
“Hinata, are you—” Kageyama slowly speaks, but Hinata is completely knocked out, breathing slowly and steadily as he sleeps on Kageyama’s shoulder, as if he had not felt the comfort of welcome unconsciousness in days.
Kageyama can feel the frustration forming in his chest, but he only has the emotional strength to close his eyes and continue to hold Hinata against him. His brain starts filling in the gaps, because a silent locker room after a practice is much too eerie and unnatural for his liking. The two of them sitting on the tiled floor of the locker rooms, Kageyama’s back pressing against the bathroom stall door.
It was their second year after they lost against Date Tech in the finals, right before another chance at Nationals. “This is what you get for pushing yourself!” Hinata yelled at him, long after the rest of the team had left the club room. “You’re the setter, for god’s sake! We don’t have another setter, Kageyama. It’s more than just you on this team! How long is it going to take to get that message hammered in your stupid head!”
Kageyama glared, but he could not fight back with his ankle in a brace, and there was nobody to blame but himself. Nobody had a worse case of toxic-overachiever syndrome than Kageyama. Oikawa had graduated, Ushijima had graduated, his own incredibly talented teammates from the year previous year had all graduated. The door was wide open for Kageyama to dominate this season, and the post-season. Too many late-night practices, too many serves, overworking muscles until his left ankle was too weak, too worn, one slip on a sweaty court leading to a sprained ankle, enough for Kageyama’s foot to give out in the finals of a tournament. “Says the one who got a fever and practically passed out last year!”
“At least I learned!” Hinata shouted back as he marched over to where Kageyama was sitting on the floor of the clubroom, back pressed against the metal cabinets. “Bet on it, ‘Yama. If I ever collapse in front of you again, and only then, can you say, ‘I told you so.’ Got it?”
The argument died, Kageyama curled in on himself and buried his face in his legs. He was still sitting on the ground, ankle in a brace to remind him of the reason of their defeat. “Damn it…” he sighed. “I’m such an idiot.”
Much to Kageyama’s surprise, Hinata moved towards him and sat next to Kageyama, leaning his head on the setter’s shoulder. “As long as you learn,” he whispered. “We all make mistakes.”
There, the two of them sat on the floor of the club room for much longer than they should have, they almost fell asleep from after-match fatigue. After a while, Hinata helped him up with his crutches, and the two of them went on their merry way.
Here, Kageyama waves away the memory as Hinata stays asleep against him, clinging to him with an undertone of desperation. The two of them sitting on the floor for probably much longer than they should, Hinata completely out.
They cannot stay this way.
“Alright, you’re coming with me,” Kageyama says, slowly moving to lift Hinata up. It is slightly awkward, especially considering they have gone from zero-contact to Hinata showing all his vulnerabilities at once, but Kageyama could not care less about any of that.
Right now, his friend needs him. Friendship is such a complex concept; Kageyama knows his first step of supporting his friend is getting him off the floor of a locker room. The setter brings his arms under the other, lifts Hinata up and over his shoulder, and quickly grabs his bag from the bench.
Kageyama tries to be speedy about it. He knows if any of the photographers got sight of this, the press would have a field day.
He looks at Hinata, slightly drooling on his shoulder.
Kageyama rolls his eyes but picks up the pace and heads towards the building belonging to Team Japan. If any of the photographers got sight of this, Kageyama fears what Hinata’s Coach will think.
“…Tobio?” Hinata opens his eyes blearily, but does not bother to try and break out of Kageyama’s hold. “What’s… what are you doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing, moron?” Kageyama scoffs, no bite to his words. “Looking after you. You need a proper place to lie down before you go down and can’t get up.”
“Please don’t take me to the trainer—” Hinata mumbles under his breath, giving Kageyama a faint squeeze. “Can’t have Coach find out I’m complaining.”
If Kageyama ever saw Coach Campos again, he swears he is going to make him beg for mercy.
“Wasn’t planning on it,” Kageyama sighs, quickly moving to grab his phone with his ID card to swipe the door to the building. “Just my team’s common room. Everyone is asleep by now, so don’t worry about it. My building is closer than yours anyways,” Kageyama says, and despite Hinata seeming slightly more coherent, the player makes no protest to get out of Kageyama’s hold. Kageyama continues to hold him in the elevator up to the third floor, north wing.
Kageyama likes to think they got lucky with their dorms. The room their team claims as their own (despite belonging to the entire floor rather than just the volleyball team. It was fine, there were two more lounges on the floor) with wide windows open to the busy streets of the Olympic Village is really growing on Kageyama as a home territory for their team. Not the largest room in the world, but it is lucky it exists. Not to mention, their dorms were decently close to the practice gyms, so it is not a far walk.
Lucky.
Kageyama still has not seen the peering eyes of sneaky paparazzi in the Olympic village and considering the two of them were now safely in Kageyama’s dorm building, Kageyama thinks they made it. Kageyama does not even take a glance at his own room door, heading for their communal area and setting Hinata down before sitting himself.
“…Thanks.”
“No problem.”
Hinata is much more hesitant towards Kageyama now, not moving from where Kageyama initially set him down, but eyelids drooping all the same. “I don’t know why I’m so tired…” Hinata mumbles, bringing his knees to his chest. “Sorry if I ruined your night.”
“You didn’t ruin anything, ever,” Kageyama does not even realize the words are falling out of his mouth before they do. “Just… scared the shit out of me. If I didn’t come get you, what would you have done?”
“Probably just waited it out,” Hinata shrugs his shoulders, eyes drifting to his calloused hands. “It’s happened before, just pushed too hard at practice,” a bittersweet smile drifts onto Hinata’s face. “My stomach has always been weak as hell, you know this.”
“That I do.”
The two of them share a small laugh. It is the first lighthearted moment between the two since they got here, and Kageyama hates to break it up so quickly. “How often do you practice here?” He asks.
“Every day, have to keep our plays in top shape,” Hinata blinks idly. “Coach said he’s treating us. We’re only practicing for three hours tomorrow night.”
Kageyama wants to rip whatever contract Hinata signed to team Brazil and the Brazil Volleyball Association to shreds. He wants to shake Hinata so he thinks straight, so he realizes that this amount of practice is not normal nor healthy. It took Kageyama a while to learn it too, that breaks were just as important in the professional world, but his superiors were there reminding him. Hinata is not like this, not at all.
How do you remember to slow down when nobody reminds you?
Can you slow down when you are trapped on a team that does not let you?
The realization, though it has already been brewing in the back of Kageyama’s mind, settles in the setter’s stomach, and he wants nothing more than to throw up at the thought of it. Hinata knows better, Hinata has learned at this point, this is not Hinata’s fault, nor desire.
“Kageyama?”
“It’s your coach, isn’t it.”
Hinata pales slightly, he clenches his fist and tries to look away, and it works as the perfect confirmation for Kageyama’s realization, his worst nightmare. “Our team… we’re just more committed than you guys,” Hinata nods. “We work harder than everyone else,” the words come out robotic, like repeating a line in a script. “That’s why we are going to win. It’s all the work we put in, even when nobody is watching.”
“That sounds stupid. You don’t actually think that...” Kageyama finds his words trailing off, an unsettling rage boiling in his heart. “You’ve lost it. I think he’s manipulated you to be even stupider.”
“Um… I do! I do!” Hinata looks up. “We’re at the Olympics, same as you. That’s why Brazil are the reigning champions. We’ll win too, because of hard work and—”
“It sounds like you don’t even believe that!” Kageyama glares daggers, moving to touch Hinata’s shoulder. “Hinata, are you stupid? Protect yourself! Leave that team! Your coach is abusing his players,” it is a fit of rage, Hinata wincing at the change in tone. “Hinata, use your brain for five minutes! I know you’re better than this, so fucking try harder to care?”
Hinata’s eyes widen before going ghostly dull. Kageyama sits on the couch, waiting for the response that never comes.
Kageyama closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, regaining his composure. “Sorry, I’m just—” worried, he wants to finish. Scared, concerned, fucking worried. The tail end of the sentence never reaches the air, Kageyama opening his eyes again only to see Hinata holding his breath as silent tears fall. “Hinata?” Hinata does not respond, his entire body is still. “Hinata? Hinata!” Kageyama starts to panic, eyes drifting down to Hinata’s hands, the hitter pressing his nails into his thighs as marks start to form.
“Oh, hell no,” Kageyama grabs Hinata’s wrists and removes them from his legs before they leave marks which stay, or worse. “Shoyo, please breathe. It’s me, I’m sorry if I scared you,” Kageyama begs. “We’re going to breathe together. Breathe with me, okay?” Kageyama starts to exaggerate his own breathing, in hopes Hinata will follow.
In… and out. In… and out.
Thirty seconds of breathing in and out to calm down, Hinata’s eyes regain focus and stare at Kageyama. Kageyama breathes out a sigh of relief, mostly for his own sake. “I’m not mad. I’m sorry, I’m just… God, I am so sorry. I’m here for you, okay? I know I come off as aggressive, but I didn’t mean it like that.”
Those words hit a nerve, as the tears only worsen. Hinata nods meekly before moving to wrap his arms around the setter, sobbing into his chest. In the quiet of the late night, a village full of athletes, coaches, and trainers, it is as if it is only Kageyama and Hinata here, the smaller of the two of them burying loud sobs into Kageyama’s chest.
“Shh… I got you. It’s okay, just let it out.” The words sound awkward coming out of Kageyama’s mouth, but it is as if his brain has started to speak on autopilot. The setter is not described as someone nurturing or comforting, but his mind remembers the comforting words of his grandfather. “I’m here, nobody else. Just you and me. You’re okay.”
Kageyama loses track of time, heart aching as Hinata does not even bother to back away, continuously sobbing. As if each minute is destined to repeat, Hinata’s grip on Kageyama growing tighter until… it drops.
Kageyama removes Hinata’s head from his chest, Hinata’s eyes closed and mouth half open. “You awake?” There is no response, and Kageyama sighs before adjusting Hinata’s position so his head is laying on Kageyama’s chest. “Yeah, you’re not,” Kageyama runs his fingers through Hinata’s hair, looking down as the other gets the rest he seems he so desperately needs.
Hinata’s phone buzzes in his back pocket.
Hinata stirs slightly, groaning at the disruption, but only slips more into slumber. He is completely out of it, and Kageyama takes a deep breath before wrapping his arm around the player, reaching for Hinata’s phone, seeing a message notification pop up.
The Great King Oikawa: I know your team has practice late tonight, but make sure you actually get sleep tonight. You can’t stay up till 3 every night. Not at the Olympics!!!
Kageyama knows Hinata’s password. Best friends know each other’s passwords. Well, maybe not all best friends, but considering Hinata’s password is the points they scored at their final match at nationals to secure a third-place medal in all of Japan (which also happens to be Kageyama’s password), Kageyama enters the password to see the context of the messages, only the recent ones.
There is a severe lack of text messages from even Hinata’s own team, but a group chat with mainly messages from the coach is at the top of the contact list. Other than his family, Oikawa is the only person Hinata has recent messages with. Even then, the messages are few and far in between.
The Great King Oikawa [Three months ago]: Awesome practice match today! Your receives are some of the best I’ve seen! You’ve got to teach me some time.
Hinata: Thanks. Maybe I’ll show some. I have practice a lot though.
Oikawa: Well, if you have free time, we’re hanging out in Brazil for the next week. We can do some beach volleyball like old times!
Hinata: I don’t know, we’ll see.
It does not sit well in Kageyama’s stomach. The texts come off as dry, shallow, and uninteresting. Hinata is not a dry texter, or at least, he was not before. None of it sits right, and Kageyama slips the phone back in his back pocket, frowning at how the smaller player seems to drift further away from consciousness by the second.
Kageyama looks at Hinata sleeping soundly on his lap, feeling his own fatigue start to set. If anyone knew anything about Hinata, it was going to be the great king himself, and Kageyama needs to find what he knew.
For now, Kageyama sleeps. His hand rests on Hinata’s side, and he does not care for the photos of him asleep on the couch of the common room blowing up the Team Japan group chat once he wakes up. He ignores the banter from his teammates, frowning at Hinata’s disappearance from the lounge when he wakes up and his absence in the photos.
Opening his phone, Kageyama almost drops it at the shock of a notification which pops up.
Hinata: Thanks for helping me last night. I got back to my dorm before anyone woke up. Didn’t want to wake you up.
Another message.
Hinata: To answer your question, I’m okay. For now, at least. I miss you.
Kageyama sighs as he quickly shuts the phone off, the same words repeating in his mind.
I’m okay. For now, at least.
Kageyama groans and tosses his phone harshly to the other end of the couch and catching the attention of some of his teammates, the only reason his phone does not break is due to landing on the cushioned spot.
For now, at least.
“I have to get you out,” Kageyama got up and he storms out of their common area, planning his route out in his mind. The first step to getting him out, finding the only person Hinata keeps in touch with. “I have to get you out,” he mutters under his breath, storming out of the lounge area and into his dorm to change.
“Kageyama, you feeling okay? You look a bit… upset?” Atsumu opens the door of his own room, still in his clothes from the evening prior.
“I’m going on a run,” Kageyama glares, entering his dorm room to change and slamming the door behind him.