Archive of Our Own

It had been six years since Kageyama Tobio had seen Hinata Shoyo.

It had been a long three years since he’d spoken with him.

And it was all Kageyama’s fault.

Now, if you’d ventured into his 21-year-old mind way back when, you would’ve understood why Kageyama couldn’t utter another word to Hinata Shoyo ever again. It ate him up from the inside—the realization. The thing suffocated between the fingers of his clenching fist at the ripe age of 18; the inked words on a letter seeping into the sweaty lines of his palm. It tortured him for years as he watched Hinata climb mountains and frequent sunny beaches and gape at monuments through the crude posting of photo after photo, each displaying an attractive boy hanging from his shoulders grinning from ear to ear as if to taunt Tobio.

Because that should be him.

If he’d had the courage all those years ago, things would be different,

right?

But it didn’t matter to him anymore, not at his grown age. He had an apartment all to himself and a spot on a successful volleyball team that was distracting enough to let him forget what he could never have. It wasn’t as though he was talking to Hinata every single day like before; that was the true torture. Now their friendship haunted him like a ghost, transparent enough for him to see right through the façade. The only reason it couldn’t materialize was because Kageyama refused to give it permission.

It had been a drunken night that led him to do such brash things a couple months after his twenty-first birthday. He was surrounded by some guys from his team and a gaggle of adoring girls who couldn’t keep their hands off the players’ strong arms. Kageyama had shied away from the action and planted his nose in his phone as he waited for Hinata to text him back.

He took a sip of his drink with every minute that passed. His eyes were pleading, whispered begs slipping from his lips to a man who wouldn’t be able to hear him anyways. His throat ached, his stomach flipped over itself again and again; Tobio rubbed the slight unshaven scruff on his jaw, then rubbed his weary eyes. Whiskey always did a number on him.

“C’mon, Kags!” Hoshiumi hung from Kageyama’s body with a hand looped around his neck, his face crashing into any semblance of personal space.

“Put the phone down,” he slurred, “come da-ance!”

Kageyama reeled back a bit as Hoshiumi’s voice made his very eardrums shake. His breath was laced with something sour, probably tequila, and Kageyama concluded that he was probably gone enough to not remember any of this in the morning.

“I’m alright,” he muttered, shrugging Hoshiumi off of his shoulder.

“Ya look like you’re about to vom,” Hoshiumi chuckled and inched his face closer to the phone screen.

A spike of electricity shot through Tobio’s hand quick enough to plant his phone face-down on the bar counter before Hoshiumi could read any of the words. Hoshiumu groaned and slumped his body further at Tobio’s side.

“He hasn’t texted back?”

Kageyama sighed. He’d really hoped Hoshiumi was plastered enough to not remember what he’d talked about earlier, a brief mention of having not heard from Shoyo in a while. Hoshiumi had asked why he cared so much; Kageyama didn’t have the balls to answer him.

“No,” Tobio admitted, a good bit of alcohol rushing through his mind, as well.

“Then let it go,” Kourai exclaimed with a long, drawn-out vowel right in Kageyama’s ear.

Tobio’s heart tightened a bit. He blamed the whiskey.

“Ya sit around everywhere we go waitin’ for him to text,” Hoshiumi said in a slow, slurred voice, “and he never does.”

Slowly, each of the strings holding Tobio’s organs together began to snap, one by one, letting the most vital parts of himself slump to the bottoms of his feet. His throat ached even more now, as if he was holding up so many words inside himself that the walls were threatening to burst. He couldn’t think about everything that had gone on in the past three years, not now.

Not like this.

“You love him,” Kourai whispered in his ear, “right?”

A shudder cascaded down Kageyama’s spine, each vertebra shivering in its own solitary chill. His body seemed to fold in on itself, the temptation to evade so potent he could almost taste it. But he could also taste the sourness of all those lonely nights, all those times he’d cried in the locker room showers after yet another game played without Shoyo. He was through with lying, at least to Kourai.

“Yes,” he replied in a stretched voice.

He thought admitting it would at least relieve some of the pressure on his soul, but the silence that followed his admission only seemed to make everything worse. Kourai wasn’t saying anything. The bustling crowd and thumping music had fallen away into a muffled mess of noise, cut through by the blood rushing in Tobio’s ears.

“He—” Kageyama’s breath hitched in his throat, “he doesn’t even know I’m gay.”

Kageyama felt Hoshiumi sigh, tequila-hot breath tickling the shell of his ear. There was a moment where his fingers tightened around the skin of his shoulder, the soft cotton of his t-shirt bunching up in his teammate’s hand. Kageyama wondered if he was deep in thought, but he couldn’t bring himself to look from his phone, still face-down on the bar. His eyes were welling with uninvited tears.

“Kags,” Hoshiumu said lowly.

Kageyama inhaled deeply. He gulped, then he waited.

“I think Hinata would hate to see you miss out on life for his sake.”

Kageyama’s thin bottom lip trembled slightly. His brow swooped low on his face, alternating between curling in worry and settling in insistency. He felt exposed to the chill of the truth, of the reality he resided in.

“The fact that you can’t go back and make it right probably means there was a reason it happened like that,” Kourai told him.

And Kageyama Tobio wouldn’t believe Hoshiumi’s words for years—

at least, not until he received a text one Saturday morning that would give him, what Kourai would call, another chance.

“No,” he whispered to himself as he saw the name flash across his screen.

Hinata Shoyo

A hard lump settled in Kageyama’s throat. His hands started to pour sweat as if he’d been retaining a deadly amount of water and could no longer cope. His thumbs trembled as he opened the message, their last conversation dating almost exactly three years ago.

Hey man, it’s been a while, huh? Sorry I dropped off the radar, but I guess you did too in a way. But I was wondering if you wanted to come to a party with me tonight! It’s short notice, but it would be a great chance for us to catch up and I really, really want you there. Bokuto’s hosting it, and you already know him, so it won’t be a room full of strangers or anything.

He was still typing as Kageyama’s eyes scanned over the final words of his initial invitation. Kageyama’s body felt hot and his mind seemed to spin. He had thought about Hinata in those lonely three years, but he hadn’t let his head linger any longer than it needed to on what he knew he could never have. Seeing his name and watching him type in real time paralyzed every remaining capacity of Kageyama’s body.

I know you’re not big on parties, but I really want you there. So you should come! Please. It’s a little fancy, which I know isn’t your thing either, but I thought I’d invite you anyways :))

A shuddering breath fell from Kageyama’s lips.

I really want you there.

Hinata—

wants him there.

Kageyama’s eyes shot up from his phone in a moment of panic and looked right into the mirror opposite him; his pale, dumb-stricken face reflecting back. He felt seventeen again, trembling at the mere thought of Hinata Shoyo. He was an idiot. He couldn’t go to a party, much less one his former crush would be at. He didn’t have anything to wear. He wouldn’t know what to even say after three years.

God, why was he even considering it?

“Fuck!” Kageyama groaned, planting his face in his hands and falling back into his bed.

The screen was hot against the skin of his porcelain cheek; his palm was sweaty against the opposite one. Thoughts ran raucous through his mind, never growing weary of their tirade.

Shoyo, they chanted.

Shoyo.

Shoyo.

“I’m a loser,” he whispered into his palms.

Removing his hands from his face, Kageyama let them fall to the bed. He was sprawled out with his hair, a raven-black mop around his skull, and his phone silent within the loose grasp of his fingers.

In many ways, it felt like a betrayal of all the promises he’d made to himself three years ago. His teammates had practically trained him on date etiquette. He’d then tried it out on some flirty bartender he met in the summer, but things ended awkwardly when Kageyama whispered the wrong name into his lips as they made out later that night.

You can probably assume whose name it was that Kageyama uttered.

It wasn’t his fault the man was short and had nearly auburn, wavy locks. It was Kageyama’s fault for being a fool and thinking he could simply replace Shoyo in his mind with something close enough to the real thing. He’d successfully evaded the rest of his teammates’ well-intentioned matchmaking by stating that he was too focused on volleyball, but he knew at least Hoshiumi was aware of the truth.

Kageyama Tobio was so in love with a man he hadn’t spoken to in three years that it was usurping his chance at anything else.

Truthfully, Kageyama wanted to go to the party. He wondered what Hinata might wear to such an event. Was it more formal? More casual? Perhaps Kageyama should ask—

“No!” He shouted to himself, grabbing a pillow to press over his face in protest.

The fact that he was even considering it all made it clear that even three years of distance hadn’t changed a thing. Six years, three years—it was all the same, to Tobio.

Yet, everything felt different in that lone moment—a shifting of every little thing slightly to the left. Kageyama’s body felt unsteady as he sat himself up and looked around at his bedroom bathed in the yellow light of the morning.

And he could’ve sat right there and thought as that very sun moved through the sky as it always did. He could’ve ended up right where he’d started, his phone idle in his hand and his nights quiet and lonely. But that was his entire life—the same damn thing over and over and over again.

Okay.

Once the message was sent with a flurry of his fingers, Kageyama threw the phone across the bed and heard it land with a soft thump against his headboard and his pillow. His clammy palms flew up to his mouth for fear that he might vomit on the spot. All the bones and muscles in his body were tensing, the adrenaline he’d been storing up all morning finally coursing through him.

What have I done?

What have I done?

It was the very question he was asking of himself as he stood before the apartment door, distinct sounds of chatter and thumping music, boring through the thick wood. He had practically suffocated himself with cologne and a black button-down that Hoshiumi had once said made him look like an off-duty stripper. He didn’t know whether it was a compliment or not.

Even so, he donned the shirt and a tight pair of slacks, which he should’ve replaced years ago, along with a loosened blue tie his mother had said complimented his eyes. That, he knew, was a compliment.

“Oh god,” he muttered under his breath.

His hands were shoved so deep into his pockets you’d think he was trying to lose himself within them, and his heart was thrumming so close to the edge of his ribcage that all the bones were vibrating and clacking together in an off-beat symphony.

He hoped he had found the right place. He’d checked the text from Shoyo at least fifty times to make sure, so the thought felt more like an excuse than a genuine worry. Anything to give him one more moment standing on his own outside the door sounded just fine to Tobio. But he knew he couldn’t stay there forever. He had to—

“TOBIO!”

The door had been flung open and away from his fist, held knuckles-first toward the wood to reveal a familiar six-foot three spiker. Bokuto’s golden eyes gleamed even in the low light of the apartment behind him, and his hair was spiked up in some impossible style Kageyama didn’t think was humanly possible.

Kageyama froze in the awkward position of his lifted hand and his stiff upper body while Bokuto eyed him up and down, probably waiting for said guest to say hello.

“Y’know, I had this spooky suspicion someone was at the door,” Bokuto squinted, “I got a freaky intuition like that.”

Bokuto chuckled at his own declaration before reaching swiftly for Kageyama’s exposed wrist and tugging him into the chaos.

Lights moved all around the walls obscured by the occasional cloud of vapor from the couches in the corner. The apartment was pretty sizeable from what Kageyama could see, but the sheer amount of people within the walls was making the place feel incredibly cramped. Kageyama instinctively pulled his limbs closer to himself to avoid bumping into anyone.

Bokuto, however, was surprisingly agile, weaving between crowds of people and canoodling pairs while taking the occasional drink from his crystal glass. Kageyama’s brow furrowed as he took in the state of said party. It felt more “college” than “professional volleyball player” to him: the making out, the deafening music, the mixing stench of weed and vapor. The only thing that made the atmosphere all the more intimidating was the fancy outfits everyone seemed to be wearing and the impossibly high ceilings of the penthouse apartment. Kageyama’s ear felt like they were about to bleed when Bokuto finally stopped and held Kageyama’s arm up like he was the fresh catch of the day, one he was endlessly proud of.

It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the smoke and strobes, but Kageyama soon made out the strange shapes in front of him.

“Shoyo,” the name slipped from his lips.

Bokuto had led him to a couch at the back of the main room, one where Hinata Shoyo himself was lounging into the cushions with a drink of his own in his hand—

and a hand around his shoulder.

“No fuckin’ way,” a voice crooned.

Kageyama’s eyes had a hard time tearing from the object of his affection: his perfectly tanned skin, slightly grown-out auburn hair, and unbelievably bright smile. Yet, the curiosity of who could possibly have his arm around Hinata’s shoulder was eating him alive, and he was hoping it wasn’t the owner of the voice he recognized.

“Tobio?” Atsumu shouted with some shit-eating grin.

Ice-cold water doused Kageyama from head to toe. He wondered if anyone would believe him if he told them it was the exact sensation, even though, physically, he was completely dry. He shuddered at the sight now blurring before him, his vision catching only onto that sly grin; the careless positioning of Atsumu’s body draped over the couch cushion like a luxurious blanket, and his hand.

His hand—

on Shoyo’s shoulder.

Kageyama gulped something sour, a string of words he knew he could never say. Thus, he could only stand there with a dumb expression, heavy and short breaths slipping haphazardly through his parted lips. He felt his fingers curl into a tight fist. He wasn’t thinking to do any of it, it was as though his body had taken on a mind of its own. He watched the fingers on Shoyo’s shoulder twitch slightly, two of them pinching a bit of the shoulder of his jacket in between them, sliding the soft fabric around. Kageyama felt his face start to go hot, his mind quickly becoming lost in the cloudy hurricane of his unchecked emotions about it all.

Was this—?

Had he—

Was he too late?

Had he truly lost his chance, now?

It seemed the only thing that could break him from his infuriated trance was Hinata’s voice.

“Tobio!” He cried, “You’re here!”

Kageyama blinked away the temporary insanity so he could clearly see Hinata’s wide, bright smile. He’d propped himself up a bit in his seat, but he didn’t wriggle out of Atsumus’ grip, instead letting the hand move with the current of his body. Kageyama’s breath hitched in his throat just as the smoke cleared to reveal Hinata’s face, all aglow beneath the strobes that were dotted around the apartment. His freckles had become lost in the rich tan of his skin. His shoulders had filled out a bit; Kageyama could tell he was bigger, even though he was wearing a nice gray sport coat over his white button-down. His hair was just a bit longer, glowing like flames atop his head, but tamed in a way Kageyama didn’t recognize. He mourned momentarily the wild, unruly nature of Hinata’s old hair, the kind he sported in high school.

But that was the thing. Beneath all the fancy clothes and clean haircut and filled-out shoulders, there was something that remained the same at Hinata’s core. Perhaps it was the unyielding joy in his smile or the determination that always seemed to shine in his eyes. Either way, Kageyama couldn’t tear his eyes away.

Three years. It had been three years since Kageyama had seen Hinata Shoyo face-to-face. And it was taking everything in him not to grab him and hug him until their ribs were aching.

Atsumu was still peering at Kageyama from the side, his hand now traveling from Hinata’s clothed shoulder to the exposed part of his neck. His calloused, tanned fingers danced gently over the arteries jutting out a bit through Hinata’s skin when he smiled.

Tobio couldn’t help but watch the motion and wish that it were his fingers grazing along the soft, sun-kissed skin of Hinata’s neck. Perhaps if it was his lips—

“Tobio?”

It was Hinata’s voice again. Kageyama really had to shake himself out of the trance with a violent nod that pulled his gaze directly back to the couch and its ginger inhabitant.

“Sorry,” Tobio muttered through unmoving lips.

“You okay?” Hinata asked, his brow curling gently and his smile fading just a little.

No, Kageyama wanted to scream.

He’s touching your neck,

of course I’m not okay.

“I think I just—need a drink,” Tobio managed to eke out through the flurry of his emotions.

“Obviously,” Hinata chuckled, “Table’s over there.”

Following the flippant motion of Hinata’s hand, Kageyama located the makeshift bar at the fancy kitchen island where a man in a rather clean-cut suit was moving a shaker from side-to-side with practiced perfection. He had nice, silky black hair and a smile that made you want to spend nine dollars on a cocktail just to watch him make it. Tobio glanced once more back to the pair on the couch, Atsumu’s hand still teasing the junction of Hinata’s neck and jaw, and decided quickly that if he needed a reason to leave that didn’t make him look like a loser, he could always make a move on the hot bartender.

But was he really about to walk up to said dreamy bartender and order a beer? He was at such a fancy party, too. Who orders beer at a fancy party? Kageyama wracked his brain for any memory of cocktails he had, but he had never really had anything beyond dodgy shots poured for him by someone else on the team. The only cocktail he could even think of was what Ushijima always got: a Manhattan. Kageyama didn’t have the slightest idea what was in a Manhattan or if he’d even like it, but he couldn’t do much thinking about it with the scent of weed and the haze of smoke making everything way more confusing than it needed to be.

Thus, he pulled out his best blue-eyed, sultry gaze when ordering his Manhattan which the bartender met with a perfectly polite and understated smile. It gave Kageyama hope, in a way, because a bartender that didn’t think anything of him would flirt much more openly, hoping he’d take the bait and order more drinks than he could handle. As the man busied himself with the Manhattan, Tobio took one more tentative glance back to the couch. The positioning had changed a bit; Atsumu’s legs now crossed in a lazy, haphazard way while Hinata was holding onto the hand on his shoulder and pulling it a little tighter around his neck.

Yet, neither of them were looking at each other. Though their lips were moving in silent conversation, their eyes were preoccupied with anything but. To Tobio, it looked like comfort, the kind of casualness that comes in relationships where two people don’t mind much about all the sappy romantic stuff and appreciate more simply sitting together.

Somehow, the thought of Hinata and Atsumu being in a committed relationship made Kageyama feel even more sick to his stomach. It wasn’t some hook-up he could simply wait out and hope would end amicably; it was something serious that he would never dream of ruining. Because he couldn’t make Shoyo sad, that would probably do him in for good.

Tobio turned back just as the bartender was setting the glass onto the countertop and extending his hand for the cash, which Tobio had some concerning death grip around. Tobio paid him with a small smile, and the bartender looked at him for an extra second before tucking the money in a pouch beside all his glasses and shakers. Tobio was endlessly grateful, now, to have a drink in his hand. He was even more ecstatic to have that same drink between his lips, a few moments later, even though it was one of the vilest things Kageyama had ever tasted. He held the first sip in his mouth for a few seconds while the rest of his face curled up in utter disgust. With a few panicked glances around, he tried to find an inconspicuous plant pot to spit it all out into, but there was not a single one in sight.

Damn rich people and their minimalist interior design.

He swallowed it all rather reluctantly with a grimace and a long shudder through his entire body. God, it was so awful. It was the worst thing Kageyama had ever tasted, but it filled his stomach and head with that warm, fuzzy feeling faster than any bottle of beer ever had. He lifted his eyebrows in surprise as the sensation floated through the rest of his body. Thankfully, the experience of putting the vile liquid in his mouth had been a nice distraction, but it could only work for so long.

He couldn’t steal another glance at Hinata without being suspected of something, that much he knew. Thus, Kageyama took a few steps away from the makeshift bar and towards the party happening all around him. The music was so loud it shook the furniture and walls. What made it even worse were all the voices that had to shout over the booming speakers. Kageyama listened to the collage of laughter and hollering and chatter and what sounded almost like singing but wasn’t quite there. It was nice, in a way, how the noise filled all the spaces in Kageyama’s brain that would otherwise be overtaken by thoughts of Hinata.

He’s happy, Kageyama told himself.

If he’s happy,

then I’m happy,

even if he’s not happy with me.

Kageyama let out a shuddering exhale that he thankfully couldn’t hear above all the music and finished off his first drink of the night before he could even process that it was in his hand. He stared down at the bottom of the empty glass for a moment and wondered if he should leave. Hinata was out of sight, which meant if Kageyama did leave, he could evade any prodding questions. And Hinata probably wanted to spend the night with his committed, long-term boyfriend far more than he wanted to spend it with an old friend from high school who had stopped talking to him for three years. Kageyama felt sick to his stomach again, but the feeling was dulled by the warmth of his first drink.

Deep down, he knew he didn’t want to leave. And he couldn’t tell where this ‘deep down’ feeling came from or why he listened to it so readily, but he was ordering another drink from the bar before he knew it, giving the bartender a practiced ‘eye-fuck’ as a tip.

He couldn’t tell whether he could taste the Manhattans anymore or if he’d somehow tricked himself into enjoying them a little bit, but the second one tasted way better than his first, and the feeling in his body was only intensifying.

Slow down, he heard a voice in his head say, you don’t want Hinata to see you like this.

They’d seen each other like this once before—

drunk out of their minds.

It had been some post-graduation, pre-college thing that Kageyama initially had no interest in attending, but after a good bit of convincing and a batted eyelash from Hinata, he conceded. It felt eerily similar to the situation he was in presently with the music and the alcohol and the not-so-faint smell of weed; the only difference being that Kageyama had been much more hopeful then. He’d almost succumbed to Tanaka and Nishinoya’s prodding to just stop worrying and kiss Hinata square on the lips.

And after three beers and a single hit of a blunt that had sent him into an embarrassingly long coughing fit, he was ready to do it. They were all dotted around the house on couches and chairs and tucked in corners, letting the alcohol make all their decisions. But Hinata and Kageyama had retreated to the small, screened-in porch just outside where the sound of crickets was much louder than any song that was playing inside.

Liquid courage flooding through his veins, a much younger and naiver Kageyama was leaning closer and closer to the man sitting beside him, their knees touching, then their thighs and hips, then their shoulders. His heart was beating so fast he could barely hear anything else. This was his chance, this moment where they were sitting in contemplative silence after laughing at some other stupid memory from high school. Because Hinata was smiling over at him, then at the sky.

The moon is beautiful, Kageyama wanted to say.

No, that wasn’t good enough.

He had to kiss him.

He just had to lean in and—

“I’m leaving.”

Hinata’s voice was sobering. His words were even more so.

“What?”

“Rio,” Hinata continued, still staring out into the cloudless night sky, “I’m moving there in two weeks.”

Kageyama had to kick his brain back into gear, first to make sure he’d heard Hinata right, and then to keep his own unbridled body in check when he reacted.

“Really?” He asked weakly.

Hinata let out a long exhale and closed his eyes. His bright orange hair was flattened against the stucco wall of the house’s exterior.

“Yeah,” he replied.

Kageyama leaned back and shifted just a little to his left so their bodies were no longer so close. Hinata didn’t seem to notice it; he didn’t even open his eyes. Kageyama couldn’t read how he was feeling at that moment. The only word he could think of was melancholy. It was such a stupid word, but it was all he could think about. Melancholy.

A much older and wiser Kageyama sighed and leaned against a blank part of the tall wall in the fancy penthouse apartment. He allowed the warm feeling in his body to bring up certain memories to the surface, one he was sure he could deafen later with just another glass of whatever it was that was working. Despite everything, the last three years and what he’d seen right as he walked into the party, there was a part of Kageyama that felt empty knowing he couldn’t return to the couch and its inhabitants. Hinata was probably waiting to engage him in conversation like he always was.

Because Hinata was the type of friend who waited patiently.

And Kageyama was the type of friend who abandoned parties he was invited to and ghosted people he cared about for three years.

His chest ached this time, the noise of the thumping music travelling right through the gaping hole that had been left there long ago. What was he even doing here? Why had he gotten another drink of something he hated?

And why wasn’t he talking to Hinata?

All the words and thoughts were swimming around in Kageyama’s head; he couldn’t find a moment to grab one and make sense of any of it. The atmosphere of the party certainly wasn’t helping either. It was some mixture of the smoke and the blinding strobes and the way they morphed the bodies moving within them into imaginative shapes, morphing and melding with one another. The smell of weed was almost oppressive, thick and viscous in Kageyama’s senses. He had never been much of a smoker himself; the thought of losing control being a little more than he could stomach. He wondered if people could get the same effects by simply breathing in the air around them.

“Fuck,” Kageyama hissed, holding the side of his head in his hands as everything became even fuzzier.

Slowly, the things around him were becoming alien, unfamiliar sounds and shapes approaching him and going away from him. He tried to maintain his composure as he ordered another drink. He was a fool to even do it. He should be protecting his dignity and going home without another word—

But he couldn’t.

Because Hinata was waiting on the couch to talk to him, and he was sure after just one more drink, he’d have mustered enough courage to do so and placed himself in enough of a stupor to not even register Atsumu’s existence beside him.

The third drink went down like water, smoke and lights and voices swam all around him. The floor beneath his feet had started to spin at some slow carousel pace. He took a few steps forward to try and remind himself that floors in apartments didn’t move like that, but the action seemed to make it spin even faster.

Kageyama focused on his breathing for a moment as a thick cloud of weedy smoke bubbled in front of his face. There were people touching his arm with their arms. There were feet where he wanted his feet to be. How long had he been here? Why was he sweating?

“Scuse me,” he said in a slurred voice as he pushed through more limbs.

It all felt detached in his mind and his vision. There were no people, just their arms and legs and voices shouting over the music that had turned into one long, loud hum in Kageyama’s ears. He hadn’t felt like this in a long time, and he had a feeling there was more than just Manhattans to blame for that.

“God, it’s so hot in here,” Kageyama groaned halfway through the crowd.

With his free hand, Kageyama hooked his finger in the knot of his blue tie and pulled it down in one sharp motion that loosened its grip on his neck. He unfastened one of his buttons that had been revealed by the loosening, as well. But it wasn’t enough. He had to maneuver his drink against his body with his elbow so he could unbutton his cuffs and fold his sleeves up to reveal his forearms.

His vision kept spinning. His hands looked like melting candles and felt like them, too. There was a strange sensation rising in his body; something that had started in his toes and was now teasing his knees like he was standing in the ocean waiting for the changing tides. But it was rising steadily, so much so that Kageyama could nearly predict when the feeling would meet his mouth and suffocate him.

He couldn’t quite name the feeling. It was unfamiliar. And usually alcohol helped to dull such sensations enough that he could have more fun than usual. So what was this feeling?

Discomfort?

Anticipation?

“Oh no,” Kageyama hummed to himself.

He knew the feeling.

It was a feeling he thought he’d left behind in high school, the kind that landed him in the locker room after practices with his entire body catching fire and his brain exploding from the intensity. He thought it was gone. He thought it was never coming back.

But the crowd was beginning to part, and Kageyama was finding himself back in a rather familiar part of the fancy apartment. Even through the smoke and the lights and the spinning, Kageyama could make it all out so clearly. The feeling was in his stomach now, rising faster than ever before.

It wasn’t discomfort.

It wasn’t anticipation.

Because when he became cognizant enough to see Atsumu and Hinata on the couch, the former’s lips latched against the latter’s neck, Kageyama Tobio knew exactly what he was feeling.

It was panic.

Pure, unbridled panic.

“No,” fell from his lips with ease.

Instantly, the mere recognition of his state sent all his senses into overdrive. Whatever alcohol had soaked into his bloodstream for the past hour felt heavy as lead, pure mercury mingling with the most human parts of Kageyama Tobio. He felt like he was going to vomit, but his stomach and his heart were all smooshed up in his throat in a way that ensured nothing was coming out of his mouth other than the pained silence of his shock and panic.

He couldn’t tear his eyes from the display even as his vision began to blur and turn it all into some impressionist nonsense. Hinata was turning to mere blobs of tan, merging and mixing with the matching lines of pale skin topped with golden blonde. Kageyama tried to swallow once—twice. He tasted blood. He felt unreal for a moment, as though he’d left his body in full-soul separation, and he was standing before his abandoned form watching it fall apart piece-by-piece.

He felt himself take a stumbling step back. He wished for there to be some sort of wall or door there to catch him, but he found himself walking backwards into nothingness, his heels teasing the edge of a swirling black pit. He took another step back while his breath sped up.

C’mon Tobio, he coaxed himself.

Calm down.

Calm down.

It was as though his own chanting was making everything worse, forcing his mind to point right back towards all the sensations in his body. He found himself catching another glimpse of the pair on the couch, his mind now refusing to even make sense of their moving shapes.

Shoyo, his thoughts began their incantation .

Shoyo.

Shoyo.

He kept walking back, his hand now palm out against his lower back. He willed a handle of some sort to materialize within it and give him his final escape. He found one eventually, the feeling of the cold metal knob counteracting the pure hellfire that seemed to be burning beneath his skin. With a gasp and a hard purse of his lips, Kageyama turned the handle and allowed himself to tumble into whatever was on the other side.

If he was lucky, he would be alone.

If he was really lucky, he’d be in the hallway of the apartment building.

When Kageyama’s vision finally adjusted and his hand closed the door behind his back, he felt the bright lights of a bathroom fill his eyes and cause him to wince for a moment. It was a pleasant change from the atmosphere on the outside, much less crowded and sweaty and smokey. Yet, his body had not released an iota of its internal torture, the blinding fluorescents bouncing off the pure white marble floors and countertops, sending his brain into another fit entirely. With his back pressed up to the wooden door, Tobio could still feel the music bumping from the other side, signaling that he at least hadn’t changed dimensions.

He sucked in a short, quick breath, enough to peel his body from the door and lurch him towards the counter, above which a large mirror was plastered nearly the size of the entire wall. Kageyama took a few moments to let his shuddering breaths slip into the bowl of the sink and his knuckles go white around the sides of the counter before daring to look up at his face.

Whether it was how he truly looked or simply the distortion of his panicked mind, Tobio was nearly taken aback by his own reflection. His face was paper white, lips gone slightly blue despite the sweat that had stuck his raven-black bangs to his forehead. His shirt was rustled at the collar, the rest of his hair sticking up in weird directions (likely from his own mindless tugging). His eyes gleamed with a desperate glow, his brow curled in perpetual worry. Lines decorated what used to be his perfectly porcelain skin; they were some of his only indications of age.

They were reminders of the years he spent pretending.

And now they were ghosts haunting his own face,

just like the ghost that was haunting him from the couch out in the living room.

Tobio’s thoughts were finally starting to arrange themselves as he looked at himself longer. His breath began to even while he let blood rush back into his gripping hands.

He blinked once—

then twice.

It’s my fault, he thought.

Yet every thought acted as a record caught on loop, all the sounds and words overlapping one another.

It’s my fault.

If I hadn’t waited so long—

Tobio tried to shake the thought from his head. He screwed his eyes shut and let another wave of ice rush over his already shivering body.

It’s not fair.

Why was he panicking in the first place? Tobio was too old to be hung up on his high school crush. He’d spent too many years picking away at his skin and waiting for good things to come to him for him to get so worked up over having nothing.

He’d let Hinata go all those years ago—

in a way, it was all his fault.

But the reasoning only made the panic rise back up from where it’d started to puddle at his feet. Kageyama choked on a breath and had to push himself away from the sink so he could card his fingers through the sweat-congealed strands of his hair. As the tingly panic rushed through his veins, he wrapped his fingers around the roots of his hair and tugged hard, his head bowing in response to the pain. But he had to hold it all there. He had to keep the feeling from coming back.

Yet, it was of no use. Everything was going watercolor again. His lungs were filled with water. His hands were no longer his, and his soul was strewn along the cold marble floor.

“C’mon, Tobio,” he hissed to himself.

Calm down.

Calm down long enough to make it to the front door.

It seemed like a good enough plan, but Tobio’s entire body felt as though it had been cast in concrete. There was little possibility of him being able to leave the bathroom at all.

He didn’t know when he started crying. He only knew his face was wet when he reached to wipe it with his sleeve.

“I’m such a loser,” he whispered tearily to himself.

“Tobio?”

The soft voice came from the other side of the door, accompanied by a gentle knock.

Kageyama identified it instantly, the realization rushing through him in a wave of ice-cold water.

“It—it’s Shoyo,” the voice said, “are you okay?”

Kageyama could feel his shaking fingers against the wet surface of his face. He swallowed thickly, chapped lips pulled together, and tried to force any semblance of words to come out of his mouth.

Of course, I’m not alright! He wanted to scream.

How could I be alright?

But his lungs felt empty, all the blood and guts he’d once possessed caught up in his spinning mind. He wanted Shoyo to leave him be in the midst of his panic. He wanted them to never have even met. He wanted to have never been born.

Kageyama turned with a harrowed expression just in time to watch Hinata close the door behind his body; his own haggard look pasted upon his face at the sight of his friend’s state.

“Holy shit,” he whispered, “you look terrible.”

Hinata Shoyo was never one for tact.

Kageyama, however, could only stand there in horror, his face tear-streaked and his shoulders hunched and trembling.

“I—I mean,” Hinata shook his head, “are you good?”

Kageyama gulped as he felt the panic begin to rise again.

“I’m fine,” he fibbed, “you can leave.”

“What? No!” Hinata advanced on him.

Tobio evaded with a step back towards the wall behind him. He used his hand to gauge the distance, feeling a bit of relief when the cold drywall made contact with the burning surface of his palm. Yet, Hinata was relentless, taking yet another step towards him with an outstretched hand.

“Are you—” Hinata’s voice lowered, “are you having another panic attack?”

Kageyama had nearly forgotten his malady of high school. He used to have plenty of moments like these, but they’d gone away mostly after he graduated, which he was endlessly grateful for. He was grateful because it meant he didn’t have to hide after every game and avoid all of his teammates until the sensation passed.

And between the hundreds of attacks, Hinata Shoyo had only caught him once.

He’d handled it clumsily, first taking the moment of vulnerability to send a verbal jab his way, but he quickly tightened up his behavior when Kageyama turned to look at him, red streaks trailing down his face from the force of his own fingers.

And now, he’d been caught again.

Though this time, he felt even more ashamed.

“No,” he lied again.

“You’re a bad liar,” Hinata replied with a soft chuckle.

He looked a bit tousled, likely from Atsumu’s insistent hands ruffling up all his clothes and hair, but his face was doused in genuine concern.

“Shouldn’t you—” Kageyama choked on his own breaths, “shouldn’t you be out there with your boyfriend?”

He didn’t notice the venom in his voice until all the words had tumbled from his lips. He could taste them even after the fact, bitter yet burning against the backs of his teeth. If he had been in any other emotional state, he would’ve apologized instantly, but nothing was making sense in the pressure cooker that was his panicking brain.

Hinata’s face fell slightly. His hand dropped slowly back to his side. Kageyama waited for him to say something equally as cold back, despite the shaking of his body and the tears that seemed to still be streaming down his face. But he didn’t do anything of the sort.

Instead, he began to smile.

“Let’s sit, yeah?”

With his gentle request, Hinata advanced once more on a Kageyama who had nowhere to go. Thus, he allowed Hinata’s hands to find purchase on his hunched shoulders and push him ever so slowly towards the giant tub that was affixed to the adjacent wall. It seemed as good a place as any to sit, probably more efficient than the toilet seat. Kageyama allowed his body to be lowered down into the deepest part of the tub; Hinata shifted his legs until they were hanging over the edge.

Kageyama felt a spot of instant relief as the cold porcelain came into contact with the sweat-soaked back of his dress shirt. He let his head loll back onto the tiles grouted to the wall, and stared at the ceiling. He heard the faucet run, then a cabinet close. As the faucet sound ended, Kageyama could feel Hinata climbing into the bathtub beside him.

“Here,” he said, shoving a plastic cup of water into Kageyama’s hand.

It was exactly what he’d done that one time he caught Kageyama in this state after a volleyball game long ago. He’d handed him a frantic cup of water and sat beside him on some bench. They were both equally sweaty, then, and equally devastated, too. Kageyama wished the gesture alone would change the sensations in his body, but he felt nauseous with the water now sloshing around at the top of his stomach.

Even so, a sense of calm began to trickle over him, starting at the top of his head. Perhaps it was the slightly copper-tasting tap water in his mouth or the feeling of Hinata’s shoulder pressed up to his, but something was shifting within him, in that moment.

“I think I had too much to drink,” he eventually eked out through the cotton that was filling his mouth.

Hinata chuckled, “Yeah, never thought you’d be a liquor guy.”

“I’m not,” Kageyama replied, another wave of relief washing over him.

They laughed softly together for a moment before the same stinging sensation came to Kageyama’s stomach. His brain conjured the memory of Hinata on the couch: Atsumu’s hands splayed all over his exposed bits of skin. Kageyama’s shoulders tensed at the thought.

“Hey, drink more water,” Hinata told him, probably taking quick note of the change in his body.

While he may not have been one for tact, Hinata Shoyo was undoubtedly in tune with not only his own body, but the bodies of the people he loved.

“Ooh! Y’know what,” he perked up.

Kageyama glanced over and watched Hinata fish around for something he must’ve tucked in his back pocket. When he finally found it, he pulled the thing into Kageyama’s face with a smile. It was a loaf of bread, delightfully crushed and dented.

It crumbed all over the bottom of the tub upon its reveal. Kageyama couldn’t help but quirk his brow at Shoyo.

“What?” He asked brightly, “I keep it around in case I’m in a tight spot and need to sober up, but I think you need it way more than I do.”

Kageyama continued to give him a strange look as Hinata tore a piece of the bread off, his feet swinging jauntily over the edge of the massive tub and handed it to the man beside him. Tobio hesitated, but found no reason to refuse.

Yet, he couldn’t bring the thing to his mouth. Thus, he held it in his lap and stared for a moment in thought.

It had been so long since he and Hinata had been so close to one another like this. It reminded him of long bus rides after volleyball games and the convenient spots they’d find beside each other at team barbecues. He felt sixteen sitting in that tub. He felt small and young and foolish and full of warm liquor.

He wanted to eat the bread. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to run out the door and never see Hinata Shoyo ever again. He wanted to throw everything in his apartment onto the street.

But all he could find the strength to do was pick at the grout around the bathroom wall’s tiles.

Kageyama never did the things he really wanted. If he had, he and Hinata probably wouldn’t be in this situation. They probably would’ve figured everything out so much earlier. But now Kageyama was too late.

He’d lost his one and only chance.

“Tobio—” Hinata began to say, an edge of tenderness threaded through his voice.

“No,” Tobio interrupted him, “I have to say something first.”

What are you doing?! Tobio’s mind screamed at him.

He didn’t know. He didn’t know why his lips were moving or why he was saying things so recklessly. He didn’t know whether to blame the alcohol he’d had, or the weed he’d been inhaling for the past two hours, or perhaps the rapidly dropping adrenaline in his body. The tips of his fingers had gone numb, which meant the only way he could know he was holding the piece of bread was by staring intently at it.

Hinata was quiet. He was listening.

“I’m just—” Kageyama began, “I’m so sorry.”

His voice shook. It even began to crack. They were hairline things, though, the kinds of cracks that appear in old paintings that have simply succumbed to the inevitability of time. They were the cracks that could only be seen in certain slants of light for those who dared to look close enough. Kageyama felt full of the things, each passing moment adding to his inevitable bursting.

“I should’ve told you everything years ago but—” he inhaled sharply, “everything got so messed up.”

He felt his tears begin to well again in his eyes as he heard his own impossibly small voice and remembered all the days of pain where he had to watch Hinata travel and enjoy life without him.

It would’ve been in his best interest to stop himself where he was and maintain the peace of their current situation, but he felt those same memories eating away at him from the inside. Why else would he have accepted Hinata’s invitation to some stranger’s party? Why else would the mere sight of him with someone else send him into a panic?

“No, I was the one who left,” Hinata cut in.

“You left because you wanted to!” Kageyama replied insistently.

Hinata sighed, “Yeah, but it wasn’t fair.”

“Was too,” Kageyama shrugged, “look at where you are now.”

On a professional volleyball team.

In the arms of some Greek god of a man.

“I should’ve asked you first,” said Hinata.

Kageyama glared at him, “What?”

“Because y’know—”

Hinata stopped himself before the next words could escape him. His lips shook over the silent confession for a bit. Eventually, he gulped it all down and leaned away from Kageyama’s face.

“I told you to go,” Kageyama reminded him.

“I know,” Hinata replied.

“I never had a problem with you leaving.”

“I know.”

“And it wasn’t like there would be any reason for you to stay.”

“I know!”

“So then why—” Kageyama began.

“God,” Hinata huffed, “you’re so brainless!”

Just as the insult registered in Kageyama’s mind, he felt the warm, slightly clammy palms on Hinata’s hand cup on each side of his jaw. Before he could formulate another thought, he felt lips on his own.

Oh.

Oh.

It took as many seconds as Kageyama could count before he knew what was going on. Hinata’s lips were pillow-soft and surprisingly skilled, already working insistently over Kageyama’s stiff mouth. But it was the sheer surprise that had paralyzed him.

The realization brought a sense of calm, a loosening of his face and body, an allowance to sink deeper and deeper into the feeling.

The tips of Hinata’s fingers teased the line of Kageyama’s soft black hair. He tilted his head just so to make sure that Kageyama was following suit. But the feeling of their meeting lips was secondary to all the other sensations in his body: the swelling of his heart, the tingling in the tips of his fingers and the ends of his toes, the rising heat in his cheeks.

It was all real, right?

Kageyama hadn’t fallen and hit his head on the edge of the tub or something?

Hinata parted from him but still held onto his face, keeping them close enough so Kageyama could feel his soft, huffing breaths tickling the skin of his cheek.

“Holy shit,” Tobio whispered.

“I’m sorry,” Hinata replied instantly.

“No, you’re—”

Then, Tobio remembered.

“Your boyfriend,” Tobio whispered with a hint of returning panic.

Hinata’s brow furrowed.

“My what?” He asked, horrified.

“You can’t kiss me,” Kageyama said, “you have a boyfriend.”

Hinata’s face grew even more horrified at the insinuation.

“No, I don’t!” He insisted.

“But what about the guy on the couch?” Tobio replied, “Atsumu?”

Slowly, Hinata’s features unfurled, and his slightly wet lips stretched into a smile. He chuckled once, then another time.

“Oh my god,” he hummed.

His smile only seemed to grow as he flopped back into his seat, legs still dangling off the edge of the tub. His laugh descended down into his stomach and grew even heartier all while Tobio watched on in horror.

“Atsumu’s not—” Hinata couldn’t seem to contain himself by then, “he’s definitely not my—”

Hinata couldn’t even get the word out through his fits of laughter. Tobio could feel his own smile twitching onto his face, something he couldn’t contain while he was with Shoyo, it seemed.

“Whoo!” Hinata clutched his stomach, “He’ll get a kick outta that.”

“If he’s not your boyfriend, then why was he feeling you up like that on the couch?” Kageyama asked.

Realization washed over Hinata’s face, an expression he followed with a guffaw.

“Oh my god,” he sighed, “it’s a—long story.”

Kageyama eyed him.

“Well?” He gestured.

Hinata brushed his hair back from his face and leaned his head up against the tile backsplash.

“Atsumu is really into this other guy on our team,” he explained, “so he asked me to help him, y’know, make him jealous.”

“That’s insane,” Kageyama replied.

“Well,” Hinata shrugged, “I was kinda hoping it would also work on you.”

Kageyama felt his face flush, his cheeks red as hotplates. There were so many malleable words and vaporous ideas hanging in the air around them, and there was nothing Tobio wanted more than to feel them within his grip, make them concrete and real.

“It doesn’t make any sense,” he whispered mostly to himself.

“Geez, Tobio, are you gonna make me say it?” Hinata groaned.

Kageyama couldn’t bring himself to look over even though he knew Hinata was looking at him. Instead, he took the tense moment to finally shove the piece of bread that he was holding in his fingers into his mouth.

“I like you.”

Hinata’s voice was honey-slow, dripping with sincerity. Tobio felt every muscle in his body tense, one-by-one.

“No,” he replied, “I like you!”

Whether he was really still that drunk or had simply gone loopy in that moment, Kageyama found himself with no control over his words.

Hinata’s face screwed up.

“What?”

“I’m the one who likes you!” Kageyama repeated.

“Wait,” Hinata reeled back, “I’m confused.”

“So am I!”

“I just said I liked you.”

“No!” Kageyama cried out, “You don’t like me, I like you!”

Hinata started to laugh again, his mouth agape in shock.

“So you like me back?” He asked brightly.

Kageyama groaned and planted his face in his hands, feeling the drunken numbness in his lips return.

“Oh, my brain feels so mushy,” he muttered.

“Okay, so we’ve agreed that we like each other,” Hinata said through his giggles.

Kageyama tore his face from his hands and glared at Shoyo.

“But I liked you first,” he asserted.

“How do you know?” Hinata asked.

Kageyama shrugged, “I’ve liked you since high school.”

“I’ve liked you since high school,” Hinata replied.

“Well I started liking you after Nationals our first year,” Tobio said, chin held high in victory.

“I’ve liked you since the day we met!”

Suddenly, a silence descended upon the small, echoey bathroom. Kageyama realized just then how close their faces really were, the proximity jolting his brain back to life. In that moment, all the little nebulous words and affirmations began to take form.

I like you.

I’ve liked you since high school.

I’ve liked you since the day we met.

“What?” Kageyama asked softly.

Hinata’s bright face softened, his smile melting into something sincere and calming. Kageyama felt the suspense of the moment holding his heart at the base of his throat, each beat a question.

Did you mean it?

Did you mean it when you said you liked me?

Did you mean it?

“Yeah,” Hinata replied gently, “it’s true.”

Kageyama swallowed thickly.

“If it’s true then—” he stumbled on the words, the mere idea too big to chew, “then why did you leave?”

Slowly, Hinata’s smile fell into a sorrowful, downturned line. He averted his eyes momentarily as though to gather his thoughts. Kageyama choked a little more on the heart in his throat in fear that he’d said something wrong.

“Honestly, I don’t really know,” Hinata admitted, “well, I do know, I’d always wanted to leave for a while—”

He took in a deep breath.

“But then everything got so complicated,” he continued, “I thought so hard about leaving that I never even considered why I would want to stay.”

He looked, then, back at Kageyama as if to identify that very thing.

“If you’d asked,” he said solemnly, “I would’ve stayed.”

Kageyama finally felt as though he could breathe, because he knew now that he wasn’t the only one tortured by Hinata’s disappearance. Even six years later, Hinata looked so mournful about it all.

“I would’ve told you to go,” Kageyama admitted lowly.

“I know,” Hinata replied, “that’s why I couldn’t ask you.”

For a moment, they could only be silent, heads pressed up against the tiled wall and feet slowly going numb from their strange positioning over the edge of the tub.

“And then you—” Hinata’s voice sounded tearful, almost, “you stopped texting me.”

Kageyama sighed. His chest ached.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered into his lap.

“Inviting you out tonight was kind of a last-ditch attempt,” Hinata chuckled, “but then I got wrapped up in everything with Atsumu and—”

Kageyama glanced up at him. Hinata was pink-cheeked and bright-faced as he always had been, but he’d gained lines of age subtly around his eyes and jaw. Kageyama in part felt as though he’d missed something, years of watching Hinata grow older and broader. Yet, in another part, he felt as though they were in the right places now, the lines in their palms and faces finally converging in a subtle, quiet crash. There were no explosions or fireworks of youth, despite the strange situation they had found themselves in. There were simply voices, their voices, upon which utterances could bear the weight of their souls.

They took another quiet moment just to look at one another, perhaps in the spirit of regaining all the quiet looks of those lost years. And in that moment, Kageyama no longer felt young and foolish. He felt exactly his age. His feet felt light and free, no longer cemented into his past. Perhaps that would’ve been their curse if they’d stayed together six long years ago—they would’ve likely been more in love with their pasts than with one another. Distance is lovely, in that way: it leaves everyone a little space to grow, and eventually, you’ll grow right back into one another.

Yet, Kageyama couldn’t help but laugh.

“We’re so stupid,” he exclaimed.

Hinata joined readily in the laughter, letting his head loll to the side onto Kageyama’s shoulder.

“The stupidest,” he replied.

Hinata gestured with the bread as though to finally comment on the absurdity of its existence. Kageyama couldn’t even open his eyes because the mere sight of the toilet sitting across from them would send him into the kind of laughing fit that makes you feel sick to your stomach.

Beside him, Hinata’s freckled, pink-washed face was folded up in pure joy, his teeth bared as he smiled. His deep brown eyes were nearly hidden by his scrunched up eyes; Kageyama wondered if he could truly lose himself in them if he looked too long. He couldn’t stop staring at his face and imagining all the bits he wanted to kiss: his short lashes, his rounded cheeks, the crown of his head from which his orange hair tumbled.

They were so stupid.

The stupidest.

But, at the same time, it all felt right.

“You mean it, right?” Kageyama asked, a thread of worry weaving between every word.

Hinata’s shoulders dropped as he sighed, eyes trained on Tobio and lips stretching into another gentle smile. Kageyama felt all his bones turn right back to mush, but in a good way.

“No,” Hinata said in a dramatic voice, “I just thought I’d sit in this bathtub with you and confess my love for you as a joke.”

Kageyama felt his own lips stretch into a smile as he let out one more chuckle before grabbing Hinata by the lapel of his blazer and pulling him close once more, the familiarity of their prior kiss making the reprise simple and sweet.

And with Hinata’s lips on his, there was only one thought in Kageyama Tobio’s mind:

Oh, yeah—

this was totally worth the wait.