Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Are ya excited to get back to practice tomorrow?”

The sun sat high in the sky in the late afternoon of this Sunday in August. Kita might have felt the heat more if he wasn’t sitting on the embankment next to one of his aunt’s rice fields, so close to the ground and the cool water supporting the plants that August’s cloying humidity barely registered. Next to him, Hinata gave a full-body shrug.

“You have no idea, Kita-san. I’ve been soooooo boooooored.”

Kita smiled, watching Hinata make a conscious effort not to dramatically flop backward. Kita appreciated his restraint.

Watching the water in front of him, Kita could make out the little squiggles of tadpoles, moving under the water’s surface. “We’ve missed ya the last few practices, that’s for sure.”

He wasn’t prone to loud and dramatic declarations, but even Kita recognized the inadequacy of that statement. Attending the three Inarizaki practices they’d had since their loss at Nationals was like watching someone walking around without their heart, confused as to how they could have possibly misplaced something so important.

Inarizaki had always been a rowdy group, long before Kita had come to this school. And yet, the last few practices had been downright subdued affairs. Everyone going through the motions. No protests when the coaches wanted to watch more game tapes. No loud groaning when spiking practice was cut off. No impossibly energetic dynamo buzzing around the court, eager to please, with a ready smile on his face — inevitably egging one of the Miya twins into doing something stupid.

That energetic dynamo sat next to him, restless and impatient, but not as erratic as Kita would have expected. A significant part of Kita worried that his fall and subsequent forced rest period had broken something in Hinata — and yet, that god-awful haunted look that he’d worn that night, face mask pasted to his skin, eyes sunken and blank, no longer existed in the boy sitting next to him.

Hinata was no longer agitated and chaffing to prove to himself and the world how strong he was. Kita suspected that perhaps his favorite kouhai had learned something about himself during the greatest disappointment of his young life. Kita certainly had.

For as long as he could remember, Kita had always thought of himself as someone who looked at the world through a logical, somewhat detached lens. Where his contemporaries might see circumstances as a personal slight, or the universe conspiring against them — Kita knew better. There were no gods trying to spite you. Failing a test, losing a game, interpersonal relationship problems were all symptoms of earlier errors, mistakes, laziness, or lack of care.

It was all a matter of discipline and hard work. Taking the time to study would allow anyone to pass. Being respectful and careful with others insured you wouldn’t hurt their feelings, and if you did, acknowledgment of the hurt and apologies usually helped. Training hard and practicing diligently, playing each game as you practice, and practicing as you would play a game can help better your chances at winning. And if you lost anyways, it was with the knowledge that the team you faced likely trained better — more efficiently, more experienced.

Kita never realized how arrogant that thinking was.

Not until he watched Hinata fall and the realization struck him that there were multiple stop gaps along the way that his kouhai still managed to bypass, despite Kita being careful. Diligent.

Who would have thought that the people around him diligently taking care of themselves — acting as a model for Hinata, that none of it would be enough. To think Hinata’s lack of rest could go unnoticed when he slept, ate, and bathed with his team. Kita had reviewed their game tape — there had been no outward signs that his play was deteriorating on the court. Not even in the Kamomedai tape, until it was already too late. Hinata played amazingly until he couldn’t stand anymore. It shouldn’t have been possible. But Kita knew him to be a monster in training, he should have suspected that if anyone was capable of playing until they completely and utterly collapsed, it would be Hinata.

The easy solution would be to blame Hinata for his mistake. For not realizing he was unwell, for not telling those around him, for falling in the first place. But Kita had to remind himself: who had ever taught him otherwise? When had Hinata ever participated in such an intense volleyball tournament? At their own Inter-High, they only played one match longer than two sets. Hinata’s experience of volleyball until he joined Inarizaki had been contained to cajoling people into setting for him and the practices they undertook last year.

No one had ever taught Hinata to look after himself. To manage his own health. No one had drilled in routines of care and diligence into his young mind.

Kita couldn’t blame Hinata for not knowing better. Though Kita had to work a little harder at not blaming himself for not seeing what he felt he ought to have. For not teaching Hinata what Kita always assumed was second nature to those around him. It was why on that day after Kamomedai, Kita had sworn to himself that he was going to give Hinata all the tools he needed to ensure something like this never happened again.

For the hours between Hinata’s fall and emergency trip to the hospital, until he’d made sure Hinata was fed and let their teammates check up on him, Kita had tamped down any sort of reaction to the horrific circumstances he found himself in. What the team had needed at that moment was a strong and stable leader, and so Kita had stepped up — as was expected of him — and made sure everyone knew they could lean on him.

He’d been gentle but firm with Atsumu that he needed to finish up the game, to keep his mind on the court. For Osamu to leverage whatever feelings he was having into playing better. To get Aran to remember that he needed to be the physical manifestation of Inarizaki’s backbone as everyone around them wanted to crumble.

Telling Hinata that he was done playing and needed to go to the hospital had nearly broken Kita though.

In the half seconds of stillness between the game ending, the interviews starting, and the bus ride back to the ryokan, Kita thought of Hinata’s face. Of the raw and unsuppressed rage and betrayal on his face. Of the tears still leaking out of his eyes and dripping down to his chin, even as Kita and coach Kurosu explained he wasn’t well and he needed to learn from this — that he needed to learn and understand his limits. He watched his kouhai, his friend, his inspiration and motivation for so much fracture and break, and at that moment Kita wasn’t sure how he’d ever put his own pieces back together, let alone help Hinata.

So he’d done what he’d always done when faced with adversity: he put his head down and did the work. He reassured his team. He subbed out Osamu who was slowly playing more erratically, steadying their play so Inarizaki could win. He smiled banally at the interviewers who had so many questions about Inarizaki #10 and his condition, and then he organized his dour and lifeless team back onto the bus.

When he arrived back at the ryokan, to learn of Hinata’s condition and the prognosis, another small part of Kita’s heart cracked more. Because silently, in the back of his head, Kita had been hoping that a visit to the doctor would confirm it was just a bad sleep, and he’d be fine after a bit of rest. Surely the most impressive monster Kita had ever witnessed in person wouldn’t be brought so low by a bit of insomnia.

A fever brought on by five hours of sleep in three days. Five hours of sleep for four games. How could Kita not have seen? How could he have allowed this to happen? What had he done? Was he even deserving of the captaincy—

Squaring his shoulders, Kita ordered the team to keep it down, so Hinata could rest and then met with the Okami of their ryokan to politely ask for a simple, hearty, and easily digestible meal that he would deliver personally to Hinata.

He didn’t allow himself to react when he looked into those guilty and deeply sorry eyes, afraid that Kita would be disappointed in him.

It was almost funny because Kita could only really be disappointed in himself.

He didn’t allow himself to feel anything as the team slowly started to share stories of the game they’d won without Hinata. He tried desperately not to feel anything as he watched Osamu walk away before everyone else, unable to bear looking at Hinata.

After his bath, left alone for too long with his thoughts, Kita excused himself from their tightly packed sleeping room, saying he needed to grab a drink. By the time he made it to the front door of the ryokan, Kita was too overwhelmed by feelings he’d been suppressing that he could do nothing once he finally found Atsumu in the lobby.

Atsumu who had been missing since Kita delivered Hinata his food. Atsumu who had bathed at some point and then came to sit quietly there, curled forward with his head in his hands, a perfect picture of misery. Kita looked at him and found he didn’t have it in him to reach out, to help — even though he knew the both of them were likely feeling the very same thing.

Instead, Kita stepped outside, sucked in a huge lungful of air, and willed himself to keep control. He eventually found a bench in the small park kitty-corner to the ryokan. Kita sat there for who knew how long, going over every instance that he should have documented — should have realized something was WRONG.

Not changing his jersey. How had Hinata’s appetite been? Picking a fight. Playing savagely and precisely — how had Kita thought that was a sign of Hinata’s strength and not a warning sign? The constant need to consume and watch other games. The inability to settle. Five hours of sleep in three days. Four games. Ten and a half sets. Five hours. How had he not seen that? How had he instead been impressed that Hinata was always up before him, rather than been alarmed? What was wrong with him—

“Shinsuke?”

Kita jerked upright, not even realizing he’d buried his face in his hands, mimicking the pose he’d last seen Atsumu in. Kita lifted his head and found Aran staring at him, eyebrows pinched in concern. Kita let out a shaky breath and found he didn’t have the wherewithal to compose his face into its usual placidity. He had no idea what face he was making, but it was evidently making Aran more concerned.

“I—” He realized the second he opened his mouth that he had no idea what to say. Or how to say it. He had never felt so raw and exposed before, here under the glow of the streetlights, the sun long since set. Had it been just starting to set when he’d stepped outside? He couldn’t remember.

A large warm hand pressed into Kita’s back, fingers splayed wide. Kita turned to see Aran seated next to him, leaning into his side. He was making gentle shushing sounds, which set off an uncontrollable shake through Kita’s limbs — he couldn’t for the life of him identify the source.

“It’s okay, you’re okay, I’m here,” Aran told him softly, the hand on his back rubbing up and down in a clumsy circle.

It was grounding.

Kita found himself choking on a breath that was really more of a sob than anything else.

It was over faster than he would have imagined, which might have more to do with Aran’s presence and the growing surety of his hand as it swiped up and down Kita’s back, but it wasn’t too long until Kita was hiccuping between breaths, his eyes finally starting to dry in the cool summer evening. He gave an embarrassed half-laugh.

“Sorry— I dunno what came over me—” He cut himself off when he finally lifted his head to see tears shining in Aran’s own eyes. His hand still pressing into Kita’s back, just as comforting and grounding as before. “I’m sorry, I gotcha started too.”

Aran gave a wheezing snort, wiping at his eyes with a free hand. “Nah, I’ve just been holding this in too, Shinsuke. It’s okay.” He lifted his eyes to stare at Kita, “Don’t apologize.”

Kita’s breath caught at the firmness in Aran’s tone. “But—”

“No,” Aran said firmly, the hand at Kita’s back lifted to grip his shoulder. “Don’t apologize.”

Kita felt his mouth click shut, staring mutely at Aran as he sucked in a steadying breath. After a moment, Aran turned away — Kita tried not to be disappointed by the loss of warmth, no longer having Aran’s eyes on him — leaned back against the bench, hand drifting down to rest between them on the bench. If Kita shifted his hand just so, their pinkies would brush.

“That was kinda scary, huh?” Aran murmured into the warm summer night. “I didn’t—” He frowned, searching for the words. “I didn’t think that could happen to Shouyou.” Kita blinked.

Kita watched Aran’s lips press into a miserable line and suddenly had the urge to grab Aran’s hand — to offer back some of the comforts he’d just received. Instead, he allowed his fingers to curl into a fist and sighed. “Me either.”

Aran blew out a big sigh, tipping his head back to look at the smear of pinkish-purple in the sky encroaching into black. “You know there’s nothing we could have done, right?”

Kita sucked in a sharp breath, wanting to disagree. There was plenty he could have done better. Aran’s fingers stretched out, wrapping Kita’s hand in his larger, warmer one. Kita felt his hand unclench in surprise, eyes flicking up from their joined hands to find Aran watching him again.

“It was a mistake neither of us could have seen coming. I already know the twins are blaming themselves, Shouyou is probably blaming himself too.” Aran gave him a smile, gentle and warm. “C’mon, cap’. Set a good example for your juniors.”

Kita stared at Aran for a beat and then felt a flighty hysterical laugh bubble up his chest. He turned his head to the side and muffled the urge into a snort, shaking his head. When he looked back at Aran, he found his friend smiling. “Who said I needed cheerin’ up, Aran-kun?”

Aran pursed his lips and squinted at a point over Kita’s shoulder before he shrugged. “Well, I’ve only ever seen you cry twice before— when you got your jersey and that time we watched Wolf Children for my birthday.”

“It was a very heart wrenchin’ movie, Aran-kun.”

Aran held up his hand. “I know! I cried too.” He waved that thought off, looking at Kita seriously once more. “But I was worried you’d go off alone to beat yourself up and then try and go on like normal tomorrow.”

Aran looked away once more, glancing over at a nearby streetlight, moths starting to dance around the bulb, casting strange shadows on the ground. “But we need you to be okay tomorrow — if we’re gonna win. And I don’t think you’ll be okay if you sit out here blaming yourself for something none of us had any control over.”

Kita frowned, watching one of the moth shadows swirl in the pool of light on the ground. “I coulda—”

Aran cut him off with a squeeze of his hand — Kita hadn’t realized they were still holding each other’s hands. “Isn’t our team motto ‘Who needs memories’? It ain’t about the mistakes of the past, it’s about looking at tomorrow and seeing it for the possibilities of doing better.”

Kita watched the way the orange glow of the street light illuminated half of Aran’s face, highlighting his cheekbones, his strong jaw, and the slope of his nose. It was really very dramatic. And his friend really was very wise. Although— “I don’t like our team motto.”

That had its desired effect, a wide toothy smile bloomed across Aran’s face. His nose crinkling as if he were trying not to laugh. Kita kind of wished he would. It might make him feel better.

“I know you don’t, Shinsuke.” Kita did enjoy the light tease in Aran’s voice though. That was nice.

Huffing a breath, Kita turned to look down at their joined hands. “So what yer sayin’ is I need to think about what we can do tomorrow to make sure it never happens again.”

Aran was also staring down at their hands, his expression warm. “Yeah, that’s exactly it.”

Kita traced his thumb over Aran’s knuckles, enjoying the contrast between his pale fingers and Aran’s deeper skin tone. “I think I can help Hinata-kun with that.”

Aran hummed in agreement, head dipping forward a bit, voice soft. “You more’n anyone else can. I know it.”

Kita looked back at him and found himself drawing a bit closer, feeling safe and secure in the warm cover of darkness. In the press of Aran’s fingers against his own. If—

“Oi!”

Kita and Aran jerked apart, sitting up straight to find Akagi crossing the street from the ryokan to meet them. “Michi-kun? What’s wrong?” Kita asked as he unclasped his hand from Aran’s, immediately yearning for that warmth once more. He tucked his hand into his lap, hoping he didn’t look too guilty. He needn’t feel guilty.

“I just went t’go take a piss, and Atsumu ain’t in his futon — neither were the two of ya for that matter...” Akagi’s eyes flicked between them before he seemed to deem it not his business. “Everyone else is asleep, but Atsumu is AWOL.”

Aran frowned. “I passed by him on the stairs as I was coming outside — I thought he was going up to bed with the others.”

“We didn’t see him leave the ryokan either,” Kita observed. Akagi’s eyebrows flicked as if to convey he doubted they’d notice much. Kita just gave him a flat stare in return until Akagi shrugged, crossing his arms.

“So where the heck did he go?” Akagi asked, eyes looking pointedly at Aran now.

Kita frowned, thinking. There were only so many places Atsumu could hide on the second floor. “Didja check Hinata-kun’s room?”

Akagi and Aran stared at him in surprise. Aran grimaced. “He wouldn’t—” Then he cut himself off.

No, Atsumu was the exact type of foolish and self-centered to think that was a good idea. Tipping his head to the sky, Kita looked at his friends, a determined set to his shoulders. “We’ll check to make sure they’re actually sleepin’, and if not, then we’ll boot Atsumu out.” Kita narrowed his eyes as he looked at the well-lit entrance of the ryokan. “I’ll give ‘em a talkin’ to in the mornin’ either way.”

Akagi and Aran shared a bemused look as the three of them returned to the ryokan to settle in for the night, checking Hinata’s room just in case. Kita had indeed been right, Atsumu and Hinata were passed out, with Atsumu curled around Hinata, looking almost childlike in his vulnerability. Yep. A stern talking to in the morning.

The talk with Aran had certainly helped. By the time Kita settled into his futon for the night, he found himself ready to drift off to sleep. The weight of the day feeling less burdensome already.

Once they returned to Hyougo, Kita planned on doing everything in his power to teach Hinata what he needed to make sure he never collapsed like that ever again. At least not in a way he could control through practiced diligence.

It was where these quiet little conversations had come from. During the summer, Kita was needed at his family farm in the mornings before and after practice, helping prepare for the fall harvest coming up. After his work was done and he’d eaten supper, Kita would walk over to Hinata’s house, saying hello to Nacchan and Hinata’s mom, collecting Hinata for a quiet conversation out in the rice fields.

They talked about everything. About nationals. About hospitals. About the twins coming to visit Hinata in the afternoons, obviously pretending for Hinata’s sake that they were alright. About good eating habits. About what diligence meant to him. About why Hinata wanted to watch the Itachiyama game from the stands.

Kita had been a curious mix of proud and confused at Hinata’s rationalization. Hinata wanted to see the whole court. To understand. To learn. To see what he wouldn’t be able to from the bench. He apparently learned so many things! And he had ideas about what he could learn to do to stop Sakusa the next time Inarizaki faced off against him. What surprised Kita most was the question Hinata asked him this particular Sunday.

“Kita-san, what do you think about me playing as more of a decoy?”

Kita had stared at him in mute surprise, unable to form a coherent response. So Hinata kept on talking, explaining why he wanted to become the greatest decoy, what he thought it would mean. Kita listened, raptly. It was entirely unexpected for Hinata to put that much thought into his play. Into anything really.

Nationals and his bitter ordeal there had definitely changed Hinata. Kita was starting to believe that it was for the better.

Now, Kita tipped his head to look at Hinata, impressed that he’d been able to keep himself so still and silent for so long. There was a content smile pulling at his lips as he flicked his toes near the water's surface, eyes scanning the horizon over the rice stalks.

“Have ya ever tried meditation before, Hinata-kun?”

A slow blink and then eyes full of question turned to look at him. A head shake.

Kita smiled “It’s different for everyone, but I think it’s a good check in on yerself. See how yer body is doing. How yer feeling. Remind yerself whatcha oughta be grateful for.”

Hinata watched him with wide curious eyes.

“For me, it’s in the work I do with my hands.” He lifts a hand, closing it into a fist. “Pullin’ weeds, cleanin’ floors, cookin’ good food.”

“Aran-san always said you found cleaning toilets meditative,” Hinata said with wonder. Kita can’t help but snort a laugh.

“Yep. That too.” He jerked his chin, gesturing back at the field. “To start for ya, I wantcha to think about this field ’ere. Think about all the ‘lil movin’ bits in it. A rice field isn’t just ’bout the food ya get out of it at the end.” It’s the sun warming the earth, the air brushing through strong plants. The life sustained in the water, the insects and the frogs and the different birds that call this place their home.

When he finished explaining, he saw that Hinata had gone still. Thoughtful. “It’s like a big interconnected system, then, right?”

Kita smiled, feeling a swell of pride he hasn’t felt for this kid since the moment right before he fell. “Mhmm. Exactly. Ya practice thinkin’ ’bout that, it ain’t a big leap to start thinkin’ ’bout that body of yers in the same way.”

Hinata nodded his head, smile widening just a bit, pleased that he understood “Can I give it a try right now?” Kita only smiled and nodded, watching as Hinata settled in a more upright, cross-legged seat, his eyes sliding shut as Kita watched him start to visualize the place in front of them.

Yep. Hinata had always been quick to learn, especially from his mistakes. Kita was confident that with a little more guidance, neither of them would ever have to experience their catastrophic overconfidence ever again.

And so the super secret Sunday training sessions were born. Hopefully they’d help in that regard.

Allowing himself to relax, patiently waiting for Hinata to be done with his exercise, Kita had to hope that his team could finally go back to normal once everyone’s favorite teammate finally came back.

Kita really really hoped so.

Atsumu was doing great. Ask anyone.

Don’t ask Osamu. Not that he’d fuckin’ know shit, the judgemental asshole—

Atsumu was always doing great. Great at volleyball. Great at life. Great at winning. Good enough at school. Yup. Everything was fine.

Hinata was back at practices, and he seemed fine. All energetic and wanting to try new things and he kept on yammering on about Atsumu teaching him how to do tosses properly. And they would. Yup. Eventually, Atsumu was gonna sit down with Hinata and teach him all he knew about doing the best tosses in the business.

Just not yet.

See, it’s not that Atsumu didn’t want to teach Hinata — cause his best friend absolutely needed to learn. Atsumu would rather die than have a rival team witness another one of Hinata’s dirty ass tosses from the Shiratorizawa match again. It made Atsumu look bad by association! But uh...

Hinata was fine. He seemed fine. Said he was fine. Kita said he was fine. Everyone said Hinata was fine and good and he had a clean bill of health from his doctor now. He was even back at practices. So it was fine — great.

Only — Sometimes, only sometimes, Atsumu would think about how during nationals Hinata had been fine. Said he was fine. Kita said so too. Atsumu certainly thought so and it was all fine and great until it suddenly wasn’t anymore and—

Sometimes when Atsumu looked at Hinata now his brain flicked an extremely unwanted image into his head. Pale face barely illuminated by the streetlights streaming in through the window, eyes sunken and tired. Face mask. A rasped “Atsumu-san?”

And Atsumu now knows there’s a knife's edge between being fine and not fine, and he had no interest in toeing that line at all whatsoever. Because a Hinata playing on that edge can still score and win and jump higher and higher and higher and then he fell and—

Atsumu needed to stop thinking like this.

Because he didn’t think he could plant his head on Hinata’s chest whenever he was worried now — which was all the time — just to confirm his heart was still beating strong. Hinata probably wouldn’t pet his hair either if Atsumu did it every time Hinata spiked one of his tosses — just to be sure.

In fact, Atsumu was pretty sure that would just piss Hinata right the hell off. More than he was already pissing Hinata off. The big takeaway Atsumu got from nationals about himself when it came to worrying about the difference between fine and not fine, and a pale face warning him that Atsumu wasn’t allowed to take away volleyball ever — Atsumu found out he really, really liked denial. If you don’t look at a problem, it’s not even there! Kinda.

Don’t look at Osamu’s resentful stares, and it was just ‘Samu being ‘Samu. Don’t look at Aran giving him the ‘ole worry wart eyes, and it was like Atsumu was being totally normal. Don’t whine at Kita or Coach about getting to setting practice sooner — ‘cause there was always something new and cool to try — and then you don’t have to see concerned faces, like they’re worried about what’s gonna happen.

So when Hinata asked to stay after practice so Atsumu could show him how to do tosses properly, Atsumu just smiled and shrugged helplessly. “Sorry, Shouyou-kun. Not today.” And then he walked away.

“What about today, Atsumu-san?” Hinata asked the next day, head tipped to the side, eyes hopeful as ever, ball resting on his hip — a sight that used to fill Atsumu with a weird bubbling anticipation that kind of made him anxious now. He was letting Hinata down, but wasn’t he also protecting him? Maybe — best not to think about it, right?

“I’m not feelin’ it today. Maybe tomorrow.” Knowing full well tomorrow wasn’t going to fix whatever had broken between Atsumu’s brain, his feelings, and his fingers. The best part about Hinata being so short was if Atsumu just looked straight ahead, tipping his head up just so, he didn’t even have to watch Hinata’s face scrunch up in annoyed disappointment.

Sometimes during practice, he found himself thinking things like: Am I tossing too high for him right now? Better to temper the toss. A pit of anxiety would curl in his stomach every time Hinata received and then flew forward for an approach. Or during a scrimmage, he thought: Maybe it’d be better to toss to Aran right now, even if Hinata was in the air already. And wouldn’t it be better if Hinata half-assed more of his approaches, like Suna and Osamu sometimes did?

That—

That last one made him kind of angry. Irrationally so.

From the first time Atsumu had touched a volleyball — in their cousin’s back yard during a summer barbecue, they were nine and he fell in love — he had always demanded excellence. Of himself. Of those around him. Even of other teams, because who the hell wanted to waste their time playing against scrubs?

And yet, the moment a toxic, little worm would whisper in his brain — do Shouyou-kun a favour, look after him because he can’t, don’t make him fly so high — Atsumu would want to scream and break things. What a time to have an identity crisis. The first time it happened he’d been staring blankly at his water bottle and abruptly found himself wishing it was made of a less pliant plastic, something more brittle, so it would shatter if he threw it against the wall. Or like glass.

The worst part of it was that Hinata was fine. He was as enthusiastic and helpful and focused as ever. Maybe a little less goofy than before, but Atsumu didn’t know if that had to do with him and Osamu, or if the experience changed him too. It had to, right? It couldn’t just be because he and his brother were avoiding Hinata at practices like the plague. And each other.

He and Osamu had been using Gin and Kosaku as intermediaries to convey information to each other during practices and hardly speaking at home. Atsumu wondered if maybe Gin was finally going to snap on him the other day when he’d said, “Mind tellin’ ‘Samu he needs to grab milk on the way home?” As he’d walked out of practice, avoiding Hinata and his hopeful ‘toss for me’ eyes.

Atsumu thought he deserved more credit for how normal he was during Hinata’s exile — his mandated rest period. Atsumu would attend practice, work hard, try some things, crack jokes with his friends, and then hop on his bike for a long ass bike ride up a mountain. He and Osamu would huff and puff in resentful silence until they came upon Hinata’s farmstead — and then it was like they were in a time warp. Him and Osamu ribbing Hinata, making fun of each other. Playfully smacking each other for being assholes. They’d play games, read, watch things, talk.

The whole time Atsumu had been relieved. It didn’t have to change, it didn’t have to be any different. They could be the same as they ever were. So what if Atsumu hadn’t actually talked to Osamu in more than terse sentences since their nap between games of third day hell? He and Osamu did that sometimes, going whole weeks without saying shit to one another. One of them would extend an olive branch — usually through food or video games — and then they’d be back to normal. They could all be fine and normal.

He’d kept right on believing that until the first day Hinata was back at practice. He woke up that morning giddy and excited — even forgot he and Osamu weren’t interacting and flashed him a toothy smile through their bathroom mirror as he brushed his teeth — Osamu gave him a sleepy squint in response. It had been exactly nine days since Atsumu had last tossed to Hinata, and his fingers practically itched with the need. No one, not a single person on their team could compare.

And then he’d strolled into the gymnasium, letting the air conditioning wash over him, stretching his arms above his head and he saw Hinata standing there in a t-shirt and his kneepads and his court shoes, chattering excitedly with Kita and Omimi. Just like that, it all came crashing down around Atsumu. That giddy, bubbly feeling exploded into a loud grinding dread — something almost like panic.

That morning his brain had supplied him with endless plays he and Hinata could try out — Atsumu wanted Hinata to be good enough at tossing that even Atsumu would like spiking for him. Now his brain screamed at him that volleyball was dangerous and could break Hinata.

It made him remember.

The feel of the ball leaving his fingertips, the almost feral delighted grin on Hinata’s face as he exploded upwards far higher than he’d ever before achieved. Atsumu’s self-satisfaction at nailing the toss the first time. Fuck yeah, they were just that good. Kamomedai was going to eat shit—

Hinata on the ground. It was funny. When it happened Atsumu had pinched his brow, squinting down at Hinata like ‘the fuck ‘ya doin’? We gotta game to win, save the jokes for after.’ Only it wasn’t a joke. And Hinata couldn’t stand. He kind of wobbled and swayed like a newborn horse that was drunker than his uncle at New Year’s. Kita was supporting him. And Hinata was crying and crying and crying. And Atsumu couldn’t hear anything but his own blood rushing in his ears, and then Osamu was glaring at him like he’d just murdered someone and—

He’s fine.

Don’t baby him.

He’s doing great.

Don’t worry so much.

Atsumu had been so sure he knew Hinata best — better than anyone else. He should have known, he should have known, he should have known.

They won and it was the single worst win of Atsumu’s life. He didn’t even remember how the rest of the set played out. He must have looked like some kind of robot — playing on instinct. The entire time, every time the ball went into the air, he kept seeing Hinata flying up and crashing back down.

Now, every time he looked at Hinata he saw him flying up and crashing back down.

After the game, supper, Osamu nearly braining him against a wall at the stadium, and a bath that left him feeling unclean and unfocused, Atsumu had sat in the reception area of the ryokan. He wanted to go for a walk. Or to go away. To leave just for a bit. But instead, he thought about how he had to take responsibility. How could he leave when it was his fault Hinata had to go to the hospital? So instead, he sat in a squishy chair, full of regret and anger at himself, unable to face the team who knew how badly he’d fucked up — His brother who despised him for fucking up, and his best friend, laying by himself, undoubtedly miserable because Atsumu had been the one to fuck it all up.

Atsumu wasn’t one much for crying. Thought it was kind of stupid and a waste of energy. He could cry. But it was embarassing as fuck. He stayed red in the face for hours afterward every time. And yet, Hinata reassuring him it was okay, that it wasn’t his fault, that the thing Hinata had wanted most in the whole world — outside of getting to finish that game — was to go over the game with Atsumu. It felt like too much. It felt like everything. It was everything.

He still felt like a big fuck up, but a hand petting his hair, listening to Hinata’s slow and easy breathing, the drum of his heart, talking volleyball, was enough to knock him out. Because right there in that place, maybe he wasn’t as big a fuck up as he thought. Hinata didn’t think so.

Waking up— He—

There were about ten blissful seconds when Atsumu woke up that next morning where he forgot about the day before. He remembered they were at Nationals. That’s why the light quality was different from back home. He turned, burying his face into his pillow that wasn’t a pillow, and lifted his head to squint down at the unmistakable form of Hinata sleeping on his back, face mask pasted to his skin. Face mask?

When the hell had Shouyou-kun squirmed his way into Atsumu’s futon anyways? He was a messy sleeper, but usually he was pretty good about staying put. Atsumu jerked back a bit, nose wrinkling. Eugh, had Shouyou-kun skipped on his bath last night? Gross little gremlin.

That was when Atsumu had registered that there weren’t any other futons in the room with them. Just the one. A cold curl of dread started to work its way up Atsumu’s spine right before realization hit. Blinking, he scanned the room, confused, gaze darting back up to Hinata’s sleeping face. His eyes landed on the face mask once more, and memory crashed down on him like a ton of bricks. The game. The jump. The fall. And every other miserable thing that had happened yesterday.

Rearing back, Atsumu nearly tripped over Hinata’s blanket in his haste to get out of the room. What the hell had he been thinking? He’d wanted to make sure Hinata was alive — was okay. But what gave him the right to interrupt his sleep? He was unwell! So what if Hinata wanted his debrief — the asshole probably wanted to play today too, that didn’t mean it would be good for him.

Atsumu slid the door open, taking one last look at Hinata’s sleeping form before stepping into the hallway. Turning, Atsumu was pretty sure he made an audible squeak when he found his captain sitting against the wall across from him, his face completely motionless as he stared up at Atsumu. Kita looked almost serene. Atsumu knew from experience that meant he was absolutely furious.

He finished sliding the door close behind him softly, head bowed low as he looked down at Kita’s socked feet. “Look, I’m sorry—”

“You know Atsumu,” Kita’s voice was low, but that didn’t remove any of the steel from it. Kita pushed to a stand, face serious as he regarded Atsumu. “When I said don’t disturb his rest, I didn’t mean—”

“I know, Kita-san. I’m sorry,” Atsumu interjected, casting a concerned look at the door he’d just slid shut. Kita didn’t like to be interrupted, Atsumu knew this, knew this was going to be worse for him. It’s not like he didn’t deserve it, but he didn’t want to wake Hinata. “Can we take this elsewhere? I don’t wanna wake Shouyou-kun.”

Kita blinked at him once, twice, and then turned on his heel, gesturing Atsumu to follow him down the hallway. Kita kept walking until they made it all the way to the genkan at the front of the hotel. He then plopped down on the polished wooden floor. Atsumu had the fleeting thought that maybe Kita meant to murder him outdoors where he wouldn’t feel as bad making a mess. Instead, Kita gestured to Atsumu to sit down next to him.

Hesitating only for a second, Atsumu did, wedging himself against the wall, leaning against it. Awaiting the inevitable lecture that was going to take his already bruised heart and shattered ego and grind it into dust. After a minute of silence, he looked up from his knees to find Kita staring at the sliding glass door in front of them. Or maybe out at the early morning street outside the ryokan.

Finally Kita released a breath and flicked a glance at Atsumu, making him stiffen. “Y’know, normally when we do this ya always spend the first minute or so lookin’ like it’s takin’ everythin’ ya got to bite yer tongue. Like yer mad as hell ya got caught.”

Atsumu blinked, lips parting but having no words to say to that.

The corner of Kita’s mouth twitched upwards briefly before smoothing back into that placid expression of his. “Now it’s kinda like yer a kicked puppy, waitin’ for another smack of someone’s foot.” Atsumu frowned, not sure he liked that comparison. Kita heaved an actual honest to god sigh, leaning back on his hands, staring out the door once more.

“It kinda takes all the fun outta lecturin’ ya if yer just gonna be all sad an’ just take it.”

Atsumu was pretty sure his mouth was gaping open as he stared at the side of Kita’s head. “Ya think lecturin’ is fun?” He finally managed to squawk.

This time the flick at the corner of Kita’s lips remained as he gave Atsumu a look out of the corner of his eye. Was he actually amused by this? Did he forget what happened yesterday? Why the fuck did Kita think it was amusing to make fun of Atsumu now of all times?

“Ah, there it is.”

“There is what?” Atsumu bit out, feeling his shoulders tense. He was trying not to fist the fabric of his shorts because then it’d be real obvious just how pissed he was.

“I was wonderin’ how long it’d take ya to get mad,” Kita said simply.

Atsumu found himself deflating a bit, confused. “Huh?”

Kita turned to look at him head on, eyes calm and steady — that scary Kita-rage from earlier seemingly disappeared. “Ya won’t be able to play today if yer too torn up ’bout what happened yesterday.”

Atsumu sucked in a breath, feeling something in his stomach wobble in a way that left him feeling a bit sick. “I dunno what yer talkin’—”

“‘Who needs memories.’” Kita looked at Atsumu evenly.

“The fuck does our school motto gotta do with anythin’?” Atsumu asked, feeling wrong footed and frustrated, like he kept trying to hold onto the guilt that’d been hanging over him for the last twelve hours, and Kita kept tugging it away from him.

If Kita were anyone else, Atsumu was pretty sure he would have rolled his eyes at him. But he was Kita Shinsuke, so instead he tipped his head to the side and stared straight into Atsumu’s soul. “Ya need to let go of the mistakes of yesterday and focus on the road in front of ya. Hinata-kun overexerted himself far more than he should have been able to.” Here Atsumu flinched, but Kita’s eyes were steady. “The thing ya need, that we all need, and that he needs is for ya to be focused on today. Ya need to win for us, Atsumu.”

Atsumu swallowed, wanting desperately to avert his gaze. Wanting to stay wrapped up in his shitty feelings guilt blanket, because it felt like a penance of a sort. Like he deserved it.

Kita lifted one hand, resting it lightly on Atsumu’s shoulder. Atsumu blinked, stared down at the hand and then back at Kita. His captain never went out of his way to touch people, even when he was offering comfort. Had Atsumu ever actually seen him offer comfort before?

“Can ya do that for me and the rest of us, Atsumu?” Kita asked, eyes kind.

But really, who cared about what Atsumu wanted? He didn’t deserve to have what he wanted. So yeah, he could suck it up. Put on his battle pants and shit.

Heaving a sigh, Atsumu looked back at Kita, trying to will some of his usual stubborn steel back into his spine. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.”

Kita smiled at him, removing his hand, and pushed to a stand. “Good.”

Conversation apparently over, Kita stepped out of the genkan, obviously intending to go back to the team room, looking ready to get everyone else up and to start their day. Kita stopped to look at Atsumu just as he reached the inner doors. The severe expression was back on his face, making a cold sweat break out on Atsumu’s back.

“Oh, and Atsumu?” Kita’s voice was level, but Atsumu saw his own doom in that expression. “If ya disturb Hinata-kun’s sleep again on this trip, yer gonna be on toilet cleaning duty for the rest of the season.”

Atsumu nodded his head vigorously. “Mhmm. Yup. Loud and clear.”

Kita nodded, turning. “Make sure ya don’t antagonize Osamu too much for the rest of the tournament.” And with that, the doors swished shut behind him, leaving Atsumu alone in the genkan to consider Kita’s warning.

Don’t antagonize Osamu. Sure. Yeah. Easier said than done.

In all their years of playing together, through practice camps, clubs, and teams, Atsumu and Osamu had never not communicated on the court. When push came to shove, or at least when it came to volleyball, the two of them would put aside their differences to play hard and win hard at volleyball — usually picking whatever fight back up the second the game was over.

They didn’t manage to put aside their differences this time.

Two whole games and Atsumu couldn’t remember the two of them exchanging more than ten words on the court. His tosses were still sharp, Osamu still did his run ups like he should, but there were no calls, no shouts, no cheers shared between the two of them. It was awful that Hinata had to be up in the stands watching against Mujinazaka and Itachiyama. But without Osamu talking to him on the court, it may have been the first time Atsumu had ever felt lonely playing volleyball.

He hated it.

But he didn’t know how to fix it.

The only thing they’d managed to agree on in two weeks since nationals was going to visit Hinata at his house since Hinata-san had been savvy enough to know she needed to steal her son’s bike tire to prevent him from leaving the house. And when they were there, they pretended. Or maybe it wasn’t pretending? Maybe Hinata just brought out normalcy and okay-ness in them just by existing. Atsumu still didn’t know.

But then why hadn’t it gotten better when Hinata finally returned to practice? Why did Osamu still try to ignore him as much as he could? Why was Osamu still so angry? Atsumu thought he knew, wondered if maybe Osamu blamed himself too but wanted to take it out on Atsumu.

Well, too fuckin’ bad, ‘Samu. Atsumu was too fucked up about all this to handle any of his twin’s bullshit.

As the days passed and Atsumu came up with weaker and weaker excuses as to why he couldn’t practice tossing with Hinata — it never stopped him from asking, the tenacious bastard — Atsumu kept waiting for all these muddled awful feelings to abate. For something to fix itself. Or for him to stop feeling awful about everything.

When Atsumu had been ten, he had accidentally slammed their bedroom door on Osamu’s fingers — an actual, genuine accident. He’d felt guilty and awful and sick to his stomach for days afterwards. Osamu needed stitches, and his fingers were in a splint because one of them had broken. He felt awful every time he looked at Osamu’s poor, bandaged hand. Until he slowly got used to it. And then he stopped really minding, stopped being so sweet to his brother. Eventually, they started joking about it. Now it was a funny anecdote they liked to share from their childhood.

When the fuck was Hinata falling at Nationals going to be less agonizing on his psyche and more ‘haha, that funny thing that happened’? When was it going to be a funny shitty anecdote and not something that made Atsumu feel physically sick?

Was it the same for Osamu? Would his brother even tell him if he asked?

They were walking out of practice after another one of Atsumu’s lame excuses as to why he wouldn’t stay late to practice. Volleyball. Jeez, there really was something fucked up with him, wasn’t there? Not staying for extra practice. Atsumu didn’t even know who the hell he was anymore.

It was then that Osamu deigned to speak to him for the first time in two days, since family dinner with their Baa-chan.

“What’re ya gonna do when he stops asking?” Osamu was looking straight ahead as they approached the gate.

It was too freaking hot for his track jacket, but Atsumu desperately wished he had it so he could stuff his hands in his pockets. He never knew what to do with his hands at times like these. “I dunno.” Because he honestly didn’t know. Probably die.

“Yer makin’ him mad, y’know,” Osamu said, tone as bored as it ever was. But he was Atsumu’s twin. He knew what the slant of Osamu’s shoulders meant, the tilt of his jaw. Not so unaffected, huh ‘Samu?

Atsumu shrugged irritably. “He could ask ya to help him if he’s so desperate.”

They crossed the gate, almost at the bike racks when Osamu abruptly stopped, turning to face Atsumu, his face a storm cloud. Atsumu quirked his jaw, ready for another fight. He’d throw down if he had to.

“Ya said during the Shiratorizawa game that ya’d teach him. He’s waitin’ on ya.” Osamu kinda looked like he wanted to punch him.

“Yeah well, that was before.” Atsumu ground out from between his teeth.

Osamu scoffed, shaking his head and turned to walk away. “Ya don’t even sound like yerself.”

Atsumu felt himself bristle, suddenly overcome with an impotent rage that couldn’t be directed at anywhere but himself. And hey, what was a twin for. “I fuckin’ know that, asshole!”

Osamu didn’t even look at him though, only continued walking away. Atsumu’s hands clenched into fists at his side, torn between shouting expletives at his brother’s back, running and tackling him to the ground to give Osamu the beating he’d been asking for, or maybe to go find a quiet corner to have a little cry in.

All three of those options were shit.

Instead, Atsumu consciously unclenched his hands, took a deep sobering breath, and marched after his brother. “It’ll be better once we make it to camp, you’ll see.”

Some time away in a beautiful mountainous region. Playing against some college kids who were all too big for their britches, grinding them into dirt. A chance to learn something new. A chance for new beginnings. Or a return to form maybe. By the time Inarizaki made it to summer camp, Atsumu would be ready. He’d have fixed himself by then. He could toss for Hinata then.

Osamu slid him a look, expression dubious.

Atsumu adjusted his bag, ignoring his brother’s eyes. It would be great. Camp would be great. Playing with Hinata would be great. His relationship with Osamu would be good enough.

It just had to be.

Kurosu Norimune was pretty sure he had never met a kid more resilient than Hinata Shouyou.

Going on eight years coaching at Inarizaki High, and four years as assistant coach for a low level college team, Kurosu had thought he’d come across all kinds of personalities. Strong and domineering types. Hypercompetitive assholes. Joyful goofballs. Kids who didn’t take volleyball very seriously. Kids who took it too seriously. Boys afraid of their own shadows, and boys who wanted to be an inspiration to their whole team.

Hinata was kind of a first for Kurosu though.

Just when he’d start thinking he had the kid figured, he’d do something new to throw him for a loop. At once polite and respectful, but also stubborn as all hell. A dreamy airhead who seemed to get lost in his own thoughts, who could also make brilliant snap decisions with a laser focus. Bright and airy and easy to laugh, but also capable of picking a fight at Nationals with one of the best aces in the country — Kurosu still didn’t have the full story of that one yet. But he was made to apologize for it all the same.

He ran into Washijou-sensei in the upper decks of the stadium, looking for a quiet spot to check his phone for messages from his family after their successful win in round one. Pochi-kun was supposed to graduate doggie agility training today and his wife had promised to take lots of photos of the celebration. It was as he was rounding the corner that he nearly bumped into Washijou seated along a bench, reading his seemingly ever present newspaper.

Kurosu composed himself quickly, stuffing his phone into his pocket. He bobbed a quick bow. “Washijou-sensei, it’s good to see you. I hope you are well.” He over enunciated his words like he didn’t have a decades old kansai-ben lilt to his voice. Washijou sometimes liked to pretend he couldn’t understand him — or like Kurosu was being purposefully disrespectful. Mean old buzzard.

Kurosu watched the old coot’s eyebrows draw together in irritation, hands flicking down the paper to glower over it, up at Kurosu. The old man had been the coach at Shiratorizawa for as long as Kurosu could remember. Even when he himself had played at Inarizaki some 23 years ago now, Kurosu had only ever known Coach Washijou to lead Shiratorizawa — perennials at Nationals.

“Well enough,” Coach Washijou said caustically, eyes drifting down to the page again. Kurosu suppressed the urge to walk away — he really would rather be looking at photos of Pochi-kun right now — but knew Washijou was just doing his conversational dominance thing where he took long pauses between words. Kurosu walking away now was going to start a quiet grudge and several of his contemporaries knew for the fact that the ‘demon sensei’ could hold onto his resentments for decades.

“Are you well, Kurosu-sensei?”

Kurosu’s smile felt plastic as he nodded his head. “Mhmm. Yep. The boys are lookin’ good this year.” They’d just won their first round match, and the twins hadn’t gotten into any tussles. Yet.

Washijou’s eyes sharpened, staring up at Kurosu hard. What the heck had he just said? “Good?”

The amount of derision in that one question had the hairs on the back of Kurosu’s neck standing up. Was Washijou going to actually trash talk him? He knew Shiratorizawa had won their game earlier, and they’d be meeting each other on the court tomorrow. Normally Washijou was a bit more cold and dismissive, outside of a respectful nod and handshake. Kurosu had never known the old man to actually trash talk.

“Err, yeah—” Kurosu cleared his throat. “That is, our boys performed well in their first match. I’m sure our game against you will be rather exciting.”

Washijou sniffed, folding his paper and creaked to a stand. Kurosu took a step back, giving the old man some space. For such a tiny, wizened old thing, Kurosu had always marveled at the presence Washijou had. Kinda reminded him of Hinata a bit, now that he thought about it.

“I’m certain it will be,” Washijou started. Based on the tilt of his head Kurosu got the sense that the old man was looking down his nose at him, despite him being a good 20cm taller than the old man. “So long as you can keep your players in check.”

Kurosu blinked. This was the first he’d heard of anything. “What have the twins done now?” He asked with a sigh. He could just imagine Atsumu getting it into his head to loudly comment on Shiratorizawa’s game — being his usual blunt self — where Washijou could hear him. And last year he’d had to fork over a ton of money in apology after Osamu had ‘accidentally’ stolen a stack of bentos from the representatives of Kochi prefecture. He could only imagine what they’d gotten into—

“It wasn’t the Miyas,” Washijou said, looking like he was sucking on a sour piece of candy. Or maybe that was just his face. “It was the small one.”

“Small?” Kurosu repeated, frowning as he pictured Hinata, karate chopping Atsumu after their game today for implying that the team they beat wasn’t really worth a damn. “Hinata-kun did something?”

“He attempted to start something with Ushijima before our game today.”

Kurosu’s mouth fell open, ready to openly refute the old man, because Hinata? Picking a fight? With Ushiwaka? What a laughable concept. The kid was the only high school player he’d ever met who got flustered everytime he used the word ‘jerk’. There was no way he’d go picking a fight.

“Are you sure—”

“I’m positive,” Washijou sniffed again, refolding his newspaper once more. He lifted his sharp eyes back up to Kurosu’s face, glowering at him. “You really ought to keep a tighter leash on your players, Kurosu-sensei.”

Kurosu felt the muscle in his jaw tick as he did his very best to keep his pleasant respectful smile on his face — lest Washijou made aspersions about Inarizaki’s coaching along with his team’s conduct. He had his education degree, the old bastard — trying to imply otherwise!

“I can assure you, I will talk to my team about their behaviour,” Kurosu said tightly.

Washijou eyed him expectantly, obviously waiting for him to continue.

Heaving a large breath, Kurosu bowed, feeling annoyed. “My apologies for any inconvenience we may have caused you.”

“Hmph.”

Ungrateful bastard! Kurosu was gonna enjoy kicking Shiratorizawa’s ass tomorrow, mark his words.

Feeling the need to change the subject, Kurosu grasped at something he’d been talking to one of his old college buddies about. “Washijou-sensei, have you heard from Toyoma-sensei?”

Washijou’s face seemed to pucker more. “Ah, so that was your doing, was it?”

Kurosu just kept a banal smile on his face. Who was out-waiting who now, ya old bastard?

“Hmph. Yeah, I heard from him.”

Expectantly smile. Either he’ll keep talking, or he’ll walk away. Kurosu tried to tell himself he was an immovable rock in the trickle of a grumpy old stream. Zen. Like a buddha.

“I haven’t decided yet,” Washijou finally admitted, eyes narrow. “I don’t tend to like wasting my time on things beneath my team.”

Kurosu felt his blood pressure skyrocket and the smile on his face became quite strained. “Ah, that’s really too bad, Washijou-sensei.”

“Hmph.” Washijou tucked his paper under his arm, half turning to walk away. “See you at the match tomorrow, sensei. And do try to keep a leash on your unruly team in the meantime.”

Kurosu watched him walk away, bowing his head in acknowledgement. The second Washijou rounded the corner, Kurosu whipped around, thunderous scowl on his face. He needed to message Toyoma to tell him to revoke his invitation from the rude bastard. And! He needed to start planning all the ways he could convince Atsumu to feed Hinata the ball as much as possible tomorrow.

As if Kurosu would ever try and leash up the kid. He couldn’t wait to see Washijou’s face the first time Hinata snapped a quick over Shiratorizawa’s stupid heads.

His resentment and petty plots weren’t the only reason why he missed how badly Hinata’s health was doing, but they certainly didn’t help.

Going into Nationals this year, Kurosu had figured Hinata was a little bit squirrelly, but overall a talented athlete — insulated and supported by the strength of the team around him, second only to Aran in his ability to work well with the twins on the court. And then it was like something clicked in that first game. Like the Hinata who’d shocked Kurosu at try-outs and convinced him to put the kid on the court as a starter— That kid was a dull butter knife compared to the creature that bloomed at Nationals. Spikes, receives, even his serves were far more on point than they’d been in the four months leading up to Nationals.

Okay, Kurosu thought at the time. Hinata was the type to flourish under pressure. Great!

And then the Shiratorizawa match had happened and— That game still had Kurosu scratching his head. It’s not that he wasn’t pleased — he certainly got his revenge on Washijou. It was just that in nearly twelve years of coaching, and over a decade of playing himself, he’d met tons of players who could uplift their teams and keep them on track. The Bokutos and the Kiryuus of the world — acting as an inspiration to their teams. Building confidence, momentum, excitement. Keeping players grounded and working hard. It was a knife's edge balance and some, like Bokuto, did it naturally. Others like Ushijima managed through sheer force of will and experience.

Kurosu had never seen anyone so inexperienced manage to do the same thing. To light a fire under every single player’s ass. Hell, he’d certainly never seen Suna so focused and on point throughout an entire game like he was against Shiratorizawa. And Hinata wasn’t even doing anything but playing as hard as he could, trying new things. Kurosu really needed to pull the kid aside and explain to him that the Miya twins weren’t a good template for experimenting with new plays on the fly. Usually, that shit didn’t work out for most people.

Hinata played like his life depended on it, and somehow, despite being one of the smallest players in the tournament, he managed to uplift Kurosu’s boys into something better. Something more.

That game was probably the first moment Kurosu ever truly understood Kita and the twins’ infatuation with Hinata. The first time it made sense to him. Hinata Shouyou was as inevitable to volleyball as breathing was to everyone else.

During that final play against Shiratorizawa, when it felt like the twins and Hinata were moving as one entity on the court, Kurosu allowed himself a self congratulatory thought he never did in the midst of a game: we’re gonna win this all.

There wasn’t any single team capable of standing against that. No way in hell.

After the game, Washijou came to seek him out this time. Nearly scared the bejeezus out of him too. He’d just been walking out of the bathroom when the old buzzard cornered him.

“Ah, Washijou-sensei. Thank you very much for the excellent match.” Kurosu dipped his head in a bow, reminding himself that he shouldn’t gloat, no matter how arrogant and superior and condescending the old bastard was. Be a graceful winner, Norimune, he could hear his wife sigh in the back of his mind.

“Yes, it was an excellent match.” Washijou didn’t look as grumpy as Kurosu would have imagined the ‘demon-sensei’ to normally be. In fact, during Spring Nationals when Shiratorizawa lost to a representative out of Nara, Kurosu could hear Washijou ripping into his team from two courts away. That he looked so placid was... Kinda disconcerting?

Washijou pursed his lips and Kurosu felt his spine snap to attention, stepping out of the way so the old man could get through to the bathroom. Washijou didn’t move, continuing to scrutinize Kurosu.

“Uh, is there something else I can help with?” Kurosu asked, suppressing the urge to clean his glasses.

“Your boys didn’t play as I thought they would,” Washijou said finally, almost as if to himself.

Kurosu blinked, tipping his head to the side in question. “Uh—”

“I think I still have a few things to learn,” Washijou muttered low, almost as if to himself.

Kurosu’s mouth opened, but he wasn’t quite sure what to say to that almost wistful look on Washijou’s face. If it wasn’t a scowl, or irritated disinterest, or a self satisfied smirk, Kurosu wasn’t sure he’d ever seen it on the old man’s face.

“How tall was that #10 again?” The sharpness was back in Washijou’s face, making Kurosu tense a bit.

“I think about 162cm?” The second it was out of his mouth Kurosu recalled Hinata’s dramatics before they left Hyougo. He’d apparently finally broken 163cm and was distraught that this new development wasn’t going to be reflected in the official Nationals tournament program guide.

“He still has room to grow then, hmph.” Kurosu was 80% sure that wasn’t directed at him.

Washijou’s eyes flashed up to his again — intimidating old man, eesh. “You have a pretty good chance of winning it all, y’know that right?”

That was almost a compliment. Kurosu suddenly found he didn’t know what to do with his hands. They’d been resting at his sides, but now he wanted to flap them around a bit. Why on earth was he so aware of his hands?

“Thank you?” Kurosu agreed, but he didn’t want to seem arrogant.

Washijou tucked his hands behind his back, giving Kurosu a thoughtful look. “You proved today that there’s still plenty of things for me to learn, Kurosu-sensei.”

Hey! No voice dripping with condescension this time! Progress!

Washijou gave him a curt nod. “I’m going to tell Toyoma-sensei, yes.” And with that, Washijou turned on his heel and stooped down the hallway.

Kurosu watched him go, a bit flabbergasted, before he collected himself. He should probably message Toyoma to not rescind his offer, right?

Kurosu only wished they’d actually kept winning. While they had, it didn’t feel like much of a win at the end of the day. Not after Kamomedai.

It shouldn’t have surprised Kurosu as much as it did — the vicious anger on Hinata’s face when he was told he couldn’t finish the game. Kurosu had been so surprised at Hinata’s response.It was so out of character that one of his own players had to step in to mollify Hinata. Kita Shinsuke was without a doubt the best coaching decision Kurosu had ever made. But that didn’t make it sting less to think he’d let a teenager step in where he didn’t know how to help.

What do you say to someone, a kid really, who’d spent half a year knocking you on your ass in surprise? Who burned brighter than any kid you’d ever coached. A natural star, who burned so bright that he snuffed himself out. Kurosu saw a sweaty weeping child where there had been a shining volleyball entity moments before, and he didn’t know how to process the cognitive dissonance of that. It’s funny, in all his years of coaching, Kurosu had seen plenty of kids injure themselves, even knock themselves out of ever playing again. For some reason though, there was something about Hinata that made Kurosu forget that injury and illness was even a possibility for the kid in the first place.

Kurosu had been afraid that the Hinata he was going to get back at practice would be a shell of what he’d been. Suffering exhaustion and humiliation on the National stage would break even some of the strongest willed players Kurosu had met. Kurosu wasn’t sure he’d have managed to recover from the pain of loss, weakness, and the fear of letting his teammates down. How could one inexperienced, slightly goofy kid handle it?

Since the moment he’d learned the name, Hinata had become synonymous in Kurosu’s head with curveballs. Small, unknown player walking into his tryouts? Welp, he was actually the best of the bunch by miles and miles. Two of his biggest problem players, Atsumu and Osamu had an attitude problem? Welp, that got adjusted once they started working with Hinata. Excitable kid gonna get some Nationals jitters, and he’d need to sub in Gin to replace him? Nah, not only has Hinata got his own shit covered, he was keeping everyone else in line with big jumps and bigger smiles.

Kid lost it all and got crushed under the pressure of the National stage, undoubtedly changing his outlook on life, probably crushing his spirit in a way that none of them will know how to deal with? Especially after that deeply concerning moment on the day of the finals, when Hinata had claimed he’d rather watch the match from the bleachers rather than on the court with his team. Kurosu had been worried that this irrepressibly cheerful and excitable kid had finally cracked.

Nah. First day back at practice after his doctor mandated ‘rest period’, Hinata had slid into the gymnasium on socked feet, cried a loud “Finally!”, and collapsed to his knees to plant a big loud kiss to the court.

Kurosu and Oomi, the only other people in the gym at the time, stared at him wide eyed as Hinata popped back up to his feet, grinned and gave them a hearty wave. “Hi Coach! Hi Oomi-sensei! I’m gonna go get changed now!” and turned on his heel to skip into the locker room.

Kurosu and Oomi watched him go, stunned into silence. When the door clattered closed behind Hinata, Oomi turned to him. “That ain’t what I expected.”

Kurosu snorted, giving Oomi a sideways look as he shook his head. “Ain’t no expectin’ when it comes to Shouyou.”

He really was a very weird kid.

For all intents and purposes, it was like Nationals hadn’t happened to Hinata. Or it had. There was a sharpness to his movements on the court during practices that hadn’t been there before. A watchfulness that was sometimes almost kinda creepy. Like he was intaking all the information around him and was trying to figure out how to use it. Kurosu kept waiting for some kind of trauma to shine through — some hesitation, at least. He couldn’t detect anything.

Apparently, he was doing meditation training with Kita, and that was going fine. That must have been the source for how even keeled Hinata had seemed ever since returning to practice.

It was almost reassuring how confused Kita seemed about it all too. The whole team, in fact. Everyone was treating Hinata a little delicately — though that seemed to be obstinately flying over Hinata’s head for the most part.

Aran asking for more water breaks throughout practice, eyes sliding almost guiltily to where Hinata stood, obliviously chatting with Akagi. Gin inserting himself into first year clean up duties, always taking on tasks Hinata was meant to do. Kita getting extremely hyper vigilant about stretching and cool downs.

It would probably be fair to say that Hinata’s collapse had more of an impact on the rest of the team, but especially the twins, than it had on Hinata himself. But Atsumu—

Atsumu...

Kurosu had known the moment he met Atsumu some five years ago now, after his first Inter-Middle tournament — this was a kid who lived and breathed volleyball. Kurosu had met plenty of people in his life who seemed to have volleyball in their blood. But none had quite the same love and devotion to that little leather ball quite like Atsumu did. Oomi had once compared each of Atsumu’s sets to something akin to sending love letters to the sport itself. A little piece of his soul going into every one of his tosses.

That would certainly explain why Atsumu was a little bit of a prick sometimes.

Last year, coaching Atsumu and Osamu together, he had kind of pitied Atsumu a little bit. Figured the guy would never find anyone quite like his brother to gel with on the court. Atsumu was certainly going places — there had been no doubt in Kurosu’s mind from the moment he set eyes on Atsumu playing. Atsumu would be a nationally ranked setter. Probably the best player Kurosu ever had the privilege of coaching. But there was no way Atsumu would ever find anyone quite as obsessive and committed to volleyball — not even his own twin brother.

Kurosu just hadn’t accounted for the existence of a human curveball. Hinata was nothing if not dogged in his pursuit to surprise those around him.

There was something about watching the utter glee on both Atsumu and Hinata’s faces as they played that lifted something in Kurosu’s chest. Like listening to the call and response in a beautiful song, in perfect harmony with each other on the court.

Sometimes, Kurosu kinda wondered if maybe they were made for each other.

That was probably the reason why it was so painful watching Atsumu pretend like he wasn’t interested or was too busy to stay late to practice with Hinata. Where normally it was an exercise in patience — sometimes literally taking the net down around them, in order to get them to actually stop — for the week since Hinata had been back, the kid had not managed to convince Atsumu to practice with him once. Every time Atsumu said no to extra practice, a foreign concept to everyone in the gymnasium, Kurosu would grimace into his clipboard, peeking over it to watch Hinata’s face fall.

Yeah, Atsumu was definitely avoiding Hinata. No doubts about that. Worst part of it was, Kurosu could see the way it was dragging on Atsumu. He obviously wanted to say yes badly.

“Y’know, there’s no harm in stayin’ late to practice a bit, Atsumu,” Kurosu tried to tell Atsumu after their third practice. Atsumu had made a beeline for the change room the minute practice wrapped up — something Kurosu had never seen the kid do in the two years he’d coached him. “I’m happy to stay on a bit, if ya wanna?”

Atsumu looked almost like a cornered animal, eyes bugging out all weird, unable to meet Kurosu in the eye — another peculiarity. Atsumu always looked you straight in the eye. He shrugged. “I’m good, Coach. Thanks for offerin’.”

Kurosu pursed his lips. “How’s about ya toss for Shouyou?” It’s as if he slapped Atsumu across the face, he started so bad. Kurosu blinked, surprised by how visceral Atsumu’s reaction had been.

Atsumu jerked his head no. “Nah, not today.” And then without any more preamble, Atsumu hurried away. Kurosu watched him lift his head, tilting up at an awkward angle, as if he was trying not to perceive the court. To the side Hinata perked up, calling for Atsumu to stay. Atsumu didn’t stop his pace, merely shook his head and left practice. First to leave. Kurosu hadn’t thought that ever happened before.

Rubbing at his chin, Kurosu could only hope it’d get better by the time they made it to Kofu for their training camp. Atsumu could be as weird about it as he wanted here in Hyougo, but Kurosu had to hope by the time they set foot in Yamanashi prefecture and settled into Kofu, he’d be over his bullshit, right?

~~~

The Yamanashi University training camp took place in one of Kurosu’s favorite cities in all of Japan. Kofu had been his home for four years while he completed his education degree. He played wing spiker for four good years, never getting close to a championship, but had a decent team nonetheless. It was also where he met a lifelong friend in Toyoma Yuto. The junior coach for his team when he was still a student. Toyoma was now head coach for the Yamanashi Kodamas.

When it was time for Kurosu to move on from university, trying to pursue coaching full time, he’d kept in touch with Toyoma such that together they’d helped organize a college summer training camp. Yamanashi University, Kurosu’s new team in Niigata, were joined by Waseda and Kyoto University where Toyoma and Kurosu had friends coaching. When Kurosu moved back to Hyougo and took charge of Inarizaki, it had seemed natural to continue the tradition. Even if he was effectively bringing kids to play with a bunch of adults.

Well, a bunch of adults and now one other power house high school. Apparently, Toyoma actually played under the grumpy old buzzard back in high school. When asked what Kurosu thought about inviting the old coot and his team, Kurosu had merely shrugged. They were a good team — he figured the more, the merrier.

Kurosu wasn’t scared. He coached one of the best high school teams in the country. He was pretty sure they could stand against a couple of college kids. Hell, in the last couple of years, Inarizaki certainly won more of their matches than they lost in these camps.

That had never been more true with the group of boys he had now. Sure, they were a bit battle scarred from their last foray into Nationals, but Kurosu was certain they were going to be standing on top by the end of the ten day intensive training camp.

“You seem awfully confident, Mune-kun,” Toyoma sidled up to him, arms crossed as they watched their teams warm up. Inarizaki had arrived in Kofu about an hour and a half ago, late in the afternoon and it was time to engage in Kurosu’s favorite event of the camp.

King of the Hill, by way of greeting.

As each team arrived at camp, typically staggered given they traveled from all over central Japan to get here, each team would challenge the team that had just won their previous match at camp as new teams arrived. A perfect way to kick off an intensive week and a half; facing off against the very best team the camp had to offer.

Kurosu watched Hinata sail up for a toss from the first year back up setter, spiking the ball straight down. Oh, he was plenty confident. He smirked at the baffled expression on Toyoma’s face. “Don’t worry, Yu-kun, we’ll put on a good show.”

Kurosu pursed his lips, thoughtful, eyes scanning the upper viewing deck where the other college teams were milling, about to watch the game. “Though I hafta say I’m surprised. I’d have thought Waseda would be the ones down here.”

Toyoma whapped him in the arm with the back of his hand. “Rude, Mune-kun. And if you must know, part of Waseda’s starting lineup are suffering injuries. They’re here now, just in time to watch my give you a whalloping.” Scanning the crowd, Kurosu could see two young men balancing on crutches, chatting amiably with their teammates. Another young man had his arm in a sling, looking grumpy.

Kurosu hissed as he recognized the college kid — the bane of Kurosu’s existence just three years ago, when said college kid had only been a highschool kid who was still playing high school volleyball. The former number one libero in the country, three years running. “Their libero too?”

Toyoma followed his gaze, nodding grimly. “Bad collision in the middle of a game. Dislocated his shoulder. He’s at the tail end of his recovery. Seems like he’s pretty grumpy about the whole attending camp and not participating thing.”

Kurosu flicked a gaze over at Akagi, wondering if his own libero had noticed who was about to watch him play. He seemed to remember Akagi saying something to the effect that he started playing volleyball because—

“Oi! Atsumu! Focus on yer own tosses.” Kurosu waved his clipboard at Atsumu, grabbing his star player’s surly attention. Atsumu kept sneaking glances at the other line of spikers where Hinata and the others were warming up. Kurosu clicked his tongue. The kid had one job.

Kurosu could see Atsumu sucking on his teeth — a deeply unwelcome return of the attitude from early last season — before Atsumu jerked his head in a nod. “Yessir.”

Kurosu hummed, eyes flicking back to his team as warm ups finished. A true litmus test for how his boys were really doing. Surely Atsumu would smarten up for a game, right?

Atsumu did not smarten up. Nor did Osamu.

Kurosu had turned to Oomi after the third time Atsumu failed to toss to Osamu in a perfectly situated pocket and asked him to start recording missed opportunities. For each failure to toss to Osamu, the ‘cool headed twin’ would half ass a run up. Halfway through the set that made five misuses of Osamu and four times Hinata had been left open. What the hell was the point of having excellent spikers who could attack from anywhere, if you weren’t going to use them in an actual damn game to attack?

Inarizaki was still ahead at the end of the first set, but that had more to do with the overall talent of his team, rather than the graces of his world class setter and his freakishly talented twin. Kurosu had no idea how to help the twins get their heads out of their asses, but he had a pretty good idea of how to start.

“Shinsuke.” Kita didn’t even blink, walking up calmly to the bench, taking the number ten placard, watching Kurosu patiently.

“Yes coach?”

Good ole reliable Kita. Play getting frenetic? Give ‘em Kita. Players getting lazy and complacent? Have Kita put the fear of god into them with a single stare. There wasn’t anyone better at leashing the twins up when they were being dickheads than Kita Shinsuke.

“I’m gonna need ya to go in and slow things down. We’re playing at Yamanashi’s speed and we don’t—” Kurosu cut himself off with a surprised gasp, watching the play in front of him, mouth gaping.

Atsumu had finally tossed to Hinata, which was great, only it was a helluva lot slower and lower than what Atsumu could usually have Hinata do. The freaky thing was, Hinata showed a whole lot more patience and decorum on the court than Kurosu had ever seen out of the kid. Hinata seemed to pause for a heartbeat in the air, before tapping the ball off the blockers hands in a beautiful, easy rebound.

Hinata turned to Atsumu as the ball sailed backwards towards Akagi. He waved his hand in that ‘a little low’ gesture, nose wrinkling.

Atsumu’s answering scowl was thunderous — Kurosu had never known him to take egging on very well, despite his own behaviour on the court. But the set of his shoulders was more determined than shamed and— The ball went up for Atsumu, not giving anything away and like a thunderclap following a flash of orange lighting, Hinata smashed the ball down from a blink-and-you-missed-it quick set.

Kurosu gaped at his team. At Atsumu, at Hinata. Had that been quicker than they’d ever done at Nationals? But Atsumu hadn’t been practicing with Hinata outside of—

“I wonder if he learned that during the Fukurodani match,” Kita mused, arms crossed as he watched Hinata accept head pats from Aran and Akagi. Kurosu stared at the back bone of his team, looking calmly amused. Kita looked back at him. “Do you still want me to take Hinata-kun off?”

Kurosu shook his head, “Nah, we’ll rotate ya in during the second set.” Kita nodded, handing the placard to Oomi and rejoining the rest of the subs.

The Fukurodani match? Kurosu supposed their setter had been prone to resetting a rally with a rebound periodically. Had he ever seen Hinata practice that? He couldn’t recall.

As if reading his mind, Oomi piped up behind him, “That’s a first. We’ve never worked on rebounds with him.” Oomi gave an amused little laugh. “I didn’t want to overload the kid when we were still helping him with so many basics. Also, didn’t really peg him as a thinkin’ type.”

Kurosu rubbed his chin, watching as his boys wrapped up the end of the first set — Hinata’s rebound and successive quick attack apparently refocusing the rest of the team plenty well. Oomi wasn’t wrong, but he wasn’t factoring in the fact that Hinata was like a human curveball. Most of the things he did threw Kurosu for a bit of a loop.

Though he really couldn’t say he’d have ever considered Hinata a thinking creature either.

After the game, Inarizaki winning in two clean sets, the boys were told to go bathe, eat supper, and then reconvene in the annex building common room, so they could await the arrival of the final team joining the camp’s roster.

“Never would have figured him to be the type of person to be late,” Toyoma grumbled, stifling a yawn, leaning backwards to crack his back against his chair.

Kurosu snorted. Toyoma only ever had the most polite and respectful interactions with the old bastard. There wasn’t any way he’d have known that the meanest old man Kurosu had ever had the displeasure of knowing had a flair for dramatics too.

“Y’know I hear he has his team show up at the last second to warm ups, just so they can have an intimidating entrance against their opponents,” Kurosu grumped, crossing his arms. He scanned the heads of his team, clustered around a couple of tables on the far side of the room. Most of them were playing cards or chatting, some of his more diligent boys were actually doing homework, like Riseki and Kita.

Kurosu had debated with himself since he’d learned the old man had agreed to attend the camp, about whether or not he should let his team know. On the one hand, surprises were fun, right? And on the other hand, he had a group of hormonal teenage boys dealing with angst about their inability to control the universe — everyone just a little squirrely after Nationals. And Kurosu had really, really not wanted to deal with the increasing anxiety and the certain antagonism that would spread amongst his boys if they knew who would be joining the camp.

Inarizaki sometimes had a flair for the dramatic too, after all.

“Get out. No way he’d do that—” Toyoma was cut off by a door on the farside of the room clattering open.

Through the doorway stepped neat little rows of volleyball players in their white and purple tracksuits, followed by the hunched figure of Coach Washijou, scowling face scanning the room and seemingly finding it wanting.

Toyoma stepped forward, Kurosu trailing after him, pointedly ignoring the way colour drained from his player’s faces as their eyes widened in shock. Suna, however, was looking kind of bemused. The only person who didn’t seem completely out of sorts — surprising him not in the slightest — was Hinata. In fact, Hinata looked to be practically vibrating in his seat as he watched the new team file in.

Right, right, Hinata had that weird little friendship with Tendou — or so he’d heard from locker room whispers. They probably talked about it before camp? Kurosu gave Hinata a silent thanks for not spilling the secret prematurely. The kid was just full of surprises today, huh?

After the coaches greeted each other, Toyoma turned to the rest of the room, arms gesturing at their new arrivals. “It is my honour to introduce you to the final member of this year’s Yamanashi summer training program: Shiratorizawa Academy. Please give them a warm welcome.”

The college players all bowed, calling a loud “Welcome!” That rang across the room, as Shiratorizawa bowed in acknowledgement. Kurosu was less than thrilled to see his team still seemed a bit thrown to give much of a very hearty greeting.

“It is good to see you made it, sensei,” Kurosu said, giving Washijou a nod. The old man nodded back, eyes still scanning the room. They finally landed somewhere near his team. Actually, no— They stopped on Hinata. Which probably had something to do with Inarizaki’s number one goofball and good times boy standing up from his chair, waving his arms like a lunatic.

“Miracle Boy Satori!”

Kurosu frowned, and was about to reprimand his player — Washijou certainly didn’t seem very impressed, not that he ever was — but a high pitched voice beat him to it.

Making some kind of high pitched giggle, Tendou stepped forward, his entire torso listing to one side for some unknowable reason, before his hands clawed into the air, a gleeful smile pulling at his lips. Tendou Satori was a weird fucking kid, and Kurosu thanked his lucky stars that he didn’t have to deal with whatever this display was on a regular basis.

“Fennec-kun! You’re alive and well! A miracle!” Tendou craned his neck around, eyebrows lifted comically high on his forehead. “What’d I tell ya, Wakatoshi-kun?”

Ushijima looked down at Tendou, blinked, and then stared lasers across the room where Hinata was dodging away from the grasping hands of the twins trying to stop him as he skipped over to greet their new guests.

“Hinata Shouyou.” Ushijima’s voice was freakishly deep for a seventeen year old. “It is good to see you.” As he bounded over, Hinata just beamed, looking like an overeager puppy happy to make new friends.

Yep. It was certainly going to be an interesting camp. Kurosu only hoped Inarizaki could work out some of their problems before they got back to Hyougo in ten days.

There was probably no way it could get worse, right?

Chapter Text

For the first six years of Tendou’s volleyball career he went by a very particular loathsome nickname.

Guess Monster.

When he’d first heard it he had been delighted — no one had ever given him a nickname before! It had felt good to know that he was part of the group. To know his teammates wanted him to feel like he belonged. It was only after a few practices that his teammates let him know that ‘Guess Monster’ was not a cute, affectionate name. It was meant to hurt. To cut. To make him feel small and different. Unwelcome.

That was when Tendou learned it was more fun to be the contrary than to let people say whatever they wanted about you. They wanted him to hurt and suffer and feel lonely as the Guess Monster? Guess what! He would lean into the identity. Don’t enjoy his guess blocking? Welp, he was gonna do it all the time now and get really, really, really good at reading people.

If they wanted him to be the Guess Monster, so be it. Even if it was lonely — Tendou was very good at pretending to be unbothered. Even if little bits of him curled in on himself on each new team — each alienating “It’s the Guess Monster!” chipping a bit more away from him. At least as he got older people started to find him useful and creepy, instead of just plain creepy.

He’d resigned himself to a life of small hurts and taking enjoyment in the discomfort and suffering of others. Until he got to high school and met a boy with a very serious demeanor who only ever called him ‘Tendou’.

[“Why would I call you Guess Monster? Your name is Tendou.” A pinch between dark brows, earnestly confused. “You’re not a monster. And Tendou is shorter than Guess Monster.”]

Tendou guessed it was because of this experience that he had such an affinity for other monsters.

One monster in particular. Meeting Ushijima Wakatoshi was a revelation — not just in the way that he made Tendou feel like he belonged — but in the fascinating way Ushijima affected the world with his mere existence. There were few joys Tendou loved more than watching Ushijima cut through a crowd, instilling awe and fear into other volleyball players — only for Tendou to saunter up and hook his chin over his best friend’s shoulder.

Oh sure, people feared Ushijima — but boy howdy, were they absolutely terrified of Tendou and his way of casually touching Ushijima whenever he wanted. If he liked the feeling of Ushijima’s hair between his fingers, or the way his face relaxed when Tendou touched him, what of it?

But Ushijima wasn’t the only monster Tendou was fond of.

He learned something about himself that one very particular day at Nationals. Watching the even more peculiar and very interesting Hinata Shouyou leap up higher and faster than human legs should be capable of. Tendou leaned against the railing overlooking court B, with Ushijima standing tall beside him, the two of them watching a terrible little mess unfold.

Watching Hinata fall to the ground in a heap, unable to support his own weight — almost looking drunk, Tendou’s mind had thought, a little detached — Tendou felt something like little claws start to tear into his heart. How strange. There were players Tendou enjoyed facing on the court — any of the Seijoh third years were a hoot — but he’d never felt particularly emotionally attached to them.

Watching Hinata be dragged out of the stadium by his nervous little friend — Riseki, the tall, twitchy one —Tendou had wondered if he’d feel the same way if he saw something similar happen to Goshiki in the middle of a match.

Tendou didn’t just enjoy playing Hinata Shouyou, he actually kind of liked the little weirdo. Probably because Hinata was a little weirdo — because he was a monster. This shouldn’t have been able to happen. Watching something as wrong as a monster fall had made Tendou kind of sick to his stomach.

Beside him Ushijima had gone completely rigid, staring hard at the doors Hinata had just disappeared through. There was still an unnatural hush to the gymnasium, the crowd and the music and the teams all seemingly holding their breaths waiting for that “gotcha!” moment, where Hinata would skip back into the room all smiles and laughter. Just kidding.

This wasn’t a joke though.

The expression on Ushijima’s face was... pained? Angry? Frustrated? Perhaps melancholic. Tendou lifted up from his slouch to nudge him. “You okay, Wakatoshi-kun?”

Ushijima stared at the doors for a beat longer, before he dragged his gaze to look at Tendou for a second before it returned to the court to watch the two teams reluctantly return to play. “No,” Ushijima murmured low. Tendou waited, still watching his face carefully, knowing there was more for his friend to say, he just needed to find his words. After a moment, Ushijima’s shoulders rose and fell in a deep breath. “I do not think I wanted to be right.”

Tendou blinked, surprised. Right about Hinata being weak and arrogant and foolish? Tendou knew Ushijima had been impressed after their game yesterday — maybe even a little stunned. Who’d have thunk it? Inarizaki could change their playstyle to accommodate someone like Hinata. He was smaller than any attacker at Nationals, but so much of their offence depended on the variability he brought to their attacks. To the attention he pulled. To the magnificently mind-boggling presence Hinata had.

There were times in their game yesterday that Hinata had kinda reminded Tendou of Wakatoshi-kun.

At first Tendou had thought Hinata was just an extra intelligent little animal, instinctively pinging around the court faster than anyone else could keep up with. And then that ugly set. Or somehow breaking into that damned twin groupthink. Terrifying. Hinata was a terrifying, little monster with raw, unchecked potential.

Tendou knew Ushijima had seen it too.

Like recognized like, after all.

That was probably what had drawn Tendou to the little fox in the first place— No, that wasn’t what interested him at first.

A kind, bright smile, glowing up at him in sincere apology. Genuine enthusiasm when talking to Tendou, asking him questions. Having the right opinions about Zoro. No fear in his face, no concern. Just enthusiastic warmth. His little run-in with Hinata on that first day had reminded Tendou of another first encounter with his first, most favorite monster of all.

[At fourteen, Tendou had been gangly and pimply and prepared for judgement from everyone at a moment’s notice. When Washijou-sensei had informed him he was being offered a middle blocker position on the Shiratorizawa volleyball team, he had been filled with a peculiar mix of thrill and dreadful anticipation. The higher the level of volleyball, the more satisfying it was to shut someone down! But he didn’t know if he was ready to be rejected by another team — to suffer the indignity of having a team hate him for— for? He’d never really had much interest in finding out why.

So he’d rolled into practice that day, anticipating rejection, ready at a moment's notice with a leering smile or an off colour comment — it was better to be feared and hated than just being plain hated — and found something unexpected but far, far better.

“You are a middle blocker?” Ushijima asked, eyes staring at him with a focused kind of intensity. Maybe eagerness? His face didn’t move much as he spoke but Tendou thought there was something about the eyes...

“Yyyyyeeesssss.” Tendou had drawled, taking in everything he could about this supposed next great ace. He’d never played against Ushijima in middle school, but he’d heard things. Tall, though Tendou was taller back then, freakishly muscular for a fourteen year old. His eyes were surprisingly non-judgemental. “You’re Ushijima Wakatoshi?”

Ushijima blinked and then dipped into a very proper, very precise bow. “My apologies. Yes. You are Tendou Satori.” And then he paused, and there was something about the set of his brows and his mouth that made Tendou think he wanted to speak more, so he waited and waited and waited and— “Would you block for me? You are very talented.”

Stunned, Tendou had pointed a finger at his own face, blinking. “Are you sure you want me?”

And then Ushijima did something that had absolutely surprised Tendou at the time, guaranteeing they were going to be friends for the rest of their lives. He tipped his head to the side, blinking as though he did not understand the question and said, “Of course. I want to play the best.”

As if it were the most obvious thing in the world. No guile. No cajoling. Only the honest need to play against those he saw as worthy opponents.

An absolute volleyball nerd.

So Tendou had kicked back his head and laughed, swiping the ball out of Ushijima’s hands and started walking over to the net, giving Ushijima a finger wag. “I won’t go easy on you, Wakatoshi-kun!”

Ushijima’s only response was to line up, wearing what Tendou would learn was his version of an excited smile.]

During Nationals, Shiratorizawa had booked an additional two nights at their hotel, so they’d be staying to watch games Washijou-sensei had given the explicit threat to “learn something useful.”

Tendou had been delighted when immediately after this proclamation, Ushijima had turned to him and said, “I wish to see the Inarizaki and Kamomedai game.”

It had been so cool too. Tendou remembered turning to Ushijima in the middle of the first set, trying to explain why Hinata versus Hoshiumi was like the protagonist and his foil squaring off against each other in a shounen manga and how awesome it was to see. How cool they both looked.

Ushijima had tipped his head to the side, watching the rally go back and forth, not speaking until the ball went out of play — point for Inarizaki. “But Hoshiumi is better that Hinata Shouyou.”

Tendou slapped his forehead, because duh! “That’s the whole point! And when the protagonist wins in the end — anyways, it’s way more satisfying! Triumphing on the strengths of his heart and go getter personality. Standing strong on his own!” Tendou leaned forward, almost but not quite tipping over the railing as he watched the play continue. “Isn’t it heart racing?”

Ushijima slid him a bemused look, hand hovering at the ready to grab Tendou if he overbalanced. “Volleyball is a team sport.”

“Wakatoshi-kun, this is why you do so bad in Japanese class. We need to work on your metaphors,” Tendou tutted, hissing a giggle when Ushijima wrinkled his nose in mild offense.

It wasn’t much longer after that, that Hinata fell. That Inarizaki won, looking like a tinker toy version of itself. None of the enthusiasm or excitement or sheer bullheadedness that characterized Inarizaki’s offense existed at the end of the match against Kamomedai.

Apparently it was just as painful to watch a team lose a monster, as it was for the team to lose their little monster.

The next day, after a distracting evening of replaying that awful little scene in his head over and over again: the slumped figure of Hinata being led out the gym, his shoulders curled forward, his head bowed. One last look back at the court. Tendou knew that feeling. Knew it well. Loss. Failure. Weakness. Regret. Anger.

The fall had been scary and worrisome. But the thought that niggled Tendou was whether or not missing out on playing, not experiencing that little piece of paradise on the court, was going to break Hinata Shouyou.

This time, Tendou didn’t ask — he and Ushijima attended the Inarizaki v. Mujinazaka match. In any other circumstance, Tendou was pretty sure it would have been hilarious that neither he nor Ushijima seemed particularly intent on watching the game. Not today though. It was fascinating to watch Ushijima scan the crowds, the court, looking for something, someone. There were volleyball warmups going on, skills and power to appraise, but Wakatoshi-kun had only been interested in finding his monster brethren in the crowd.

Tendou thought it was kind of sweet, really.

Finally, as the first set started, he heard Ushijima inhale sharply as the Inarizaki band started up. Following his gaze, Tendou’s eyes almost skipped over the small curled form of Hinata sitting in his seat in the stands, away from his team. That didn’t look like the over enthusiastic boy Tendou had met a few days ago. He looked small, sad, frustrated. His shoulders tense — they were too far away, but Tendou wouldn’t have been surprised to see him crying.

There was a volleyball match going on, a good volleyball match going on, and Ushijima wasn’t paying it any attention.

“Do you want to go talk to him, Wakatoshi-kun?” Tendou asked softly, fingers brushing Ushijima’s elbow.

Ushijima blinked, startled, head turning to look at Tendou. He frowned. “I— I would not know what to say.” But he was worried anyways.

Tendou slid his gaze to the small hunched form of Hinata Shouyou, seeming to shrink with every spike of the ball. He looked back at Ushijima, once again watching Hinata. This was something Tendou could help with. He was always much better with words out of the two of them.

Tendou looped his fingers around Ushijima’s forearm and gave it a squeeze. “Not to worry, miracle boy Satori is on the case. I’ll cheer up Fennec-kun.” He was about to tell Ushijima to go find Semi and the others to sit with, when he saw a flash of highlighter yellow and green out of the corner of his eye. Ah, the ultimate Ushijima fanboy was lurking — didn’t he have a game starting soon? So annoyingly dedicated.

Giving Ushijima a wave, and a wink and a blown kiss to a visibly repulsed Sakusa, Tendou stuffed his hands into his pockets and slouched across the stadium to go cheer up a depressed little monster.

He didn’t expect the wash of emotions to flood his stomach and make his fingers tingle when he finally reached Hinata. Tendou had never thought of Hinata as small. He was so vibrant, and moved so quickly, always surrounded by others. He drew attention. Larger than life. He was like Ushijima, but the loud version of their particular strange brand of intensity.

The sad, little creature in front of him was not. He looked ill and exhausted, stooped and small. The facemask was doing him no favours. Tendou recognized he wasn’t here just to alleviate Ushijima’s concerns.

“Ah, Fennec-kun, you’re not dead after all.”

And Hinata had turned to look at him, confusion knitting his brow until it smoothed into a relieved smile that crinkled his tired eyes. Relieved to see him. That— Tendou was going to fix him. Was going to help him. Make him better. Make this less terrible.

Monsters had to stick together, ne?

After the game, tamping down all the feelings of watching another powerhouse school, with another top ace, walk off the court in defeat — Hinata gave him a cute, grateful bow. Yes, Tendou had made the right decision coming down here. Hinata still looked tired, but that smallness had been shucked. Hinata’s eyes burned with a determined fire, hungry to learn more. To be more.

Silly little monster, he already was more. Tendou suppressed the urge to tug on his hair.

The face mask kind of made him look like a career change for a superhero figurine to sell more merchandise — “Kinda Sick Barbie.” But it was still Hinata in there, underneath it all.

Tendou had some ideas about extracting his fee. Watching the game, it was easy to see how off Atsumu had been playing. The other twin too, but Atsumu had looked almost anxious on the court. Tendou hadn’t missed the way Atsumu’s eyes kept on trailing up to the bleachers, looking for a certain someone.

Tendou would bet a year’s worth of chocolate ice cream that Atsumu had no idea how obvious he was.

During their game two days ago, Tendou had a strong suspicion about Atsumu and his feelings in regards to Hinata. The clincher for him had been that really bad toss Hinata had given Osamu. Atsumu’s first response hadn’t been excitement or critique. It was a thready, jealous whine, “Have ya been practicin’ without me?”

Atsumu had Tendou’s sympathies. Hinata was not a creature who would notice those sorts of behaviours. Not innocent. Just so wholeheartedly dedicated to the thing he loved most in the world — volleyball — that there was no noticing anything else. Thinking of his best friend, who was having some undoubtedly stiff and boring conversation with another top ace, Tendou could only relate.

So he’d devised what he thought was a pretty good ploy to get Atsumu to snap out of his little Fennec-kun based funk. A little jealousy and a whole lot of concern could do wonders for his focus.

Hinata confirmed as much later that evening when Tendou messaged him, asking if ‘Twin B-kun’ had seen Hinata’s new background photo. Atsumu had, and was apparently being very grumpy and sulky about it.

The next time Shiratorizawa ran into Inarizaki on the court, Tendou was looking forward to rubbing that in Atsumu’s face. It was likely going to piss him right the hell off mid-game. Perfection. Two birds, obliterated with one ‘Doki Doki Love Supreme’ stone.

After Nationals, when Tendou figured his momentary little friendship with Hinata would have ended, he was surprised to find a string of texts littering his notifications. Hinata called him a genius. Saying he learned so much from the Itachiyama game, all thanks to Tendou’s teachings. And didn’tcha know it? Hinata’s ultimate goal now was to utterly wreck Sakusa Kiyoomi’s shit.

Two birds obliterated, with one more to come, hmmmm?

Hinata didn’t put it that way, but when Ushijima asked what Tendou was grinning so madly about that evening as they were texting, that’s exactly how Tendou phrased it.

Ushijima had reeled back a bit, blinking in surprise, before he huffed a breath, lifting Tendou’s copy of Jump to hide his face. Ushijima had been particularly interested in ‘Food Wars!’ ever since they got back home.

Tendou and Hinata talked manga, and school, their teams, his house arrest, and about the teams in their home prefectures. Hinata in particular had several questions about Karasuno. Tendou, unfortunately, didn’t have much to say about them.

“They almost beat the second best team in Miyagi during the Inter-High.” Tendou typed, remembering his surprise that the score had been so close. How extra keyed up Oikawa had been during their match. Far easier to toy with, which was kind of a delight.

“So they must be really good then, right? You said Seijoh would be a top team anywhere else.” Hinata’s response was immediate.

“You’ve been texting a lot recently, Tendou-san,” Goshiki said, sliding into a spot across from Tendou, lunch tray in hand.

Most of the team and students weren’t required to stay on campus during the summer break, but Goshiki, Shirabu, Ushijima, and himself had all chosen to reamin. Washijou-sensei had magnanimously given the whole team a four day break from practices after Nationals, not that any of them were taking it. Goshiki, out of some sense of concern that Ushijima was going to pull further ahead of him if he rested on his laurels at home. Shirabu, out of his particular intense devotion to Ushijima; and Tendou, because everyone else was practicing anyways, and it was kinda fun watching the biggest Wakatoshi-kun fans try to vie for any of his positive attention.

Ushijima, on the other hand, practiced every day because he was the biggest volleyball otaku Tendou had ever met.

“He’s probably texting his weird little fanboy,” Shirabu said crossly, sliding in next to Goshiki. All these open and spare tables, and Tendou’s adorable little kouhais had come to bother him? How cute~

“Little fanboy?” Goshiki repeated, blowing on his soup.

“You know, that Inarizaki first year,” Shirabu answered.

Goshiki stilled, nearly choking on a mouthful of soup. Tendou’s lips curled into an amused grin. Poor little Tsutomu-kun had a bit of a Fennec-kun complex. It had been one thing for Goshiki to see another first year starter at a powerhouse school, it was an entirely different thing for him to witness how integrated Hinata was into Inarizaki’s offense. And the way so many of the Inarizaki players seemed to revolve around Hinata. He was always the first to receive praise, even if he didn’t score. All the concerned looks when he’d been nailed in the face. Watching Inarizaki’s emotional stability utterly collapse when Hinata was carried off the court the following day.

Hinata had almost everything Goshiki wanted, barring being the star ace of his team. Pray help Hinata the day Goshiki found out that Ushijima had a bit of a soft spot for his fellow little monster.

“Kenjiro-kun is correct,” Tendou cut in, holding a finger in the air. “I am talking to Fennec-kun.” He watched with delight as some angry little emotion spasmed across Goshiki’s face, sulkily spooning soup into his mouth.

Goshiki hated that Tendou called his big secret rival a cutesy nickname. If asked, Tendou would be more than happy to come up with a cute little nickname for his most adorable kouhai. But Goshiki’s sticky pride would never allow him to suffer the indignity of such a thing. No matter how much he secretly wanted it.

“Would you say Karasuno is any good?” Tendou asked, plunking his chin in his hand as he leaned forward. He contemplated starting a game of footsie with Shirabu, just to watch his face pinch and fluster.

“No,” Shirabu said flatly.

“But they have that Kageyama guy, right? He’s supposed to be really good,” Goshiki protested. Kitagawa Daichi had knocked Shiratorizawa Middle’s team out last year before losing it all at the quarter finals.

“If they were any good they would have played us in the prefectural finals,” Shirbau said shortly, not looking up from his food. Goshiki’s nose wrinkled, wanting to argue, but it seemed like Shirabu was in a bad mood today. Bad sleep, maybe? It was awfully hot, and the A/C only did so much.

Tendou cradled his chin in both hands, long fingers drumming his cheeks bones as he slid his foot forward to tap against Shirabu’s toes. Oh, the utter delightful, apoplectic fury simmering behind Shirabu’s eyes. How Tendou loved to stoke it.

“You know, Kenji-kun,” Tendou was pretty sure he could hear Shirabu grinding his teeth — so cute! “You make it sound like only good teams win.”

Shirabu jerked his foot back, foolishly thinking he was out of Tendou’s reach. “Yes, what of it?”

Tendou’s grin curled wide and toothy as he planted his now bare foot on Shirabu’s knee — Tendou could see the exact moment his cute little kouhai’s soul left his body. “Well, if that’s the case, we must not be very good because we always end up losing at Nationals.”

He drew his foot away, watching their faces fall. Just like what Hinata said to Ushijima after their match: there are many different ways to be strong.

That’s what he’ll tell Hinata! Karasuno is a different type of strength! He’ll probably get cool, wise senpai points for tossing that one out. Brilliant.

Giggling to himself, Tendou started typing away, ignoring his food and teammates to continue his conversation with Hinata. He should include a bunch of bird emojis, right?

“Tendou.”

Tendou looked up, tilting all the way back in his chair until his back cracked as he looked upside down at the frowning face of Ushijima. “Wakatoshi-kun! Finished your run? Come to eat lunch with us? What did you get? Is it really hot out? Have you drank any water yet?”

He only rightened himself back up once Ushijima took the seat next to him, delighted to see the grimacing expressions on Goshiki and Shirabu’s faces. No one liked it when he peppered Ushijima with questions, which was just silly, honestly. How else was his best friend going to know that Tendou cared?

Ushijima was frowning at Tendou’s half eaten tray of food. “Please eat more.”

“Can’t, I’m busy,” Tendou said, waggling his phone in Ushijima’s face before he added a few more bird and fox emojis for good measure to his text before sending it.

“Busy with what?” Ushijima asked, splitting his chopsticks, still casting Tendou’s tray a dubious look.

“Texting,” Tendou said, giving Ushijima his most charming smile. Ushijima just stared back. He waited a beat, giving time for Ushijima to ask who he’d been texting with. Similarly, Ushijima was waiting for Tendou to fill in the missing information. Ohoh! His favorite! An UshiTen impasse. These could take forever~

“Inarizaki Fennec-kun!” Goshiki burst out, not able to handle the pressure.

Tendou gave him a disappointed look that flew straight over his head as Shirabu corrected him. “Hinata Shouyou.”

Ushijima blinked once, twice, and then dug into his food. “Ah.”

The second blink! Oooh? Was Wakatoshi-kun intrigued and surprised all at once? He was chewing more delicately than usual, so he could pay attention to the conversation — just in case, hey?

“Would you like me to tell him hi for you, Wakatoshi-kun?” Tendou asked sweetly, tilting his head at a ninety degree angle.

Ushijima blinked, hesitated for only a second — which was all Tendou needed to know. “That is not necessary—”

“I told him hello for you.” Tendou gave Ushijima a thumbs up, grinning at the flat stare that earned him. Tendou was going to make Hinata and Ushijima friends yet. Everyone would see!

Shirabu, looking a little piqued, chose to interject to switch conversational tactics. “Senpai, do you have thoughts about Washijou-sensei’s announcement?”

Oh yes, Tendou did! Though likely not for the same thoughts as Ushijima did.

“It is a good opportunity to play new teams, including the best university team in the country. I am looking forward to it,” Ushijima said, before tucking back into his food.

See, when Washijou had announced on the bus that there was a change of plan for their annual summer training camp — Shiratorizawa usually hosted a few Miyagi college teams and some alumni who were playing professionally — Tendou had been intrigued. Shiratorizawa did not make changes. Certainly not sudden and abrupt, last minute changes. And certainly not to Washijou’s Summer Training camp. The same camp he’d been running going on twenty years now apparently.

Nationals had changed their coach. And Tendou had a few guesses as to what exactly had done it.

Or perhaps it was more apt to say who.

The angriest Tendou had ever seen his coach had been in his first year on the team. Right before the prefectural Inter-High, their third years at the time had gone to a party and gotten drunk, showing up on the bus hungover and ill. Washijou had screamed at them. Berated them. Ripped into them like they were all the most useless pieces of shits he’d ever had the misfortune of knowing. He then kicked every single third year off the bus and went to the Inter-High with only his second years and first years. They still won, but it had all been very dramatic.

And then Tendou had run into Washijou in the stands as he and Ushijima left the Inarizaki v. Kamomedai match, and a familiar concerned thrill went up Tendou’s spine at the expression on his coach’s face. Enraged, hurt, angry. Betrayed.

Like someone had convinced Washijou to be hopeful, only in the next moment for reality to come crashing down on him once more.

Tendou hadn’t even known their coach had even paid attention to Hinata, but for the kid to have such an impact — well, change was coming to Shiratorizawa. Tendou hoped for the better.

Leaning forward, Tendou pillowed his chin on his crossed arms, giving his adorable little kouhai a smile. “I think we’re in for a very iiiiiinteresting week.”

Tendou’s phone chimed. He pulled it out of his pocket and read Hinata’s new message.

Rolling his head over to look up at Ushijima, Tendou gave him a lazy grin. “Hey, Wakatoshi-kun?”

“Hmm?”

“How do you feel about fresh eggs?”

~~~

Unable to wait any longer, Tendou shoved the door open. Ushijima and Semi, along with the rest of the team, trailed behind him as he entered the large common room. He beamed as he took in the looks on people’s faces — specifically, the open curiosity from some of the college kids. Tendou could not wait to figure them all out and make their lives a living hell this week.

But his greatest delight was taking in the pale, drawn faces of Inarizaki sitting around a few tables along the far wall. Eyes wide, mouths opened in shock, they looked as though they’d been told they could go on their dream vacation as long as they were okay with sleeping in a bed full of spiders the whoooole time. Shiratorizawa had already managed to ruin some members of Inarizaki’s summer fun training camp, and Tendou hadn’t even done anything yet.

But the real clincher was everyone’s reaction to the way Hinata lit up.

“Miracle Boy Satori!” Hinata cried, hopping up from his chair, nearly tripping, expertly dodging the swipe Twin B-kun tried to give him, and made his way over to Tendou.

Tendou couldn’t think of a more delightful greeting. Getting to say hello to one of his favorite little monsters and watch the entire team that was obsessed with Hinata fall into various states of panic, dread, and pouting. Tendou could live in the mirrored, pinched expressions on the Miya twins’ faces for the rest of his life.

Tendou modulated his tone after their greeting once Hinata reached them. “Good to see you up and about,” Tendou said, lifting a hand to ruffle Hinata’s hair, making eye contact with Atsumu as he did so. Oh yes, Tendou was very rarely wrong about these matters of the heart.

“I’m so excited you guys made it!” Hinata gushed, smile wide. “Though it’s really too bad you guys didn’t get here sooner, so we could play a match before bed.”

Tendou’s grin curled even wider as he regarded Hinata. “A pity, a pity,” he agreed, his eyes flicked up to the guarded expression of Miya Atsumu, watching them from across the room. “Didja keep the secret?”

Hinata bobbed his head in a nod enthusiastically. Tendou smirked, leering at him. “So did you change your background then?” Hinata’s cheeks flushed as he fished his phone out of his pocket, presenting it to Tendou. His wallpaper was now a picture of chickens — Tendou had offered Hinata the chance to shorten his ‘Doki Doki Love Supreme’ sentence, if he kept Shiratorizawa’s participation a secret from his whole team.

Tendou could honestly say he was shocked. Hinata seemed like quite the little loudmouth.

Around them, the rest of Tendou’s team was watching their interaction in mute fascination. Tendou had received a lot of questions from the other third years and even Kawanichi about what this little friendship was all about. Tendou had never been one to explain himself before, and he certainly wasn’t going to start now. His usual response was a dismissive: he’s just so interesting, ne?

“Ushijima-san, hi! I hope you had a good trip.” Hinata bobbed a polite and respectful bow that made Tendou want to pinch his cheeks.

To his left, Ushijima nodded at Hinata, watching him carefully. “It was fine. I am glad to see you are well.” Oh ho ho~ Now there were some big words. Semi and Ohira thought Ushijima didn’t like Hinata. No, Ushijima wouldn’t waste his time asking after Tendou’s conversations with Hinata if he didn’t also think the kid was utterly fascinating.

“Thanks!” Hinata beamed. “I wanted to ask you—”

“Oi, Shouyou, let ‘em get settled first.” The Inarizaki coach called, looking a little stressed standing next to Washijou and Saito-sensei.

Hinata didn’t look sheepish though. His shoulders setting into a stubborn line. Tendou had to suppress the urge to giggle as he took in the pained expression on Coach Kurosu’s face. He turned to look back up at Ushijima with a determined fire in his eyes. “Tendou-san said you go for really good runs. Can I join you tomorrow morning?”

Tendou looked up to watch Ushijima’s expression for a reaction. He seemed to be mulling it over, flicking his gaze over Hinata, assessing. Finally he jerked his head in a nod. “If you can keep up, then yes.”

“I will,” Hinata said with a challenging grin. Tendou was pleased to see Ushijima's lips curling upwards a bit in answer.

“Shouyou!” Coach Kurosu snapped, pointing at the Inarizaki table.

Hinata gave them a little wave, trotting back over to the tense looking table of Inarizaki players. “Also, I have some manga for you, Tendou-san!” Hinata called over his shoulder as Atsumu grabbed him by the t-shirt and tugged him back down to his seat.

Tendou gave a long finger curling wave in response, lips twisted into his best, most off-putting smile.

After Shiratorizawa was properly introduced to the camp and committed to playing their welcome match the following morning, they were finally shown to their room in the annex where Inarizaki would also be staying — which was delightful news for Tendou. He couldn’t wait to cross paths with some hapless Inarizaki players. Hopefully in the middle of the night~

“Wakatoshi-kun?” Tendou asked as they hit the bathroom together to get ready for bed.

Ushijima was in the middle of brushing his teeth, staring absently at the running faucet. He blinked, looking up at Tendou through the mirror.

“Are you worried Fennec-kun is going to have trouble keeping up with you tomorrow morning?”

Tendou watched Ushijima’s eyebrows twitch just a little, continued brushing for another minute before discreetly spitting and rinsing. Patting his mouth dry with his personal towel, he gave Tendou a thoughtful look. “No.”

“Is it because you think you’re going to leave him in the dust?” Semi asked, washing his hands.

“No.”

Yamagata and Ohira exchanged looks, waiting for Ushijima to elaborate. Ushijima carefully put away his things into their travel case before looking back at his friends. “He will keep up with me.”

The rest of them looked a bit skeptical, but Tendou just beamed, bumping shoulders with Ushijima as they exited the bathroom. “Bet it was nice to see for yourself that Fennec-kun is all good now.”

Ushijima hummed in response, keeping his eyes forward.

“He’s a weird little guy, that’s for sure,” Semi said through a yawn, stretching his shoulders. “Man, I wish we got to play before we had to go to bed. I’m gonna be all jittery before falling asleep.”

“You’re always jittery at camp,” Yamagata pointed out, making Semi scowl at him. Tendou watched his friends start to bicker, Ohira jumping in trying to diffuse the heated barbs.

“I think,” Ushijima began, and then frowned slightly as he tipped his head up to the ceiling.

“Hmm?” Tendou leaned his head in close, in case Ushijima didn’t want their friends to hear.

“I think I have much to learn still,” Ushijima said eventually. He slid a look over to Tendou. “I’m looking forward to it.”

Tendou couldn’t keep the wide smile off his face, feeling his eyes crinkle. He bumped their shoulders together again. “Yeah, me too, Wakatoshi-kun.”

Ushijima gave him a satisfied hum as they walked back into the large classroom converted for their sleeping arrangements for the next week.

Tendou was absolutely certain his best friend was going to have tons of things to learn from Hinata, and vice versa. A real monsters’ parade.

Like attracted like, after all.

Atsumu jolted awake the next morning by the soothing clamour of a wooden spoon against a pot. Where Kita found said pot is unknown to Atsumu. What he really wanted to find out was where it was kept at night — not for any nefarious purpose. Nah, he just wanted to take it and toss into the nearby Kawanashi River.

The pot clanging to wake the team up has been Inarizaki ‘tradition’ for over thirty years apparently. It was a tradition Atsumu could honestly say he despised. He’d never understood the attachment to the past — wasn’t their whole motto ‘Who needs memories,’ for chrissake. It wasn’t like everyone was expected to shave their head the second they got their jersey like they apparently did in the 80’s. Anyone coming at Atsumu with clippers was gonna end up with a swift kick in the face.

So why the hell did Atsumu have to suffer through a whole goddamn week and a half of Kita waking him up with the sun to the clang of a motherfucking pot?

Without a doubt the worst part of camp? Sunrise runs. What absolute psycho thought that was a good idea? Didn’t they all need their strength and energy for a full fucking day of practice?

Lifting out of his futon, Atsumu squinted around the room. Most of the team was struggling out of blankets, everyone looking a little zombie-ish. Except Kita, standing near the door like an expectant mother, trying to rush his kids through their morning routine and... Of course, Hinata was already dressed, bouncing on his heels impatiently.

It wasn’t like he even needed to rest or anything—

The thought was like an ice cold punch to the chest and Atsumu suddenly found himself very awake. He muttered something to Aran about needing to take a piss and wandered out of the room, brushing past Kita and Hinata like he was absolutely fine and not suddenly finding himself awake at the awful memory of—

He really needed to stop doing this. Atsumu was starting to think maybe they were all a little bit fucked up about it.

All of them except for Hinata apparently.

He made it to the bathroom, did his business and was in the process of splashing water onto his face when the door clattered open behind him. Atsumu wiped water out of his eyes to look through the mirror to see who had come in — of fucking course.

Osamu had an equally unimpressed expression as he squinted right back at Atsumu. Osamu scoffed, turning to walk into one of the stalls. Atsumu rolled his eyes at himself in the mirror and pulled out his hair product and toothpaste from his travel case. He hated dry styling. Made him think of the undoubtedly crunchy hair of one Shiratorizawa Guess Monster.

What the hell was Hinata’s deal with Tendou anyways? There’d been all the friendly conversations at Nationals, which had been weird as hell. Hinata’s uncanny ability to change his body language to match whoever he was talking to had always been kind of adorable. At least until he encountered Tendou. Watching Hinata sway and wiggle his arms and flail around with Shiratorizawa’s Guess Monster was decidedly not Atsumu’s favorite thing.

And Hinata seemed weirdly excited about their morning run. Whatever, Atsumu would stick close and make sure he didn’t over exert himself. In like, a not obvious way. Just him, casually running alongside Hinata. Yup. Totally normal. Maybe he’d talk to Aran about setting a neutral, easy pace. Then it would be just like before Nationals when they had team runs — stick to Aran and—

“What the heck is wrong with yer face?”

Atsumu flinched, tugging too hard at the strand of hair he’d pinched between his thumb and forefinger. He cast Osamu a baleful look in the mirror, irritated when his brother didn't look up from smearing toothpaste onto his toothbrush.

“Only thing wrong is it’s the same as yours,” Atsumu sneered back, viciously grabbing his own toothbrush, loading it, and jamming it into his mouth — glaring at Osamu the whole while.

Osamu only hummed at him, expression pinched as he stared down into the sink.

Stupid ‘Samu. The fuck was his problem so early? Osamu was an absolute shit stick during yesterday’s match, glaring at Atsumu every time he gave Hinata the ball to score. Which was like less than half the times he normally would! There was protecting Shouyou-kun, and then there was bad volleyball and Atsumu was walking a very thin line, thank you very much.

Osamu bent, spat, rinsed and then straightened, stuffing his shit back into his little travel bag. Osamu gave Atsumu a flat glare. “Just make sura ya don’t fuck it all up today, ‘Sumu.” And with that, Osamu walked out, leaving Atsumu staring slack jawed at his back as he disappeared out the door.

Some toothpaste foam dribbled down his chin. Swearing, Atsumu spat, wiped his face, and left his toiletries bag behind, because fuck his shitty brother!

Ripping the door open and stomping into the corridor, Atsumu’s gaze narrowed in on his brother’s retreating back. He saw red. Rushing forward, Atsumu gripped the back of his shirt, pulling Osamu up short, watching his twin tense, probably ready to slap him. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean, ya asshole?”

Osamu whirled, elbow up and would have connected with Atsumu’s cheek if he didn’t simultaneously tug Osamu off balance with his sleep shirt. “It means exactly what it means, ya idiot,” Osamu snarled, trying to bring his arm heavily down on Atsumu’s hand, still gripping the back of his shirt.

“I’m not the one pickin’ fights first thing in the morning for no fuckin’ reason.” Atsumu’s voice was too loud. Kita was undoubtedly going to find them any second, and he suddenly found he didn’t give a shit. Two weeks! Two weeks of feeling like shit, and his brother looking at him like he’d shit the bed every morning. Two weeks since Atsumu’s ongoing existential crisis started, and no one gave a shit!

Osamu stilled, his eyebrows coming down thunderously. “No fuckin’ reason?” He repeated quietly. Dangerously.

If Osamu was going to snap anyway, then Atsumu was going to get the first hit in. Rocking his left hand back, he switched the motion to a heel thrust, because there was no fucking point in breaking his own fingers on his shitty brother’s face. Not when there was volleyball to be played.

Atsumu didn’t get very far. Osamu launched himself forward, knocking them both to the ground as he tried to pin Atsumu. Not that Atsumu was ever going to make it easy for this piece of garbage. Osamu gripped him by the front of his shirt, shaking him. It was reminiscent of that horrible little moment in the hallway after Kamomedai.

“The fuckin’ reason, ‘Sumu, is that ya got yer head so far up yer own ass that ya half-ass everything, and in the end yer just gonna let him get hurt again!”

Atsumu stilled, and then he sucked in a breath that felt like scorching flames in his lungs. “Half-ass, what?” Did he say he saw red earlier? Nah, that was more of a lightish pink. Now Atsumu only saw splotches of blood, choking out his vision and ability to think. He reeled his free arm back and lashed out, swinging like a wild animal. Bitch slapping the asshole pinning him to the ground.

“Fuck you!”

Osamu seemed momentarily stunned before he punched down, connecting with Atsumu’s chest, making him ‘oof’ as the air left his lungs. Yanking on the fabric in his hand, Atsumu heard the telltale rip of Osamu’s night shirt and felt a manic gleeful satisfaction that Osamu was going to have to sleep in something else.

Osamu roared, rearing back, looking like he was about to club Atsumu with a haymaker—

“Ahem.”

They both froze, looking up at where the voice had come from. To where the stooped figure of Coach Washijou was staring down at them, looking profoundly unimpressed. Behind him stood the other Shiratorizawa coach, Coach Oomi, and with his head in his hands, looking utterly defeated, was Coach Kurosu.

Atsumu released Osamu’s now ripped shirt, lifting his hands in surrender, as Osamu straightened, trying to look for all the world like he hadn’t been intent on giving his twin a concussion three seconds ago.

Washijou turned to look over his shoulder at a spiritually exhausted Kurosu. “I expect you’ll deal with this?”

Kurosu’s shoulders lifted in a silent sigh. “Oomi-sensei, please go with Washijou-sensei and Saito-sensei to organize the team run this morning.” He stared down hard at Atsumu and Osamu. Both of them gulped. “I’ll have a talk with the twins.”

When the other coaches had rounded the corner, Osamu climbed off Atsumu, both of them sitting in seiza waiting for their lecture. Kurosu cleared his throat, arms crossed, looking about as disappointed as he ever did. And kinda tired. “Really?”

Atsumu was 80% sure that was rhetorical. Next to him, Osamu sat silently, looking at Kurosu’s shoes.

“We haven’t even been here 24 hours, and already you two are fightin’ like a pair of wild animals?” Kurosu asked. Still sounded rhetorical.

“You’re not going to participate in the team run this morning,” Kurosu said flatly. Both Atsumu and his brother lifted their eyes in surprise. Really? Kurosu looked grim. “Instead yer gonna clean up our room, Shiratorizawa’s room, and all the bathrooms on this floor until they're spotless.”

Atsumu and Osamu both sighed, knowing they should have expected as much.

“And if either of ya so much as looks at each other wrong in Washijou-sensei’s presence again, I’m sending ya both home early.” They looked at each other, then up at Kurosu, stricken. That wasn’t fair! “Yer bullshit ain’t acceptable at the best of times, but think of how yer behaviour reflects on you, yer team, our school, and me ‘n Oomi-sensei, yeah?”

Slumping his shoulders in defeat, Atsumu gave a halfhearted nod. Osamu grunted a, “Yessir.”

“Good, now let’s go collect those supplies ya need, hmm?” Kurosu turned on his heel, walking back down the hall he came from.

Atsumu and Osamu rolled to their feet, glowering at each other, before slumping down the hallway after their coach. It’s not like Atsumu started it!

~~~

Atsumu and Osamu stepped out into the courtyard after their horrifying ordeal with the bathrooms to find most of the teams just coming back from their run. Atsumu didn’t know which Shiratorizawa player clogged that toilet that morning, but once he found him he would exact his revenge. He swore it.

From their vantage near the annex building, Atsumu could see college and high school players milling about in clumps on the steps and in the grass, stretching and watering themselves. Picking their way through the clusters of college players, Atsumu approached Riseki and Gin, the nearest Inarizaki players he could see. He didn’t turn to look behind him, but he was pretty sure Osamu was trailing after him.

“Hey, hey! The troublemakers graced us with their presence,” Gin chriped from the ground, stretching his glutes. Atsumu magnanimously chose to ignore that. Scanning the crowd, he could make out nine other Inarizaki practice kits. They were missing someone.

“Where’s Shouyou-kun?”

Atsumu chooses to ignore the eye roll Gin gave Riseki, but only because he was on thin ice with Kurosu right now, and decking Gin might get Atsumu benched for the next few practice matches.

“Oh, I think he’s running with Ushiwaka-san,” Riseki offered, probably sensing another impending tousle, gesturing at the far side of the courtyard where the stragglers were making their way towards the rest of the teams.

Atsumu nodded absently, not really listening as he kept scanning the crowd, before his head snapped around to look at Riseki alarmed. “What do you mean running with Ushiwaka?” His voice must have carried because people were staring at them now, including the creepy Yandere Setter-kun from Shiratorizawa.

“Hinata asked if he could run with Ushiwaka-san, and he said Hinata could join him if he could keep up?” Riseki was inching away, like he was worried he was the one that was gonna get decked now.

Why the fuck was this the first time Atsumu was hearing about this? Asked Ushiwaka when? This morning? After he and Osamu got into their fight? God fucking dammit — never again. He wasn’t letting Shouyou-kun out of his sight—

Maybe he and Osamu could set aside their differences and go look—

“There.”

Atsumu turned to look where Osamu was pointing, as Hinata and Ushiwaka ‘jogged’ into the courtyard at what normal people would consider a sprint. Was— Was Hinata actually keeping pace with Ushijima on one of his insane runs? They were famous at the All-Japan camps. Ushiwaka wasn’t allowed to leave the campus for the duration of the camp, so he’d hit the gym and go for a long ass “leisurely” sprint for a good hour. Atsumu had never seen anything like it.

He’d always thought himself pretty hardcore, until he came face-to-face with a living breathing volleyball robot. And if Atsumu couldn’t stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Ushiwaka, how the heck was Hinata going to when he— Atsumu ground his teeth together, cutting off the thought.

Both of them were panting hard, but Hinata had his little competitive grin on his face, the one with a smug flavour tilt to it. And Ushiwaka didn’t look murderous. Or pleased. He just looked... like Ushiwaka.

Atsumu had better get over there before Tendou decided to—

“Wakatoshi-kun! Fennec-kun! You actually kept up with him!” Tendou crowed, seeming to manifest from nowhere, arms flailing in the air like one of those dancing inflatable tube men you see at car dealerships.

Atsumu sucked on his teeth, irritated that he’d already missed his shot. There were few people he’d like to interact with less at this camp than Tendou. In fact, he’d rather be locked in a closet with Osamu for five hours with a set of kitchen knives right now than have Tendou give him another one of those creepy curling grins and call him “Twin-B-kun~”. Which didn’t even make sense. He was the older twin!

“Yes. He is a good runner,” Ushijima agreed, stooping to stretch his hamstrings.

Hinata practically glittered, grin blooming wide, obvious even from Atsumu’s vantage a few meters away. “Thanks, Ushijima-san! It was really a good motivation trying to keep up with you.”

This was gonna be the longest eight days of Atsumu’s life, wasn’t it?

Especially if his team was going to keep playing like ass. Only winning by virtue of the injuries on Waseda and the other colleges trying weird things on offense. It was pissing Atsumu right the fuck off. Inarizaki was playing a weird blend of choppy and too hard all at once. Or in Suna’s case, not hard enough. And, there had been that one time with Akagi in their game before lunch where he’d been so distracted by a player sitting on Waseda’s bench that he got nailed in the face with a jump serve.

They’d figure it out. They always did. Coach Kurosu kept trying to remind them that the summer camp was a time for experimenting — but they’d best figure out how to be effective with it. He’d given Atsumu a significant look there, then glanced over at Hinata, as if to say ‘experiment with him, Atsumu, ya drip.’

Fine. He’d try. At the very least that might head off Shouyou-kun’s weird little friendship with Shiratorizawa, and especially Tendou. But! Atsumu was giving himself permission to call off extra practices whenever he wanted. It probably wouldn’t hurt to get Shouyou-kun thinking about tosses. Maybe he could even do a few of them in one of their practice matches here. It would be kinda cool to hit one of Shouyou’s tosses. Once he got good enough, obviously.

Atsumu figured he’d ask Hinata during lunch if he’d be up for some afternoon practice — just like back home. Nothing Hinata seemed to enjoy more than discussing volleyball over good food, outside of actually playing it himself.

“Oi, Shouyou-kun,” Atsumu called, watching Hinata whip off his court shoes at lightning speeds, jamming his feet into his Inarizaki athletic sandals. Hinata didn’t seem to hear him. Trotting forward, Atsumu reached the doorway leading outside just as Hinata started booking it down the path. “Shouyou-kun!”

Hinata was scurrying forward, but he slowed his pace and looked over his shoulder. “What?”

Scowling, Atsumu toed off his own shoes and slipped into his sandals trailing after the little shit. “Wait up a second.” Hinata gave him an impatient nose wrinkle, still moving forward down the path as Atsumu tripped out of the gymnasium to follow after him. “I wanted to ask ya ‘bout settin’ practice tonight.”

Hinata flicked a glance forward and Atsumu could feel him weighing his options. “Shouyou-kun, don’tcha fuckin’ dare—”

Without so much as a ‘seeya later’, Hinata was off like a shot. Not quite running, but definitely speed walking. Squawking, Atsumu hurried his pace to chase him down. What the ever loving fuck? Should he reconsider setting practice? Atsumu should reconsider setting practice, the ungrateful brat.

Ahead of him, Hinata made it to the large courtyard where the rest of the college teams and Shiratorizawa were gathering in clumps to eat their bentos, handed out by the Kofu University cafeteria staff. Guess they didn’t want a bunch of large stinky volleyball players stinking up their cafeteria, huh?

Atsumu finally caught up to Hinata, lined up near the front of a group of players. Ignoring the angry looks, Atsumu shoved his way forward to reach Hinata, “Shouyou-kun, I swear to god, yer like a slippery eel sometimes—” stretching a hand out to gently karate chop the back of his head. Atsumu only got air. Hinata was already bobbing and weaving through the lineup of players, his bento clutched in his hands.

Atsumu was going to kill him.

Swiping one of the offered bentos without muttering a thank you, Atsumu shouldered his way through the lineups, gaze zeroing in on the back of an orange head of hair. Atsumu stomped forward, ready to ream his favorite small bastard out. He couldn’t take eight seconds out of his apparently busy social schedule to let Atsumu ask a goddamned question? Where the fuck did he think he was going anyways? Was Hinata that hungry?

Hinata plunked himself down on the ground and a mean smile smeared across Atsumu’s face. Good, finally fucking sitting still for a second. Atsumu was gonna—

“Ah, Twin B-kun wants to sit with us too, Wakatoshi-kun,” Tendou oozed, his eyes narrowing into lizardy slits. “How nice.”

It didn’t sound like Tendou thought it was very nice. Ushijima looked up from his own bento, sitting in perfect seiza, especially noticeable compared to the rest of the sprawled figures of Shiratorizawa around him. Atsumu had followed Hinata into the center of Shiratorizawa’s den. Nest. Whatever.

Jesus, fuck.

“Good afternoon, Miya,” Ushijima said politely, returning his focus to Hinata.

“Hi,” Atsumu wheezed, feeling a bunch of curious and some downright unfriendly eyes on him. Tendou’s were the worst. He downright scrutinized Atsumu. Probably learning all his secrets every time he breathed.

Atsumu turned to look at Hinata, who didn’t spare him a second glance. “Shouyou-kun—”

Hinata held up a hand, like he was silencing an excitable child. It was like a slap in the face. And Atsumu almost never took hits lying down, feeling himself puff up enraged. Oh, keep quiet, huh? Is that what Hinata wanted? WELL—

“So, as I was saying, Ushijima-san, I was wondering if you were free for extra practice tonight?” Hinata said. He cracked his bento open, eyes never leaving Ushijima.

Atsumu probably made some sort of sound. Practice? With Ushiwaka? After Atsumu had already asked him?

Ushijima didn’t break his gaze away from Hinata either. Tendou only had eyes for Atsumu though, which was gross. Ushijima blinked. “Perhaps.”

That made Hinata beam for some unknowable reasons. Atsumu was about to ask what the fuck, but Hinata bulled forward, ignoring Atsumu’s existence entirely, his eyes practically glittering. “I really want to work on my receives with you, and if you do, I brought a dozen eggs with your name on it.”

Eggs? Hinata brought his eggs? For Ushiwaka? Did Osamu know? Osamu was going to be so offended. Akagi too, probably. Was Atsumu offended? And receives? Since fucking when? Hinata had certainly gotten a lot better at them over time, but there was no part of the Hinata that Atsumu knew that would ever be interested in receiving practice over spiking. No way. And, why was he asking Ushiwaka for this?

As if hearing his thoughts, Ushijima tipped his head to the side. “Why do you need to practice with me?”

Hinata squared his shoulders, as if he were ready for that question, titled his chin up defiantly. “If we’re ever going to beat Itachiyama, I’m gonna need to learn how to receive Sakusa-san’s spikes.” Hinata leaned forward, a challenging grin on his face. “And I figured you were the next best thing.”

Atsumu startled, staring at Hinata in shock. But what the fuck about Aran, Shouyou-kun? And what was this about Itachiyama and Sakusa? Where exactly was this coming from? Hinata hadn’t even played! Hinata hadn’t said anything to Atsumu about this while he’d visited him two weeks ago! Though he hadn’t said anything about Shiratorizawa coming to the camp — which he obviously knew about if he brought some fucking eggs. For Ushi-motherfucking-waka!

How long had Hinata been planning this? And why the hell didn’t he say anything to Atsumu?

“Next best...?” Ushijima repeated. Tendou looked more bug eyed than usual, gaze flicking between Ushiwaka and Hinata, like he was watching a horse race he’d bet a ton of money on.

And then Ushijima did something Atsumu had never seen him do: Ushijima breathed out sharply through his nose in a huff, shoulders going up and down. If he were a normal human person, Atsumu might have said that was an amused huff. But this is Ushijima. Did— Did Hinata just make Ushijima laugh?

Tendou certainly looked pleased as motherfucking punch.

Ushijima jerked his head in a nod once. “Very well.” He flicked a glance back towards Yandere Setter-kun. “Though we will need a setter. Shirabu has study group this evening.” Yandere Setter-kun looked more murderous than usual. Atsumu almost wanted to give him a little finger wave.

Hinata beamed, slapping Atsumu on the knee, making him look down into Hinata’s self satisfied expression. “That’s okay. Atsumu-san will help.” He would? “He was just telling me that he wanted to do some setting practice tonight too.”

Atsumu felt a part of his soul leave his body. No no no no no no—

“Count me in too, Fennec-kun!” Tendou said with a wink and a thumbs up at Atsumu. He’d have said Tendou looked ghoulish, but that was also just kind of his face.

From behind Ushijima, bad-haircut-first-year-kun stood up, nearly upending his bento on the middle blocker who definitely looked more disaffected than even Suna, and pointed a finger at Hinata. “I’m coming too. I won’t let you defeat me, Hinata Shouyou!”

“Great!” Hinata chirped, giving bad-haircut-first-year a wide smile, before he tucked into his food.

Tendou patted the ground between himself and Hinata, giving Atsumu his most pleasant smile — which really wasn’t very pleasant at all. “C’mon, Twin B-kun. Sit down and have lunch with us.”

Atsumu sat, feeling almost shell shocked as Hinata excitedly talked about all the different plays he’d seen Itachiyama make and ways he thought Inarizaki could counter them, seeking input from Ushijima and Tendou.

What the fuck had Nationals done to Shouyou-kun?

~~~

For what felt like the millionth time that evening, Atsumu put up the ball in a detached sort of way, watched as Ushiwaka leapt up and hammered the ball past the two token blockers, as the grenade launched from Ushiwaka’s palm and exploded off Hinata’s arms. For the first time that evening, the ball went rocketing back to the opposite side of the net for a chance ball.

No, that was not fair. Sometimes the ball went careening off Hinata’s undoubtedly bruised and raw forearms out of bounds. One time he managed to clock himself in the face off his own receive.

What the fuck was Atsumu doing here? He was supposed to be teaching the ungrateful masochist he apparently called a friend how to do competent tosses. Shortly after Hinata took the ball to the face, Atsumu felt himself starting to dissociate a bit. Put the ball up, watch it smash back down. Again and again and again. Periodically interrupted by bad-haircut-first-year— Goshiki. His name was Goshiki. Hinata kept correcting him. Goshiki kept losing patience and demanding that Ushiwaka try to block his spikes.

Watching a loudmouth arrogant dipshit who obviously cut his own bangs with kitchen scissors try to claim he was Ushiwaka’s rival was making Atsumu wonder if he should pretend he had the shits. Just so he could go lay down on the toilet floor and question his life choices.

Seriously, why the fuck was he here?

“One more time!”

Ah, right. That.

The first couple of spikes that Hinata had tried to receive had been... not great was kinda generous. Shouyou-kun was lucky he hadn’t broken anything honestly. Ushiwaka apparently didn’t believe in gradual warm ups, which was fine, neither did Atsumu — but Shouyou-kun wasn’t a miracle at receives to begin with and starting off the bat with mini-nukes seemed kinda mean, all things considered.

Not that Hinata minded. Oh no. Each time he’d give Ushiwaka a challenging smile that was all teeth and demand another. Sharp eyed and chin tilted up, daring someone to tell him no.

It was— It was the same expression Hinata wore when he was going up for a spike. Atsumu had never seen it anywhere else. It was the expectant ’toss to me’ face. At least, Atsumu had thought it was a ‘toss to me’ face. Turns out that look could translate to other things. Like “spike motherfucking grenades at my arms until they turn into ground beef” or “I’m gonna getcha next time!” or “I was so close, the next one is mine!”

Each time Hinata demanded another — and it felt like thousands now, though maybe that was because Atsumu got sympathy twinges every time he heard the booming THWAMP of leather hitting Hinata’s skin. Atsumu wanted to call this whole stupid, slightly insane thing off. Almost did, after watching Hinata rub his forearms vigorously while Ushiwaka got set up between tosses.

And then, as if he knew exactly what Atsumu was thinking, Hinata caught his eye, giving him the full weight of that dead-eyed stare. Atsumu had never really been on the receiving end of it — definitely seen other people get it. He didn’t like it very much. It made his spine tingle in a way that reminded him of that first day back before everything, when Hinata was just some sad kid who sucked, and not one of the most important people—

Anyways, even if Atsumu wanted to stop, it’s not like it would matter. Hinata wasn’t going to, and neither was Ushiwaka for that matter. Because everytime Shouyou-kun bleated a “One more time!” Ushijima would straighten his already straight posture, and seemed to light up in challenge.

Ushijima’s response was always a terse jerk of his head and a “Yes” — which Atsumu was beginning to suspect was Ushijima’s version of a fist pump or something based on the gleefully curious look on Tendou’s face.

Atsumu could really, really do without Tendou being here though.

“Tsk, is Twin B-kun starting to get tiiiiired?” Tendou asked, resting his cheek on Goshiki’s shoulder as he leered at Atsumu. His arms were still held above his head, like he was ready to block at a moment’s notice despite nuzzling his first year.

“My name is Atsumu.” At what point did Atsumu start finding Tendou exhausting rather than unbelievably creepy? He was still creepy — Atsumu just found him more frustrating than anything else.

It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Hinata apparently packed an entire extra bag of his old weird-as-hell shoujo manga, explicitly for Tendou, in exchange for a massive pile of creepy-as-fuck horror manga. Or the fact that Hinata and Tendou had spent most of their free time together. Or the fact that apparently Hinata had known the whole time that Shiraotrizawa was coming to this camp and didn’t bother saying anything. Or—

“Mmm, I prefer Twin B-kun.”

Atsumu felt a vein pulse at his temple. Gritting his teeth, he picked up Ushijima’s toss and set the ball for him, not even able to feel a lick of satisfaction at the perfect arc and height for Ushijima’s swing.

Good god, did he have volleyball depression? Was that a thing?

THWAMP!

Atsumu was startled from his thoughts as the ball smacked into the net right next to his head. Alarmed, he turned to find Hinata sheepishly grinning at him, rubbing the back of his head.

“Whoopsies! At least I’m getting closer?” Hinata gave Atsumu a hopeful look, eyebrows tilted on his forehead.

Atsumu breathed a sigh, turning to get ready for his next toss as he shrugged. “Sure, Shouyou-kun.”

There was a beat where Ushijima’s brows bunched on his forehead, before his expression smoothed, casting a glance over Atsumu’s shoulder. Atsumu blinked. What the heck was that?

“Wakatoshi-kun,” Tendou called, drawing Atsumu’s attention. Tendou was giving him a squinty look while he stretched and tucked his hands behind his head, listing to the side, almost looking like a candy cane. Glancing back at Ushijima, Atsumu found him watching Tendou patiently. “I’m getting tired~” He stretched out the vowels in ‘tired’ so they had a petulant sing-songey lilt to them. “Can we stop for the night?”

Ushiwaka blinked a couple of times, which Atsumu figured meant he was absolutely shocked. Tired? Whomst? Ushiwaka? Never! He was a robot that ran on volleyball, Mr. Guess Monster, dontcha know? Across the net, Hinata made his patented ‘What do you mean you’re tired, I’m not done spiking!’ whine.

Ushijima tipped his head up, looking at the ceiling for a second, before he gave a thoughtful frown. “I would like to work on serves.” His gaze crossed the net to look over at Hinata and Atsumu felt himself tense, ready to interject and say no— abso-fucking-lutely not. “Hinata, would you like to exchange serves and receives?”

Atsumu held up a hand. “Hold on a sec—”

Hinata’s garbled screech of delight drowned out what Atsumu was going to say. He was bouncing up and down on his toes, practically glittering. “Absolutely!”

Atsumu frowned. They’d been at this long enough. Hinata needed his rest. “Wait—”

“Me too!” Goshiki snarled, lining up next to Hinata. “I’m going to get way more receives than you!”

Hinata’s smile was all teeth and bite, practically glowing up at Goshiki. It made something pull in Atsumu’s stomach and he had no fucking clue why, but it was making him kinda mad.

“Wanna bet?” Hinata asked. Challenged.

Usually Hinata only smiled like that at Atsumu. He should say something. He was going to say something. Was he going to try for a Kita scolding? Did he know how to do that? He was going to do that. Yeah—

A long fingered hand looped around Atsumu’s shoulder, making him jump. Tendou was looking awfully amused for the rampant neglect he was allowing to happen. “C’mere, Twin B-kun. We’re in the way.”

Atsumu tried to shrug him off, but Tendou’s fingers were like iron rods, tugging him off the court. Atsumu briefly considered leaving, hating feeling useless and like he didn’t belong, but he also didn’t trust these people with Hinata for shit. He needed to be here to make sure Hinata didn’t overdo it. The rest of them didn’t know. They didn’t know what to look for—

Atsumu didn’t know what to look for.

He jumped when a cool, water condensation-covered plastic bumped his cheek. Jerking away, he swiped the proffered water bottle out of Tendou’s hand, glowering at him. He took a swig, watching Goshiki slide in front of Hinata to steal a receive — shoddily — while Hinata puffed up indignantly in response.

Tendou was doing that thing again. Staring at him like he was trying to bore holes into his brain with his eyes and lay eggs or something to propagate his species. Fuckin’ gross.

“The fuck do ya want?”

Tendou only looked amused, gaze sliding to the court. He was silent for another minute, Atsumu figured they’d sit here in awkward-as-fuck silence, but then Tendou spoke. “You worry too much, Twin B-kun. He’s stronger than you think.”

Atsumu felt a hot jab of anger spike up his spine and make it tingle. How fucking dare he? That was what Atsumu had thought. And he’d been wrong. Gritting his teeth, ready to say something hideously mean about the Guess Monster making too many wrong guesses. Or about how he wasn’t wanted. Or— Or—

“He’s just like Wakatoshi-kun.”

That pulled Atsumu up short. What? In what fucking way? As if to illustrate his point, after smashing the ball into a bone crushing spike serve that had Hinata almost flying back from the force of it, Ushijima shifted to receive Hinata’s serve that flew wildly out of bounds. Ushijima watched it ping off the wall clock behind him.

Atsumu turned to give Tendou a confused look. “Haaa?”

Tendou leaned his head back, exposing his neck, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he giggled, and his gaze sliding to Atsumu — it reminded him of a horror house mannequin he and Osamu saw once. He was pretty sure one of them had cried.

“Fennec-kun and Wakatoshi-kun are very similar, don’t you think?”

Atsumu scrunched his brow in confusion. In what fucking way? Ushiwaka was tall, where Hinata was short. Strong versus weak. Experienced versus raw. Competent and assured versus frenetic and impulsive. The only thing Atsumu could say with confidence Hinata had on Ushijima was his speed. And even then—

Tendou was tutting at him. “You volleyball bird brains are all the same.” He sighed, shaking his head, neck still at an impossible angle. It made his hair waggle strangely.

Atsumu scowled.

“Not everything is measured in volleyball,” Tendou tapped his nose with one long finger and winked, straightening. He leered at Atsumu out of the corner of his eye. “Though I suppose that’s the only thing that matters to you guys, huh?”

“Haa?” How did Shouyou-kun find talking to this fucking weirdo so fun? Hinata was always hooting with laughter at everything Tendou said, where Atsumu just found him confusing as hell.

Tendou rolled his eyes, leaning closer into Atsumu’s space, making him lean away, giving Tendou a dirty look. Tendou smirked, spinning his finger in a circle as he pointed at Hinata, then at Ushijima. “Watch their faces, Twin B-kun.”

Rolling his eyes at the extremely stupid nickname, Atsumu watched Hinata’s face as his brows furrowed, going up for another sloppy jump serve. Atsumu was really going to need to figure out a time where they could work on those too, because this simply wasn’t going to cut it anymore. Hinata hit it — decent angle, all things considered. His look of fiery glee almost tugged a smile from Atsumu’s lips as he watched the ball arc over the net. The angle was bad for Ushiwaka, forcing him to make a shoddy receive. He still got it, but it likely wouldn’t have reached most setters. Not bad—

Then Ushijima’s face twitched, minutely compared to Hinata’s ridiculously expressive face. But there was a sharpening of his eyes, the slight wrinkle of his nose, and one corner of Ushijima’s mouth pulling up just slightly. It was— Was that the Ushiwaka version of one of Hinata’s feral competitive grins?

“Aha, you see it too.” Tendou clamped his creepy long fingered, iron rod hand on Atsumu’s shoulder again, giving him a squeeze.

Atsumu eyed the hand with distaste, waiting for Tendou to take it away. They quietly watched Hinata and Goshiki scramble after balls — Goshiki far more competent, but that just seemed to spur Hinata to be better, faster. Ushijima blasted through them with ease.

The whole time Hinata had a brilliant smile on his face, like he’d never been happier. It kind of reminded Atsumu a bit of the expression he used to wear during those secret practices last year, where he’d float into the gym, and it didn’t matter what challenge was ahead of him that day, Hinata would overcome it.

If Hinata had known Shiratorizawa was coming to the camp because of Tendou, and he’d even brought his eggs to barter with for training time, did that mean Hinata had been just as excited for the summer camp as he used to be for their weekend practices?

Why hadn’t Hinata said anything? And for that matter, how hadn’t Atsumu noticed?

Atsumu glanced at Tendou out of the corner of his eye, suddenly feeling awkward as all hell — he hated feeling awkward. “Hey, uh, Tendou...-san?”

Tendou’s head turned without his body moving at all, and Atsumu had a momentary terrified thought that his head was going to turn at 360 degrees. But he paused to look at Atsumu, patient.

“Uh.” Atsumu wiped his hands on his shorts, scowling at the wall behind Tendou, unable to look him in the eyes. Not wanting to be seen. “You and Shouyou-kun talked a bit ’bout camp before we all got here, right?”

Tendou’s expression didn’t flicker. “Mhmm.”

Atsumu licked his lips. “And he didn’t say anythin’ to the rest of us ’bout it.”

Here Tendou’s mouth ticked up just a bit on one side. “Mhmm.”

Atsumu tore his gaze away, not wanting to see Tendou looking at him anymore, instead staring blankly out at the court. “Do ya know— Did he tell ya why he didn’t say anything to us?”

Tendou was silent for a moment, but Atsumu could feel his eyes on him, like worms on his skin. How fucking stupid was he to ask Tendou this of all things? Like he wasn't going to use this against Atsumu in the future. The fucking Guess Monster was going to—

“Have you asked him?”

Atsumu jerked, staring at Tendou, who was looking at him evenly. “‘Bout why he didn’t say shit?”

Tendou didn’t look amused this time. He didn’t really look like anything. “No. Have you asked him anything since he came back to practice?”

Atsumu’s mouth fell open, indignant. Of course, he’d asked Hinata things! There was always something! Always. They were always talking about different plays and food and movies and everything. Atsumu was trying to think of things he and Hinata had talked about in the near two weeks since he’d come back to practice. There would have been tons of opportunities for Hinata to spill his fucking secrets. There had to be something, right? What had they talked about?

Atsumu’s mouth clicked shut as he blinked in surprise. There was nothing. They hadn’t talked about anything because he’d been avoiding Hinata the whole time. When could Hinata have told him anything when Atsumu couldn’t remember more than a hello and a bland how’s it goin’ tripping out of his mouth for almost two weeks.

“Oh.”

Tendou nodded. “Mhmm.”

“Fuck.”

“Mhmm.”

Atsumu almost opened his mouth to ask what he should do to fix it, but locked his teeth together before any of his shitty secrets could come spilling out of his mouth. He’d been weak enough in front of Tendou already, thanks.

A long fingered hand ruffled his hair, making Atsumu jump and squawk in horror. He looked at Tendou, unable to believe that the motherfucking Guess Monster actually just ruffled his hair. His creepy smile tilted in a borderline affectionate manner.

“What the fuck?”

Tendou seemed unbothered. “Ah, so cute, Twin B-kun. Maybe you and I are kinda alike too, ne?”

With greater emphasis this time, Atsumu repeated, “What the fuck?”

Tendou merely slouched, grin curling his lips as he watched the ball sail back and forth over the net. His eyes didn’t leave Ushiwaka as he said, “Monsters gotta stick together, ne?”

Atsumu didn’t give a single fuck, he was absolutely not coming to another one of these fucking practices, no matter what Shouyou-kun said. Fuck this.

Later, as they were getting ready for bed, Hinata showed Atsumu the extra egg he kept especially for him, as a thank you for helping with setting today. And if it was not too much trouble, could Atsumu-san please, please, please help out tomorrow? He thought he was really close to a breakthrough on receives.

Staring at the egg on the palm of his hand — that he was absolutely going to lord over Osamu at breakfast tomorrow — Atsumu felt utterly helpless but to say yes.

“Y’know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen ya so nervous, Michi-kun.” Akagi actually jumped, having not heard Kita approaching him from behind. Akagi was sitting on one of the benches lining the courtyard, planning on taking in some of the night air while he played his 3DS.

“Christ, Shinsuke. Warn a guy before ya go creepin’ at them like a fuckin’ ninja,” Akagi grumbled, yanking his headphones out. He hadn’t actually pressed a single button in a few minutes. He’d been kinda spacing out for a bit now, and there wasn’t any way Kita goddamned Shinsuke didn’t already know that.

“Not interested in takin’ up some evenin’ practice?” Kita asked lightly, sliding into the seat next to him. Akagi threw his captain a flat look, both of them already knew the answer to that question.

“Nope.”

Kita smiled beatifically. “Any particular reason yer sittin’ out here and not inside?”

Akagi shrugged, staring out in the warm night air. “Not really.”

Kita did that thing where his smile kind of stilled on his face. It always made Akagi wonder if it was gonna start crawling around or something. Akagi raised his hands, trying to ward Kita off. “This has nothing to do with—”

“The loud ass reserve players in our room playin’ cards? Maybe,” Akagi said quickly, really, really not wanting to talk about this.

Kita normally was way better about leaving Akagi to do his own thing. He kept his busybody ways focused on the biggest troublemakers on the team for the most part. Though after Nationals that shifted a little bit — annoying as hell. Hinata was fine. No need to start worrying about everyone.

“So it has nothin’ to do with that libero from Waseda hanging out in the common room reading?” Kita asked lightly, boring holes into the side of Akagi’s head.

Akagi grimaced, because yeah. Maybe.

“Can we not talk about it?”

Kita folded his hands into his lap, tilting his head at Akagi. “I betcha feel better if we did.”

Akagi flopped backwards on the bench. Next time he hid out, he was doing it in the bathroom. Toilet stall, feet up on the door, all nice like that. No one to bother him. Living the dream.

Akagi didn’t always play volleyball — used to be quite the proficient little soccer player. Even had some recruiters sniffing around when he’d still been in middle school, saying they liked the way he played keeper. The reputation that afforded him was kinda cool. He liked being noticed for his talents. Only, uh— the problem with being a mega cool, awesome goalkeeper, was that sometimes your teammates liked to pretend that you only lost a game because the keeper couldn’t protect the net.

And maybe he started to internalize some of that shit and started getting down on himself. Started thinking that yeah, he was letting his team down. Maybe he wasn’t sleeping so well at night. And maybe he was tired a lot. But he got to play a sport he thought he loved, and that was kinda okay, right?

He didn’t know how bad it was until he happened to watch a post game interview of the Inter-High Nationals Volleyball tournament when he’d been in the eighth grade.

He remembered his auntie had slapped his hand to make him pay attention — this was apparently the best high school libero in all of Japan, whatever the hell a libero was. Akagi didn’t know or care. He didn’t care about a lot of things back then.

“They say you’re the reason your team gets so far— That without you, the backbone of their defense would crumble,” the interviewer said, the microphone ducking under the chin of the sweaty looking boy in the green track jacket. The header that scrawled across the screen read: Representatives from Iwate Prefecture sweep semi-finals in two sets!

Akagi had straightened up, eyes widening because hey! That was just like him! Cool! And this guy was a winner! Unlike Akagi. He needed to work harder. Better. He needed—

The boy, because he could only be a year or two older than Akagi max, curled his lips, floppy sweaty hair flicked out of his eyes as he glowered off camera — presumably at the interviewer. The boy leaned forward, hand wrapping around the mic to pull it close to his face, looking pissed. “Volleyball is a team sport. We live and we die as a team. I’m only good because the rest of my team is too.” His eyes tilted to look into the camera, the interviewer sputtering. Akagi felt like this floppy haired boy was looking into his soul. “So cut it out with this lonely guardian of Iwate bull—”

The mic was wrenched away from the floppy haired boy’s face, the camera panning to the frazzled face of the interviewer. Akagi stopped listening, his brain playing those words over and over and over again. ‘We live and we die as a team.’ Akagi had never heard something so metal before.

Hell yeah!

Tilting his head over to look at his aunt, Akagi was a little breathless when he asked, “What do I need to do to become a libero like him?”

In the middle of the school year, Akagi switched clubs. Out of the soccer team — much to their horrified fury — and onto his middle school’s decently just-above-mediocre volleyball team. And he never looked back.

Instead, he watched every single game tape of the floppy haired boy from Iwate prefecture he could get his hands on. Akagi thought he was amazing. Thought maybe this guy was kinda his hero.

When it came time for him to pick a high school, after learning a bit more about that incredibly cool floppy haired kid, Akagi learned he was only two years older than himself. Which meant he had the chance to maybe play him! As long as he picked a team that went to Nationals, right? Fortunately for him, Inarizaki was only a half-hour bus ride from his house.

Soccer provided Akagi with more than enough base skills that he had no problems sliding into a libero position at Inarizaki. His first year at Nationals, his stomach roiled with anxiety. Coach Kurosu had put him and Aran in the starting rotation against the representatives from Iwate prefecture — the same representatives going on seven years now. Akagi could only imagine what he’d say once he actually came face-to-face with his hero.

Only the tough talking, overly blunt libero was nowhere to be found. Apparently he’d gone to Germany for an exchange year, obliterating Akagi’s hopes and dreams of meeting his hero on the court.

The next year he’d learned that his hero had joined Waseda — making Akagi’s heart leap! That meant Akagi could meet him at the summer training camp! Only then he learned that his hero had gone to Germany on an exchange again.

Akagi had basically given up all hope of ever getting to talk to the guy. To tell him what those words had meant. How much Akagi needed to hear them.

How much he changed Akagi’s life.

At least until their first day of camp this year when Akagi — during the game before lunch — had been too distracted to function. He embarrassed himself by taking a ball to the face. In front of the one person he wanted to impress more than anyone else in the world.

Sitting on the bench watching the first of many Inarizaki v. Waseda matches to come, his arm in a sling, looking for all the world bored out of his skull, sat Akagi’s personal hero:

Inunaki Shion.

Akagi kind of thought he’d be taller.

And now, every time Akagi saw Inunaki, he kind of froze. His brain got all stupid and gooey and he lost his ability to focus. Instead remembering the cocked eyebrow Inunaki gave him after Akagi received a ball in the Hinata fashion — with his face. He would rather die than have his personal hero ask if his face was okay. Or make some crack about techniques. Akagi’s heart wouldn’t be able to take it.

So maybe he was being a total dweeb and avoiding him. Whatever. No one was supposed to notice. Fucking Kita.

“Look, Shinsuke. I appreciate ya, I do.” Akagi held out a hand, staving off any interruption Kita might have had for him. “But I’m doin’ real good ignorin’ my problems, so how ’bout ya lay off, hmm?”

Kita gave a soft whuff of air through his nose, indicating he was not happy, but fine. “Sure. On the condition ya do somethin’ for me.”

Akagi grimaced. This wasn’t going to be fun, whatever the heck it was. “Depends what it is.”

Kita smiled at him once more. “Hinata-kun and Atsumu are practicin’ with Ushijima-san this evening.”

Akagi blinked. “Wait, really? Seriously?”

Kita nodded. “I’m a bit worried ’bout—” Kita frowned, staring out at the grass in front of them. For chrissake, Hinata was fine. When was everyone going to get it through their thick skulls. The kid was made out of rubber. He bounced back; it was just what he did. Snappier and with more momentum than before. How was Akagi the only one who noticed?

Kita sighed. Like, actually sighed. Akagi blanched. Okay, so Kita was big worried then? “I don’t think Atsumu is doin’ real well, and I just thought maybe he wouldn’t get too twitchy if ya were there too. Checkin’ up on Hinata-kun.” Here, a smile curled the corner of Kita’s lips. “Y’know, as his mentor and all.”

Akagi sucked on his teeth, giving Kita a sideways look. “I do this, ya stop badgering me ’bout my shit?”

Kita held out a hand to him. “Yer shit is the least of my worries, Michi-kun.”

Akagi laughed. Yeah, that sounded about right.

After the practice matches had wrapped up the next day and the team was on their way back to their rooms to take a break before optional practices or dinner, Akagi didn’t even have to figure out a way to weasel into these Ushiwaka practices. Hinata, the gremlin who just kept giving, had prostrated himself at Akagi’s feet, begging him to please, please, please help out tonight?

Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Akagi shrugged and nodded. Sure, why not — Only ‘cause it’s you, Shou. He emphasized that last point, just in case anyone got ideas about Akagi and evening practice.

Here was the thing. Akagi had been coming to these training camps for three damn years now. As a first year, he’d been dragged to endless spiking and serving practices as the most competent libero on the team. He hated it. Spent all day practicing and sweating and working hard, and then he was expected to dedicate his whole evening to more volleyball? That’s not how regular humans worked — he needed rest.

It was why, in his second year, he’d obstinately refused to attend extra practice — claimed he had homework to do — and instead would find a corner to hide in, so he could play games or surf the internet on his phone. He’d been looking forward to his third year, honestly. Finally, king shit on the team. No one could tell him to do anything. Wanna practice in the evenings? Too fuckin’ bad, go find someone else to recieve your damn serves. Akagi is napping. Or maybe staring at a wall. Who knows? He was a third year, he could do whatever the hell he pleased in the evenings.

But to get Kita off his back and allow himself to live that life of denial, Akagi would break his one rule and join goddamn Ushiwaka practices.

He honestly hadn’t known what he’d been expecting out of super secret Ushiwaka training — probably Ushijima bequeathing some sort of super ace technique or something. At the very least, he had assumed that there was gonna be an awful lot of spiking. He’d mentally prepared himself for spending a night pounding his arms into mochi off of Ushijima’s cannonballs. Only that was not what these practices were.

This was a receiving practice. For Hinata. Akagi watched in rapt fascination as Hinata set himself up for receive after receive, trying everything in his power to figure out how to stop the momentum of Ushijima’s southpaw.

Atsumu and the Yandere Setter-kun switched off throwing balls up. Tendou offered some half-hearted blocking and Hinata, all by his lonesome, tried to pick up ball after ball fired at him by one of the best spikers in the country. Periodically, Shiratorizawa’s own loud and cute first year would squawk something combative at either Hinata or Ushijima. Sometimes both.

Hinata. His Hinata. Mr. ‘But spiking is more fuuuuuun’ steadfastly spent almost an hour receiving ball after ball as Akagi watched. Each time, no matter the outcome, he gave Ushijima a challenging glare, shouting “One more time!” with the same fervency he’d ask Atsumu for one more toss.

Akagi had figured Nationals would have changed Hinata a bit. He hadn’t anticipated how much though. Holy hell.

Periodically, Hinata would pause to look at Akagi, inquisitive, massaging his arms as he tilted his head. “Any advice?” The first time it happened, Akagi had to swallow around a lump in his throat, almost feeling overcome with how touched he was, before he could give Hinata some tips.

For the first time since Akagi met him over a year ago, Hinata approached receiving the same way he did spiking. If Akagi were one to cry, he might have just then.

In no time at all, Akagi found himself engrossed in practice, calling out some stance corrections or telling Hinata he was too far back and to shuffle forward. He was so enthralled with the last superb receive Hinata made, the ball arcing perfectly towards Tendou — the pretend setter for this scenario — that he didn’t notice when someone siddled up next to him on the sidelines.

“The little guy is sure going ham on receiving. How long’s he been at this?”

Akagi flicked a glance out of the corner of his eyes, barely registering dark framed glasses and fluffy blonde hair around his height, before he looked back at the court. He clicked his tongue as Hinata split stepped half a second too slow. Based on Hinata’s expression, he knew it too.

“A bit over an hour now,” Akagi said distractedly. He didn’t need to tell Hinata what to fix — he already knew. It brought a pleased little grin to Akagi’s face.

The stranger whistled. “Receiving Ushiwaka’s spikes the whole time? Is he gutsy or crazy?”

Akagi snorted a laugh, watching Hinata swing out his arms, roll his neck and shift into another receive stance. “Both.”

That made the guy laugh. They sat in silence like that for a few minutes more, listening to the loud POMM sound the ball made when Ushijima made contact with it, and the THWAP of a decent receive from Hinata.

The stranger broke the silence again after a few minutes. “Why’s he so keen on receiving Ushiwaka’s spikes? Doesn’t he know specializing on one type of receive isn’t gonna do him much good in a real game?”

Akagi crossed his arms, smirking as Hinata swore “Fiddlesticks!” when the ball rolled up his arms nailing him in the chin. Cute kid.

During a water break earlier, Akagi had asked just what the hell Hinata was thinking. Hinata took a big swig of his water and laid out his story. The Itachiyama game they’d lost during Nationals had left an impression on him — Hinata needed to learn how to receive spikes with spins on them. And who better to do that than Mr. All-Japan himself?

“We ended up losing to Itachiyama at Nationals a few weeks ago. Left an impression on the kid. He wants to learn how to pick up Sakusa Kiyoomi’s freaky spin.” Akagi had never been prouder of Hinata.

The stranger was silent for a second before he let out a breath. “Huh.” And then he laughed to himself. Akagi turned to look at the guy as he took off his glasses to wipe them with his Waseda t-shirt. The guy pulled his glasses up to his face, examining them for smudges with a squint. Akagi suddenly realized who the hell he was talking to.

Inunaki Shion placed the glasses back onto his nose, tipping his head to shoot Akagi a sly look. “I played Sakusa once a few years ago for a practice match. Those spins are nasty.” He jerked his chin towards Hinata, the look of sharp determination setting his face alight. “The kid’s a wing spiker, right? That’s pretty cool, he’s working so hard to stop one guy.”

Akagi could only stare at him, probably gaping like a fish. Probably not breathing. His useless brain was just filled with static — only capable of producing a Gregorian chant repeating ‘Inunaki-Inunaki-Inunaki-Inunaki’ over and over again.

And then Inunaki Shion patted Akagi’s shoulder like it was nothing, like Akagi was totally being normal and cool, and flashed him a grin. “See ya around...” Inunaki squinted, pursing his lips. And then he snapped his fingers, giving Akagi a finger gun with his good hand. “Akagi-san, right?”

Akagi wheezed something that was probably in the ballpark of affirmative, because Inunaki walked away and left the gymnasium. When he exited the doorway, Akagi found he’d lost his ability to stand. Next thing he knew, he was sitting on his ass, trying to stare at his shoulder like it held the secrets of being the perfect libero.

“Akagi-senpai, are you okay!?” Hinata’s voice was high and his face was very concerned as he rushed over. Akagi felt kinda light-headed.

“Oi, Michi-kun. Y’alright in there?” Atsumu was looming over Hinata. Akagi wondered if maybe Atsumu was floating?

And then Ushijima was there, looming even more, and a big hand touched Akagi’s shoulder — and though Ushijima’s expression didn’t shift in the slightest, Akagi had the distinct impression of kind eyes. “Breathe.”

Akagi sucked in a breath, his eyes feeling wide. And his head felt a little less floaty. Ushijima looked back at the others. “It is best not to crowd him.”

Hinata leapt back immediately, dragging Atsumu with him, both of them still looking very concerned. Akagi swore then that he was never going to call him Ushiwaka ever again. From here on out it was Ushijima-san or bust.

Ushijima-san blinked at him, and then gave a curt nod. “Thank you.”

“Ah, I said that out loud?” Ushijima nodded again at his question. Akagi found he didn’t have the energy to be embarrassed.

“Need us t’take ya to the nurse, Michi-kun?” Awww, even Atsumu was looking all pinchy with worry.

Akagi waved him off, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Nah, I’m good.” And then he flopped backwards, so he could stare up at the ceiling — trying to remember if he said anything weird to Inunaki or not.

“You sure?” Hinata asked, sounding dubious. Akagi could perfectly imagine the line of concern between his brows.

Akagi laughed, stretching his hands above his head, before tucking them under his neck. “Yeah, I’m good. It’s not every day ya get to meet yer hero.”

“OOOoooOOOoohhhh~” Even when Tendou was politely interested he sounded like an absolute weirdo. “You like the doggie libero too? Hayato-kun is going to be so jealous he didn’t come tonight.”

“Who?” Hinata asked.

“Inunaki Shion. Best libero in Japan...” Akagi said with a sigh, pressing a hand to his heart. “Shou, we’re really gonna hafta work on yer general volleyball knowledge.”

Hinata made some indignant noise, but Akagi ignored it in favour of watching Ushijima turn to stare forlornly out the door. What was up with him? Was he also an Inunaki fan?

Tendou patted Ushijima’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Wakatoshi-kun. Maybe you can play against him sometime after his shoulder is all healed up.”

Oh, he was just a volleyball nerd too.

Ushijima hummed. “Yes. Should we ask him for an autograph the next time we see him?” That was probably directed at Tendou, given the shrill laugh that elicited.

“Maybe we’ll let Hayato-kun decide for himself, hmm?” Maybe Tendou was a nicer guy than Akagi gave him credit for too. Tendou-san.

“Sorry to cut yer practice short,” Akagi told them all. Still not bothering to lever himself up.

“It’s okay!” Hinata said brightly. “There’s always tomorrow.”

“Ah.”

Akagi looked up to see Ushijima frowning above him, probably towards Hinata.

“Tomorrow Shiratorizawa has a team building event we must attend, so I will be unable to attend receiving practice,” Ushijima said gravely. Like he was telling Hinata he had to go off to war. And— Had he called it receiving practice? Man, Ushijima-san really was a nice guy.

“That’s okay!” Hinata repeated, always one to reassure the people around him. And then he hummed. “Y’know Atsumu-san maybe we could finally do that setting practice you’ve been talking about then.”

Atsumu made some sort of choked sound. That was enough motivation for Akagi to sit up and look — haha, flustered dumbass — before Atsumu nodded his head. “Yeah, sure. Sounds cool.”

Recovered, Akagi grinned up at Hinata. “I think I could probably help with that, if ya want?”

Akagi didn’t even need to ask. Hinata was already bouncing as he helped lift Akagi to his feet, already listing off all the other people he was going to corral into coming. Akagi tuned him out, humming where appropriate as they got the gym cleaned up.

Today was a pretty good day. His protege was kicking ass, and his personal hero actually knew his name. Fuck yeah.

~~~

The next evening Akagi allowed himself to be dragged along for an impromptu setting practice with Atsumu, Hinata, and Aran. Like old times, Aran said. Akagi had tried to point out to them that this was too many people just for Hinata to practice setting, for chrissake — not that anyone listened to him.

“Don’t look so grumpy,” Aran said, giving him an eye crinkling smile. Trying to be reassuring. Ridiculous.

“This is just my face.”

Aran bumped their shoulders, nodding his head towards the front of their little parade. Hinata was charging forward, bounce in his step, with Atsumu flanked at his side. It’d have looked like any other normal day before they went to Nationals if it weren’t for the fact that they were missing Osamu. And the weird as fuck tension in Atsumu’s shoulders. Like he was getting more nervous with each step towards the gym.

As much as Akagi would love for the goddamn Miya twins to bounce back like Hinata had post-Nationals, they were apparently a little more sensitive than that. And Akagi had no idea how to fix that. So instead, he chose to change the subject.

“Ya see that absolute smokeshow wandering around earlier?” Akagi asked.

Aran turned, looking confused. “Smoke show?”

Akagi gave him a greasy smile. “Ya know.” Akagi reached a hand up indicating taller than Aran. “That absolute babe hanging around earlier, watchin’ some of the Waseda games?”

When Akagi had told Hinata a year ago that he got into volleyball because of the total babes, he wasn’t really kidding. Every pro volleyball player he ever looked up to always seemed to be dating some gorgeous, willowy supermodel creature. As Akagi’s personal hero, it made sense that Inunaki would be the same. Duh.

During their afternoon games today in the main training annex, this tall-as-hell, gorgeous amazon had practically hung off Inunaki while he sat on the sidelines watching his team play — seemingly disinterested in the supermodel. Akagi had overheard the whispers: ’Who is she?’ ‘Where did she come from?’ ‘A groupie?’

Whoever the heck she was, she was basically Akagi’s dream girl: More than a head taller than him. Capable of strutting around in heels like it wasn’t anyone’s business. Long ass hair.

Apparently, his friend hadn’t noticed. Typical. Aran stared at him blankly. “Who?”

“The gorgeous tall foreign woman with the hair? In the leather jacket?” Akagi made sure to try to convey his appreciation of her assets with his hands, ignoring Aran’s disgusted nose wrinkle. “Oh, come on. How could ya not have noticed. Are ya blind?”

“I thought she looked kinda hot in that jacket,” Aran said grimly.

Akagi laughed, slapping him on the back. “See! I knew ya were a red blooded—”

“No, I mean she looked like she’d be warm in that jacket. Why wear it in this heat?”

Akagi looked at Aran deadpan. “You n’ Shinsuke deserve each other.”

Aran flushed, sputtering, throwing his hands in the air like he was going to ardently disagree, but Atsumu interrupted.

“Oi, ya ladies done with yer gossip? We’re at the gym.” Like he was the one who should be put upon.

“Anyone ever tell ya yer an ungrateful rude shit, Miya?” Akagi asked, giving his shitty kouhai a gleaming smile. Aran sighed, rolling his eyes. Behind Atsumu, Hinata’s face scrunched, like he already knew they weren’t actually going to get to practice. Like he was resigned to it.

Atsumu’s meanest smile greased over his face, ready to deliver some undoubtedly mean remark that wouldn’t phase Akagi in the slightest, which would piss Atsumu off, and really, Akagi had no interest in this song and dance. Could they get to the part where Atsumu sulkily corrected Hinata’s tosses?

Before Akagi could cut him off, they were interrupted by the distinct click of heeled shoes sounding behind them on the path — which was weird as hell, because who’d be on their way to the training gyms in anything but court shoes? Akagi flicked a glance over his shoulder and was startled to see that smokeshow of a woman stomping down the path behind them.

She wore high heeled black shitkicker boots, looking like some kind of a biker chick, here to wreck some shit. Sunglasses winking at them. Akagi kind of hoped it was his shit she was here for. What on earth was Inunaki’s side piece doing here? Looking for the man himself? Nah, she was definitely barreling down the path at them, her stomp lengthening to reach them, and Akagi had the fleeting thought that she was going to mow them all down under the heel of her terrifying as hell boots.

“Uhhhh... guys?” Akagi needn’t have bothered, turning to look at his friends, everyone had already stopped to gape at the tall as heck woman marching up to them. She stopped, a few feet away, mouth pinched as her eyes scanned the group of them.

Good lord, she had to be at least 200cm with those things on. Was she going to grab one of them and choose to eat them? ...Would she choose him?

She lifted her hand, palm facing up and close to her face. Akagi had the distinct impression she was reading something there. As she bent forward to read, her long dark ponytail brushed forward, the end of it resting at her clavicle.

“Uh, yes? Can we help you?” Aran asked politely, in a slow Japanese. This was good, Aran had the best English of the lot of them if needed.

Her eyes flicked down her palm and back at them, gaze zeroing in on Hinata still standing in between the twins. Her eyebrows shot up and a wide smile creased her face, revealing crooked teeth. “Hinata number ten, ja?” Her Japanese wasn’t bad but it definitely had an accent Akagi couldn’t place.

Hinata blinked, pointing at his face. “Me?”

She nodded, eyes crinkling in a happy smile, as she took her sunglasses off and stuffed them into her skinny jeans. “One second,” she said, holding up a finger as she looked at her palm again. “Shi-chan said he wanted you in... gymnasium D.” She turned on her heel, throwing a bright crooked smile over her shoulder. “Come, come.”

Akagi eyed her suspiciously. This was hella suspect, and no freaking way was he letting some strange woman abduct his favorite kouhai.

Akagi threw a look at Aran, who wasn’t paying attention, instead staring baffled at the giant woman currently scuffling down the sidewalk, waggling her eyebrows at Hinata to apparently follow her? Atsumu just looked perplexed.

Absolutely not shocking Akagi at all, Hinata shrugged his shoulders and started following the woman — the kid certainly lacked a self preservation instinct. If Akagi must be it for him, then so be it. Grasping the back of Hinata’s t-shirt, Akagi scowled at the amazon. “Now hold on a second.”

The amazon stopped her doofy scuttling and turned to purse her lips at Akagi, head tipped to the side like an enormous labrador. Hinata gave him a wide eyed stare. “What’s wrong, Akagi-senpai?”

The amazon gasped, clapping her hands in what looked like delight. Akagi resolved he was never agreeing to impromptu practice ever again. Fuck this shit.

“Who the heck do ya think ya are, tryna steal our first year?” Akagi asked, pointing a finger at the amazon. And then Akagi turned his baleful stare on Hinata. “And don’t just walk off with strangers, ya dingus. Ya wanna get held for ransom?”

Hinata’s nose wrinkled. “Who would ransom me? All you’d get would be chicken eggs.”

Akagi sighed, already tired. “Shou, don’t be stupid—”

“And this must be...” Hinata squinted as the tall woman rocked back on her heels, still looking delighted for some reason. “Annika-san?” She nodded enthusiastically, clapping and giving Hinata a thumb up. Hinata turned to look at Akagi, giving him a smile. “Inunaki-san told me earlier today she’d come find me tonight to do extra extra special receives training.”

“Ja! Ja! Receive!” The amazon, apparently known as Annika, said.

The moment Hinata said the name ‘Inunaki-san’ Akagi briefly lost all ability to form cognizant thought, unable to understand the angry mutters from Atsumu behind him, or Aran softly asking ‘what?’ under his breath. When finally he was capable of clear thought again, Akagi whirled on Hinata, clasping him by both shoulders. “Yer doin’ secret receives trainin’ with Inunaki Shion?”

Annika gasped, hopping up and down, excited. “Secret?”

Hinata looked over at Annika in wonder. “Is it a secret?” Annika shrugged helplessly, but they were both beaming like lunatics at each other.

Oh god, she had one of those impossibly cheerful and energetic personalities, didn’t she? Just like Hinata.

What a terrifying thought.

It didn’t matter. There was no fucking way Akagi was missing out on the chance to practice with his personal hero. Slinging an arm around Hinata’s shoulders, Akagi flashed Annika-san a wide grin. “Well, as Shou’s senpai, I think it’s imperative that I attend his receives training.” He gave Annika a wink. “He is my protege, after all. Name’s Akagi.”

Annika clapped her hands together with a gasp, her eyes practically glittering — definitely a giant Hinata — before she nodded vigorously. “Okay! Let’s go! Akagi-senpai and Hinata number ten!” She turned on her heel, not bothering to look back as she began marching back down the path.

“Wait the fuck up!” Atsumu squawked, his face flushed angry, glowering at them. “We have setting practice, Shouyou-kun.”

Hinata stared at Atsumu wide-eyed, gesturing down the path Annika was walking down. “But, secret receives training.”

“With the best libero in the country.” Akagi nodded sagely, not letting go of Hinata for an instant. At the end of the path Annika paused, looking back at them confused.

Atsumu was puffing himself up. “I don’t give a shit—”

Akagi let Hinata go to step forward, grabbing Atsumu by the front of the shirt, and tugging him down to eye level, alarming the dumb bastard. Guess he hadn’t forgotten Akagi’s lecture from a few weeks ago. “Don’tcha dare fuckin’ ruin this for me, Miya. I swear to god.”

Atsumu looked like he was working himself up to an angry snarl, when Aran intervened, unlatching Akagi’s hand from Atsumu’s shirt. “Now, now, let’s all be cool here. It’s okay. We can—”

Akagi whirled on Aran, feeling a bit wild-eyed with the intensity with which he needed to go to this practice. “For the good of Shou, yer gonna keep this dipshit busy.” Aran gave Akagi a flat look, before turning and planting his hands on Atsumu’s shoulders, leading him away, despite Atsumu’s harsh protests.

Taking his chance, Akagi grabbed Hinata by the shoulders and shoved him towards the visibly impatient Annika.

“Akagi-senpai, are you using me for emotional blackmail on Aran-san?” Hinata asked quietly, frowning over his shoulder at Akagi.

Akagi shrugged, waving a hand. “We gotta do what we gotta for the things we love Shou.” He watched Hinata’s brows pinch for a moment, considering. Finally, he slid Akagi an hesitant look.

“So then, it’s okay that I’m ditching setting practice for Inunaki-san, even though I promised Atsumu first?” He looked so earnest.

Clucking his tongue, Akagi reached over to ruffle Hinata’s hair, looping an arm around his shoulders again. “Of course! Ya can set with Atsumu any time. Practicin’ with Inunaki Shion? That’s a once in a lifetime opportunity. Gotta take yer moment, right?”

Hinata thought about that a second before nodding and giving Akagi a bright smile. “Yeah!”

“That’s the spirit.” Akagi beamed back, unable to contain the wiggly excitement he had rolling in his stomach at the thought of practicing! With his hero! Holy hell! Who’d have thought.

When they reached gymnasium D, Inunaki was already there waiting for them, standing in jeans and his arm sling, swiping through his phone. As the doors clattered open, Annika shouted a jubilant, “I’m home!”

A giant, long haired, western Hinata.

Inunaki lifted his head and gave her an unimpressed look. “I already told you before, that doesn’t make sense—”

“Shi-chan!” Annika scolded, hands on her hips as she pouted. “You’re supposed to say ‘Welcome Home’, that’s how it works!” She looked over her shoulder at Akagi, giving him a sly smile that had his face flushing in the delighted embarrassment of one paid attention to by an unbelievably beautiful person.

“Akagi-senpai thinks so, right?” she asked all throaty with a wink, before striding into the gym, haphazardly throwing her jacket over her shoulder as she strutted forward. Holy fuck she was super ripped too.

“Uh, Akagi-senpai?” Hinata’s voice called, head ducking into his vision. “Are you okay? Your face is looking a little red.”

His face was absolutely on fire. Akagi lifted his hands up to smack his cheeks, before giving Hinata a half manic grin. His little lucky charm. “Shou, I am never getting rid of you, you unbelievably lucky little bastard.”

Hinata tilted his head in confusion. “Oookay—” Akagi cut him off by pulling him in for a headlock to drag him forward to where Inunaki was currently scolding Annika.

“Court shoes. What’s so hard about court shoes? I know you’ve practiced indoors before.” Inunaki looked surprisingly lax, given that his overall tone definitely screamed exhausted and grumpy. Annika didn’t seem to have a care in the world, yanking one of her shitkickers off while balancing on the other leg.

“I’ll play in my bare feet. It’s fine! Volleyballs are basically made of peanut butter,” Annika said as she hopped up and down on one bare foot, trying to yank her boot off.

Inunaki heaved a sigh. “Why aren’t you wearing socks?”

“They’re too tight with socks. It’s fine. It’s fine.” With a schwomph sound the boot finally dislodged, Annika crowing in triumph at Inunaki as she rightened herself. She thumbed over her shoulder at Akagi and Hinata. “I brought your students.”

“Students?” Inunaki leaned around Annika, eyes flicking from Hinata to Akagi, lighting up in recognition. “Nice, I should have thought to tell Annika to grab you too. I’m glad you came anyways.”

Akagi licked his lips, trying to figure out how to express his gratitude for everything Inunaki had ever done and said, but like, succinctly. In a cool way. But also respectful. And also add a little dash of begging Inunaki to make Akagi his forever student. And could they be best friends maybe?

Instead of anything like that, Hinata bent at the waist, an excited grin already stretching across his face. “Thank you for having us!” Akagi followed suit, bowing low, feeling his cheeks burn as he nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, no problemo,” Inunaki said with a one shoulder shrug. God, he even made the word ‘problemo’ sound cool and not lame like everyone else. “You guys already met Annika, I’m Inunaki Shion.” He waved his good hand lazily towards Hinata and Akagi. “Hina—”

“I’m Hinata Shouyou! First year for Inarizaki High! It’s nice to meet you, and I’m so excited to be here!” He blinked, head turning to look at Inunaki. “Oh! And this is Akagi-senpai. Please take care of us.”

Inunaki looked amused, tipping his head to the side. “Wow. You’re just filled with all kinds of zip and pep, huh?” he slid a glance to the side at Annika, currently bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet, fiddling with the ends of her ponytail.

Hinata beamed, tucking a hand behind his head. “Yeah! Lots of people say that.” The dryness in Inunaki’s tone had obviously sailed right over Hinata’s head — unsurprisingly.

Inunaki was looking at Akagi now. “Are you as peppy as your friend, ‘Akagi-senpai’?” Inunaki cocked an eyebrow, and Akagi wondered if maybe he’d been a little gay this whole time.

He swayed on his feet for a second and shrugged. “Nah. Not really.”

Inunaki smirked. “Cool.” He nodded at Annika. “You wanna get started?” That seemed to be all Annika was waiting for. She beamed, saluting as she bounced up even taller and floated over towards a waiting ball cart.

Akagi had no idea what the heck they were doing here, but it had something to do with the giant woman and her bare feet and Inunaki watching him, and whatever the hell it was, Akagi figured he didn’t care. Maybe, after he did whatever Inunaki wanted him to, Akagi could actually talk to him about how much his play meant to him and how Inunaki was basically his hero and—

“Uhm! I have a question!” Hinata said, sticking his hand in the air.

Inunaki jerked his chin in acknowledgement. “Sure sport, shoot.”

Hinata grinned. “Awesome! Okay, so I was wondering what we’re actually doing here? Why isn’t Annika-san wearing shoes? Is she going to get into trouble for being barefoot in the gym? Because back home I get in trouble all the time for wandering around in my socks. Also, why did you pick us?”

Akagi blanched, staring down at Hinata in mute horror. Across from them Inunaki blinked, before pursing his lips. “Got anything else before I start answering?”

Hinata titled his head, seriously considering that. Akagi was about to tell him to knock it off, because Inunaki was obviously being sarcastic, when Hinata’s eyes lit up. “Yeah! What happened to your arm? Why aren’t you playing right now?”

Akagi hoped the wood underneath his feet would crack open in a sudden and unexpected earthquake, swallowing him and his desperate humiliation up. Why? Why was Hinata like this?

Inunaki stared at the sling holding his arm, before looking back up at Hinata and sighing. “Welp, I dislocated my shoulder a few weeks ago during a game.”

“Ouch! How?” Akagi was going to kill his adorable little protege. Kill him dead.

Inunaki gave a dry, raspy laugh. “Collided with our big, stupid middle blocker. He wasn’t watching where he was going.” He tipped his head up, pursing his lips. “What else did you want to know? Right, this practice. I dunno. I’m bored from not doing anything, and you seemed kinda goofy and funny yesterday trying to pick up all those Ushiwaka spikes, figured I could help.”

He made a sweeping gesture with his good arm at Annika, who gave them a finger wave. “And Annika is here because she’s the best training tool I’ve ever met.”

She winked, giving them a thumb up. “I’m useful!”

“But why’s she barefoot?” Hinata asked, brow still scrunched.

She threw Hinata a peace sign. “Because I can’t do my all timed, super-special attacks in my fancy boots.” She waved at Inunaki. “Shi-chan, set up the water bottle.” Inunaki crossed to the opposite side of the net, setting up a half empty plastic water bottle on the far end of the box, in the corner furthest away from Annika.

Once Inunaki stepped off to the side, Annika plucked a ball from the cart, tossing it into the air, stopping its momentum dead on the ground with her foot, rolling it to the ideal angle. Then she took a step back, angled her body and stepped into her kick as she nailed the ball. It sailed over the net first straight, arcing at the last second and nailing the water bottle, making it spin away with a clatter.

Akagi swore that ball had one of the most wicked spins he’d ever seen on a ball — and he’d received Sakusa’s spikes.

They were silent for a second before Hinata bounced up and down, arms flailing in the air. “That was so cool!” Annika struck a Sailor V pose, sticking out her tongue.

“Annika was on the German Women’s U-19 National Football team. She’s now playing for the Yamanashi U women’s team. She has one of the best corner kicks in the world,” Inunaki said, grin going toothy as he watched Annika strike another pose, plucking another ball from the cart. “If you can receive one of her kicks, you can receive anything — I guarantee.”

“That’s so cool!” Hinata chirped again. He turned to beam up at Akagi. “Akagi-senpai used to play too before he switched to volleyball.”

That caught both Inunaki and Annika’s attention, staring at Akagi to elaborate. Akagi shrugged. “I wasn’t as good as all that. It’s nothin’—”

“Nuh-uh! He used to play keeper and he was really good! And that’s why he’s such a good libero now,” Hinata said, face all scrunched up. Akagi knew there was nothing Hinata hated more than people undercutting their own athletic talent. Akagi only shrugged helplessly.

Inunaki was wearing an interesting, wistful kind of smile. “That’s funny, Annika’s brother did the same.”

Annika beamed and clapped. “Then I can teach you! And then you can teach Shou-chan!” Her face grew momentarily serious. “Though I’ll only teach you on one condition.” She held up a single finger, her face grave. “You have to call me Annika-sama.”

Inunaki shook his head. “No—”

“Annika-sama!” Hinata cried, looking absolutely starstruck.

Welp. No helping it. Heaving a sigh, Akagi shrugged in a ‘what can ya do’ manner. “Sure. Annika-sama, please teach me.”

Across the net, Akagi could see Annika practically start vibrating with excitement. She beamed. “So, who wants to go first?”

Akagi didn’t have a chance. Hinata leapt forward, arms flailing as he stepped onto the court. “Me!”

Laughing, Akagi stepped off to the side, kinda close to Inunaki, but not like, super close — he didn’t want to be weird — to watch Hinata try and fail to pick up Annika’s amazing shot.

After a minute or two, Akagi couldn’t take it anymore — he needed to break the silence. “So uh, Inunaki-san?” Inunaki slid him a look. “Yer really helpin’ us ‘cause yer bored?”

Inunaki pursed his lips, thinking. “Mmm, it was a bit that. A bit I felt bad Annika had no one to show off to.” They watched Hinata slide to the perfect spot for his receive, only for the ball to go ricocheting off, much to Annika’s delight. “A bit that the kid is a little bit hardcore and obsessed...”

Inunaki turned to look at him, smile mean and toothy. “A bit that I played Sakusa once in a practice match a few years ago, and I never got to take him down a few notches. I’d love to help someone else do it for me.”

Akagi gave a startled laugh, not expecting the blunt honesty. Yeah, Akagi knew the feeling — having Sakusa break you down gradually, destroying your confidence in your own receives. Were you ever really good? Do you even know what the heck you’re doing? What Akagi wouldn’t give to hand that medicine back to Sakusa, just a bit.

“We never had a chance to play each other, right?” Inunaki asked, giving him a narrow eyed look.

Akagi flushed, shaking his head. “Nah, ya took a year off when I was a first year, and then ya weren’t here last year either.”

Inunaki nodded, watching Hinata fail to pick up another ball. “I was in Germany, doing an exchange. That’s how I met Annika and her brother. I stayed with them both times as my host family.”

Akagi nodded. “Cool...” He wanted to ask why Germany but didn’t feel like it was his place to ask.

They lapsed into silence again, watching the endless thwack and spin of the ball as Hinata failed to raise all but two balls. After a moment, Akagi plucked up the courage to say everything he’s ever wanted to say. “You know, Inunaki-san, I play volleyball because of you—”

Inunaki held up a hand, expression looking pained. “Could we not?”

Akagi gaped at him. “Buh?”

“Look, you want to tell me that I inspired you to play, and how much I mean to you. I know. I get it. I apparently inspire a bunch of people.” He heaved a breath, giving Akagi a quirk of his mouth, his eyes kind despite his words. “But I really don’t care. I’m just here to get the work done. I don’t need you crying to me about how much I mean to you. If you feel like you have to say it, let your volleyball say it for you.”

Akagi stared at him, feeling a bit like he’d been slapped and then ran roughshod over. After a second, he looked back at Inunaki’s profile and articulated the only thing running through his brain at that moment. “Wow.”

Inunaki pressed his lips together in a humourless smile. “Yep.”

“Ya had a speech and everything.”

Inunaki nodded. “Yep.”

“They always say don’t meet yer heroes, but I get it now.” Akagi gave a slightly hysterical half baffled laugh.

“Yep.”

Akagi allowed the weight of five years of devotion and expectations to fall around him, burning to ash. Welp. Shit. After a minute of thinking about he shrugged his shoulders. “Y’know I still think yer really cool.”

Inunaki looked pained. “Yeah, I know. I don’t get it, but whatever, man. You do you.” And then Inunaki’s eyebrows titled and he gave Akagi a sly look. “You planning on playing college ball next year?”

“I dunno, ya plannin’ on stayin’ in Japan this time?” Akagi shot back, grinning when Inunaki kicked his head back and laughed.

“Yeah, yeah. I just might.”

“Good. I need to getcha back for all those wasted years of hero worship,” Akagi said gravely, crossing his arms. He was pleased when Inunaki laughed again.

“Hey! Sensei has some lessons to teach while you two are clucking like a pair of old hens!” Annika called, bouncing the ball in her palm on the ground.

“Your idioms are still really weird, ‘Nika,” Inunaki called.

“Bah, shut it, Wan-chan.” She made her voice all nasally as she stuck her tongue out at him. Annika turned to look at Akagi. “C’mere, Akagi-senpai! I’ll teach you how to turn Shou-chan’s arms into beef liver.” She wiggled her foot, indicating just how exactly she was going to teach how to beef liver Hinata’s arms.

“Chicken liver is better!” Hinata called from across the net, grinning when Annika nodded her head enthusiastically.

“It’s why we’re turning you into beef liver. Chicken liver when you get good! Now Akagi-senpai, chop chop!”

Akagi laughed, throwing a wink at Inunaki. “Yes, ma’am, Annika-sama.” Feeling a laugh bubble up his chest as he joined Annika on the far side of the court. She really, really liked that suffix, huh? Akagi wondered what she might do if he ever called her ‘dono’. Probably implode.

When Akagi had gotten the basics of her shot with the heavy rotation down, he pointed across the net at Hinata, giving him a savage grin. “Yer ass is grass, protege-kun.”

“You wish!” Hinata chirped back, falling back into his receiving pose.

Yeah, maybe not. Akagi thought with a grin as he looked at his awesome little good luck charm. Not that he’d ever tell Hinata that, of course.

Chapter Text

“The air conditioner in the main building annex is down.” A visibly sweating coach Kurosu announced to them on the sixth day of camp. His normally fluffed up, waxed hair style was looking a little sad and crumpled. Like the hair around his receding hairline had up and protested the heat, choosing to lay down against his scalp.

It was hot.

Osamu kinda fucking hated it.

Unlike the rest of the college teams, who all got to sleep in well-maintained dorm rooms for the duration of the camp — in actual goddamned beds — Inarizaki every year got to have the distinct privilege of sleeping on the floor of a classroom in the main annex building, on lumpy futons with blankets that were too heavy for the season. Osamu’s only consolation this year was that Shiratorizawa got to suffer along with them.

Earlier this morning, Osamu had the joy of waking up sweaty and sticky, somehow managing to unbind the sheet wrapped around his mat in the night, finding himself pasted to the cheap synthetic fabric of his lumpy futon. It made a fwish sound almost like velcro as he peeled himself out of bed, confused as to why he was already sweating. He kicked off his blankets as he slept, and even in only his underwear and a tank top, he was still drenched with sweat. It was like a goddamned sauna in their room.

Kita hustled the team out of bed to go cool off in the field outside of the main annex building before the sun had risen, because apparently when the aircon had chosen to die, it had decided to do so in the middle of the night. As Kita wrangled a bunch of sweat-soaked, bleary-eyed volleyball players outside — where it was only marginally less hot than inside — he explained that you could apparently get heat stroke in your sleep. Grrrreat.

Once outside, Osamu saw his brother’s hair curling and sticking out at weird angles. He could only imagine what his own looked like.

Shiratorizawa followed them shortly after, throwing themselves into the grass as Tendou sang some creepy little song about cooling worms. Osamu was too tired to care. Forgetting the last few days’ tension and wariness between them, both teams spread out onto the grass, many falling back asleep while they could with the sun threatening to rise at any moment.

Suna and Akagi were out like lights almost immediately. Osamu watched Riseki’s head bob up and down, trying to keep awake, until he curled forward, his head almost hitting his knees — asleep. The Shiratorizawa middle blocker — Osamu thought his name might Kawagami — had removed his own shirt, wedging it under his head and falling promptly asleep, ignoring the disgusted sound Yandere Setter-kun made.

The only people not looking that worse for wear were Ushijima, Kita, and Hinata. What the three of them wandered off to do, Osamu was too tired. He had no fucking idea. Maybe a blood sacrifice? Who knew? He laid back, too exhausted to roll away from Aran and found his eyes drifting shut.

Next thing he knew, he was sucking a hot and humid breath into his lungs as Gin woke him up by kicking his feet. How fucking hot was it already? The sun was up. Barely. All around Osamu he could hear a litany of groans and muffled swears as a bunch of overtired, hot, and sweaty boys sat up to squint at their coaches.

The captains stood off to the side, both of them looking still and placid in the early morning light. It was hard to describe the emotion that bubbled up in Osamu’s brain as he realized that even Ushijima looked sweaty. He wasn’t sleepy though. Maybe Ushiwaka was almost a real boy. Osamu almost turned to Atsumu to share his mean little joke; when at the last second, his exhausted brain reminded him that they weren’t speaking.

Because of— Where was Shouyou-kun? Osamu spotted him near the front of the group. Hinata sat in the grass, sweat soaked the collar of his t-shirt, rocking back and forth like he couldn’t wait for whatever announcement was incoming.

Freaky, freaky volleyball nerds.

The only person who looked entirely nonplussed with the heat and humidity was coach Washijou, standing all stooped and grumpy in his track jacket. Hair and clothing impeccable. No sign of sweat or bad sleep anywhere. What the fuck.

“Ya may’ve noticed a change in temperature in yer rooms last night,” Coach Kurosu continued his announcement. This was met with a flat, resentful silence. Yeah, they noticed. Thanks, Coach.

“Toyoma-sensei assures me that technicians’ll have the problem fixed by the end of day.” Kurosu roughed a hand through his sweaty hair, making it stick up kinda funny. Had he the energy, Osamu might have laughed. Or shared a look with Atsumu — no wait, they weren’t commiserating right now. Instead, he stared blankly at the drop of sweat dangling from one of Kurosu’s messy spikes of hair — threatening to drop with every waggle of his head.

“However, we have a problem. The main annex is where we do all our scrimmages.” It was the building with the massive practice gym in it — the only advantage to sleeping in the annex building was the gym was just a staircase away. “We only have two smaller gyms to use between all our teams today. Unless anyone wants to try practicin’ in the main gyms?”

That was met with a chorus of groans across both teams.

So they’d be using one of the tiny practice halls where Hinata had been squirreling himself away for practice with Ushijima or Inunaki — which Osamu only knew about by virtue of Hinata’s loud bragging in the evenings to Riseki. But they’d have air conditioning — sweet, sweet aircon. Osamu would pack himself into the gym like a sardine if it meant he could feel cool air on his face. Frick.

Coach Washijou’s sharp, grating voice cut through the still morning air, shushing their complaints. “We’ve already worked out a schedule.” His hawk-like eyes swept the group sitting on the grass before him. Osamu swore his gaze lingered for an extra split second on Hinata. “Shiratorizawa and Inarizaki will share Practice Hall B from 9am-1:30pm. Given that there are no guarantees the AC will be back by the time we’re done, we’ve agreed to give you boys a break this afternoon.”

Amongst the crowd, there were a few delighted whoops at the thought of a break, and some relieved sighs at the thought of getting some reprieve from the heat. Near the front of the group, Osamu could see Hinata’s shoulders ratchet up to his shoulders — he was annoyed. Osamu rolled his eyes. Leave it to Shouyou-kun to be offended that he only got four and a half hours of practice today. Ridiculous.

Yandere Setter-kun’s hand shot up. Washijou looked at him, and jerked his head in a nod. Yandere-kun stood up, ramrod straight — Osamu was never going to say Kita had a stick up his ass ever again. Not after meeting Shirabu.

“Sir! If practice ends at 1:30pm, doesn’t that mean that we will be dismissed from the cooled gymnasiums at the peak temperature of the day?”

Osamu’s mouth popped open. He hadn’t thought of that. He watched Washijou’s face tighten into a grimace. “That would be correct, Shirabu.”

“Then, in that case what do you expect us to do to keep cool if we don’t have access to air conditioned spaces for the remainder of the afternoon?” Shirabu wasn’t exactly defiant, just coldly and bluntly stating facts. The guy was off-putting, but he was also the only person amongst their gaggle of exhausted, sweaty volleyball players who was thinking about their well being at all.

Washijou stared hard at Shirabu before huffing. “We have a few hours to figure something out.” Those sharp eyes slid over the group once more, appraising. “We’ve decided to change up the plan for today, barring our circumstances.”

Around Osamu, all the players seemed to draw themselves up to listen. A change of plans? What did that mean? Ice baths? Would it mean ice baths? Maybe they could find some place to swim?

Maybe Osamu could lay face down in an enormous bowl of shaved ice. With melon. And sweet milk. And mochi? He could go for some mochi—

“We’re going to be doing a mixed two-on-two tournament, a player each from Shiratorizawa and Inarizaki.” Osamu got the distinct impression that Washijou found whatever he was saying amusing for some reason. “See if any of you have what it takes to succeed without your whole team to support you.”

Something in the way he said it — the tilt of his head, the disinterested pull of his mouth — Osamu swore Washijou was aiming that at Hinata when he spoke. Osamu may have been exhausted, and he may have felt like shit, and he may already be sweatier now than he’d been all yesterday — but Osamu would absolutely bristle on behalf of Shouyou-kun.

Near the front of the crowd, sitting on the other side of Riseki from Hinata, Osamu watched his brother tense up, his shoulders set. And then he tipped his head to glance over his shoulder, catching Osamu’s gaze.

‘Hey, ‘Samu?’ Atsumu’s eyes seemed to say.

‘Yeah, Sumu?’

‘Fuck ‘em.’

‘Yeeppppp.’

Yeah, he and his brother weren’t exactly speaking right now. But they could agree on one thing: fuck this curmedgeonly old bastard. No one shat on Shouyou-kun and got away with it.

~~~
“Why’re you still so angry?”

Osamu looked up from where he was tying his shoes after practice, one week before they left for Kofu for summer training camp. Tying his shoes was the last thing he needed before he could go home, grab something to eat, and go to bed.

Suna stared down at him, hands shoved into his track jacket pockets looking incredibly uncomfortable to be having something approaching a conversation about emotions.

“Huh?”

Suna clicked his tongue, eyes narrowing. “You know exactly what I’m asking, dumbass.”

He didn’t respond until he’d finished tugging the bunny ears through the loop. “I don’t think I’m particularly angry right now, Suna.” He brushed off his hands, pushing to a stand.

Suna cocked his head to the side, looking even more annoyed. “Then why don’t you go home with your brother?”

Osamu could feel a thread of tension wind its way around his spine, the same one that did every time someone mentioned Atsumu. Or he saw Atsumu. Or he had to be near Atsumu. Or even worse, when he had to speak with Atsumu.

Ignoring the growing pit of suppressed feelings in his stomach — Osamu could usually get it to stop bothering him if he ate something. He shrugged at Suna. “Dunno. ‘Sumu wanted to bail, and I didn’t feel like rushin’.”

Nice and easy. Simple.

Suna’s gaze didn’t waver. “Uh-huh. That’s super normal too. No extra practice for your brother.”

Osamu needed something to do with his hands — they’d give him away if left idle — he started adjusting the strap of his bag. “Who knows, maybe he’s tired.” Suna raised a skeptical eyebrow.

Behind them Akagi barked with laughter, Hinata starting up another colourful rendition of his gentle housewife swearing — a fiddlesticks here, a darnit there. The smack of the volleyball against skin, a sharp cry of triumph and a “Nice Kill!” from Aran.

Osamu kept his gaze firmly on the door leading outside — his escape. He wasn’t going to be a complete nutjob like Atsumu — he had more control than that — but he wanted to leave. Needed to.

“Look, Suna, if yer done bein’ weird, I wanna get home and have somethin’ to eat.” He patted his stomach, pursing his lips as if in thought. “Maybe I’ll have some soba tonight — that sounds kinda nice.”

Suna rolled his eyes, stepping out of his path to the door — Osamu tried not to suck in a relieved breath. Almost-almost-almost.

“I’ll stop asking.” Suna shrugged, eyes sliding to whatever undoubtedly spectacular thing or stupid, or goofy, or strange mix of all three Hinata was doing on the court right now. Suna’s gaze flicked back to Osamu. “But you seem a little tense there, Osamu.”

A little tense, huh?

Why was he still so angry?

It must be getting bad if even Suna was starting to get worried enough to say something. It was not like Osamu didn’t know there was something wrong. He was fully aware. Saw it in the mirror every day. Saw it every time he laid eyes on his brother. Normally, when Osamu got mad — big mad, holding a grudge mad — he needed a few days, and then he was usually able to let it go.

Not this time.

Just as he thought maybe, perhaps, he could let Nationals go, accept that he and his brother had fucked up — he knew they both had, it was both of their faults, he was calm enough now to see that — he’d remember how fucking furious he was. It all came back to him when he watched Atsumu practice with Hinata.

The avoidance. The thread of tension that worked its way from Atsumu’s shoulders into his tosses. The skipping extra practice. The everything. All of it.

Osamu was pretty sure he’d have been able to let go of this incandescent rage if he was certain Atsumu was doing everything in his power to make sure what happened at Nationals — their carelessness, their overconfidence, their foolishness — would never happen again.

Instead, he watched his brother — legendary for blundering through social situations, renowned for not giving a single fuck what other people thought — run away scared. Avoid. Ignore. Pretend it all hadn’t happened. Pretend like Atsumu didn’t know how weird as fuck his own behaviour had gotten.

Atsumu promised when they got back home after that god-awful, neverending train ride back from Nationals. Atsumu turned to him, looked him in the eye and promised, “This ain’t ever gonna happen again, ‘Samu. I’ll make sure of it.”

Osamu believed him. Hadn’t ever seen his brother with that much conviction in his eyes before. Figured if anyone could keep their stubborn ass, foolish little friend in check, it was his own bullheaded brother.

Then when push came to shove, and it was time for Atsumu to prove himself, he immediately fled scared.

Why was Osamu still so angry? Because he still hated the answer to his own unspoken question: what the fuck was Atsumu doing to make sure Hinata wouldn’t hurt himself again?

A big load of fuck all.

~~

“If you’re going to set the ball, you need to make it high! What are you? Useless!?”

Osamu heaved a sigh, tilting his head to stare at the exchange going on across the net from where he was warming up with his own partner. Osamu was a little surprised to see his partner, Kawagami— Kawanishi, doing the same, watching as Goshiki and Hinata got into what felt like their tenth argument in the last five minutes.

Predictably, Hinata puffed up, face scrunching up in outrage as he snarled back at Goshiki. “Well, maybe if you weren’t throwing me hand signals every time you went up to spike the ball—”

“I’m telling you how I want to spike it!” Goshiki stomped forward to get in Hinata’s face, looming. Too bad for Goshiki, Hinata graduated from Atsumu’s class of demanding, blunt perfectionism. There wasn’t anyone more capable of dealing with an angry asshole with high expectations than Hinata Shouyou.

“Well I’m setting! So I tell you how you’re gonna do it!” Hinata sneered back, matching Goshiki’s glower.

Next to him, Kawanishi sighed again, shoulders slumping. “Here we go.”

He was right, Goshiki looked like he was going to explode. “This is two-on-two! Why would I ever let someone so unskilled call the shots?” Just like that, Hinata stilled.

“Whoop, there he goes,” Osamu agreed, sharing a put upon look with Kawanishi. They should probably intervene now, before they started scuffling. In the last two hours, Goshiki and Hinata had already had two talking-to’s by the coaches, been pulled aside by Kita, then by Ushijima. Nothing was helping.

Earlier, while they’d still been feeling each other out, Osamu had observed out-loud to Kawanishi that he'd never seen Hinata get along so poorly with another volleyball player — maybe Shouyou-kun was just low on sleep, and he was getting chippy.

Kawanishi had snorted at him shaking his head, explaining that Goshiki had a weird complex about Hinata. Hinata was another first year starter on a power house school who Goshiki viewed as a worse volleyball player than him but also as a rival and admittedly other Goshiki-logic that Kawanishi couldn’t be bothered to try understanding.

Either way the end result was like oil and water. Spilled in the ocean and set on fire.

Before Osamu and Kawanishi could move forward to intercede, Tendou swept in, wrapping his creepy long fingers around Hinata and Goshiki’s faces, squeezing their cheeks. “Tsutomu-kun, Fennec-kun,” he tutted, his head shaking. “I know you know that I know that you know that good teammates don’t fight~” He turned to give his own partner a scrunchy, toothy grin. “Ne, Twin B-kun?”

Standing off to the side, his arms crossed, face pinched in annoyance, Atsumu glowered at Tendou. “It’s Atsumu.” He turned to give Hinata a flat look. “And don’t be a dick, Shouyou-kun.”

Hinata gasped, mouth gaping like a fish as Tendou continued to smush his cheeks together. “I’m not! I didn’t start it!”

Goshiki puffed up, “Are you saying that I did—”

Tendou released both of their faces, booping both of them on the nose. This drew both Hinata and Goshiki up short. Kinda like he’d just pressed the anger button on both of them and switched it off. “Now, now. If you two don’t smarten up, you’re going to lose every single one of your games today.”

Hinata and Goshiki stopped glaring at each other, stilling and going a bit pale.

Tendou shook his head. “And won’t that just be absolutely,” Tendou started rocking back and forth, a cheshire grin on his face, “stupendously, horrifically embarrassing?”

Hinata and Goshiki grimaced, chancing a glance at each other, sighing. Osamu thought it was kinda cute, the way they were so similar. Satisfied, Tendou sauntered away, calling for Twin B-kun to come follow him, please~. Osamu snorted at Atsumu’s offended scoff and watched his brother trail away.

Goshiki and Hinata watched too. After a moment, Osamu could just barely overhear Hinata, who had always lacked an indoor voice, say “Let’s put aside our differences because I really want to kick their butts.”

Goshiki nodded gravely at Hinata, sticking his hand out to shake on it. Hinata beamed, giving Goshiki an exaggerated arm swing of a shake.

Kawanishi huffed, shaking his head. “No way that will last for more than five minutes.”

Osamu watched Kawanishi out of the corner of his eye, shrugging. “I dunno, if your kid is the same type of crazy Shouyou-kun is, ya never know.”

Later, after the two-on-two tournament started, Osamu was proven right.

“He’s kinda freaky, huh?” Kawanishi said, drawing Osamu’s attention away from the match between Ushijima-Akagi and Omimi-Yandere Setter-kun.

“Hmm?”

Kawanishi nodded his chin off to the side, from their position standing courtside, to where Hinata and Goshiki were standing close together, watching team UshiAgi with a wide-eyed laser focus. Osamu blinked again. “Do ya mean mine or yours?” Goshiki was being just as intense, expression kinda pissy, to Hinata’s blank predator stare.

Hinata and Goshiki had won their last match by the skin of their teeth. Despite all of their squabbling and glares on the court, Hinata and Goshiki proved to be competent offensively, enough to overwhelm Kosaku and his partner. They’d beaked a ton at each other afterwards — and during — but something had shifted as their game ended apparently. Because Hinata and Goshiki were staring at UshiAgi like a pair of predator birds might, sighting a particularly juicy-looking rodent.

Kawanishi snorted, shrugging one shoulder. “Yeah, Goshiki can be a bit of a nerd too.” He flicked a glance at Osamu. “I just wouldn’t have expected your Shrimpy-kun to be so...” Kawanishi pursed his lips, looking for the right word, “Still.”

Osamu looked over at Hinata again, watched Goshiki lean his head down to murmur something. Hinata’s gaze didn’t flicker as he responded, eyes never straying from the court. Like a predator tracking prey. When was the last time Hinata blinked? Weren’t his eyes getting dry? Osamu sighed. “Yeah, that’s kinda new.”

Kawanishi’s eyebrows lifted. “Oh?” Osamu didn’t get a chance to answer before Kawanishi was abruptly smothered by his overly affectionate senpai.

“Taichi, are you making friends?” Tendou asked, both arms crossed, resting his chin on Kawanishi’s shoulders as he tilted his head to look at Osamu. With his neck at a weird fucking angle.

Kawanishi gave a long suffering sigh but didn’t move away. “Mhmm.”

Tendou’s smile curled upwards, eyes going squinty as he gave Osamu a once over. “And you, Twin C-kun? Are you getting aloooooong~?” He warbled the vowels, making Osamu think of a particularly nightmarish horror movie Suna made him watch once about little kids who sang songs while they ate people’s skin.

Osamu frowned. “Twin C-kun?”

“Who’s Twin C-kun?” Atsumu asked, walking up behind Tendou at the most annoying moment possible.

Tendou lifted his hands to grip Kawanishi’s shoulders as he bent his spine to dip entirely backwards to regard the Atsumu upside down. His eyes were wide and innocent, like he didn’t understand the question despite the knowing quirk on his lips.

“Why, your brother, of course, Twin B-kun.” Tendou leaned further back — Kawanishi must have had more core strength than he looked, because he didn’t budge an inch.

Atsumu stared at Tendou for a second, his gaze flicking over to Osamu, and he got to witness the exact moment it dawned on Atsumu what that nickname signified for their status in Tendou’s eyes. The malicious glee that greased over Atsumu’s face was a familiar one for Osamu.

“Ha!”

Osamu sighed, feeling exhausted, and looked back onto the court, just in time to watch Ushijima smash the final point to win their match.

“Wait...” Osamu looked back to find his brother frowning at Tendou, now standing upright, leering back. “If I’m Twin B, and ‘Samu’s Twin C, who the heck is Twin A?”

Osamu watched the cartoonish, grinch-like smile bloom wide across Tendou’s face — apparently this was a moment he’d been waiting for. He titled his head at a 90-degree angle. “Ohoh? No guesses?”

Atsumu’s face scrunched up. “No? I only have one brother.”

Osamu gave Tendou a flat stare. “We ain’t triplets.”

Tendou only waggled his eyebrows at them, his eyes watery crescent moons of delight, turning to look at the court where Hinata and Goshiki were lining up against Kita and Semi for the next match.

“Fuckin’ Twin C,” Osamu muttered, lips pursed in irritation as he watched Hinata and Goshiki confer while Semi got ready to serve. Surprising Osamu, his brother came and actually stood next to him, sandwiched between him and Tendou, his arms crossed as he pouted too.

“Dunno how ya even determine who’s B and C,” Atsumu muttered, not quite under his breath. Because of course that mattered to Atsumu. Of course.

The ball went up, soaring over the net, and Hinata — moving like a particularly deft fish — slid into place, lifting the ball perfectly in an A-pass for Goshiki. Hinata didn’t hesitate a second, rocketing towards the net. The ball went up and THAMP Hinata smacked it in a very pretty line shot.

Tendou slid them a look as Atsumu and Osamu quieted down from their cheers. He was all teeth and sharp eyes as he regarded them. “How did I decide which twin is which?” His gaze slid to where Hinata was crouching low after Goshiki’s serve, tongue peeking out in anticipation. “Threat level. Duh.”

“Shouyou-kun?” Atsumu asked incredulously. Tendou merely hummed.

“We ain’t related to Shouyou-kun,” Osamu said flatly.

Tendou gave them both a sympathetic look, turning to look at Kawanishi — who he still had his arms wrapped around. “Oh, Taichi. Poor, poor Twin B-kun and C-kun. It must hurt to be sooo~ jealous, ne?”

“Tendou-senpai, if you get decked, I’m not helping you out.” Kawanishi sounded more bored than anything.

Tendou snuggled in closer, pressing his cheek to Kawanishi’s. “Such a stingy little kouhai.” His voice plaintive.

Osamu met his brother’s eyes before he looked away, feeling that familiar swell of irritation. They both turned back to the game where Hinata had successfully blocked one of Kita’s spikes, leaping at Goshiki for a high five.

Twin A-kun, huh?

~~~

Okay, so maybe Tendou was onto something. For all their trouble early on, Hinata and Goshiki were quickly transforming themselves into an efficient machine, managing to knock Suna and Yamagata out far more effectively than Osamu ever would have figured. They were both also watching each game intently. To Osamu, it seemed like they were particularly interested in the player movements and coverage on the court, conferring between games.

Each team was slowly knocked out, until all that remained was Ushijima with Akagi, Aran and Reon, Atsumu and Tendou, and frankly shocking the hell out of Osamu: Hinata and Goshiki. For all their beaking at each other earlier, there was no way you’d be able to tell they’d been at odds now. Osamu figured it was the Hinata effect on steroids. They hadn’t met a person who Hinata hadn’t been able to charm yet. It was probably amplified considerably by the fact that they kept winning together too.

Osamu watched Aran’s team get knocked out by Ushijima, Akagi using some particularly colourful insults to trash talk after their win. It was probably for the best he and Kawanishi lost to Aran in the last round — no freaking way he had any interest in receiving more Ushiwaka spikes than he had to. Ushijima and Akagi were going to win the whole damn thing, and then Akagi was gonna be insufferable for the rest of the day. Osamu just knew it.

Next up were AtsuTen and GoshiHina — there was no fucking way Hinata could keep his and Goshiki’s win streak going. Not against Atsumu’s serves and sets. And certainly not against Tendou’s extremely effective blocking. Tendou was frustrating enough to deal with at the best of times, but going against him one-on-one? Awful. There probably wasn’t anyone better at one-on-one set ups than Tendou.

Only... The match ended up being way closer than it ought to. Hinata and Goshiki swapped spots; Hinata taking the bulk of setting and blocks, while Goshiki focused on receives and attacks. It was— strategically brilliant? For one thing, Hinata might only be second to Osamu in being able to read Atsumu’s tells. The first time Hinata managed to smack one of Atsumu’s dumps back down onto the ground, Osamu actually laughed, delighted.

For another, Hinata kept on surprising Atsumu and Tendou by taking random passes from Goshiki — no matter the quality — and attacking. Not setter dumping. Nah, he would full blown chase down a ball and spike.

Osamu wouldn’t lie, he had kinda chocked that first block on Atsumu up to luck. Then it happened again. On the third one, where Atsumu was visibly agitated going up, Osamu knew exactly what his brother was going to do — too bad for him, Hinata did too. By the third one, Osamu was absolutely certain that Hinata was actually using that noggin’ of his for strategy. Whatever the heck it was, it ended up winning Hinata and Goshiki the game — setting them up for a final two-on-two match against Ushijima and Akagi.

They got a thirty minute water break before the next match, Atsumu off sulking at his loss. Osamu couldn’t blame him. He wasn’t sure he’d be in much better of a state if it had been Hinata who’d beaten him down instead of Aran.

When the final match started, Osamu took a spot near the sidelines beside his brother. Just out of swiping distance in case Atsumu was feeling extra pissy at his surprise loss. Atsumu gave him a dirty look out of the corner of his eye, crossing his arms as he watched the game start. Ushijima and Akagi went up two points quickly.

Atsumu’s mouth pinched. “Wouldn’ta been as much of a blood bath if it were me.”

Ushijima scored again, Akagi sticking his tongue at Hinata who’d just been pasted to the ground trying to pick that spike up. Hinata certainly didn’t look like he was feeling the crunch though — only looked more fired up.

“Nah, but watch him.” Osamu felt his brother’s eyes on him, before returning to the game. Goshiki managed to score, only to be quickly taken back by Ushijima once more.

This time, Goshiki’s frustration spilled over. “Could you maybe try lifting the ball next time?”

Hinata paused rubbing his forearms, giving Goshiki an uncharacteristically spicy look. “Like you could do better, Goshiki-kun.”

As one, Atsumu and Osamu both snorted a laugh, looked at each other and back away. It was annoying to have a person they both enjoyed in common. Everytime Shouyou-kun did something funny or cool, they always reacted the same way. Bleh.

Proving Hinata’s point, moments later Goshiki was blasted backwards as the ball went ricocheting off the far wall from an Ushiwaka spike. When Goshiki stood back up, mouth set in a line as his cheeks flushed, Hinata stuck his tongue out at him. And then he waved a hand in front of his face. “Don’t mind it.” He turned back for another Ushiwaka serve, face set with determination. “We’ll get the next one.”

Beside Osamu, Atsumu mumbled, just barely audible, “So friggin’ cool.”

Osamu agreed.

Ushiwaka and Akagi were at match point, Goshiki and Hinata a good five points behind. There was no hecking way they were going to catch up. Akagi put up what was likely going to be the game ender set. Ushijima was up, swinging, SMACK and the ball came rocketing down only—

Only this time Hinata was exactly where he needed to be. His body solid and strong, limbs loose. The ball hit him with an audible FWAP, so much of the impact distributed through his arms, core, knees, straight down to his feet. A perfect receive. An even more perfect A-pass in a beautiful high arc right to where exactly Goshiki stood.

Osamu wasn’t the only one to notice. Across the net, Akagi’s mouth was open as he squawked with delight. But Shouyou-kun wasn’t done.

The ball wasn’t even halfway up its trajectory when Hinata dug his feet into the court, flying forward, leaping up — the grin on his face magnetic and exactly perfect as his left hand pumped in the air, as if crowing he did it, he did it, he did it — Goshiki put the ball up for him, a reward for such a perfect pass and receive. Hinata slammed the ball straight down before anyone could reach him.

The second the ball connected with his palm Osamu and Atsumu both threw their arms in the air, cheering a loud and joyful, “UWAH!” Around them the rest of Inarizaki and even some on Shiratorizawa were cheering too. They weren’t the only ones to see how cool a play that was.

Coming back to themselves, Osamu and his brother looked at each other, before abruptly looking away. Remembering that they weren’t supposed to be enjoying each other’s company very much right now.

In the end, Hinata and Goshiki ended up losing, the next point going to Ushiwaka’s team. But they didn’t seem to be too torn up about it, especially not when Akagi launched himself under the net to wrap an arm around Hinata’s neck, showing him off to everyone in the gymnasium as “My protege!”

Osamu hadn’t been to a single receiving practice, but something was obviously going right. The Shouyou-kun of a few weeks ago wouldn’t have been able to dig that ball, nor get back on his feet in time for a run up. Whatever was going on in those practices, it was obviously working.

Too soon, it was time for them to clean up the gym, so the next two college teams could take over. And back out into the unforgiving heat they went. The second that sank in, a little bit of the jubilation from the last two-on-two matches bled out of everyone.

Together, a little more understanding and camaraderie suffusing their two teams, Inarizaki and Shiratorizawa stepped out into the heat, each and every one of them groaning as they breathed in the warm humid air.

Osamu grimaced. This was going to be the longest afternoon of his life, wasn’t it?

Riseki was in a bad mood.

He laid out in the courtyard with the rest of his team and their newfound comrades in suffering: Shiratorizawa. There was something about everyone having a miserable sleep because of the heat and humidity, forced to play endless two-on-two matches, and then getting shunted outside like a bunch of elementary school kids told to ‘get some fresh air’ that kind of rankled. Only the air in this scenario felt like a hot, wet sponge in his lungs, and Riseki had never been so sweaty in his life.

Their captains were tasked with helping the coaches come up with a ‘solution’ to their no AC problem, and Riseki hadn’t seen Kita or Ushijima since their two-on-two matches ended.

Riseki looked around at the wilted figures of some of the best high school volleyball players in the country and wondered if this sense of camaraderie was what you felt for your fellow soldiers after going to war.

Most of the players were trying to take refuge from the heat by sitting in the shade of a nearby building. Not that it really seemed to be helping any — it wasn’t the sun that was the problem. It was the goddamned hot, wet air.

Pretty much everyone was laying down, looking like they were going for an impromptu siesta or something. Suna hadn’t moved for about forty-five minutes, and Riseki didn’t know if he was dead or sleeping. He couldn’t be bothered to lean forward to check.

Normally, Riseki was a lot more conscientious about the wellbeing of his teammates — especially after... Well. Hinata could complain Riseki was a mother hen all he wanted. You didn’t get to scare the shit out of your friends like that and assume everything was going to be hunky dory. Riseki was entitled to as many check-in questions as he wanted — just to be thorough.

Though to be fair, Hinata was actually doing really well. Really, really well. There had been a moment on the long ass train ride from Kobe to Kofu, where Riseki had fussed at Hinata about over-exciting himself — that he needed to conserve his energy and not practically vibrate in his seat for the whole damned journey. Hinata had turned to him, face going still and intense and serious — all he said was, “Don’t worry, Riseki-kun, I won’t ever let it happen again.”

It figured that Hinata only ever really told him the truth.

The Hinata of this training camp was definitely not the same boy he’d met at try-outs half a year ago. That borderline electric energy suffusing his limbs. The sharp way he watched everything happening on the court. The pure adrenaline rush of volleyball burning through Hinata’s veins. Riseki wasn’t sure if he was the only person on his team who saw this change, but based on the fretful ways the most annoying members of his team kept looking after Hinata — like some broken bird — Riseki supposed it must be true.

Sure, Riseki spent a good three years quietly worshipping the ground the Miya twins walked on. But then for the better part of the last two and half weeks, Riseki got to watch the twins get progressively more antagonistic with each other while they fussed over Hinata. From afar. Like a pair of divorced helicopter parents, trying to pretend otherwise. They were exhausting.

They kinda reminded Riseki of his own parents, actually.

Even now, Atsumu and Osamu — carefully sitting with at least three people between them — were watching Hinata kicking a soccer ball around with Akagi-senpai and Yamagata. How Hinata had the energy to keep going in this heat, Riseki would never know. He supposed he’d never understand how Hinata played so many games with so little sleep and a fever either. Maybe there were just things a person wasn’t meant to understand.

In the field, Hinata nailed the ball, somehow making it rotate in mid air, curving away from where Akagi was waiting to catch it. When the ball hit the ground a few meters away, bouncing once and rolling away, Akagi’s head whipped around to look at Hinata. “Holy shit!”

Hinata was giving his cheesiest smile, finger guns pointing at Akagi.

“How the heck didja manage to pull that off so quickly?” Akagi asked through a laugh, jogging to retrieve the ball.

“Whazzat?” Atsumu had an arm draped over his head to keep the sun out of his eyes.

Akagi ignored him, turning back to Hinata. “Yer a freak-Shou! Pickin’ up on this in, like, two days.”

Hinata waved a hand in front of his face, but he was wearing his smug little grin all the same. “Well, I am pretty good at most sports.” Which made Akagi burst into laughter.

Despite sitting three people apart, the twins clicked their tongues in unison, as if they disagreed with that statement. Then they turned to glare at each other. Definitely, definitely divorcees who were bad at co-parenting.

There was something about the twins’ disbelief and the successive irritation at apparently agreeing with one another that really rubbed Riseki the wrong way. It was probably an accumulation of factors: the heat, he was overtired, an awkward text exchange from last night, a vague sense of irritation at the twins.

But most of all, it was their casual disregard for Hinata’s freakish innate abilities.

If anyone would know, it was Riseki. He was in gym class with Hinata after all. The track team incident wasn’t the only instance of a club trying to steal Hinata away from volleyball. Every two weeks or so, as their gym class switched units, a new club captain would come seeking Hinata, testing the waters to see if he’d be interested in joining their club — apparently word had gotten around about that dreadful meeting with the track club, so there was a whole heckuva lot more restraint and subtlety now.

So far Hinata had been approached by the soccer team, basketball, tennis, baseball, badminton, swim team, and the distance running club — which was apparently different from track and field. Hinata and his freaky innate athleticism were fascinating to watch. Kind of incredible, really. There wasn’t anything he’d been introduced to so far that he hadn’t excelled at after a day or two of practice.

So how exactly was it that the two people who proclaimed to be Hinata’s best friends — who had that smothering helicopter parent vibe about them, especially now after Hinata’s fall — how the hell did they not see what an incredible athlete Hinata was? He was certainly better than anyone here. Maybe even better than Ushijima, though Riseki wasn’t 100% sure about that one. Maybe Ushijima was good at things outside of volleyball too?

It was in this spirit that Riseki savagely ripped up a few pieces of grass, shredding them between his fingers. Trying to distract himself from saying anything. Hinata was already back to kicking the ball around, he didn’t care. Don’t do it— Don’t—

“He is good at all sports.”

There was a moment where Riseki wondered if anyone had heard him, because no one reacted. Maybe his voice was too quiet? And then slowly the twins, Aran, and a few people from Shiratorizawa all turned to look at him, expressions shocked. Had his voice been a little too tight? Even Suna had cracked an eye open to squint at him.

It was the twinned derisive expressions on Atsumu and Osamu’s faces that made Riseki speak again. “He is. There isn’t anything he can’t do.”

Atsumu’s face pinched for half a second before he got that little quirk in his brows and his mouth slid to the side as if to say, ’Yeah, okay. Whatever you say, Heisuke-kun.’

Maybe Atsumu didn’t understand Hinata at all. Riseki felt an annoyed fury boil in his stomach. His face flushed from both the heat and the weight of everyone’s stares. Don’t pick a fight with Atsumu. Don’t pick a fight. It was not worth it. He’d just get mean, and you’d feel like you needed to apologize. And—

Wouldn’t it feel good to work out some of your frustrations on him? Hmmmmm?

His annoyance with his teammates allowed him to not think about his phone. Sitting on his futon, back in their too hot room. His message went ignored. Waiting for—

The heat and the being forced to sit in it weren’t the only things bothering Riseki.

The day after they’d arrived, endlessly baffled but ultimately amused by Hinata’s excitement over seeing Tendou again, Riseki had been feeling pretty good. Good enough that as he was scrolling through social media that evening before bed, he came across a band meme. Specifically about brass sections in orchestras. He thought it was kinda funny. He showed it to Gin, who looked confused but shrugged and said, maybe he just wasn’t an expert.

Before sending it off to the person he hoped would enjoy it most, Riseki had shown it to Hinata. His friend had stared at it, tilting his head in that confused puppy way, before he shrugged and said, “You should send it to Fumiko. She’d probably get it.”

That was the exact validation Riseki had been looking for. Without further ado, he sent the meme to Fumiko and waited for her response. Probably an unenthusiastic “lol” if he thought about it — but it was nice to be thought about all the same! He wanted her to know that he was thinking of her, even halfway across the country, was all. But not in a creepy way. In a— in a ‘Hey! I saw this and thought of you, because you’ve become synonymous with music in my head, and I feel shy about sending you orchestral music because I know nothing, but memes are cool and—’

He had a lot of feelings about the meme he sent.

He woke up the next morning to find no response. That was okay. He sent it awfully late after all. There was still no response after lunch, and that had kind of sucked, but it was okay. Dinner, still nothing — that left Riseki a bit sweaty and twitchy. It was why he begged out of Hinata’s super secret Ushijima master class or whatever training. There was no universe where he’d be any help blocking right now.

Riseki received no response or acknowledgement from Fumiko. In fact, she didn’t text him until two days later — crushing Riseki’s heart just a little when she didn’t even reference the meme at all.

“Who’s the giant woman?” Read Fumiko’s text message with an attachment of one of the many photos Annika and Inunaki had been taking with Hinata and Akagi. This one had Annika and Hinata looking cooly over a pair of sunglasses — well, Annika looked cool. Hinata looked a little goofy and childish.

Riseki was not embarrassed to admit he responded instantaneously. He definitely didn’t do Gin-senpai’s recommended fifteen minute buffer before answering: “That’s Annika. She plays on the Soccer team for Yamanashi U. Hinata made friends with her and another college student.”

His stomach twisted a bit at the thought that she was only texting him about Hinata and not anything about himself. Oh god, maybe Fumiko did like-like Hinata. Riseki was pretty sure Hinata had no feelings outside of friendship for Fumiko, but what if the reverse wasn’t true? Oh, no.

“Tell him he looks even shorter standing next to her,” Fumiko answered. And now she wanted him to be her go-between for her crush on Hinata! And he’d do it because he cared about both of his friends. Oh man— The text bubble flashed, indicating Fumiko was typing.

“So... How’s camp?”

Riseki stared at her message for a full minute, his heart racing. Was Fumiko making small talk? With him? Swallowing thickly, he frantically started typing everything he’d done and learned and all the amazing food he’d eaten and the goofy things Hinata had gotten up to and how he was feeling and— and—

He instantaneously regretted sending her that wall of text the moment his finger pressed the button. He followed up with a “How’s Hyougo treating you?” But the damage was done. Fumiko didn’t answer him. Probably thought he was annoying. And stupid. And uncool. And she was just being polite. What was wrong with him?

Riseki had a ton of trouble falling asleep last night, going over his stupid text message over and over again, as if he could will it out of existence if he recited the words enough. By the time he had managed to pass out, it was only a few hours later that the AC died and Kita dragged them out into the courtyard to cool off.

Yup. Broken heart, bad sleep, the heat, and forced social interaction were enough to make him not exactly himself.

The Miya twins and their lack of faith in Hinata’s athletic abilities were apparently the straw that was going to break this camel’s back.

“He’s a better athlete than you two.” The words felt like acid on Riseki’s tongue. Had he ever said anything close to an insult against the twins? He felt his hands start to quiver as he continued shredding grass. What on earth was he doing?

The exact same stunned expression smacked across Atsumu and Osamu’s faces. This time it was Osamu who recovered first. “When didja get so mean, Heisuke-kun?”

Atsumu scowled, clicking his tongue. “Yeah, go drink some water or somethin’. Before ya say somethin’ yer gonna regret.”

Was Atsumu threatening him? Riseki felt his spine stiffen, his jaw lock. Oh, they wanted to talk about regrets, huh? Because, boy howdy, did Riseki have some news for them—

Aran stood, hands out. “Okay, okay. We’re all a little short on tempers right now.” He gave pointed glares to Atsumu and Osamu who both sulkily turned back to watch Hinata and Akagi again. Aran gave Riseki a pained smile. “Heisuke, wanna come get some water with me?”

Riseki pressed his lips into a line, dusting his shredded grass onto the ground as he stood up to follow Aran. He was going to get a talking to. He probably deserved it. It sucked that Aran was dissapointed in him. He wished he could take the bite out of his tone. He was just so tired and done with today. He wanted nothing more than to sit under the aircon on full blast. Maybe with some pizza. No, a popsicle.

They made it to the water fountain; Aran took a long drink, smacking his lips with a sigh when he finished. Giving Riseki an appraising eye. Here it comes. Riseki, the disappointment—

“Look, I know they’re super annoying. I know. And I’m glad you’re defending Shouyou. I think that’s really cool.” Aran crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. “But maybe when we’re all overheated and exhausted isn’t exactly the right time to tell Atsumu and Osamu that they’re being stupid.”

Riseki blinked, not understanding. “Wait, aren'tcha disappointed in me?”

Aran stared at him blankly for a second before his face opened up into a wide grin. “Nah. Especially not when you’re dealing with the twins. They can be pretty frustrating, right?”

Riseki felt a whoosh of relieved breath push up out of his lungs. “Yeah, they really can be.”

“Sometimes they need telling off,” Aran said with a shrug, lifting one of his hands to pat Riseki’s shoulder. “If they ever get to be too much, or they cross a line, come find me. I have tons of experience talking sense into ‘em.”

Maaaan, Aran was the coolest senpai ever. Feeling his eyes shine a little bit, starstruck, Riseki gave an enthusiastic nod. “Yeah, I can do that.”

Aran gave him a wink. “Cool. Now how about we go back.” His grin took on a grimacing edge. “And we can all suffer together.”

And suffer they would indeed. Their coaches and captains had returned, carting with them large buckets and sacks, looking heavy as they were placed on the ground. Apparently the coaches’ great idea for getting everyone to cool down in the summer heat was a water balloon fight.

~~~

Some took the news without a lot of enthusiasm. On the ground, sitting under the shade of a tree, Tendou’s very expressive face scrunched up in disgust. Some were kind of casually interested. Most of the other Shiratorizawa third years and Gin looked intrigued by the idea.

Some apparently thought this was the worst idea ever because the moment Coach Kurosu started talking, Suna immediately piped up. “I can’t participate.”

Coach Kurosu’s mouth was a thin line. “And why’s that?”

Suna lifted himself up onto his elbows, squinting at their coach. With no outward sign that he was flustered in the slightest, Suna said, “I’m on my period.”

To his credit, Riseki was impressed to see Coach didn’t react — poor man was used to an awful lot of stupidity from their team. “No, yer not, Sunarin.”

Suna was unphased. “Fine, it’s a sympathetic period. With my sister.”

Coach once again didn’t blink. “Yer sister is eight, Suna.”

Suna lifted the back of his hand to his forehead in the facsimile of someone feeling faint. “Then I must be truly unwell. Perhaps I should go see a doctor.”

“Suna, yer gonna participate if I have to nail you with several balloons myself,” Coach delivered in his ‘I’ll bench ya for life’ tone. Suna only sighed and sat up all the way, apparently defeated.

And then there were some who lost their damn minds in excitement at the thought of nailing their teammates with water-filled pieces of flimsy rubber. Unfortunately for Riseki, Hinata and Goshiki were in this category and for some god awful reason, they decided they’d drag Riseki along for the ride.

Riseki could really do without this new and exciting best friendship. Could they go back to Hinata and Goshiki being absolutely awful to each other like they’d been this morning? The way their heads whipped around to find each other when the coaches declared their intentions made Riseki tired. And that was before Hinata gave Riseki his best borderline manic grin, apparently solidifying their partnership.

He didn’t miss the sulky, half-wounded looks the twins gave Hinata when he and Goshiki high-fived, talking a mile a minute about strategy as they came to collect Riseki. Great, now Atsumu and Osamu would probably come seeking revenge on him. Awesome.

Riseki tried to explain — he just wasn’t feeling it, so maybe Goshiki and Hinata would be better off leaving him behind. Both of them were unmoved, declaring they’d happily protect Riseki from any would-be water balloon attacks. Also! Wouldn’t it just be great if Riseki could carry their ammunition?

It was probably for the best that Riseki accompanied Inarizaki and Shiratorizawa’s most excitable players. Someone needed to remind them of the rules. Like no hiding indoors, and especially no throwing balloons indoors. Everyone must stay on the school grounds — so no, Hinata, it wasn’t cool to climb the fence to skirt around a group of potential victims. And especially no hitting poor, random, unsuspecting people. Only Inarizaki and Shiratorizawa people were fair game.

Riseki got to witness first-hand the bizarre and nearly silent teamwork between Goshiki and Hinata as they maneuvered around the campus, silently ducking behind bushes for a surprise attack. Scrambling up trees, one of them acted as a decoy to lure an unsuspecting Akagi and Yamagata into a surprise attack.

The two of them seemed to be taking this water balloon fight the most seriously out of everyone, and in doing so were having the time of their lives. It was utterly fascinating to Riseki. Not that it wasn’t also the most exhausting thing he’d done today. Maybe the whole week. There was only so much barely restrained excitement Riseki could take before he needed a nap. It was the core thing he learned from his friendship with Hinata. And now there were two of them.

It was an hour and half into the game when everyone was low on water balloons. The two menaces he was with were getting sulky about how they needed to conserve ammunition — that Goshiki had a particularly nefarious idea. It involved the second-floor covered bridge linking two buildings and one of the buckets abandoned in the main courtyard.

It was as Goshiki was describing how they could lay in wait to nail Kawanishi — who had stung Goshiki’s pride during the two-on-two matches earlier, laughing at one of Goshiki’s shoddier receives — with Hinata nodding along commenting how they’d need to climb up, that Riseki officially gave up on them.

“I’m sorry, climb up what?” Riseki asked, using the already damp collar of his t-shirt to mop up sweat on his face.

Hinata stared at him, before pointing up at the curved open air roof over the bridge. “We’re gonna climb up there to splash some people with our bucket of water.” For good measure, he and Goshiki sloshed the heavy bucket.

“Yeah! No one will be able to see us from there.” Riseki wasn’t sure if he liked the shark-like glint to Goshiki’s smile.

Riseki stared at them, feeling a small part of his soul leave his body, before he held up his hands. “You guys do what you want, I need to lay down. Good luck to you.” Riseki thumbed over his shoulder at a nearby shady tree. He’d have a decent vantage point of the walkway Goshiki and Hinata were planning on climbing — just in case anything bad should happen. But he could also lay down and try not to think of anything. At all. How nice.

Hinata actually did the good friend thing, picking up on Riseki’s flagging energy and gave him a thumbs up, yanking Goshiki up the stairs so they could execute their plan. The large bucket of water sloshed between them as they went up the stairs to reach the bridge. Riseki watched in a mild, stupefied horror as Hinata climbed up the bridge’s columns onto the roof, holding his hand out for Goshiki to hand him the bucket, followed by Goshiki hauling himself up to help Hinata get the heavy bucket all the rest of the way.

It was a miracle they weren’t spotted. Absolutely ridiculous.

Hinata and Goshiki appeared to be chatting; Hinata’s head periodically tipping back to laugh, Goshiki’s nose going into the air, probably pleased with himself. How were they not absolutely baking on top of the concrete there? And what were the chances a target would even come sauntering below for them to hit? They could be up there for hours.

Idiots.

Riseki was just starting to contemplate the pros and cons of an impromptu afternoon nap when voices sounded from around the corner, three people walked into view. He instinctively stiffened, ready to get hit — Hinata and Goshiki were no longer there to block him from the attacks of other people, taking water balloon hits that otherwise would have struck him. He was pretty dry all things considered.

“Oh, Heisuke-kun. There ya are.” Osamu sounded pretty bored, which was kinda typical. Riseki cringed. It couldn’t be anyone else? Suna and Atsumu were with him too. Both the twins were pretty wet comparatively, while Suna looked drier than Riseki. Which was kinda interesting. Had Suna convinced them to work together for this? Or—

“Where’s Shouyou-kun?” Atsumu’s head craned around, obviously searching. Eyes narrowed suspiciously. Riseki briefly considered telling them to go look for Hinata near the walkway above where Hinata and Goshiki were laying in wait — but there was no way they wouldn’t see Hinata on their way up at this angle.

So instead Riseki sighed. “He’s planning a sneak attack.”

This pulled a half-amused snort from Atsumu, eyes still scanning the grounds around them. Osamu was squinting up suspiciously into the tree. Maybe they knew Hinata better than Riseki had previously thought. It made him think about their earlier exchange. Which he really did kind of regret. He could've been a lot nicer. More polite.

Riseki lifted up to sit, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Uh, look.” The twins and Suna turned to look at him. “I want to apologize for being rude earlier. That wasn’t very cool of me.”

Atsumu and Osamu blinked, their heads tilting in unison. Sometimes, they could be so eerie. “Whatcha apologizin’ for?” Osamu asked, brows knit together.

Riseki frowned. “For being rude?”

Atsumu snorted. “Ya weren’t that rude. Who cares?”

Riseki’s mouth fell open, not quite sure how to answer that. They should probably care? He was being a disrespectful junior? “Uh, I care?”

Suna rolled his eyes, not looking up from where he was swiping on his phone. “Don’t.”

“Don’t care?” Riseki asked, looking up at his senpai, bewildered.

“Yeah, let it go, Heisuke-kun. Water under the bridge and all that.” Osamu waved a hand, searching the courtyard now. “Is Shouyou-kun gonna pop out and nail us with water balloons ‘cause yer actin’ like a decoy?” Riseki shook his head no.

“Yeah, it doesn’t matter.” Atsumu pursed his lips, squinting into the tree line. “It was kinda funny seein’ ya get all spicy like that.”

“Spicy?” Riseki repeated.

“Yeah, we ain’t ever seen ya like that. It was funny.” Osamu nodded his head, eyes now trailing over one of the buildings attached to the walkway. He wasn’t too far away from catching Hinata’s hiding spot.

Riseki looked at Suna, desperately wanting to ask if the twins were all cool now. Were they back to normal? Was it the two-on-two matches? Or getting nailed with water balloons?

“Are—” Riseki licked his lips. “Are you guys okay now?”

Suna gave the most derisive snort, throwing Riseki a pitying look. Atsumu looked at Riseki with a frown. “Okay with what, now?”

Riseki froze, not a big fan of the ice in Atsumu’s tone. Grimacing, he held up a hand, trying to ward off Atsumu’s stare. “Uh, well, y’see—”

“They’re both pouting because Gremlin-chan didn’t want to play with them,” Suna cut in, flicking idly through his phone, smirking at the indignant sounds Atsumu and Osamu made.

“Bullshit, that ain’t what this is about at all,” Atsumu snarled at him.

“Don’t pretend like ya haven’t been usin’ us like meat shields this whole time Sunarin,” Osamu scoffed.

Suna didn’t look up from his phone. “Oh, so you just happen to be wandering around pretending like you’re both alright with each other because...?”

Both twins looked off to the side, expressions mulish. Riseki was about to ask what they were hanging out for, when Osamu’s eyebrows shot up as he looked up at the bridge.

“Oh! There’s Taichi-kun! I was wondering where the heck he was.” Osamu pointed at the walkway. Riseki got a flash of Kawanishi’s laconic stride disappearing behind the bridge’s columns— right down the path that would lead him to where Hinata and Goshiki were waiting. He thought he could see another person, shorter, walking along with Kawanishi.

Osamu tutted with a shake of his head. “Filthy cheater. We ain’t supposed to be hidin’ indoors.”

It was Atsumu who spotted Hinata at the other end of the walkway first. He inhaled sharply. “The heck is he doin’ up there!?”

Suna already had his phone in his hands; it was probably nothing for him to switch to his camera app. The gleeful pull of his mouth signalled that he knew exactly what was about to happen.

They watched, almost in slow motion, as the silhouetted figures of Kawanishi and his companion walked forward, barely visible between the tightly packed columns. Hinata and Goshiki stood carefully, holding the bucket between them. Atsumu and Osamu realized what was happening at the same time, both of them releasing an interested “Oh?”; Suna for his part only snorted.

And then it looked like Kawanishi paused — the smaller one kept walking until it was too late. Hinata and Goshiki shouted with effort as they upended their 20 litre bucket of water on their poor unsuspecting victim. Both the twins started laughing along with the two hooligans on the rooftop; Riseki found himself wheezing with laughter too. Suna just kept filming.

Hinata and Goshiki’s laughter abruptly died off as both of them stared at their soaked victim. It was hard to tell who it was, but suddenly Kawanishi was there, hands in his hair. Goshiki’s shrill voice cut through the courtyard. “Shirabu-senpai!”

That got the twins going again, shrieking with laughter, as Riseki winced for his friends. Oh, that wasn’t going to be good. Goshiki had warned them earlier to avoid hitting Shirabu at all costs, because while he wasn’t sure of what his senpai would do, he knew retaliation would be vicious and swift.

It was all blurred too-fast movement from there. Goshiki shrieked an overdramatic “Run, Hinata!” And leaped down to, maybe, tackle his senpai? Really falling on his sword there. Hinata started running down the walkway roof, making Riseki’s stomach lurch with nerves; he could hear Atsumu and Osamu make some distressed sounds. Suna was still filming.

Hinata swung down to the bridge, landing in a crouch, before he pushed forward and leapt over the low wall onto a flag pole, sliding down the pole, until he touched down on the ground, vaulted over another low wall, skipping the whole stairs thing — making everything look impossibly easy — as he made a beeline back to Riseki’s tree.

In the middle of Hinata’s little acrobatic performance, both twins shouted a delighted “Uwah!” with Atsumu throwing his hands in the air. “He’s so fuckin’ cool!” he yelled, and Osamu nodded emphatically.

It was kind of cute that even in the midst of their worst fight on record, the twins could still agree on one thing: Hinata.

On the foot bridge, they watched as Goshiki got lectured by Shirabu, head hung low, as Kawanishi and Shirabu hauled him inside the nearest building. Hinata finally reached them, a wide beaming grin on his face. Before the twins could react, Riseki bowled forward and flicked Hinata on the forehead. Hinata squawked, clasping his abused forehead, giving Riseki his big, wounded puppy eyes. “What was that for?”

Riseki stomped down the urge to flick him in the forehead again, but it was a near thing. “What if you’d fallen and broken your neck, you dumbass?”

Hinata pouted up at him, still rubbing at the sore spot. “But I didn’t.” He stuck his nose in the air, far too pleased with himself by half. “And it was pretty cool, huh?”

Riseki was about to start scolding him when Atsumu interceded. “It’s fine, Heisuke-kun. Shouyou-kun, ya looked super friggen cool.” Behind him Osamu nodded.

Riseki gritted his teeth. Were they serious right now? Really? Oh, Hinata couldn’t do extra practice for fear of him getting overtired. But the moment Hinata didn’t break his neck doing something incredibly stupid they thought was cool, it was all fine? What the heck was wrong with the twins? Riseki glowered at them. “What if Kita-san had seen? You’d be in so much trouble right now!”

Hinata shrugged. “Yeah, but he didn’t. Only you guys saw.”

Too casual! Too casual by half! Riseki was about to rip him a new one when Suna stepped forward, lazily waving his phone. His eyes glittered with malicious glee.

“Ohh, but maybe others could see, couldn’t they, Gremlin-chan?”

Hinata stilled, hands out as he stared at Suna. Riseki watched the stunned expression on his face shift into a bright beaming smile that seemed just a little bit tense. “Suna-senpai,” Hinata called, like he was speaking to a dog that might bite him.

Suna didn’t look up from his phone, too distracted by whatever he just managed to record. “Hmm?”

“Could you maybe, please, delete the video you just took?” Hinata asked, voice getting a little reedy. Riseki cocked his head to look over at the twins only to find them looking a bit amused, but not otherwise moving to help. Was no one else weirded out by how calm Hinata was being? Just him? Because— Oh! Had Hinata actually finally realized the best way to manage Suna was to not overreact? Was he actually growing up? Riseki was almost kind of proud.

Suna still didn’t look up, though there was a small, mean smirk pulling at one side of his mouth. “What video?”

It almost looked like Hinata’s face was going to crack from the pressure of his strained smile. “The video you just took?”

Suna did spare a glance at Hinata now, eyebrows tilted in mock innocence, as if to say ‘who, me?’

Hinata released a breath, smile finally faltering. “The video you just took of me leaping down from the walkway to the landing and then the stairs. Could you please delete that?”

Suna lifted his head, turning his phone around to show off the gradient overlay he had playing on the video of Hinata frog jumping from the upper landing, to the railing, and to the waiting ground below. “You mean ‘Local Alien Recklessly Leaps from Building’? Sorry, but I think this might be my next viral post on twitter.”

Osamu actually guffawed, earning him a dirty look from Hinata, which just seemed to widen Osamu’s smile. Atsumu had his arms crossed, gaze flicking between Suna and Hinata, as if determining who he’d like to bet his money on. Riseki’s money was definitely on Suna here.

“Uh, Suna-san,” Riseki called, drawing all their attention. “Remember what Kita-san said earlier this year about Hinata-kun jumping off stairs?” Suna tilted his eyebrows that yes, he did in fact recall, not that he probably gave a shit. “Maybe it would be best if you deleted the video?”

Suna hummed, lifting his phone to tap at his chin, not even trying to suppress the mean little smile greasing across his face. He eyed Hinata, before he tilted his head. “What’re you gonna give me to delete it?”

Hinata blinked, before a scowl thundered across his face and he made an offended sound deep in his throat. “Are you trying to blackmail me?”

“Hey, you’re the one assuming, Mr. ‘I only watch 30 minutes of television a day, and it’s the news’ Kita Shinsuke will see a video I post to the internet. Don’t hate the player,” Suna said, waving a hand like a dismissive auntie.

“It’s Kita-san! He always knows!” Hinata grounded out, clenching his fists at his sides.

“Make him wash yer practice jersey for the rest of the year,” Atsumu cut in, lips curled in amusement. Hinata gave him a betrayed gasp, throwing Osamu a pleading look.

Osamu shrugged. “I’d only delete blackmail material for, like, 200 eggs.”

“Osamu-san!”

Suna continued tapping his chin with his phone, squinting at Hinata in thought.

Riseki grimaced. This was exactly the kind of reason why Aran encouraged Riseki and Hinata to become friends. Because the second years were all different shades of jerky assholes. Imagine if the twins were Hinata’s only friends and they sold him up the river like that! Awful. Riseki had a cousin like this, and he’d found over the years that the only way to win was to refuse to play the game.

“Hinata-kun, how about we just go tell Kita-san? I’m sure—” Riseki cut himself off when he noticed Hinata set his shoulders and tip his chin up defiantly. “Wait. What are you—”

He didn’t finish. Instead he watched in horror as Hinata launched himself at Suna, looking like a tiny, little mouse determined to curb stomp a much larger cat. Oh god, there was a reason why neither of the twins roughhoused with Suna. He was widely regarded as the physically strongest person in their team. Hinata had seen him with his shirt off! He knew Suna could easily toss him to the ground—

Riseki watched in a strange mix of abject horror and fascination as Hinata latched onto Suna, pinning Suna’s arms to his sides, before Hinata spider-monkey-ed his way up Suna’s torso to grab the phone. Suna tried to move his arm out of the way but it almost sent himself tumbling to the ground instead. It was as Suna was regaining his balance that Hinata somehow launched himself upwards and darted a hand out to swipe Suna’s phone from his hand. The moment he had the rectangle caught between his fingers, Hinata’s legs abruptly let go and rolled out of Suna’s reach, popping up to a stand.

They all stood frozen, staring in fascination as Hinata clutched Suna’s phone to his chest like a hard won prize — which it honestly kind of was.

“Wahahaha!” Atsumu cried, pointing at Suna as Osamu hooted his delight. This might be the first time Riseki had ever seen someone other than Suna hold his phone, now that he thought about it.

Suna was staring at Hinata in wide-eyed surprise. He held out a hand, taking a shuffling step forward. Hinata hopped backwards, clutching the phone tighter to his chest.

“Hey,” Suna said evenly, hand making a grabby motion. “Gimme my phone back.”

Hinata stuck his nose in the air, which Riseki knew to be his version of trying to look down on people taller than him — he looked ridiculous. “No.”

Suna clicked his tongue and lunged forward. At the same time, Hinata lunged backwards, taking a few extra dancing steps back. A grin started to split on his face as he realized what the rest of them were starting to figure out: Suna might be waaaay stronger than Hinata — but there was no one at Inarizaki, probably not even at this camp, who was as quick as Hinata.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone steal Suna’s phone before,” Osamu mumbled, covering his mouth with his fingers as he watched the interaction in front of him with open interest. For every step Suna took forward, Hinata took two dancing steps back, grin going full shit-eating.

Atsumu was patting around his pockets, head whipping around like he was looking for his bag. “Shit, I don’t have my phone. Someone should record this.”

Osamu gave his brother a mean smile. “For posterity?” and then both twins started howling with laughter, ignoring the sour look Suna threw them as he pleaded with Hinata to give him his phone back.

Riseki leaned towards the twins. He’d never seen that expression on Suna’s face before, and it was a little disconcerting. A mix of a little desperate, a little angry, but trying to be sweet about it. “Is he gonna throttle Hinata if he catches him?”

“Who says he’s gonna catch me, Riseki-kun?” Hinata chirped, flashing Riseki a thumbs up as he darted away from another of Suna’s lunges, waggling the phone as he did so.

Suna swore, changing tactics and just going for a full chase now. Which in all honesty was kind of a stupid choice. Because now they were running in circles; Suna obviously went as hard as he could while Hinata had a sort of bouncing lope, effortlessly keeping ahead of Suna.

“Oi, oi. Heisuke-kun, ya got yer phone on ya? I need a record this happened.” Atsumu looped an arm around Riseki’s shoulders, leaning in conspiratorially. Behind him, Osamu gave a grave nod, even as his eyes were glittering with mirth as Suna took a running dive at Hinata’s knee and missed — much to Hinata’s exuberant cackling.

Riseki shook his head. His phone was on his futon to prevent him from checking it every five minutes, just in case Fumiko texted.

Atsumu clicked his tongue. “Damn. Ya think—”

“Hey!” Hinata’s voice cut through the courtyard. “I can’t delete the video! How do I unlock your phone?”

Suna pushed to a stand, panting and a little sweaty, brushing the grass off the front of his shirt. “I have a passcode on my phone. Obviously,” Suna said with an eye roll.

Hinata’s face scrunched up in irritation. “Tell me your password, so I can delete the video.”

Suna tsked. “Absolutely not.”

Hinata scowled, waving the phone in front of him. “Well, you’re not getting this back until the video is deleted.”

Suna crossed his arms, regarding Hinata cooly. “Then we’re at an impasse—”

“What’s that?” Hinata asked, cocking his head to the side.

Riseki cupped his hands over his mouth and called, “It means you can’t make any progress because you agree to disagree.”

Hinata turned to look at Riseki, eyebrows high on his forehead. “I didn’t know Suna-senpai knew big words!” He turned to Suna to give him a thumbs up. This made the twins burst into laughter again.

“Don’t patronize me, you asshole.” Suna threw his hands in the air. “Tell you what. You give me my phone back — I won’t post the video.”

Hinata tipped his head to the side, squinted at Suna in a— he was definitely mimicking Suna’s expression from earlier. “I dunno, Suna-senpai. What’re you gonna give me for it?” And that was definitely Suna’s laconic drawl.

“Ask him to carry ya around for the rest of camp!” Osamu called, chuckling when Suna gave him the finger.

“Don’t give him the phone! It’s where all his power comes from!” Atsumu yelled, throwing Suna his own finger.

Hinata just stood there looking all too pleased with himself, tapping his chin with Suna’s phone. Riseki could see murder in Suna’s eyes, and he really wished his friend had more of a self preservation instinct. He really, really did.

Suna gritted his teeth, slicing a hand through the air. “Look, you’ll need to give me back my phone eventually. You have to sleep sometime.” The implicit threat being that Suna would find Hinata and murder him in his sleep if he didn’t have his phone back by then.

Hinata nodded thoughtfully, pursing his lips. And then a mean, little smile curled up the sides of his mouth. “I dunno about that, Suna-senpai. I think we both know I can go about three days without sleeping before I collapse.”

It had the cadence of a joke. But it certainly didn't land that way. Riseki grimaced as he watched surprise slacken Suna’s face. Hinata had been experimenting with humour about Nationals, and he was finally testing it out on the worst possible targets. Riseki didn’t particularly enjoy the jokes Hinata made about ‘maaan, I’m so tired’ or ‘I could just lie down and not get back up’. They weren’t exactly Riseki’s idea of a good time, but he imagined Atsumu and Osamu were going to like them a whole heckuva lot less.

The arm Atsumu threw around Riseki’s shoulder turned to jello as Atsumu pulled away, looking white-faced like someone had kicked him in the stomach. Osamu looked like he might be sick.

And the whole time Hinata just stood there, grinning meanly at Suna. Riseki watched Suna turn to take them all in, blinked, and then turned to look back at Hinata. His head tipped forward, hair obscuring his expression as his shoulders started shaking. Oh god! Was he crying? Riseki had no idea Suna had such strong feelings about what happened at Nationals! He covered it so well. Maybe Hinata ought to give that phone back now?

Riseki was about to open his mouth to say as much when Suna kicked his head back, his laugh bubbling out from his chest in loud barks and wheezes. He was crying alright, crying tears of laughter. After a second of trying to catch his breath, Suna — who Riseki had never seen laugh outside of small amused huffs and snorts — pointed a finger at him and the twins as he continued howling with laughter.

“Fuck! Do you see your faces right now? Oh my god!” Suna gasped between laughter, slapping his knee. The white faces of Atsumu and Osamu had quickly crumpled from despair and hurt, to surprise, and now settling firmly on extremely offended.

Suna finally calmed, wheezing a whistley, little breath as he shook his head at Hinata, who’d been grinning like an asshole the whole time. “That was without a doubt the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.” He licked his lips, chuckling a bit. “Thank you.”

Hinata winked. “Anytime.”

Suna sighed, planting his hands on his hips. “Tell you what. I’ll delete the video, and you and me can go to the training center and I’ll show you some things.”

Hinata blinked. “Wait, what things— TRAIN WITH YOU! Really?”

Suna actually grinned, all toothy. He jerked a thumb at Osamu and Atsumu. “I don’t think you could have gotten better reactions if you’d just kicked them in dick. Yeah. Superb. Lemme teach you a thing or two.”

Hinata beamed, tossing Suna his phone as he skipped over to join him. “Are you gonna show me the twisty thing?”

Suna was flicking through his screen, showing it to Hinata as he tapped something. “Deleted. And yeah. I’ll show you how to work your core.”

Hinata pumped his fists in the air. “Cool!”

And with that the two of them walked away discussing — Riseki honestly had no idea what. He was still a little caught off guard both by Hinata’s joke, the effect it had on the twins, and Suna’s surprising, braying laugh. Their voices tapered off as they rounded a corner out of the courtyard.

Riseki slid a glance over towards the twins, worried about what he’d find. They both were standing there kind of shell-shocked. Atsumu opened his mouth. Shut it. Opened it again. Shut it. And then finally he threw his arm out, gesturing to the corner where Hinata and Suna just disappeared. “What the fuck just happened?”

Osamu was kinda just standing there with his mouth hanging open and his brow furrowed. “Did Shouyou-kun just make a joke about—”

Atsumu scowled. “Yep.”

Osamu looked down at his hands, stared at them blankly for a full second, before he spoke, with great feeling. “What the fuck.”

Riseki quietly stepped away while the twins kept up with their existential crisis. They seemed absolutely horrified, but uh, Riseki thought maybe they were kind of taking it a little too hard. It was a bit off colour, sure, but wasn’t Hinata allowed to joke about what happened to him? And it made Suna laugh pretty hard. Which was kinda funny by itself.

Riseki tried to say as much, but both of the twins had a pretty visceral reaction to that. “The fuck’re ya talkin’ about, Heisuke-kun? It wasn’t funny,” Atsumu snapped at him.

“It ain’t cool for him to joke about that.” Osamu shook his head gravelly, like he was disappointed or something.

Riseki frowned. “But, I mean, it happened to him. He’s allowed to deal with it however he wants—”

“Ya wouldn’t fuckin’ understand,” Atsumu spat at him, throwing himself down onto a nearby bench, glaring off into the courtyard. Osamu, in a surprising show of solidarity given their behaviour with each other the last few weeks, sat next to him.

Riseki stared at the twins for a beat before he tossed his hands into the air. Obnoxious assholes. Maybe he ought to tell Aran what happened. It was probably time for him to have that talk with the twins. If they were going to be this surly.

Riseki abandoned the twins, as they no longer seemed to be in the mood to deal with anything, and rather than get his head bitten off, he went to go find someone who could deal with their bullshit. He found Aran near the Annex building. He gave him a run down of what had just occurred — skipping the parts with the dangerous parkour. Aran thanked him, and promised he’d deal with it, ruffling Riseki’s sweaty hair.

Looking up at the building, Riseki sighed. There wasn’t anywhere else he particularly wanted to go. Maybe he could head back to his room and collect his phone?

He made it back to Inarizaki’s room and longingly stared at his futon — he couldn’t lay down yet. He should bathe first. That would be the right thing to do. The less stinky thing to do. But oh, how he wanted to. He grabbed a change of clothes and his shower things, taking a cursory look at his phone and saw a notification.

With a grimace, Riseki swiped up and looked at the long rambly message he’d sent her last night about how he was sorry to bother her with unfunny memes and how he hoped they could still be friends, despite his annoying self. He could only hope he didn’t come across as a Nice Guy™, or someone who believed in the friendzone. He blinked in confusion when he read Fumiko’s message.

“What are you talking about? What meme?”

Setting his things down, Riseki sat on the edge of his futon cross legged and started typing. “I sent you that orchestra meme a few days ago? The one with the brass band wanting to be taken seriously so they play louder?”

Fumiko responded with “?????” and then a second later an image file came through. It was a screenshot of their chat. Sandwiched between her questions about Annika and Hinata and his wishing her a goodnight before they left for camp was a small ⍰. Maybe denoting her phone couldn’t read the file?

“Do you mean this? I think every time you send me a photo it does this. My phone is old, idk. I saw it late, and then I must have forgotten in the morning.”

Riseki was about to point out to her that she was able to send him pictures, and Hinata could send her pictures fine, but Fumiko’s next message came in. “What meme?”

Heaving a sigh, Riseki sent her a link to the original photo — maybe that would work better? Her reply was instantaneous. “LOL. Yeah I’ve seen that one before. It’s on point. Here one sec...”

Riseki didn't have long to wait. His phone pinged, and his screen shifted as a new image entered the chat. It was a volleyball meme. About one-touches. It wasn’t very funny. And Riseki was pretty sure he’d seen it before.

“I saw it and it made me think of you. I have no idea what it means — DO NOT EXPLAIN IT TO ME. But yeah...”

Riseki read her message. And read her message. And read her message probably three hundred more times before he managed to type: “LOL thanks. It’s pretty funny.”

She! Was thinking! Of HIM. Fumiko saw a volleyball meme, and she thought of him? Riseki? HIM?? Riseki set his phone down — lest he crack the screen in his excited grip — and abruptly turned and threw himself down onto his futon, stinky sweat and all.

He muffled a joyful shout, kicking his legs in excitement. After he felt he’d gotten all the giddy wiggles out of his system, Riseki popped up from his futon — pointedly not thinking about how he just smeared his sweaty gross body all over his bedding — instead focusing on the fact that FUMIKO apparently thought of him sometimes. Enough to send him memes!?

Riseki gathered his shower things and practically skipped out of the room, whistling — albeit poorly — a Dizzy Gillepsie song. One of Fumiko’s favorites.

Aran found the twins sitting on a bench, churlishly ignoring each other, glowering out into the courtyard, presumably exactly where Riseki had left them. If it weren’t for the fact that this was going on week three since his two dimwit friends had stopped speaking to each other — instead, they fought constantly when they weren't ignoring each other — Aran might have found the sight exasperatingly adorable. It kind of reminded him of back when they were kids, when the twins used to sulk at each other as they were learning and developing new skills. Neither of them particularly enjoyed being left behind by the other.

But right now, all Aran found them was annoying.

So caught up in their increasingly stupid funk, they didn’t even notice Aran approaching their bench from behind. Lifting both hands crosswise in front of his chest, Aran whipped his hands out, karate chopping both of them in the back of the head.

“Dueling twin strikes of tranquil stillness!” He cried as Atsumu and Osamu jerked forward, surprised, clutching at the back of their heads. Both of them turned to look at him, wounded and confused.

“Aran-kun!” Osamu whined at him, lip sticking out like he’d been mortally betrayed.

“The fuck was that for, Aran-kun?” Atsumu groused, rubbing at the sore spot at the back of his head.

Aran planted his fists on his hips and squinted down at the two biggest nuisances in his life. Enough was enough. There was experiencing a shock and working through it — then there were these two stubborn assholes. Holding onto their raw feelings like that was a productive use of their or anyone else's time. Maybe Aran would be more lenient if they weren’t also adversely impacting the team — at the very least, he’d be more gentle. But if anything, Osamu and Atsumu had this coming.

“We’re gonna have a little chat,” Aran said, voice brooking no argument.

Osamu and Atsumu looked up at him, then shared a glance — damned psychic twin connection — before looking back up at him.

“Nah.”

“Pass.”

In answer, Aran’s hands shot out again and whapped both of them on the top of their heads. “Dueling twin strikes of less tranquil stillness!” Aran bit out, narrowing his eyes at them — making them yelp and swear.

They grumbled but rocked to their feet, giving Aran twinned resentful looks.

“Y’know, Aran-kun, that ain’t even a good name,” Atsumu told him, sucking on his teeth.

“If it’s less tranquil, I betcha it ain’t supposed to be as strong, Aran-kun,” Osamu grumbled, arms crossed, scuffing his shoes on the concrete as Aran led them towards the annex building. This wasn’t the first time Aran had gotten fed up with their bullshit in the years that he’d known them — if anything this was almost routine. Aran smacking them, sitting them down for a scolding, the twins sulking the entire time, and if everything worked out as it usually would by the end of their conversation, Atsumu and Osamu would be working together to make jokes at Aran’s expense.

Aran could only hope it would work out that well.

It took the twins a moment, but Atsumu finally noticed where he was leading them. They were almost reaching the annex building now. “W-wait. Where the heck are ya leadin’ us?”

“Aran-kun, it’s still hot in there.” Osamu’s eyes skittered around a bit desperately, as if assessing escape routes.

Aran flicked a glance over his shoulder, trying to exude as much Kita energy as he could. “Good. Gives you ample motivation to work through things faster then, huh?”

Both twins blanched, looking horrified at the low-key implication of torture through heat exposure and Aran’s disapointment. Aran kinda got it now, why Kita always seemed to enjoy teasing the twins. It certainly felt powerful to wrangle these two idiots down.

Aran led them into the annex building — the air was even more heated than it had been early that morning after baking in the afternoon sun. Maybe this was a mistake. Or maybe Aran could pretend this was an extreme buddhist enlightenment training—

Who was he kidding. He was going to bully the twins into opening up about their feelings. Get their shit together, and fix some of the funky team dynamics in the process. All by hotboxing them in an unairconditioned building in the dead of summer. Maybe he’d leave that detail out to Kita later when he updated him on the situation.

When he reached a vacant classroom, Aran plopped down on the lecturer’s desk, and watched Atsumu and Osamu take seats opposite him — three whole desks away from each other. Aran rolled his eyes towards the ceiling, hoping someone would give him the strength not to start tossing white board markers at his two idiot friends.

Atsumu rested his weight back on his hands, leaning away from them, trying for a casual affectation. “So, whatcha wanna talk about, Aran-kun?”

Osamu was curled forward, feet gently kicking at the metal legs of his desk, fanning himself with a pamphlet of paper he’d picked up. He looked at Aran expectantly — superficially, the more well behaved of the twins. Aran knew better. Before him sat two equal little shits, bent on making his life a living hell.

For the last two weeks, Aran had been fretting. He’d been more anxious since Nationals ended than he ever had been leading up to any big game. More than he’d been when he tried out for Inarizaki. It was worse than any test anxiety he’d ever had. And it was all thanks to these two numbskulls.

Oh sure, Aran had been worried about Hinata — even though Kita had assured him that Hinata was going to come back just fine. And like a physical manifestation of the fact that Kita was always right, Hinata had sailed into practice, more effervescent than ever.

Knowing Hinata was fine, Aran had wrongfully assumed that things would just go back to normal. He hated how the twins made him feel so naive sometimes, for bothering to have faith in them.

It was like Hinata had the plague, and both Atsumu and Osamu blamed each other for their friend catching it. So they avoided the hell out of the kid that Aran would have called their best friend up until a few weeks ago. Hadn’t they been going to his house during his house arrest? And now they were picking fights with each other when they weren’t pointedly ignoring one another?

Over the years, Aran had seen them fight. A lot. Had seen them at each other’s throats. Had witnessed that one time Atsumu had sprained two of his fingers and wasn’t allowed to play for two weeks one summer — watched Osamu laugh and tease him endlessly. Atsumu vowed he wouldn’t speak to Osamu for a month. That lasted five days before he got bored and needed to gossip about something stupid someone they knew had done.

They usually fixed themselves, either out of necessity or habit. The only time that had come close to this level of tension between them was last year when Atsumu had been invited to All-Japan and Osamu hadn’t. The only thing that worked to snap them out of their funk-fight-general twin stupidity had been Hinata. But Aran didn’t think that was going to work this time.

Because he was pretty certain that the root cause of this particular antagonism was Hinata.

So it was up to Aran to find out why.

“What do I wanna talk about?” Aran repeated, hooking his foot over his knee, picking at his shoelaces. He looked at the twins evenly. “I wanna talk about you two getting your heads out of your asses.”

Atsumu gasped, scandalized. Osamu frowned at him. “Rude.”

Nope. Aran was not going to pussyfoot around their feelings. This was getting stupid. “Look, you two have been getting increasingly annoying since camp—”

“I’m not the one who’s annoying,” Atsumu seethed at him, hands whiteknuckling around the edge of his desk. Osamu paused his fanning to look at his brother out of the corner of his eye before he scoffed. Atsumu bristled.

Aran could already see where this was going — Atsumu’s grip was loosening on his desk, he was inevitably going to launch himself at his brother and probably break something in the process. Osamu would use the pamphlet as a weapon, probably doing something borderline unhinged like attack Atsumu with papercuts. Aran couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t. He was already tired and sweaty from a too long day spent outside without enough aircon.

Aran reached into the little basket of whiteboard markers beside him, fisted a few of them and then tomahawked one at each of the twins. One beaned Atsumu in the chest, the other hit Osamu in the shoulder. They stilled, turning to stare at Aran wounded.

“Didja just throw shit at us?” Atsumu asked incredulously, rubbing at his chest, glowering down at the red marker that had toppled to the floor.

“Yer in an awful shitty mood, Aran-kun,” Osamu grumbled, bending to pick up his whiteboard marker off the ground, fiddling with it between his fingers. “Don’t gotta take it out on us.”

Aran felt something inside of him snap. Whether it was his patience, his composure, anger, or sanity, he wasn’t sure. He’d planned on being forthright and opening the floor for the twins to be honest with each other — over the years of dealing with Atsumu and Osamu it sometimes helped to give them space to vent. And then he could jump in and point out when Atsumu was being selfish and Osamu was being unreasonable — Aran would know, he’d known them longer than anyone. But sometimes the gentle, sweet approach didn’t work. Not for dickheads who were so wrapped up in their own bullshit they didn’t care about how their behaviour affected other people. Not that the twins had ever really been concerned with how their behaviour impacted others.

Sucking in a breath, Aran uncapped one of the markers in his hand and recapped it, fiddling with it before he stared both Atsumu and Osamu down. “You two are the two most self-absorbed, dimwitted bastards I have ever known.”

Both the twins gaped at him, mouths open. He had never really talked to them like this before. Good. They were paying attention now.

“Avoiding Shouyou because you think you each had a hand in him getting sick is stupid.” Both Atsumu and Osamu finched like Aran had struck them — it was almost funny. Their library of expressions and mannerisms were so different, but when they were really wounded, they had the ability to mirror each other perfectly.

“Blaming each other because he got sick is equally stupid,” Aran said, resting his gaze on Osamu for a beat longer.

“Thinking he’s going to break again if you’re not careful is probably the stupidest thing I have ever heard.” Aran watched a muscle tick-tick-tick away in Atsumu’s jaw as he stared down at the tiled floor. Osamu’s jaw worked, like he was trying to figure out how words worked again. Aran wasn’t going to give him the chance.

“Do you know whose fault it was that Shouyou fell at Nationals?” Aran asked, waiting until both Atsumu and Osamu were looking at him before he continued. “No one’s. It was an accident. Shouyou didn’t know anything was wrong — how on earth would you have been able to tell?”

Both the twins had matching miserable, angry expressions on their faces. Osamu’s foot was wiggling back and forth like he wanted to kick something. Aran sighed. “Quit going over every little thing you think you should have noticed.” They both flinched again — bingo. “We didn’t notice. Neither did he.”

“But—” Osamu started. At the same time, Atsumu hissed, “That—” They stopped to glare at each other, like the other had intended to speak at the same time.

Aran leaned forward on the desk, fingers drumming against the wood. “This was a learning experience. For him, for you, me, and the rest of the team.” Aran once again waited for them to look at him. Atsumu made him wait almost painfully long, a bead of sweat running down his cheek as he finally glared at Aran through his eyelashes.

“The thing is, it seems to me like you two aren’t taking this opportunity to learn.” Aran almost smirked at the resentful looks the twins gave him. He shrugged. “You know who is? Shouyou.” They blinked at him, surprised. Aran nodded, just a little condescending. “And he is going to leave you two so far behind you’re never going to be able to catch up.”

Hinata, who came to this camp prepared with eggs, so he could cajole Ushijima into spiking balls at him, so he could figure out how to pick up hard-to-receive balls. Hinata, who managed to impress one of the best liberos in the country enough to get some personalized training. Who wormed his way into hearts, convincing people to train him, practice with him, to try and keep up with his nearly limitless energy. The very same Hinata who sat down with Aran and Kita on his second day back at practice and asked if they could go over his notes from the Itachiyama game with him — he wanted to know if he was missing something. Hinata, who looked at the affordances and limitations he was given and said: “Screw you, I am more than that. And I’m gonna prove it.”

Aran had always assumed Hinata had only gotten as far as he had because he had the twins at his sides, lifting him up. Hinata, who in less than a week of camp had proven Aran so, so wrong. Hinata didn’t need any of them. He was going to fly with or without them. It was up to the rest of them to try and keep up.

Both Atsumu and Osamu were staring at him a bit stunned. Heads finally out of their asses, at least. Maybe they had been paying attention to Hinata’s growth and determination, despite trying desperately not to. Aran had witnessed it firsthand a few nights ago, as Hinata’s back turned the corner with Akagi and that Annika woman — Atsumu was left behind while Hinata went on his way to learn a new skill without him.

Maybe they weren’t total idiots. Based on the sulky expression on Atsumu’s face, at least he was plenty aware that Hinata might not need him as much as he originally thought.

Licking his lips, Aran looked out at his friends, willing them to just admit their bullshit to each other. One last push. “This isn’t about being mature or being good people, y’know. This is about being the best you can be. And not being left behind by some upstart shrimp.” He grinned at the matching huffs the twins gave him. Not quite enough to pull a smile out of either of them, but at least they could find some humour in the situation.

After a moment, Osamu left out a breath, kicking his legs against the metal on this desk once more. “I’m pissed—” He cut himself off, gaze sliding towards Atsumu. “We both coulda done better at Nationals. Been more careful but—” He heaved another heavy breath, legs no longer kicking. “I’m scared it’s gonna happen again, and yer not doin’ anythin’ to make sure it doesn’t.”

Atsumu’s head jerked up, expression wounded. Aran sucked on his teeth. Oh god, he hadn’t meant for the twins to get into this kind of heavy emotional disagreement. He’d really only been looking to knock their heads together a bit. Snap them out of it.

“Ya don’t think I’m doin’ enough to make sure he doesn’t get sick again?” Atsumu sounded stunned, his eyes wide, jaw working once more. Tick-tick-tick went his jaw.

Osamu didn’t look away from his brother. “No. Yer just avoidin’ him—”

“So are you!” Atsumu shot back.

“Yeah, ‘cause every time I look at him, all I can think of is him on the ground and all the ways we fucked up and how I fuckin’ blame ya. Bein’ around him just makes me mad atcha and it fuckin’ sucks!” Osamu’s fists were clenched in his lap, glaring down at his knees.

“How the fuck do ya think I feel?” Atsumu burst out, arms flailing out. “Ya think I don’t blame myself?”

Aran held up a hand, he needed to get a handle on this conversation. “Guys. Let’s take a break. We should—”

“If I try to do or say anythin’, he’s just gonna hate me! So I’ve just been standin’ back, but it’s fuckin’ hard, ‘Samu! I don’t wantcha to hate me. And I don’t want Shouyou-kun to hate me either.”

Osamu reared back, brow furrowed in confusion. “Why the heck do ya think Shouyou-kun would hate ya?”

“Because he told me he would!” Atsumu burst out, chest heaving and his face flushed. Aran briefly wondered if he was going to start crying. “He said if I ever did anythin’ that meant he couldn’t play volleyball anymore he’d fuckin’ hate my guts! So I’ve just been avoidin’ him ‘cause it’s easier. That way I won’t fuck it up.” His voice finished small, sucking his lower lip in between his teeth, gnawing on it.

They were all silent for a moment, letting that sink in. After a moment, Osamu broke in, voicing Aran’s thoughts. “Shouyou-kun said he’d hate ya?”

Atsumu was still chewing on his lip, brows pinched together as he nodded once.

“If ya tried to stop him from playin’?”

Once again Atsumu nodded.

They stewed in silence again, Atsumu tugging at the hem of his shorts. Osamu watched his brother, while Aran’s gaze skittered between the two of them. What does he say here? Let Hinata look after himself? Stop worrying? Everything felt trite on his tongue.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Osamu let out a big gusting breath. “Man, Shouyou-kun is kind of an ungrateful shit, huh?” Aran startled, gaping at Osamu. Atsumu had stilled, his hands loosening on his shorts.

Atsumu looked up, gaze sliding to his brother. “Yeah, he really is.” And then Osamu snorted, shaking his head.

It was like a dam had broken, washing away nearly three weeks of pain and resentment and angry silences and violence between the two of them. All tension between Atsumu and Osamu, which had been crackling in the room since they’d walked in, seemed to vanish — like a cool breeze wafting over Aran’s skin, cold and refreshing.

No— the AC was back on. He looked up at one of the vents, a breeze blowing the strands of plastic tied to the grate.

While Aran wasn’t paying attention, the twins had already started going off on a rapid fire riff on all the ways Hinata was an obnoxious, ungrateful, little shit. Like they’d apparently needed to do for weeks — it was all coming out now.

“Ya know, we still haven’t done any settin’ practice,” Atsumu clucked, shaking his head. Aran frowned, because Atsumu had definitely been the one who avoided doing setting practice with Hinata, like, this whole time.

“Yer tellin’ me. Can ya believe he brought eggs for Ushiwaka and not us?” Osamu sighed melodramatically. Aran frowned. But that was because Hinata was trading them for Ushijima’s teachings.

“And he keeps tryin’ weird shit in games, things he ain’t ever practiced before!” Atsumu demonstrated with a hand wave. Osamu scoffed, nodding his head.

Okay. Aran had enough. “You two, out of everyone, aren’t allowed to criticize anyone about trying new things in games.”

Atsumu and Osamu turned to look at him with twinned unimpressed expressions. Atsumu leaned towards his brother. “Aran-kun is kinda a Shouyou-kun otaku, huh?”

Osamu nodded. “Totally. Ya hear what he said earlier about Shouyou-kun leavin’ him behind? He sounded real worried.”

Aran wiped a hand down his face. “I said he’d leave you two behind.”

Atsumu clicked his tongue, giving Aran a patronizing wave of his hand. “Yeah, okay, Aran-kun. Whatever ya say.” Osamu gave a little snicker.

Yup, all the way back to normal. Great. Perfect.

Hopping off the desk, Aran glowered at the two of them. “I think I liked you two better when you were at each other’s throats.”

“Aran-kun, when didja get so mean?” Osamu pursed his lips at him, though there was a little gleam of amusement in his eyes. Atsumu gave a mean little laugh.

Throwing his hands in the air, Aran stomped towards the door. “Wanna talk about ungrateful. You’re welcome!”

“Oi, Aran-kun!” He stopped just as he was about to wrench the door open to leave. He turned to find the twins watching him. Atsumu gave him a rueful smile. “Thanks.”

Aran waved a hand, feeling his cheeks flush with delight at the acknowledgement. “Yeah, yeah. Try not letting it get so far next time.”

“Aran-kun, don’t be lazy,” Osamu chided with a shake of his head. Aran rolled his eyes, pulling the door open and slamming it shut behind him, trying not to feel too relieved at the sound of amused snickers through the door.

It was nice to have his friends back. As insufferable as they were sometimes.

With the AC back on, Inarizaki and Shiratorizawa members were starting to mill about the hallways, going back to their rooms; several of them probably going for baths at long last, after a long and sweaty day. Maaan, what he wouldn’t give to go for boba right now—

As if summoned, Reon rounded the corner with Yamagata, both of them holding boba tea in their hands, sucking sweet, sweet milky tea through the straws. Aran audibly gasped when he saw them. Reon gave him a slightly confused smile and a wave. “Oh hey, Ojiro. What’s up?”

Aran pointed at their drinks. “Where did you get those?” Maybe he sounded a bit desperate.

“The cafeteria across campus has a boba tea shop — we walked over.” Yamagata wiggled the plastic cup, making the tapioca swirl. Good lord, after the day Aran had, what he wouldn’t give... Maybe Kita would be interested in going for a bit of a walk?

“Cool, thanks. Any chance either of you have seen Shinsuke around?” Aran asked. It was doubtful Kita had his phone on him, so Aran might be looking around for a while before he got his boba.

“I think I saw him and your energetic squirt talking with Tendou and Wakatoshi in the common room,” Reon said, nodding back from where they came.

Aran smiled. Lucky! He gave them a nod and a thanks as he trotted off down the hall. And hey, maybe Kita could use some rescuing from whatever whack-a-doodle conversation Hinata had roped him into with Ushijima and Tendou.

He found them all, as promised, in the common room, sitting around a table, a book sitting in the middle. Hinata noticed him first, practically glowing with a beaming smile at him. As if someone like Hinata could ever hate anyone — whatever Atsumu thought.

“Hey, Aran-san!” Beside Hinata, Tendou craned his neck sideways to look at Aran, giving him a toothy smile as Ushijima nodded.

Kita turned around in his seat to look at Aran, his expression lit up just a little, opened some. Eyes brighter, smile curling the corners of his mouth. It made Aran’s own smile widen every time. Yup, boba with Kita was exactly what Aran needed right now.

He lifted a hand in a wave. “Hey, everyone.” He jerked his chin at the book on the table, laying face open. “Whatcha reading?”

Hinata’s expression glowed even brighter, eyes practically glittering. “Kita-san’s favorite book!” Aran raised an eyebrow at Kita. Which one? He was more than a little familiar with Kita and his book categories. He had favorite historical fiction, romance, drama, thriller, western books. You had to be specific when you asked Kita what his favorite book was.

Kita’s nose scrunched a bit in amusement, officially unburdening Aran from the conversation he’d just had. Yup, everything was alright with the world. “The training manual: ‘I had a lot of injuries. I don't want you to have them too’.”

Aran blinked. He was pretty sure he’d flipped through that once when he’d been over at Kita’s place, supposedly doing homework. Mostly hanging out. He remembered the author being well-informed but thought the title was a little stiff and literal.

Kita gestured at Ushijima. “Ushijima-san’s father wrote it.”

Ah, that explained the title. Then that information sunk in, and he jerked to stare at Ushijima in surprise. “Really?”

Ushijima nodded. “He is a sports trainer.”

“Huh. Cool.” Was all Aran could think to say.

“Yeah! It explains why Ushijima-san knows so much about training to be the best at volleyball,” Hinata burst out, apparently unable to contain his excitement over this fact.

Ushijima looked at Hinata. Nodded. “Yes. My father’s help has been invaluable.” Which made Tendou giggle for some reason. Probably because Ushijima was unfailingly direct and sure of himself all at once. Ushijima’s surety was something to marvel at, but Aran supposed it could also be a little funny.

Hinata tapped the book, beaming up at Aran. “Which is why we’re going over some things. Suna-san is gonna start working out with me tomorrow, and I had some questions.”

This was an awful lot of information flying at Aran awfully fast. “Wait, sorry. Suna is gonna workout with you?”

“Yup!”

Aran cast a look at Kita who just shrugged — apparently he was just as in the dark. Aran looked back at Hinata. “How exactly did you manage to convince Suna to train with you?”

Hinata crossed his arms, one hand coming up to rub his chin as he considered the question. “He said I’m hilarious, and now he sometimes calls me Shouyou.”

That literally answered absolutely nothing, but good for Hinata. “That’s great, Shouyou. If he does anything mean, please let me know.”

Tendou leaned across the table, chin hovering inches above the laminated wood. “Me too~”

Hinata frowned at them, confused. “Why would he do anything mean?” Which just made Tendou giggle again.

Kita looked up at Aran, an amused smile on his lips. “Anything ya wanted, Aran-kun?”

He felt himself flush now that all the eyes were on him. Hinata and Ushijima were just curious, but Tendou looked awfully knowing. “Uh, well. I heard there was a boba tea place on the other side of campus and I was wondering if you wanted to come with?”

Kita nodded, eyes flicking to the others. “I think we’re done here. Goin’ for boba would be perfect.”

Aran was trying to figure out how to convey he’d really prefer to only go with Kita but didn’t know how to say that without explicitly excluding the others. Luckily, Tendou was apparently a preternatural empath — he turned to look at Ushijima and Hinata.

“I guess this means you want to get some practice in before dinner, ne?” Tendou sounded a bit pained as he watched Hinata and Ushijima perk up.

Hinata chirped an excited “Yeah!” at the same time as Ushijima’s more reserved “Yes.”

Hinata was already out of his seat, rocking back and forth on his heels a bit impatiently while Tendou oozed out of his chair. Hinata pumped his fist in the air. “This is great! I bet no one else is thinking to go to the gym right now.”

Aran squinted at him, yeah, because everyone is tired, Shouyou. Jeez.

Ushijima nodded. “It is a pity.” Tendou rolled his eyes from behind Ushijima at Aran, eyes all bugged out when he did it. It almost made Aran laugh.

As they started walking away, a thought occurred to Aran. He pointed at Hinata. “Don’t overdo it, Shouyou.”

Hinata turned, continuing to walk backwards, giving Aran a warm, knowing smile. “I won’t, you don’t have to worry about me.” And with a wave, the three of them were gone.

Yeah, they were all gonna have to work extra hard to keep up with Hinata.

Kita picked up his book, finally lifting up out of his seat, giving Aran his own warm smile. “Always such a good senpai, huh, Aran-kun?”

Aran clicked his tongue. “I’m only following your example, Shinsuke.” That made Kita snort, which pulled a pleased laugh from Aran’s chest. “C’mon, let’s go get boba.”

They made their way outside, the heat already less oppressive with the knowledge they had AC again for the rest of the evening. As they crossed the courtyard, Kita broke the comfortable silence between them. “Ushijima-san apologized to me today.”

Aran blinked, staring down at his friend. “Really? About what?”

Kita tucked his hands behind his back, gaze going a bit distant as he looked down the path. “For underestimatin’ me at Nationals apparently.” Kita flicked a glance up at him, a wry twist to his mouth. “The disagreement he and Hinata had was apparently about an unkind comment Ushijima-san made about me and my lack of strength as a captain.”

Aran curbed the stab of offense on behalf of Kita, Ushijima had apparently just apologized after all. He sucked on his teeth. “Well, I figured it was probably something like that. Didn’t think Shouyou would pick a fight just for himself.”

Kita huffed a soft laugh. “You know him better’n me then. I thought he was just excited about Nationals and got frisky.”

Aran shrugged. “It could be both.” Kita gave a bark of laughter at that. “So did he recognize your strength then?”

Kita's lips pressed together, trying to dampen a smile. He looked up at Aran through his lashes. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Good, then I don’t need to sock him one,” Aran said, resolutely not looking at Kita even as he leaned forward and laughed.

“What aboutcha? Ya were lookin’ a lil’ piqued when ya walked in earlier.” Kita bumped their shoulders together, making Aran smile.

Aran blew out a breath. “I think I fixed the twins finally.”

Kita’s expression lit up in amusement, elbowing him a bit. “Now ya hafta tell me all about that. Didja hafta sock ‘em one?”

It was Aran’s turn to kick his head back and laugh. When he calmed down, he laid the whole story out, smacks and all — he didn’t even leave out the bits about making the twins sweat it out in the annex building. That just seemed to delight Kita even more.

They traded jokes and laughed over boba tea for a bit before heading back to the team in a far better place this evening than they had been that very same morning.

The rest of the camp would go smoothly from here, right?

Chapter Text

“So that foreigner woman you’ve been hanging out with is pretty hot, huh?”

Suna and Hinata were by themselves in the Yamanashi University training facility. It was pretty dated compared to the state-of-the-art fitness center at Inarizaki High, which came to its current status only by virtue of all the weirdass old men still obsessed with living their glory days vicariously through a bunch of teenage boys — which was to say, Inarizaki got a lot of generous donations from Inarizaki alumni.

They were going through Suna’s core routine for the second day in a row. As fucking typical as rice on the table in the evening, Hinata ‘I’m-secretly-an-alien-in-adorable-clothing’ Shouyou picked up on everything Suna did right off the bat. Suna expected this, but it didn't mean his ego twinged any less when Hinata held each variation of a plank longer than Suna could.

Fucking monstrous dream alien.

Here he was, magnanimously sharing his top secret core workout. The least Hinata could do was be a little more bad at it.

The rest of the team had been kinda surprised when they found out Suna was working out with Hinata — and not just because Suna was the only one among them who didn’t think every fucking fart out of Hinata’s ass was cute.

“You— You’re workin’ out with him?” Gin asked yesterday, right after Suna had gotten to witness Hinata crush the Miya’s spirits with only a half-assed joke about his own stamina. Still the funniest goddamned thing Suna had ever seen. A travesty that Suna hadn’t had his phone to record it.

“Mhmmm.”

“But you don’t like workin’ out with anyone,” Gin pointed out, looking a bit wounded.

Suna took a swig from his water bottle, shrugging. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I work out with the team all the time.”

Gin gave him an unimpressed stare at that. Which, fair. Suna did attend every mandated Inarizaki training session. He also just so happened to slack off for the most part, dicking around on his phone, chilling on a weight bench — until Kita or Aran or Coach found him and he used his ready-made excuse that he was “looking for a song to vibe to.”

When Suna actually worked out, he really would much rather do so on his own. No one to bother him. Just him, his music, and the freedom to preen at himself in the mirror as much as he wanted — he worked hard, someone ought to appreciate it. The only reason why he knew Kita was such a damned keen bean about being early to practice was ‘cause Suna often ran into him whenever he tried to squeak in early for his morning workout sessions.

Gin blew out a sigh. “So does this mean you’re actually willin’ to share your secrets? ‘Cause I’ve been thinkin’ I’d like to be a bit more cut—”

“Absolutely not.”

Gin pouted at him, face going all scrunchy. “But you’re gonna keep trainin’ with Shou?”

“Yep.” Suna stuffed his hands into his shorts in lieu of pockets. That answer didn’t seem to satisfy Gin though. “Tell ya what. The day you become the funniest person on this team is gonna be the day I teach you how to get absolutely shredded.”

Gin looked a bit hopeful before he gasped indignantly. “Wait! You’re trainin’ with the twins too?”

Suna stared at him for a beat longer, and then he gave Gin the most withering look he could manage. Atsumu and Osamu, the funniest? Please.

Nah, that distinction went to the ‘adorable’ little gremlin capable of obliterating egos with nary a head tilt and an unintentional, incisive comment. Like when Inarizaki and Shiratorizawa were unilaterally grouped together for drills during the camp, Hinata had tilted his head to the side and loudly asked, “Oh, is it because they’re grouping the best teams together?” No, Hinata, it’s ‘cause we’re the only two high school teams here, Coach Kurosu tried to explain. Hinata’s response:

“Oh, okay. It’s just we’ve won the most games.”

Incredible.

Wait around long enough and Hinata would drop the sickest burns, or make the most devastating comments — all with the biggest, most innocent eyes imaginable. It was for this reason alone that Suna would tolerate Hinata’s presence. Suna was angling to turn him into a tiny, little gossip, leveraging Hinata’s uncanny ability to be absolutely ruthless in the friendliest manner possible.

There was just one thing that had been kinda niggling Suna for a few days now. In the evenings, if he wasn’t off practicing with Ushiwaka, Hinata almost certainly hung out with Akagi’s big gay crush and the foreign supermodel. Hinata tried to explain that Annika was actually a super-soccer-player and not a super-model — but one’s choice of vocation usually didn’t change the fact that someone was a total hottie.

Suna had definitely seen the delighted, little flush that had bloomed over Hinata’s face during their match against Waseda earlier today. Hinata scored, and Annika in the audience whipped off her jacket to swing it above her head, shouting her excitement. Hinata had that goofy ‘golly-me’ look on his face, the total rube.

But it got Suna thinking: just what exactly were Hinata's proclivities? Because as of yet, Suna hadn’t been able to pin them down. Outside of volleyball-sexual, of course.

Suna was unfortunately suffering all by his lonesome with the knowledge that their setter was pathetically committed to being obsessed with Inarizaki’s own volleyball gremlin. Though he had his suspicions that maybe Tendou might know something...

Didn’t matter. What was important was that Suna was tenuously Atsumu’s friend. And as annoying as Suna had found both twins since Nationals, they’d been at least an awful lot more normal since Suna decided to take Hinata under his wing. Feeling particularly magnanimous with his time, Suna figured he could throw Atsumu a bone.

The poor idiot certainly didn’t seem to have realized that the reason why he had driven himself half-mad after Nationals was definitely because he was in love with the apparently exhaustible, little bugger. And nothing would sting quite as much as an unreciprocated crush — for whenever Atsumu finally realized how in deep he was.

Suna almost hadn’t survived Atsumu losing his mind over Hinata falling once. He couldn’t imagine how insufferable Atsumu would be if it turned out Hinata was straight.

Altruism? Nah. Suna just needed to prepare himself for potential landmines between his setter and their number one gremlin. Thus, the question about Annika.

Hinata lifted his head, not even straining in the slightest as he swung his leg back and forth, balancing one footed in a plank — little bastard picked up things too fast, goddamn.

“Foreigner woman?” he asked, all big brown eyes full of questions. Suna curbed the urge to roll his eyes. Who the heck else would he be talking about? “Oh! You mean Annika-sama!”

Suna stared at Hinata. God, he was probably — definitely — straight. And it was almost certain he was going to grow up to learn he liked being stepped on by women. Blowing a breath out his nose, Suna switched to the next posture, a side plank, his back turned on Hinata now.

“Yeah. Her. She’s pretty cute, huh?”

Suna couldn’t see it, but he swore he could feel Hinata beaming at him. “Yeah, she is! I’ve never met another girl like her.”

Suna snorted. “Nah, that ain’t a girl. She’s all woman.” He’d have waggled his eyebrows, but there was no point. Hinata couldn’t see.

“Yeah, she really is kind of amazing, isn’t she?” Hinata said through a wistful sigh. Suna could hear him shuffling to change his pose.

Welp, get wrecked Atsumu — enjoy that unrequited crush life.

“Wan-san is super cool too though,” Hinata hummed, voice a bit breathless.

Oh? Suna glanced over his shoulder to see Hinata’s back turned to him. For the first time since Suna started these workouts, the back of Hinata’s neck was looking a bit flushed. In fact— Hinata brushed his cheek against his shoulder, and they were definitely a little pink.

Ohoh?

“If you could date one of ‘em, who’d you choose?” Suna asked, all light and casual. There was having a soft touch, and then there was dealing with thick-headed dumbasses — something Suna apparently had in spades. Sometimes finesse looked more like smacking someone with a shovel — it was what these dickheads needed.

Behind him, he heard Hinata inhale sharply, squeak, and then a sound of his body collapsing to the ground. Ohohoh! Suna dropped from his pose, pushing to sit cross-legged so he could face Hinata.

Face on fire, Hinata frantically looked anywhere but at Suna. Flustered. Actually, honest-to-god flustered. Was Hinata perhaps, maybe, just maybe, a baby bi—

“Date?” Hinata croaked at him, clearing his throat as he picked himself off the ground. His hands were flapping all over the place. “I mean, they’re too old for me, and I—” he swallowed. Suna had never seen Hinata so flustered. Oh man, Suna was going to use the hell out of this all the time, for the rest of his life. Hell yeah.

Hinata slapped his cheeks, startling Suna. He sucked in a breath, before staring Suna in the eyes, visible handprints on his cheeks. “I wouldn’t date either of them. Because I don’t think they’d be very interested in me, because Wan-san has, well...” He squinted and then shrugged, “And Annika-sama has a partn—”

Suna held up a hand. “I don’t care. It was a hypothetical question, you weirdo.”

Hinata’s mouth made a little ‘o’, some of the redness receding from his cheeks. “Oh.”

“I just thought it was interesting you were hanging out with them so much.” Suna’s gaze turned sly as he watched Hinata. “I had wondered if you had a bit of a crush.”

Hinata blinked at him, tilting his head to the side — not the reaction Suna had expected. “I mean, they’re teaching me a lot, why else would I hang out with them?”

Suna rolled his eyes. An alien. He was dealing with an alien. Just when Suna thought there might be a real human boy tucked away in that little body of his, Hinata had to go be as fucking weird as he possibly could. Fuck.

Suna pushed to a stand, waving a dismissive hand at Hinata as he went to go collect his stuff. “Ugh, whatever. Training session over, you made me tired.”

Suna expected that to elicit the patented Hinata’s nasal whine of ‘but I’m not tired yet’ — Suna fucking loathed that whine. It usually meant practice would get extended, or someone would try and rope Suna into something. No thanks.

Instead, Hinata popped up to a stand, retrieving his water bottle, giving Suna an expectant smile.

Suna squinted at him. “What, no whining?”

“Hmm?”

“Usually, you look at me like I stole your juice box when I say we’re done.” He narrowed his eyes. Was Hinata up to something? “Why aren’t you complaining?”

Hinata beamed at him. “Oh, it’s fine. I need to keep up my energy for tomorrow.”

Suna pursed his lips. He watched Hinata shoulder his bag, zipping it shut as he made his way towards the entrance. Suna blinked as a thought struck him. What was tomorrow? The second last full day of camp? Three more sleeps and he would be back home, where he wouldn’t have to see any of his teammates' faces for a few days. What a fucking relief.

But why on earth would Hinata need to rest for tomorrow? Specifically.

“What exactly is tomorrow?” Suna asked, starting to feel a bit paranoid.

Hinata turned, blinking at him, face all wide open with surprise. His eyes started to glitter. Something about that made Suna a bit nervous. “No one told you?”

Tightening his grip on his own bag, Suna swallowed. “Told me what?”

Hinata brightened even further, his smile going wide and toothy. He was excited. Anything Hinata motherfucking-alien-gremlin Shouyou was excited about was enough to open up a cold pit of dread in Suna’s stomach.

“We’re doing fitness tests tomorrow!” Hinata chirped, rocking back and forth on his toes a bit, like he couldn’t believe his utter luck. He said it like a child might say ‘we’re getting ice cream!’

Suna hated fitness tests.

“Why?” He managed to rasp, feeling hoarse. If he had known there was going to be fitness tests during camp, he’d have pretended to catch a summer cold and stayed home for this entire goddamned thing. Fuck this.

Hinata actually started to vibrate with excitement, his hands fluttering as he explained. “Annika-sama has a friend — her special friend — who studies sports science, and they have really good testing facilities here. Hana-san mentioned wanting to test nationally-ranked athletes, so I introduced her to Coach, and Coach worked it out so we’re doing fitness tests tomorrow. With Shiratorizawa too!”

He looked at Suna like he was expecting to be praised. Like he did a good thing. Suna kind of felt like someone who had an overeager puppy that had just brought a dead mouse home, showing it off proudly.

“We’re doing impromptu fitness tests?” Suna asked, his head feeling a little lightheaded with the fury building behind his eyes. Or was that a stress headache?

“Yup!”

“Tomorrow?”

“Mhmm.”

“Because of you?” Suna asked, hand clenching the strap of his bag so hard he could feel it indenting into his palm.

Hinata nodded his head enthusiastically, still looking like he was expecting praise.

Fool.

“I’m going to fucking murder you,” Suna deadpanned, dropping his bag, fully intending to beat the crap out of this incomparable nuisance. Fitness tests! At the end of camp! When Suna should have been able to half-ass some shit!

Hinata actually had the audacity to laugh — until he saw Suna’s face and his laugh abruptly died, staring at Suna mutely. Suna clenched his fists and took a step forward—

Hinata turned on his heel and sprinted towards the door, ripping it open as he went careening down the hallway, shrieking “ATSUMU-SAN!!!” at the top of his lungs.

As if Atsumu could stop Suna.

If Suna weren’t so apoplectically mad right now, he’d maybe found it just a little bit cute that Hinata’s first response to a threat was to call Atsumu for help, but Suna was world shatteringly pissed.

Fucking fitness tests. Awful.

~~~

Really, really awful. Because it wasn’t just vertical measurements, or range of motion, or top speeds and reactivity tests. Noooo, they wanted to try out a hybrid VO2 max test at the end of running a beep test.

“A beep test?” Hinata asked all wide eyed and gleeful. He was wedged protectively between Aran and Kita, with Atsumu at his back, and Tendou and his ever-present nationally ranked shadow close by. Just enough of a hindrance for Suna not to throttle him.

“A beep test,” the frazzled-looking nerd in a Yamanashi U sweatshirt agreed, bobbing in a full-bodied nod. She bent her knees and swayed with her head bobbing. Periodically reading off from her clipboard, mumbling under her breath. This was the sports medicine grad student, Hana-san, who’d been leading the team that were poking and prodding Suna and all the rest all day. She was also apparently gay as hell for Hinata’s hot foreigner woman. Ah, c’est la vie.

The piece de resistance to all the blood tests and CO2 tests and heart rate monitoring was apparently a motherfucking beep test.

Suna never liked fitness test days. But he loathed beep tests more than anything else in the world.

Nothing quite as boring and useless as gradually running lines at the pace dictated by a CD that skips — because god forbid someone use an mp3 player — running faster and faster and faster until you couldn’t keep up anymore. It took forever, and every moment was suffering.

Suna, over the years he’d been an athlete, had seen kids puke, pass out, being unable to walk the next day. And the most annoying thing, something that never failed to happen: Suna inevitably always got himself yelled at for ’not going all out!’ Suna would like to tell all his current and former coaches to kindly fuck off and try running the fucking thing themselves, please, if they wanted to have opinions.

No one liked these goddamn things. They were the antithesis of fun. Unless, apparently, you were an absolute psycho in some way.

Lining up along the court, Suna glanced at the faces around him. Most of them were drawn and exhausted already — some looked resigned. The twins were standing shoulder-to-shoulder, doing their creepy silent twins’ competitive mind meld shit. Probably egging each other on with blinks and high frequency clicks or some bullshit. It’d be sweet if they weren’t so fucking annoying.

And then there was Ushijima and Hinata near the middle, practically glittering in anticipation. Who the fuck got excited about beep tests?

Absolute volleyball psychos. That’s who.

Here was the awful, malignant thing about beep tests: they start out fine. Just fine. Meander back and forth between lines at what starts as a leisurely walk, waiting for the beep to signal you to keep going. But it ratchets up exponentially. And then you get weird tempos at some point, where a walk doesn’t cut it and you kind of have to do that awkward shuffle jog like you’re crossing the street with a car waiting for you to finish. And then it kind of turns into a lazy, slow jog.

That’s the one that bothered Suna the most. The transition from a lazy jog to a more regular jog — your pace was all off. You moved too fast or too slow and your legs were the wrong length for the amount of steps you need to take between lines, so you ended up taking annoying shuffle steps.

And then it all starts goddamned picking up, and some people start huffing and puffing. Unless you're Hinata or Ushijima, or even the goddamn twins, and look all peachy keen jogging together in a clump. But finally getting up to a functional speed is a bit clarifying for Suna. He could finally start examining the people around him — strategizing.

Here was what Suna had learned about goddamn beep tests and not getting yelled at: pick someone to beat. Out of all the people you’re running back and forth with, find someone who you can outrun, just by a little bit. They get to be the avatar you pursue, so you don’t have to make conscious decisions while running the beep tests. You just check out and run. He had on more than one occasion chosen wrongly and bowed out too early and gotten shit for it. Part of Suna’s problem is he’d rather be laying on the ground right now, maybe napping, than doing what he was currently doing.

The trick here was to find someone who could reasonably be considered on par with your fitness level and commitment. Choosing either of the twins or Hinata was a non-starter. He valued not having blood in his lungs, thanks. Gin outwardly seemed like a good choice — Suna was fitter than him, but Gin was also a committed bugaboo who would go all out until he literally dropped. Shirabu didn’t seem very fit at all and was an absolute psycho, so he, too, was a non-starter.

Tendou and Kawanishi seemed like potentially interesting wild cards, but given that Suna had on more than one occasion found Tendou lazing under a tree during morning runs, and Kawanishi walking the whole way taking shortcuts, Suna was pretty sure using them as his template would get him yelled at.

He used to use Omimi-senpai as his guide. After all, it made Suna look even better when he beat out the other starting Middle Blocker, right? Only Coach had cottoned onto that pretty quickly, and Suna had gotten reamed out for consistently outrunning Omimi by one rotation.

So, his esteemed template this time? Akagi. Dear, sweet Akagi, who worked hard only until he got just tired enough and said “fuck it” and stopped. No muss, no fuss. All Suna had to do was beat Akagi. Figured Akagi would have him stick around for three or four more levels, enough to make it look like Suna was trying hard. And then they could kick back and watch the hardworking idiots of their team push themselves until they passed out. Maybe Akagi would be willing to run bets with him over who would drop next? Suna was usually pretty good at guessing.

Five levels later, Suna gave Akagi some desperate looks, quietly praying in his head for Akagi to ‘drop, drop, drop, drop’, only for Akagi to put his head down and keep going. What the fuck was wrong with him? Why was he still running? Why was Suna still running? He was a level and a half further than he’d ever gone before. Akagi was supposed to be chill about these sorts of things. Why was he still doing this? They were in light sprints now, and Suna hated this. Why—

He could stop whenever the heck he wanted to.

Suna hit the line and stopped abruptly, Akagi doing so at the same time, both of their chests heaving dramatically. Hana-san and her assistants swarmed them, slapping sensors to their arms and stuffing some awful face mask thing on his face as he huffed and puffed. It kinda tasted like antiseptic — gross.

When they were finally allowed to take a seat, Suna collapsed next to Akagi, both of them flopping onto the ground. He was gathering the wherewithal to ask Akagi what the fuck, when his senpai spoke.

“Dude, what the heck? Why’d ya go so fuckin’ hard?”

Suna squinted at him, confused. “I was going to ask you the same.”

Akagi frowned at him, wiping at the sweat beading down from his temples. “I was waitin’ for ya to drop.”

Oh good lord. Seriously? Suna grunted, propping himself up on his elbows, his hair pasted to his sweaty scalp. “I was waiting for you to drop.”

Akagi stared at him, not comprehending, before it finally sunk in. His face scrunched into a grimace. “Goddamn, Sunarin, are ya shittin’ me?”

Suna scoffed. “Nah. And here I was worried that you were turning into a hardworking willie.”

Akagi snorted, shaking his head. “Let’s plan better next time, hmm?” Suna gave him a nod, eyes returning to all the idiots still committed to keeping their run on.

They watched Gin finally drop, his legs folding under him as he collapsed on hands and knees, gasping for breath. The sports medicine students descended on him like a bunch of carrion birds. When Gin reached them, he didn’t bother saying anything, merely collapsed face down on the court beside Suna and groaned.

Suna reached a hand out, slapping his gross, sweaty back. “Good for you, Gin-chan. I’m proud of you.”

Gin mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like “Fuck you,” which Suna chose to ignore, instead focusing on the remaining people still on the court. Kita just dropped. Next Shirabu. Reon. Yamagata.

Until the only ones left were Aran, the twins, Goshiki, Hinata, and Ushijima.

“How long do ya think this is gonna take?” Akagi asked, curling forward in his cross-legged seat, chin propped up in his hand.

Suna had his back to the wall, eyes closed, listening to the rapid tamp-tamp-tamp of sneakers racing across the court and the BEEP signalling for more tamp-tamp-tamp. “I dunno. Bet Aran drops next.”

Akagi snorted. “No way. It’s gonna be Osamu.”

Suna cracked an eye open, glancing at Akagi. “I’ll bet you a shaved ice it’s Aran.” Akagi grinned at him nodding, extending his hand.

Gin cut in between them. “Wait, it’s not cool to bet on things like this, guys.” His eyes cast about furtively — Kita was on the far side of the court chatting with Semi and Reon. “My money is on that Goshiki kid.”

They all turned to watch said kid. He was red-faced and sweating buckets, mouth gaping open wide as he ran, looking like a sweaty fish gasping for air. He did look like a strong breeze might topple him. Damn, Gin was probably right. Suna turned to the others. “Winner gets two shaved ice, second gets one, third pays for two.”

They all put their hands in and cheered as handshake.

Gin ended up winning — though not long after Suna was pleased to see he was right about Aran; the guy was too reasonable to go until he puked. Akagi was a sulky shit about it though. Suna merely tutted at him. “You didn’t factor in the Miya’s crazies.”

Akagi clicked his tongue at them, arms crossed.

Gin leaned around Suna, proud little grin on his face. “Or the Shou crazy amplification factor.”

It was down to four — Osamu, Atsumu, Hinata, and Ushijima — and only two of those four looked like they’d be fine. Suna watched in horrified fascination at Hinata’s upright posture. He had to drop eventually, right? Like, Hinata was huffing and puffing, but he didn’t look any worse for wear. Not compared to the twins.

“You don’t think Hinata’s gonna beat Ushiwaka, do you?” Suna asked, watching as Osamu started to flag, before he put his head down and continued to run with gritted teeth. There was no doubt in Suna’s mind that Hinata was going to beat the twins. That was obvious. But he wouldn't— Could he? Beat Ushiwaka?

Suna was reminded of a moment of clarity on the court, three and a half weeks ago against Shiratorizawa, where he’d thought maybe, kinda, just a bit — Hinata reminded him of Ushijima with his crazy, intense presence. Maybe they were more alike than even Suna had thought.

“I dunno, you haven’t seen him at those receive practices. He goes just as hard as Ushijima,” Akagi said, leaning forward.

Gin was watching the runners closely — it looked like Osamu was gonna drop any moment, Atsumu not far behind. “And he’s been doin’ those runs with him, right? I saw ‘em once racin’ up a hill at a full tilt sprint, and it didn’t look like nothin’ to ‘em. It was insane.”

Osamu finally collapsed, chest heaving, laying on his back with his arms spread wide as he sucked in air. The students swarmed him taking measurements. Osamu dropping out seemed to spur on Atsumu just a bit more, a bit more pep in his step.

Atsumu made three more rotations before he hit the ground, legs completely giving out under him, back bowing with the force of his breaths. Suna observed him turn his head to watch the runners, even as the sensors were affixed to him, and his data was recorded.

Hinata just kept right on trucking.

It had to be any minute now, right? When the heck were they going to get tired? They’d almost hit the top of the levels now. No way they still had gas in the tank, right?

It was a short while later and Hinata was still matching pace perfectly with Ushijima. They were going at a full sprint, back and forth, back and forth. Holy shit. Ushijima, who had been loose the whole time, even as the sprinting started, was beginning to tense up. Hands clenching and unclenching, perfect form faltering just a bit as he continued going. Almost at his end.

Holy shit.

The gymnasium was dead silent as they all stared on at the baffling, goddamned miracle taking place in front of them. There was only the sound of the rapid smack of shoes against the court, the beep signalling another turn. The heavy breaths of two sprinters. Holy shit!

And then, just as Suna noticed the spell that had been cast on the gymnasium — it snapped. Ushijima almost faltered on a turn, too slow and sloppy, needing to rush and catch up to Hinata. And— and—

For all their buddy-buddy camaraderie in the last few days, for as cool as Suna found most of Shiratorizawa sometimes — they were still an opposing team. It was still Shiratorizawa versus Inarizaki. It was Japan’s ace versus their very own little alien. Suddenly everyone was on their feet, shouting and whooping and hollering — everyone screaming their encouragement.

“GO, Shouyou, GO!!!”

“C’mon, Wakatoshi-kun!”

“HINATA!!!”

Someone started an Ushijima clapping chant, the one Shiratorizawa does at games. Despite their exhaustion earlier, Akagi and Gin were leaping up and down, shrieking for everyone to hear. Osamu and Atsumu were actually holding on to each other, keeping one another upright as they shouted their support, voices hoarse and rough.

Suna had a damn near out-of-body moment watching everyone lose their fucking minds over running. The fierce joy and pride on everyone’s faces. The stunned expressions on the coaches. The determined set to Hinata’s narrow shoulders. The electric goddamn energy permeating the room, where once they had all been exhausted piles of mush.

Goddamn, Suna loved volleyball.

Ushijima’s legs finally faltered under him; he tripped, collapsing onto his hands, sweat dripping down his face as he gasped for air. That wasn’t the fascinating thing though. Nah, that was all Hinata, turning, running, pace even. Reaching the other line, stopping, turning, and looking back at where Ushijima was trying to find his breath.

Around him was pandemonium: Inarizaki lost their minds cheering and hugging and shouting, Aran holding the twins back so the science nerds could do their job of taking Hinata’s vitals without having to maneuver around a Miya twins tackle hug. Suna looked across the court, at Hinata panting, on his feet still, even though everyone who fell around him had collapsed.

The little fucker could have kept going. Hinata chose to stop once he saw that he’d won.

Suna laughed, shaking his head. Gin, still beaming, looked at him, head tilted in question. Suna shrugged, stuffing his hands into his shorts. “Guess I was wrong.” Gin looked confused only for a second before he was tackled away by Kosaku, jumping up and down over their cool, little kouhai.

Hinata wasn’t just like Ushijima.

Nah, he was probably even better.

On the last full day of summer training camp, Hinata woke up with the sun. Or, if you want to get super technical, right before the light quality changed as the sun came up over the mountains. He’d always gotten up around sunrise, but after introducing Tama-kun into his life, he’d adjusted to pre-dawn wake ups. There was nothing quite as awful as being awoken by the shrill cries of an angry rooster.

Hinata lifted himself out of his futon, grabbing the hoodie he’d stashed at his feet last night. He shuffled by the sleeping form of his teammates. Riseki was laying face down, snoring softly into his pillow. Akagi had kicked off his blankets in the night and had a foot jammed into Omimi-senpai’s side. Atsumu was snuggled into his pillow, cuddling it like a stuffed animal — Hinata was, like, 80% sure that Atsumu secretly slept with stuffed animals when Hinata wasn’t there sleeping over. He’d have to ask Osamu.

Hinata made it to the door, eternally grateful for well-oiled hinges, glancing back at the room to make sure he hadn’t distrubed anyone. The person sleeping closest to the door had an eye cracked open, squinting at him blearily.

“Slept enough?” Kita murmured softly.

Hinata nodded, holding up eight fingers — he’d learned on the second day of camp that he was bad at whispering, so fingers would have to do. Kita gave him a brief quirk of his mouth before he closed his eyes and turned back over. Their ritual complete, Hinata slid out the door and made his way outside, stepping out into the chill early morning air. He sucked in that first refreshing breath, holding it in his lungs for a beat, exhaling slowly. Perfection.

When Kita had started meditation training with him almost three weeks ago, Hinata had been pretty sure he wasn’t going to like it very much. He had never been particularly good at sitting still for long periods of time. He’d certainly never been good at reflecting super hard in his own head — only mediation wasn’t thinking hard; it just was. Like missing thoughts.

The first time he’d tried it — when he was supposed to be imagining the rice field in front of him — Hinata had sat there for what felt like an eternity, thinking ‘rice, rice, rice, ricey thoughts.’ Only rice-rice-thoughts quickly turned into thoughts of food and wondering if he was hungry. He’d been more aware of his appetite since he fell. Something about Osamu forcing him to eat in those last few normal hours before everything changed had made Hinata think. And think and think and think— Maybe eating food wasn’t just important, but his appetite could also be a gauge for things he didn’t otherwise notice?

Like, if he hadn’t eaten in awhile, or he’d just been really active, and he wasn’t hungry still — maybe that meant something was wrong. And if something was maybe wrong, maybe he should check in with himself—

Meditation. Meditation thoughts! He was supposed to be thinking about meditation. Because if he did that, maybe he’d have more control over his body and then he could do some super cool things on the court. Like receives. Oh man, he needed to figure out receives. He had, like, five months before Spring Nationals. Maybe that wasn’t enough time to become really good, but he picked up on things really fast. Maybe he should talk to Atsumu about serve and receive practice, heavy on the receive for Hinata. And then he could—

Meditation! Rice field!

Suffice to say, he wasn’t super great at meditation. He kept getting distracted by his own thoughts. Or, like, if he started thinking too much about his fingers, he felt the need to flex them and twitch them. The muscles in his legs bunched and slid around if he thought about jumping and—

Hinata had been pretty sure meditation wasn’t going to be for him. But he tried anyway, because it seemed to make Kita-san really happy, which was nice. If it made Kita worry less, it was kinda worth it, right?

Hinata really hadn’t thought much of it until his run with Ushijima on the first morning of camp. He’d probably gone into that a little overconfident and excited. Tendou had tried to warn him, “Wakatoshi-kun doesn’t really jog, Fennec-kun.”

Yeah, well, neither did he, Hinata had arrogantly thought. Too big for his britches all because he was the fastest runner at Inarizaki. And if he could beat Atsumu and Osamu, surely he could keep up with anyone. Easy.

Running with Ushijima wasn’t easy. His warm up was a rapid jog, angled towards the most vicious inclines he could find, quickly shifting towards what Hinata would have called a leisurely sprint. It was intense. It was exhilarating.

It got the blood running through his whole body, air shoving in and out of his lungs. His legs burned, unused to this much intensity all at once. It was the first time he’d gone so hard since the match against Kamomedai at Nationals. For the last couple of weeks, everyone had been treating him so delicately. Hinata might be kinda dumb, but he wasn’t blind. He knew exactly what all those extra breaks and check-ins were for. It was getting kind of tiresome to feel babied like that.

It was why running with Ushijima was so thrilling. Feeling the air tear from his lungs as he raced to keep up. Ushijima’s simple and blunt response to Hinata’s desire to run with him. If you can keep up. A challenge. Exactly what he needed to start this whole camp off on the right foot. Hinata suspected he knew exactly how most of his team would react if they knew he was huffing and puffing up the side of a mountain, pumping his legs as hard as they would go to keep up with one of the best high school volleyball players in the country.

Hinata didn’t care how they’d react. All he cared about was how he felt, keeping his eyes fixed on Ushijima’s back. Chasing, chasing. Always chasing.

There was a moment when he felt his lungs start to scream, where his breaths ripped ragged out of his throat, just beyond the halfway point of their run where Hinata felt like he was going to give up. He thought he’d need to slow down because there was no way, no way, no way—

And then an image flickered into his head: The large expanse of a rice field, stalks swaying in the gentle breeze as the evening sun began to set. The cool air wafting out of the water in the field. A sense of peace. Calm. Ease. One breath in. Another breath out. That was all it was. Breathing.

He finished his run with Ushijima, keeping pace the whole time, his legs never faltering. He caught his breath, fanning out his t-shirt to cool some of the sweat pouring off him. He would talk to Kita about it, but maybe it was time for him to try meditation more regularly. Because that had been super freaking cool!

After that, each morning he climbed out of his futon before the rest of his team awoke, trying to settle in to meditate outside. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes he could blank out his whole mind. Sometimes he focused on one thing. Sometimes his brain raced with all the missteps he’d made the day before and what he could do to be better. But it was all practice. Meditation was just like his jump serve — something he needed waaaay more practice at before he got good enough to use it reliably.

But that didn’t mean it was useless. No way, Jose. Yesterday he’d used it and won.

There’d been a moment just after Atsumu had given up during the beep test where Hinata had thought ’This is enough, I beat Atsumu-san.’ But out of the corner of his eye he caught Ushijima pulling fractionally ahead of him, and Hinata remembered each and every single failed receive he’d done over the last week. Every bruise and ache. Every time he came up against Ushijima and lost.

Not today, he thought. And then his head was filled with an image of that rice field, only this time he wasn’t grounding himself to breathe. No, he was the wind itself, brushing through the field, taking off, pulling, lifting. He needed to fly—

The next moment he realized he was alone hitting that last line; Ushijima was on the ground on the other side of the court, chest heaving. Hinata thought, maybe, maybe, maybe I could do one more, one more, just one more. But it was enough. Why test a limit when he’d already won?

He hadn’t told anyone that last part yet — that he thought he could go for another, maybe more. But he stopped himself. Because he was working on self control on top of everything else.

Hinata had already learned; part of self control was finding out what boundaries he wanted to push, and which ones he was satisfied with.

Done with his breathing exercise, probably still a little too hyped about his win yesterday, and overexcited about the last Inarizaki v. Shiratorizawa rematch they had scheduled that morning, Hinata popped up to a stand. Their two teams had been pretty neck and neck throughout camp, winning and losing in equal measures. This was their last chance to pull ahead before they all went back home tomorrow morning.

Aran was playing better than ever. Akagi was close to mastering that spin on his receives. Riseki’s receives were sharp. Suna’s blocks were precise.

Best of all, Atsumu and Osamu were finally back to normal — Hinata had been well aware they weren’t fine. From the moment they’d plunked down in his living room, on their first visit during Hinata’s house arrest, he’d known. They were all forced smiles and no eye contact with each other. A lack of ease and comfort. Osamu didn’t eat as much watermelon as he normally would. Atsumu didn’t brag when he won at video games. There was something wrong with them, and they did not want to talk about it.

Hinata tried anyway. When he got back to practice, finally feeling himself ready to take on the world again; Aran was playing better than ever, Akagi was close to mastering that spin on his receives. But then he watched Atsumu and Osamu consistently avoid him. Watched them go out of their way to try and slow him down on the court. Watched them avert their gaze when all Hinata had ever wanted to was to be seen.

Hinata had made a decision after the third time Atsumu refused to stay for extra practice. He wasn’t going to let Atsumu and Osamu’s fear limit him. If they didn’t want to help Hinata, he’d find someone else in their place.

And find them he did: Tendou, Ushijima, Goshiki, Inunaki, Annika, even Suna.

Hinata was a better player today than he’d been when he’d fallen at Nationals. And he’d bet dollars to donuts that he’d be even stronger with Osamu and Atsumu at his side. Luckily for him, something finally shifted and they were more or less back to normal now.

Which was good. Hinata was more ready than ever to win. He couldn’t wait.

He made his way back inside, intent on washing his hands before helping Kita wake up his team — he knew Atsumu hated being awoken by the pot clanging, so maybe Hinata would wake him up before Kita started. Anything to keep his setter sharp for their matches today.

He was just thinking about all the cool as heck plays they could try based on the configuration of Shiratorizawa’s defense, coming out of the bathroom, when he ran into someone.

Hinata jumped back, startled, knocking into the swinging door behind him. He found he didn’t have to look up very far to see who it was. He immediately bowed low, hands tucked into his sides. “I’m sorry, Washijou-sensei. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

Washijou brushed his immaculate tracksuit, giving what Hinata would describe as a ‘stink eye’. “Hmph.”

Hinata grimaced. Coach Kurosu had warned them all to be as respectful as they could in Washijou’s presence — he was a grumpy old man who would happily tear them a new one if they were disrespectful. Tendou told him that in Miyagi a lot of people called Washijou the ‘Demon Sensei’. Hinata had been doing so good all camp-long not to get on Washijou’s bad side. He peeked up through his lashes to find Washijou staring down at him.

“You’re up early.”

Hinata blinked, jerking to a stand, probably too fast based on Washijou’s expression. He tugged at the hem of his hoodie, suddenly very aware how ragged the edges of it were, the collar gaping a bit. “Mhmm. I try to meditate before the rest of my team gets up.”

Washijou stared at him blankly. Hinata wasn’t sure how much detail was too much detail to explain himself. Did Washijou think he was kind of buddha-like, meditating? Did Hinata give off an air of sophistication with it? Did he seem more tranquil? It was kind of surprising, Hinata knew, but he kind of thought meditating made him cool, like Kita-san—

“Huh.” Washijou’s brows scrunched together, still staring at Hinata. “I can’t imagine you’re very good at it.”

Stabbed right through the heart!

Flustered, Hinata flapped his hands. “Well, no— I mean, I want to be. It’s practice. I’m training to be better because—” That was a loaded explanation there, and he wasn’t sure if Washijou wanted to hear his whole story. “Uh, well— you see. It’s training a muscle, my brain!” One of Hinata’s hands lifted to scruff at his hair, as if indicating what muscle he was training.

Washijou seemed unimpressed. His mouth was all pinchy, accentuating all the creases and folds of his face. It was kinda funny; Washijou had big ‘ole frown lines on his forehead and mouth, but Hinata kinda thought it looked like he had a lot of smile lines too, crinkling around his eyes. Maybe Washijou wasn’t as grumpy and mean as everyone said he was—

“You think that’s enough to make up for your lack of height?”

The sweat that had started to bead on Hinata’s back abruptly stopped, his heart rate calming, his hands dropping to his side as he stared Washijou straight back in the eye. “No. Not meditation alone, but I need everything I can get my hands on if I’m going to fly. If I’m going to win.”

Washijou stared at him for a beat, before the corner of his mouth quirked up, a raspy bark of a single laugh escaping his mouth. “And just how far do you think you can get on just your ambitions?”

This was one of those reality check questions. Not quite rhetorical, more like— reminding Hinata of what the reality of his situation was. As if he didn’t understand better than anyone what the limitations he was given meant. Being short. Small. Predisposed to weakness. How hard he had to work. Hinata needed to understand his limitations, so he could figure out how to overcome them to reach his dream. He didn’t need anyone else reminding him.

When Atsumu and Osamu had offered to start training him last year, Hinata had one goal in mind: make it into Inarizaki. And then he did. So he moved his goal post again and again as he achieved what he wanted: Become a starter. Go to Nationals. Win Nationals — that last one hadn’t happened yet, but he was confident that it would. So what was left after that?

He’d been pondering that question last night, after their fitness tests, sitting around a table with Tendou, reading manga. And then Atsumu and Ushijima joined them.

Hinata was tilting the Junji Ito manga around, trying to decipher the complex overlapping panels conveying some sort of weird-as-heck body horror on the page, when Ushijima and Atsumu started to talk. Tendou sat next to him, reading The Rose of Versailles his sister had given him to trade. She wanted horror, and Tendou was happy to provide.

“Ya been recruited anywhere yet? Gonna play in the V.League?” Atsumu asked, shuffling a deck of cards poorly. He’d been trying to master folding the cards together with a snap ’for deft fingers, Shouyou-kun, duh.’

Ushijima nodded. “A few teams, yes.”

“And you’re officially playin’ for the national team, right?” Atsumu asked, all faux casual — Hinata knew Atsumu was secretly anxious he wouldn’t be selected for the U-19 national team. Or he would be, and then he’d be a bench player behind Iizuna. Which was silly. Atsumu was a waaaaay better setter than anyone else in Japan. Duh.

Ushijima nodded again. “And you will be playing in the V.League when you graduate.” Sometimes Ushijima didn’t ask questions, he just made statements that could be understood as questions if someone wanted to explain themselves. Hinata thought it was very cool and samurai-like.

Atsumu snorted, dropping his deck of cards and leaning his chin on his hand. “Yeah, probably. Only time I wanna travel is when I’m representin’ Japan, right?”

Ushijima hummed in agreement, that particular fire Hinata was starting to recognize so well, lit in Ushijima’s eyes. Hinata kind of thought it was like the one that burned inside of him too. Like the one in Atsumu.

Atsumu leaned back in his chair, pleased little smirk pulling at his mouth, apparently satisfied with what he found in Ushijima’s face. “Yeah, I knew ya’d get it, Wakkun. Gotta go for the gold, right?”

Tendou lifted his head at the nickname, giving Atsumu a peculiar smile — no longer engrossed in his manga. Hinata blinked. This was the first time he’d ever heard Atsumu name this particular goal post. It made sense: Atsumu loved to win so much, and he wanted to make the national team — of course he’d want gold on the international stage.

In answer, Ushijima actually flashed a bit of teeth in a small grin. “Yes.”

Hinata had to wonder, would gold on the international stage finally be enough for him? Or would it just be another in a long string of sliding goal posts? Maybe— Maybe it was big enough; far away enough that Hinata could build something. Build to something. He could spend years working towards that goal. To stand with the best, against the best.

Hinata thought he kind of liked that visual a lot — standing on the world stage with Atsumu at his side.

So when Washijou asked about how far he was going to go with his ambitions, Hinata already had an answer, even if he had only figured them out last night. He looked at Washijou, eyes clear. “I want to win gold at the Olympics.”

Surprise slackened Washijou’s face for a moment. It inexplicably made him look briefly, briefly younger. And then he kicked back his head and barked with laughter, sharply ringing out in the hallway around them. Hinata wondered if that was going to wake the others, but just as quickly as it had come, Washijou’s laughter died off.

After he sobered, he gave Hinata an appraising look, one hand coming up to rub his chin. Finally, he nodded. “Hmph, brazen, aren’t you?” Hinata didn’t know how to answer that politely, so he just shrugged. “You know you’re going to have tons of obstacles in your way, right?”

Hinata nodded. He already did. “Yup.”

Washijou tilted his head, mouth pursed. “I can imagine there’ll be people looking for any opportunity not to give you a chance, even if you’re the best there is.”

A flicker of anger ran its hot fingers over his heart before Hinata cooled it. “I know.”

Washijou looked him straight on, hands tucked behind his back. “Then you can’t give them any excuses.”

Hinata blinked, before he nodded again. “Yes.”

Washijou nodded back at him. “Very well. Then I look forward to seeing how far your ambitions take you.” And with that Washijou pushed past him to walk into the bathroom.

Hinata watched the door swing shut behind him, before he grinned. “Thank you, Washijou-sensei!” His smile widening when he could just barely make out the disgruntled ‘hmph’ from inside. Hinata really didn’t know why so many people thought Washijou was so mean — Hinata thought he was really kind of nice.

Turning, he walked back to the room his team was sleeping in, a bounce in his step. He’d wake Atsumu up and maybe ask him some questions about dreams and goals and gold medals.

Then it would be time to kick some Shiratorizawa ass.

~~~

And kick it they did. After a morning of beating down college teams, Inarizaki got to cap off the best Summer Camp — really, the only Summer Camp — of Hinata’s life with a spectacular win. Starring not one, not two, but three whole digs of Ushijima’s spikes. Sure, he’d missed a bunch of other ones, but it was three more than Osamu and Atsumu had— and! — on the third one, he managed to keep his balance, blasting off towards the net to nail a deadly quick with Atsumu.

Nothing felt better. Though the giddy, toothy grin Atsumu gave him as he whooped with excitement, smacking their hands together, was a close second.

There were no spikes without receives, but Hinata kind of thought that the best thing in the whole universe was a receive you sent to your setter, that you then got to spike.

Hinata was explaining this epiphany to Riseki and Goshiki after the match when the coaches gathered everyone for some sort of announcement. Probably some speeches or something equally boring.

Hinata had a hand in the air, trying to express the gravity of his revelation. “See, when you get to spike off a receive that you made, it’s like—” Hinata searched for the right word, lips pursed. “It’s like SHWAH, you’re some sort of incredible hero who everyone relies on. Like you’re the magic everyone is waiting to happen. Y’know?”

Goshiki’s eyes glimmered as he nodded emphatically. “I have some experience with being the hero for my team, so I’m glad you got to feel it at least once.”

Gnngh! That superior, little smirk Goshiki always gave him was so annoying. Hinata was just trying to think of a good rebuttal when Riseki cut him off. “Kind of like in beach volleyball, right? You always get to be the hero there too.”

Hinata looked at his friend and frowned. “Beach? You mean like when people use that giant inflatable plastic ball?” That was the only beach volleyball game he’d ever heard of. It sounded kind of like sucky volleyball to him.

Riseki and Goshiki stared at him blankly. Riseki cleared his throat. “No, I mean like beach volleyball. Like they play in the Olympics?”

Hinata cocked his head to the side. “They play that in the Olympics? That can’t be very fun to watch. Those big balls don’t fly very fast or far.”

Goshiki squinted at him. “So you really don't know what beach volleyball is?”

Hinata scowled at him. “I just said that I do though!”

Riseki flapped a hand between them before they could start bickering. “Now, now. Hinata, we really need to work on your volleyball literacy.” Hinata gave him a wounded look, so Riseki amended. “We can watch some videos on the train tomorrow, I’ll show you.”

Mollified, Hinata nodded. A thought occurred to him — he’d meant to ask Riseki about Fumiko’s latest recording she’d sent Hinata. He wasn’t able to play it on his phone so he figured he’d ask if Riseki could. “Hey, Riseki-kun, did Fumiko send you that new recording? I wasn’t able—”

He was cut off as Gin slid over to them, looking kinda mischievous. “Whatcha kids up to?”

Hinata smiled. “We were just talking about Fumiko’s latest—”

Gin’s face lit up in a wide smile. “Ahh, Fumiko-chan, hey?” Gin slapped Hinata on the back, making Hinata rock forward. “Chattin’ about how you’re plannin’ on helpin’ more of your little friends get girlfriends, huh?”

Riseki and Goshiki went red in the face, immediately flustered. Hinata stared blankly at Gin. “Huh?”

Gin shook his head, teasing grin on his face. “I gotta ask Shou. When’re you gonna share the wealth with the rest of us?”

“Huh?” Hinata repeated. He looked in questioningly at Riseki, but his friend looked like he was going to pass out from how red his face was.

Gin was unperturbed. “You know, how ya hooked up Riseki and little Fumiko-chan?” Hinata squinted at Gin. What was he talking about? Gin continued, “After you get Goshiki here,” he smacked Goshiki on the shoulder for good measure, “a girlfriend, make sure to share the wealth, eh, eh?”

Satisfied with setting off this small nuclear disaster, Gin ruffled Hinata’s hair and went to go join Suna on the far side of the players. Hinata watched him depart, still trying to parse Gin’s words. Girlfriends? Hooked up? His gaze slid over to Riseki to find his friend covering his face with his hands.

Goshiki was also blushing, but he looked more embarrassed and alarmed than he did ashamed.

“Uh, Riseki-kun?” Hinata asked, voice small. Riseki twitched, but didn’t uncover his face. “What did Gin-san mean?”

Riseki let out a gurgling breath. “It’s not—”

“Did you trick Hinata into getting you a girlfriend?” Goshiki asked, mad for some reason. Hinata gaped at him. What?

“Nooo!” Riseki cried, drawing the attention of the players around him. “That’s not— It’s just a study group!”

Hinata stared at his friend, confusion continuing to cloud his thoughts, until suddenly it all clicked into place. Study group? Who? Fumiko? Fumiko!! And Riseki was embarrassed because he— Did Riseki actually like Fumiko!?

Unable to actually articulate anything useful, all Hinata managed to do was squawk “Fumiko!” much to Riseki’s embarrassed horror. He squatted down, once again hiding his face in his hands. “Riseki-kun, do you— do you actually like Fumiko?” Riseki just made a piteous noise, not looking up from his hands.

Like someone might do when their crush was revealed in front of their friends and an audience of volleyball-playing gawkers.

How had Hinata not seen this? Maybe Suna was right, and he was too much of a volleyball otaku. Hinata had a million questions, but maybe, perhaps, shouting them in baffled anxiety in the middle of a crowd of volleyball players wasn’t the best time or place. Riseki was already plenty embarrassed.

Hinata was so distracted by his own thoughts that he nearly missed the announcement the coaches made about their dinner plans tonight to celebrate the end of camp. Really, he only noticed because Osamu’s delighted gasp drew Hinata’s attention away from Riseki’s curled form.

He watched Osamu pump his fist, a wide toothy grin lighting up his face as he high-fived Atsumu. “Heck ya! Pizza party!”

Things kinda happened really fast from there — or maybe Hinata was a bit out of sorts and he was just bad at paying attention. Next thing he knew he was being corralled along with his team and Shiratorizawa to hit up a nearby grocery store for the ingredients they’d need to make pizzas. Meanwhile, the college teams would build a few brick pizza ovens in the courtyard and chop the wood to cook them.

Hinata was still trying to get a text message off to Fumiko — the thought occurred to him that maybe she’d felt coerced into spending time with Riseki, and that maybe Hinata had been making her uncomfortable this whole time, and then the thought kept swirling around in his head, so he figured why not check in? — when Atsumu tried to swipe his phone away. Because Atsumu was back to being attention seeking rather than avoiding him flat out.

Hinata’s thumb slipped and hit send.

The message read: ‘Hey Fumiko! I have a question about how you feel about Riseki and m—” The message cut off there. It was meant to continue with ‘—and me and our study group. I just wanted to make sure you were still cool doing it, and if we’ve ever done anything to make you uncomfortable to please let me know.’ Without the rest of the message it looked like he was inquiring about Fumiko’s feelings towards Riseki.

He stared at the message, feeling blood drain from his face. She was going to kill him.

“Shouyou-kun, pay attention. ‘Samu is dolin’ out assignments and he’ll murder ya if ya forget anything.” Atsumu braced his elbow on Hinata’s shoulder, peering at Hinata’s phone as he snapped it shut. In front of them, Osamu was reading off a list to both teams as they stood in front of the grocery store, assigning ingredient-fetching responsibilities. If Hinata weren’t so distracted by his impending murder, he might’ve been fascinated by the sudden shift that created this Task Master Osamu. Food just brought that out in him.

But then again, Hinata was going to get bludgeoned to death by a trumpet the second he stepped off the train in Hyougo. So he was a bit distracted. Fumiko definitely seemed way more capable of murder than Osamu — personalities, for one thing, and Hinata was also pretty confident that Atsumu would try to stop his brother if he ever went after Hinata for any reason.

Also, Hinata could just outrun Osamu. Could he outrun Fumiko...?

“—ya got that Shouyou-kun?” Osamu asked, giving Hinata a narrow-eyed stare over his list.

Startled, Hinata jumped and nodded his head. “Mhmm! Yup! Loud and clear, Osamu-san.”

Next to him Atsumu snorted, jostling him a bit with the elbow on his shoulder. “He said you ‘n Heisuke-kun are on sauce duty. Gotta go get a buncha jars.”

Hinata blinked up at him owlishly. “Did he say how many?”

Atsumu looked pointedly at his nails, shrugging. “Nah, didn’t pay attention to that part.”

“Atsumu-san...” Hinata whined at him, knocking his chin into Atsumu’s forearm.

In retaliation, Atsumu poked him in the cheek, snickering. “It ain’t my fault ya were distracted.”

Hinata gusted a big heavy breath out of his mouth, buzzing his lips. “At least Riseki was probably listening, right?” He cast hopeful eyes to the end of the semi circle of players, where Riseki was still flushed, a hand pressed to his cheek as he stared at the ground looking deeply concerned. Or not.

“Twenty 1L jars,” Goshiki said from behind them, making Hinata and Atsumu jump as they looked back at him. Goshiki rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. “I’m supposed to help you too. You’re lucky I actually pay attention.”

Hinata beamed at him, Atsumu’s face was all smooth indifference. “Thanks, Goshiki-kun. I’m glad you listened at least.” Hinata turned to look up at Atsumu as he pulled his elbow off his shoulder. “What about you, Atsumu-san?”

Atsumu snorted, once again examining his nails. “I’m nothing but ‘Samu’s pack mule while he has too many opinions on cheese.” He flipped his brother off as everyone started to form into groups, ready to find the ingredients they needed to make pizza.

It was in the tomato sauce aisle, standing next to a glum-looking Riseki, and a fiery determined Goshiki that Hinata’s phone started buzzing. And then kept buzzing. And more buzzing. And oh god, it was a phone call, wasn’t it?

Goshiki gave him a weird look. “Are you gonna answer it?”

Hinata cringed, pulling his phone out of his pocket and seeing that, yep, Fumiko had indeed seen the message he sent. Setting his tomato sauce laden basket on the ground, Hinata pressed a hand to his heart as he flipped his phone open and said, just a bit tepidly, “Hello?”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY THAT? WHY WOULD YOU ASK THAT? HUH!?”

Hinata immediately jerked the phone away from his ear to preserve his hearing. Riseki obviously recognized the voice — even through Hinata’s tiny phone speaker — because he dropped a glass jar of tomato sauce that Goshiki deftly caught, staring at them like he and Riseki were both nuts.

Riseki was gaping at him wide-eyed, pointing at Hinata’s phone, mouthing ‘Fumiko?’ Hinata nodded, causing the colour drained from his face and he mouthed, ‘What did you do?’

Hinata grimaced. “Uh...”

“HINATA, I SWEAR TO GOD, YOU WILL ANSWER ME RIGHT NOW OR I’M GOING TO GO FIND THE NEAREST FLUTE AND SHOVE IT SO FAR UP YOUR—”

Hinata clamped a hand down on the speaker. Giving his friends a tight smile, he jerked his head behind him. “I, uh, gotta take this, sorry.” And he fled, Fumiko continued to berate him as he scurried over to the freezer aisle — it looked as though no one from either team had much of anything to grab from the frozen section.

Fumiko was still yelling at him. “What kind of text message was that? Huh? Aren’t you back tomorrow? If you wanted to talk about something like that, why would you stress me out with a text? Huh?”

Hinata rubbed at the back of his neck, waiting for Fumiko to pause long enough so he could get a word in edgewise. “Ah, hey, Fumiko-san, yeah. Ah—” There was a heavy silence on the other end of the receiver. “You see, uhm, well. I am very sorry for sending you that text message out of the blue.”

The heavy silence persisted.

“It must have seemed really weird, huh?” Hinata began anxiously flicking at different paper price placards, lined up along one of the low coolers, needing to do something with his hand as Fumiko continued giving him the silent treatment. It felt more ominous than her yelling had been.

“You see, uh, well. What I meant to send was if you were still okay doing the super powered trifecta homework group with me and Riseki?”

Fumiko finally spoke. “Why?”

Hinata began chewing on his lip, nearly giving himself a papercut on a curled piece of price paper. Wait— The paper read it was for Snowy Valley Chuupet? That was Suna’s favorite brand that had been discontinued! Suna had whined about that during their first training session the other day. His eyes scanned the cooler underneath him, not seeing any telltale yellow and white packaging.

“Hinata!”

He jumped, having forgotten that Fumiko had asked him a question. “Sorry, sorry. Yeah. Uhm, well, I just wanted to make sure we weren’t making you feel pressured or uncomfortable or anything.” His voice got a little small, scuffing the linoleum with his sneakers. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Fumiko blew a big gusty sigh into the receiver, making the line crackle a bit. “I thought you were asking if—” Hinata practically heard her mouth press into a line and the way her brows got all pinchy. “It doesn’t matter, it’s fine. Why would you make me uncomfortable anyways? You never worried about that when you gave me wet willies anytime I wasn’t paying attention.”

Hinata wanted to say that was different, his hands sliding over frozen plastic packaging, feeling the contours of edamame beans through their bag. Hinata didn’t like Fumiko in that way. She was his friend. But based on the way Riseki was being all weird and twitchy and goofy, even moreso than Akagi was around Inunaki, or Osamu was around Akaashi during Nationals — Hinata was pretty sure that meant something different.

Hinata shrugged, looking down into the cooler. “Well, maybe I’m worried about it now.”

Fumiko blew out another sigh, this time Hinata could definitely hear her rolling her eyes, which made him smile. “You’re annoying. Whatever, tell me about your stupid camp. Did you learn something new?”

Hinata grinned, finger catching on a package of frozen mango. “Yeah, I—” He gasped as he unearthed something amazing under the frozen mango.

“What? What? Hinata! What’s going on? Are you okay?” There was a thread of anxiety making Fumiko’s voice an octave higher.

Hinata lifted the lone yellow and white packaging, looking a little extra frosty around the edges, but no worse for wear. “I’m absolutely amazing, Fumiko-san. I’ll call you back.”

“Hinata, wait—” He hung up on her, grinning, staring at the Snow Valley Chuupet in his hand. He needed to go find Suna.

Which he did, in the veggie section, palming through different vegetables — or his group was palming through veggies while Suna scrolled through his phone, looking bored as hell. Hinata beamed. “Oi, Suna-san?”

Suna looked up from his phone, mildly irritated, until his eyes caught on the yellow and white packaging in Hinata’s hands. His expression opened up into one of vague delight — which was basically weeping from joy for Suna. He delicately took Hinata’s offered gift, smirking down at the four tubes of frozen jelly treat inside.

He looked at Hinata, before calling over his shoulder at the rest of their teammates. “You’re the only person who matters on the team, Shouyou.” Smirking at the put upon expressions that crossed Gin, Akagi, and Kosaku’s faces.

For Hinata’s troubles, he earned one of Suna’s prized chuupet for the walk back to campus — the orange kind, because that was Suna’s least favorite — but that didn’t stop Hinata from finding the twins to gloat at them about being given a very special chuupet treat just for him. Osamu tried to take a swipe at Hinata, nearly upending his and Atsumu’s enormous bag of cheeses in the process, but Hinata strategically ducked away, wedging himself between Ushijima and Tendou.

Hinata stuck his tongue out at the twins for good measure.

Tendou leaned down, head inches from Hinata’s own, squinting at him. “You’re more antagonistic than I would have guessed, Fennec-kun.”

Hinata gave him his best, widest ‘who me?’ look, which got Tendou smirking at him, shaking his head. Hinata peeked up at Ushijima, to see if maybe he was more disappointed than amused that Hinata could be a shit-stirrer. Instead, Ushijima was staring hard at the tube of chuupet in Hinata’s hand.

Hinata blinked, holding it up to Ushijima. “Do you want it?”

Ushijima shook his head. “No, you only have the one. I do not wish to take it from you.”

Tendou elbowed Hinata’s side before he could answer. “I betcha Wakatoshi-kun has never had a chuupet before.”

Hinata looked up at Ushijima stunned, watching the slight crease on his forehead as Ushijima gave Tendou a flat look. “Really? I thought they were super common in Miyagi. I used to see them everywhere in Sendai.”

“Ah, but Wakatoshi-kun is a fancy boy who never got to try the best unfancy foods,” Tendou tutted. That seemed to make Ushijima’s frown deepen. “Didja know he’s never had cup pudding before?”

Hinata gaped, staring open-mouthed up at Ushijima, who only frowned at Tendou. “That isn’t true. I have had cup pudding before.”

Tendou waved a hand, grin curling mischievously. “Ma, ma, fine. He’s had cup pudding before, but he’s never flipped it over on a plate.”

“But that’s the best part!” Hinata cried, looking up at Ushijima, feeling pity swell in his heart. Ushijima was still glowering at Tendou. Hinata made a decision. Gripping the chuupet with both hands, Hinata twisted and pulled, splitting the chuupet in the middle, like he usually did for Natsu. Some of the juices spilled out onto his hand, but that was okay. He held the cleaner one up to Ushijima.

Ushijima stared at it, blinking. Hesitantly, he switched which hand was holding his grocery bag and reached to grab the offered chuupet. Hinata proceeded to start licking his own sticky fingers, trying to clean some of the syrup off.

Tendou laughed, swinging an arm around Hinata’s shoulder, ruffling his hair. “What a generous little Fennec-kun!”

Ushijima stared at the fluorescent orange tube in front of him, brows lifting in surprise. “It’s cold.” Hinata beamed at him, nodding. He watched Ushijima tentatively bring the tube to his mouth, giving it an experimental lick. He jerked back, his nose wrinkling just slightly. He looked down at Hinata. “It is very sweet.”

Tendou reached a long fingered hand across Hinata, making grabby motions at Ushijima. “If you don’t want it, Wakatoshi-kun, I can eat it.”

Ushijima pulled it out of Tendou’s reach, bringing it up to his mouth once more. “I didn’t say that,” he mumbled, sucking a little, looking perfectly content.

Hinata grinned, stuffing his own into his mouth, joining Ushijima. When he was finished, reaching Yamanashi University gate, a thought occurred to Hinata.

“Hey, Ushijima-san?” Ushijima looked down at him, also finished his own chuupet half. “Do you still have any eggs left, by any chance?”

Ushijima blinked, and then nodded once. “Yes.”

Hinata grinned, “Lemme show you something awesome then.”

~~~

Hinata cracked one of his family’s eggs inside the cheese cratered in the middle of Ushijima’s pizza. Around him Ushijima, Tendou, and Osamu were watching Hinata raptly. “There you go. You cook this, and the egg stays all gooey and tasty, and you can dip your crust into the eggs as you eat.” Hinata gave Ushijima a thumbs up, watching his eyes light up with excitement.

Ushijima gave him a curt nod, eyes transfixed as Tendou lifted the pizza on a large spatula and shoved it into one of the pizza ovens. Beside Hinata, Osamu gave a big forlorn sigh, attention fixed to the pizza baking in the brick oven.

Hinata pat Osamu’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Osamu-san. I can always bring you some eggs, so you can try it back home.”

Osamu gave Hinata a wry smile, shrugging. “Yeah, I know. But it won’t be the same.”

Which was kinda true. There was something magical about a bunch of brick pizza ovens going up in the middle of the courtyard, players from six different teams milling about, building pizzas together, baking them, and sharing and laughing. Some people were making really weird combos. Others went full vegetarian. Some were experimenting with extra special ingredients, like Hinata’s baked egg pizza.

Hinata himself has already had two pizzas; one with lots of mushrooms and another that was a concoction Goshiki called a meat tsunami.

Ushijima tore his gaze away from the pizza oven to consider Osamu. “Do you wish to try?”

Osamu shrugged, waving a hand. “Nah, I don’t wanna steal yer pizza. It’s okay.”

Ushijima shook his head. “No, I have one more egg. I was saving it for tomorrow’s breakfast, but you may have it.” He reached into one of the bags at the base of their table, extracting the carton of eggs Hinata had given him on the first day of camp, holding it open to reveal one egg remaining.

Osamu stared at it, and Hinata could practically see the hearts in his eyes. Hinata grimaced. Those eggs were supposed to be for Ushijima as a thank you for helping him out so much the past week and a half. “Osamu-san, I can get you more back home—”

“Are ya sure?” Osamu asked, a little breathless.

Ushijima nodded, handing the carton over to Osamu, who grasped it with reverent hands. “Ushijima-san, I take back every unkind thing I ever thought aboutcha. Yer a freakin’ saint.”

That had Tendou narrowing his eyes suspiciously, but Ushijima merely nodded, acknowledging the thanks. Osamu’s head snapped around to look at the ingredients laden on the table, already mapping out his ideal pizza. Hinata was about to say that maybe he was being a bit greedy when movement caught in the corner of his eye.

Akagi was waving at him. “Oi, oi! Shou! Inunaki-san and Annika want us.” He gestured at the far side of picnic tables where Hinata could see Annika towering over most of the people around them.

Hinata turned to his friends, giving them a grin. “I’ll see you guys later. Let me know what you think of eggy pizza!” Tendou gave him a thumbs up, and Ushijima nodded at him. Osamu didn’t look up from his careful laying of ham on his pizza, merely jerked his head in a nod.

Osamu was such a food otaku. Jeez.

Hinata bobbed and weaved through the crowd trailing behind Akagi, narrowly dodging some of the college students surreptitiously pouring beer into their water bottles. They gave Akagi and Hinata a wink, bringing a finger to their lips as they took a swig of their water bottle beers. Yuck.

When they finally reached Inunaki’s table, Annika was picking a fight with him over toppings. “Oh, no, no. No pineapple, Wan-san. Grossy, gross, gross.”

Inunaki rolled his eyes. “Okay, gate crasher. It’s not like you were invited or anything. You’re essentially getting free pizza off me — the least you could do was be less mouthy about it.”

“Pineapple on pizza is so gross though.” Annika pouted at him. “The least you could do is only put it on only half.” Inunaki rolled his eyes at her, scoffing.

That was the moment Annika spotted them, face lighting up with a big grin. “Shou-chan! Akagi-senpai!”

“Hi Annika-sama! Hi Inunaki-san!” Hinata chirped, feeling himself flush a little bit as Annika stood, grinning down at them. She really was very, very pretty. Akagi gave a little finger wave beside him, wearing that doofy ‘Annika-sama’ grin of his.

Annika clapped her hands. “Perfect timing. Ready for some commemorative photos?”

Hinata and Akagi stared at her blankly for a second. “Hmm?”

She pulled out a pretty old digital camera, beaming at them. “My brother asked to see pictures of Shi-chan’s little students. He’s curious!”

Inunaki scoffed, finishing up sprinkling cheese to level her with a flat look. “Students?”

Annika pouted at him. “You were teaching them secret Wan-san techniques, what else would you call them?”

Inunaki slid Hinata and Akagi an unimpressed look, his expression a little sarcastic. “Entertaining freeloaders.”

Akagi crossed his arms, nodding his head. “Mhmm, yup. Who ya happen to be inexplicably fond of. Sounds right to me.”

Inunaki and Akagi stared each other down for a beat before both of them cracked grins. Hinata really never understood their particular brand of humour, but he was glad to know that Akagi got along with his own personal hero.

Annika fiddled with the setting on her camera as Hinata approached her. “Annika-sama, what’s your brother like? Is he tall like you? You mentioned he plays volleyball too.”

Annika beamed at him, lifting the camera and snapping a picture right in Hinata’s face, momentarily blinding him with the flash. She laughed. “Whoops! Sorry. I’ll turn that off.” She fiddled with something before pulling her phone out of her pocket to show Hinata a photo.

It was of Annika and a man just a little bit taller than her. They had the same hair only shorter, eyes, and even the same slant to their smiles. Hinata bet they looked really intimidating when they stood together — though he bet Annika’s brother was probably just as kind as her.

“He’s nice. He’s a bit taller than me though.” Here her eyes narrowed, obviously displeased by that fact. “Which is annoying, because we’re the same age.”

Hinata blinked. “Wow! You guys look so similar!” Was that normal for siblings? Hinata supposed he and Natsu looked pretty much alike, despite their age difference.

She nodded, heaving a sigh. “I’m the cuter twin though. Don’t let Wan-san ever let you think differently. Okay?”

Hinata gaped up at her as Annika continued fiddling with camera settings. “W-wait. Twins?” He repeated.

She blinked, looking down at him, nodding. “Yeah. Me and my twin brother. I’m the older twin though.” She beamed, thumbing at her chest.

“You’re twins?” He asked again, mind blown. How normal was it to know multiple twins? Were there more of them in the world than Hinata had previously thought? “Like Osamu-san and Atsumu-san?”

Annika stared down at him blankly. “Who?”

Hinata pointed across the courtyard where Atsumu had joined Osamu, both of them munching on the eggy pizza, looking content for all the world. That was good, Atsumu would have been really jealous if he hadn’t gotten to try the eggy pizza too.

Annika shielded her eyes, looking to where Hinata was pointing, eyes squinted. She laughed, shaking her head as she turned to look at Hinata. “No, me and my brother are identical twins.”

Hinata looked up at her, frowning as he looked back at Atsumu and Osamu. Osamu had his back to them as he picked up another slice, Atsumu happily munching on his pizza. “Uh, so are they?”

Annika laughed, and it felt a little condescending to Hinata. “No, my brother and I look exactly alike.” She pointed at where the twins stood. “Their hair is different.”

Hinata gaped at her, unable to believe that she was being serious. Inunaki sighed, moving to join them. “There’s no point kid. She can’t tell most Japanese people apart.” He slid Hinata a look, muttering out of the corner of his mouth. “She’s also kinda dense.”

Annika huffed, hands on her hips as she scowled. “That’s not fair, Wan-san! They have different hair colours! How am I supposed to tell they’re twins, huh?”

Inunaki waved a placating hand. “I know, I know. How about we take some photos that I’m sure you’re dying to share with Adriah.”

Annika grumbled something in German, glowering down at them, before she heaved a sigh. “Fine. But I want you to know that I’m reporting to Adriah that you’ve turned into a rude dude, Wan-san.”

Inunaki rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Now make sure I look good.” Annika stuck her tongue out at him as she began snapping pictures. Annika had them go through all sorts of goofy poses, including some Japanese memes she thought were particularly cool. By the time they were wrapping up, Hinata could see the coaches and managers bringing out big plates of watermelon for everyone — pizza time apparently over.

Akagi went off to go find Aran and Kita, shaking hands with both Inunaki and Annika before he disappeared into the crowds.

Hinata had spent an awful lot of time with lots of really cool people today, but he hadn’t really gotten a chance to hang out with his favorite people. Not for the whole camp — but especially not today when it had mostly been social time.

Now where on earth had Atsumu and Osamu gone off to?

Hinata finally spotted them on the outer edge of the courtyard, sitting on top of a picnic table, shoulder to shoulder whispering amongst themselves. Osamu said something that had Atsumu leaning back to grin at him, amused.

Hinata couldn’t keep his own smile off his face. It was such a welcome sight — Atsumu and Osamu actually getting along like normal. After weeks of frosty silences and awkwardness. It was funny though, they were so enraptured by their own conversation that they hadn’t even noticed the watermelon. Osamu would be devastated if he missed out.

Loading up a plate, Hinata crossed the courtyard, coming up on the twins from behind. Without a word of hello he stepped up onto the picnic table, startling Atsumu and Osamu to turn and face him.

“What the heck, Shouyou-kun?” Atsumu groused, holding a hand to his chest, as if Hinata had scared the bejesus out of him.

Osamu’s grumpy expression immediately smoothed when he saw what Hinata was holding. “Watermelon?” He asked breathlessly.

Hinata grinned, wedging his foot in between his friends. “Move over and I’ll give you some.”

Osamu didn’t need to be told twice. He immediately slid over, making room for Hinata. Osamu held his hands up, offering to take the plate while Hinata got himself seated. Atsumu rolled his eyes. “If ya want any, don’t go givin’ ‘Samu that plate. He’ll eat ‘em all.”

Osamu peered around Hinata at his brother, hand already reaching for a slice. “I ain’t the one who doesn’t know how to share, ‘Sumu.”

“What about that time at Obaa-san’s house when ya ate a whole damn watermelon for yerself, huh?”

Osamu paused before taking a bite of his slice of watermelon. He threw Atsumu a dirty look. “That was one time. And we were like, ten.”

Hinata could see Atsumu was puffing himself up to get into a very semantics-heavy argument, so he did the one thing he knew would distract Atsumu from picking a fight with his brother: Hinata picked up a slice of watermelon, and shoved it into Atsumu’s open mouth.

“Hmmpghrk—” Atsumu glowered down at Hinata as he chewed and swallowed, brows gradually tilting thoughtfully as pulled the slice of watermelon out of his mouth. After a second he nodded, zeroing in on the watermelon in his hands. “‘S good.”

Hinata beamed, taking a bite of his own slice, looking out across the field towards the chain link fence surrounding the courtyard. He felt the sun beaming down on them, its heat less scorching with the nice cloud cover, the humidity not as pronounced. Beside him, his two best friends were enjoying their own little slices of summer.

“I’m glad you guys are doing okay now,” Hinata murmured softly, taking another bite. He didn’t mean to turn the mood all serious, but he really was happy that Atsumu and Osamu were getting along again. That they were hanging out with him again. That Atsumu would actually talk volleyball with him again. He’d missed that. A lot.

He knew they were taking him seriously though, both of them pausing their eating — a big deal for Osamu when he got going. Osamu looked down at his half-eaten slice and shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah, we worked it out.”

On Hinata’s other side, Atsumu snorted. “More like Aran-kun worked it out.”

Hinata leaned over, interested. “Really, what did he tell you guys?”

Over his head Atsumu and Osamu exchanged a look — brows pinched, mouths curved down just so. Something they didn’t want to talk about at all. Ah, that. Nationals. Hinata supposed they never really talked about it. Not in all the visits they had before Hinata was allowed back at practice. Certainly not after Hinata had rejoined practice. And definitely not since camp started. Things had been closer to normal the last couple of days, and it was good to know he had Aran to thank for that.

Hinata heaved a breath, digging his thumbnails into the edge of the white rind. He hadn’t said it out loud. Not once, not since it happened. Because maybe he was pretending a bit too, about how he was all okay. And maybe he was afraid that the second he said it out loud, he’d know he was lying — and then they’d also know. That he wasn’t really okay.

But after an intense ten days of camp where he worked hard, tried new things, became stronger and better and got to see the results of his hard work. He had made a mistake. He was going to do everything in his power to make sure it never happened again.

“I’m doing better now too, you know,” Hinata said casually, looking down at his watermelon, at the line he was digging into the pith. “I’m not going to let it happen again.”

Atsumu and Osamu sat in silence, both of them were so still Hinata wondered if they were even breathing. He was just working up the courage to see what their expressions were like when Atsumu spoke. “Fuckin’ right yer doin’ better. Saw that first-hand yesterday when ya kicked Ushiw—” Atsumu cut himself off, sucking on his teeth, eyebrows doing their annoyed spasm thing. “Wakkun’s ass yesterday.”

Atsumu shrugged, giving Hinata a sidelong smirk. “Ya can say it was pretty... sick.”

Hinata stared at Atsumu blankly for a second before he felt laughter kick out of his chest. He leaned forward, almost upending the plate of watermelon in his lap as his shoulders shook with snickers. Sometimes Atsumu’s jokes were pretty lame — but this one was pretty good.

Atsumu looked very pleased with himself, swiping another piece of watermelon as Hinata got his breathing back under control. From his other side, Osamu bumped their shoulders together as he grabbed his own slice.

“‘Sides,” Osamu was looking right at him, eyes not trailing down to the fresh slice in his hands once. “If it ever does happen again, y’know ya got us to help pick ya back up.”

Hinata looked between the two brothers — his friends, feeling something warm and a little bit sloppy start to overflow in his chest. So he did the thing that he was pretty sure Suna would do if he were in Hinata’s shoes. He smirked at Osamu and nodded his head thoughtfully in agreement.

“Sick.”

When they’d finally managed to calm their laughter, after Akagi yelled at them to stop being so damned giddy, Hinata tucked into his second slice of watermelon feeling a tremendous sense of normalcy and calm. He was right back where he ought to be. Between his two friends, watching the wind ruffle the trees. Osamu tucking into his watermelon with the dedication of a lover. Atsumu—

Hinata glanced up at Atsumu to find his friend watching him. His expressions were all kinds of relaxed and gooey — It was kinda like the expression Atsumu got whenever he watched game tapes where he did something really cool. “Atsumu-san?”

Atsumu blinked, jerking as if startled, his eyebrows lifted high on his forehead. “Bwuh?”

Hinata wrinkled his nose. “Your expression got kinda funny there. Are you okay?”

Atsumu’s face flushed and scrunched at the same time. “It weren’t nothin’! I was—” His eyes bugged out, staring at something behind Hinata’s shoulder. “‘Samu!”

It was too late. Osamu had finished his slice of watermelon, apparently not yet satisfied, and he decided that he was going to sneak a little bit more — from the slice of watermelon Hinata had sitting in his hands. He’d bent in half and took a massive bite out of the side of it, his cheeks puffing out as he chewed. At Hinata’s scandalized gasp, Osamu gave him a wide-eyed innocent look, shrugging his shoulder helplessly.

“My watermelon!”

“‘Samu, ya greedy shit!”

Osamu finally swallowed — he’d taken an awfully large bite. “Ya can always get more if ya want.” He thumbed over his shoulder to indicate the tables where the watermelon had been. Had being the operative word. All of the rest of the volleyball players had absolutely decimated the remaining watermelon. Only the husks of rinds littered the tables.

Hinata and Atsumu turned to glower accusingly at Osamu as one. Osamu held up his hands in defense. Hinata eyed the piece of untouched watermelon in Atsumu’s hands. “Hey Atsumu-san, share with me.”

Atsumu held his slice aloft, giving Hinata a pitying look. “It ain’t my fault yer too stupid to protect yer food when ‘Samu is around.”

Hinata gasped indignantly. “I brought you the watermelon! You wouldn’t even have any if it weren’t for me!”

Atsumu only shrugged, tipping his head up and taking a bite right in the middle of the slice, smirking at Hinata as he chewed. “Mmm, delicious.”

Hinata narrowed his eyes, giving Atsumu one more chance to be kind and benevolent — which he obviously didn’t take — before Hinata launched himself at Atsumu’s side, grabbing the wrist holding Atsumu’s piece of watermelon.

“Shouyou-kun! Stop! Yer gonna make me drop it!” Atsumu wailed as he tried to scramble away. Hinata latched on tighter, managing to hook his knee on Atsumu’s elbow as they wrestled.

In the end, Hinata did end up making Atsumu drop his slice. Both of them were staring at it forlornly when Osamu swept in to save the day. “Oi.” Hinata and Atsumu turned to look at him, probably wearing matching kicked puppy expressions, based on Osamu’s eye roll.

“Coach gave us permission to go back to the store and buy another watermelon. I’ll buy—” He didn’t have a chance to finish before Atsumu and Hinata were towing him forward with a whoop of excitement.

As they walked out of the University gates, Hinata looked between his two best friends and felt a giddy sort of excitement bubble up in his chest. Yeah, this was exactly how it was supposed to be.

Hinata, Atsumu, and Osamu, making their way in the world together.

~~~

“The next time we face each other, I’m going to defeat you,” Ushijima told Hinata the following day, as Inarizaki and Shiratorizawa stood near Kofu Station’s gates leading to their separate train platforms. Shiratorizawa would be heading north, back to Miyagi. Inarizaki west to Hyougo.

Hinata beamed at him. “I’d like to see you try.” His smile widened at Ushijima’s brief flash of teeth. He was going to miss everyone from Shiratorizawa. This had been one of the best weeks of Hinata’s life. Not getting to see Ushijima, Tendou, and Goshiki every day was going to suck. Life would be just a little bit less exciting, maybe.

Around him, both teams were saying farewell: Aran and Reon shaking hands while laughing; Osamu saying something dry to Kawanishi, making him laugh; Suna smirking at Shirabu, for whatever reason; Riseki and Goshiki comparing notes; Kita shaking Ushijima’s hand, exchanging reserved smiles.

Tendou descended on Hinata with all the force of a whirlwind, wrapping Hinata up in a hug, lifting him off his feet. “I’m gonna miss you, Fennec-kun.” Tendou’s words were a bit distorted from where his cheek was smooshed into Hinata’s hair.

Hinata laughed, wrapping his arms around Tendou’s chest. “I’m gonna miss you too, Tendou-san.”

Tendou hummed, swinging Hinata back and forth a bit. “I know.” And then Hinata felt him still. Before Hinata could figure out what was going on, Tendou launched them forward, crashing into another body, effectively sandwiching Hinata between Tendou and...

“Atsumu-san?” Hinata could only barely make out the impression of the side of Atsumu’s bleached hair, wedged as he was against Atsumu’s chest. It was the telltale grunt that gave him away.

“Tendou, what the fuck are ya doin’?” Atsumu bit out. Hinata could feel him trying to peel away. Too bad for Atsumu, Tendou was a lot stronger than he looked.

“I’m gonna miss you too, Twin B-kun.” Hinata could hear the underlying giggle in Tendou’s words. He really wished he could see what their faces were doing right now.

Atsumu was silent for a few beats, and then Hinata felt him slacken into the hug. “Yeah, I guess I’ll kinda miss ya too,” Atsumu grumbled. Hinata bet Atsumu’s cheeks were flushed juuuuust a bit. He grinned at the mental image. Hinata kinda hoped Suna took a picture. It was probably kinda cute.

Tendou finally released the two of them, scruffing both of their hair as he did so. Hinata laughed and Atsumu swore as Tendou gave them his best curling smile. “Make sure to be good, little foxes. Hmmmmm?”

Hinata saluted, while Atsumu continued to swear, trying to fix his mussed hair as Tendou walked away, giving them a little finger wave as he went.

It was finally time to say their formal goodbyes — both teams lining up, bowing and shouting thank yous at each other. Hinata made sure to make eye contact with Washijou before they left, bowing to him extra low once more. He grinned when he saw Washijou’s face quirked with amusement.

Inarizaki hopped onto the escalator, ascending to the platform for the train that would take them home. Hinata had spent so much time learning so many things. He’d worked so hard, and proven to himself what he already knew to be true — there were plenty of ways to be strong. And, if he tried hard enough, he could even outpace Ushijima. The thought lit a ball of electricity in his stomach, working its way through his limbs.

On the step below Hinata, Atsumu was pouting at the ads pasted to the wall, obviously still a bit sore about Tendou messing up his hair. He’d done a decent job straightening it, but there was still a bit sticking up near the back of his head. Smothering a laugh, Hinata reached out unthinking, brushing his fingers through Atsumu’s hair, straightening the errant strands, feeling the waxy tug of his product on the pads of his fingers.

Atsumu froze, staring up at Hinata wide-eyed, not breathing. Hinata blinked. They were almost at the top of the escalator when a thought occurred to him.

He pulled his hand out of Atsumu’s hair, clapping both sides of his own face as he stared down at Atsumu in horror. “We never did any setting practice! I totally forgot!” Hinata wailed. How could he have forgotten!? They were supposed to spend so much time fixing Hinata’s crappy sets, but he’d been so focused on receives! Oh man!

Hinata nearly tripped as they made it to the top of the escalator. Atsumu caught his arm, righting him. Hinata turned to thank him, only to find Atsumu’s most thunderous scowl as he glowered down at Hinata.

Hinata gave a nervous laugh. “Uh, Atsumu-san?”

“Ya forgot about setting practice?” He asked icily. Before Hinata could react, Atsumu released his arm and planted his knee in Hinata’s ass, shoving him forward. “Don’tcha worry, Shouyou-kun.” Atsumu was baring his teeth in his meanest smile. “I’ll make sure ya don’t have a chance to forget when we get home.”

Hinata clasped his butt, pouting at Atsumu. “I didn’t meeeean to forget. I just diiiid.”

“Shouyou-kun, learn a bit of self preservation and stop talkin’ while yer ahead,” Atsumu growled, stomping forward, hands shoved into his pockets.

Hinata rolled his eyes, following after Atsumu. Jeez, Atsumu could be so dramatic sometimes.

Once again, Inarizaki had taken the top spot at the Hyougo Inter-High. They would be representing their prefecture at Spring Nationals. Their team had played well, an already strong offense coming together even better than before — thanks in no small part to the things they all learned at their summer training camp.

Kita looked out at the gathered semi-circle of his team. It was strange to think that there were now only a handful more chances to take in this sight before him. His eclectic group of teammates stared at him, waiting for whatever words he had to share. November would pass by quickly, the school term would end in December, and then, before he knew it, Kita would be playing in his final high school tournament — win or lose.

He and Kurosu had already discussed his replacement. Though it took some convincing, Kita was glad to know that at the end of the day their coaches agreed with him. There wasn’t a better choice at Inarizaki. That announcement could come later though. After Spring Nationals.

“I have a few announcements to share with you before you all go home,” Kita said, flipping open his notebook and glanced down at the pages, even though he was already more than familiar with the three line items.

In front of Kita, Hinata was trying to bat at Atsumu’s hand, busy making trouble tugging at his orange hair. Osamu reached over and whapped Atsumu on the back of his head, scowling as Hinata snickered at him.

Kita suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. Perhaps Aran was right. They had no business hurrying those two along, but it didn’t stop it from being any less irritating. It shouldn’t surprise Kita in the slightest that Atsumu was the type to engage in schoolyard flirting.

Clearing his throat, snapping everyone’s attention back onto himself, Kita listed off his first item. “Spring Nationals will take place January 3-8. Given that we ranked second overall in the summer, we have been seeded, bypassing the first round.”

As expected, Hinata’s face scrunched up in annoyance. Leave it to Hinata to be disappointed he would play fewer games. Around him the team broke off into cheers and whispered conversations about what games they’d like to watch first. Or, more importantly, the Tokyo food they’d eat first.

“Second announcement,” Kita called, voice cutting through the murmur, grabbing everyone’s attention back. “The All-Japan training camp will be taking place December 15-21.” Across from him, Kita watched Atsumu wiggle in anticipation, eyes practically glittering. Kita gave an internal sigh — Atsumu was not going to like this.

“Once again, Atsumu has been invited to attend for the second year in a row. Everyone please give a round of applause for our nationally ranked setter.” Kita began clapping with his small notebook in hand, watching Atsumu closely for reaction as the rest of the team unenthusiastically clapped their hands together.

Atsumu stilled, brow scrunching up in confusion, like he was waiting for Kita to finish his sentence. Atsumu flicked a glance down at Hinata, who, unlike everyone else, was beaming madly, clapping enthusiastically for Atsumu — proud.

And then Atsumu dragged his eyes back up to Kita and there was the snap of anger Kita had anticipated when he heard the news. Kita raised a hand to ward him off. “Atsumu—”

“What the fuck!” Atsumu erupted, hands flying in the air as his cheeks flushed in rage. Around him the applause and smiles abruptly died. “Just me? Ya can’t be serious!”

Kita sighed. “Atsumu—”

Atsumu wagged a finger at Kita, snarl on his face. “Dont’cha fuckin’ ‘Atsumu’ me! Fuck this! Only me? What the fuck’re they thinkin’?”

Before practice today, Kita had been pulled into a meeting with Coach Kurosu and Coach Oomi. They asked if Kita would be comfortable sharing an update with the team. When Kita learned that only Atsumu would be attending All-Japan, Kita had envisioned Atsumu’s reaction perfectly. He knew without a doubt that Atsumu was going to react by blowing up and getting angry at everyone around him.

It was the typical way Atsumu dealt with things he perceived to be injustices, after all.

Kita sighed again. “Atsumu, if ya would let me finish—”

“No! Bullshit!”

“Atsumu-san, calm down.” Hinata tried, holding his hands out placatingly.

Atsumu whipped around to scowl at Hinata. “No! This is all crap! Why the fuck didn’t they invite ya too?” Atsumu lifted his head to glare at Kita, like it was his fault. “I’m not goin’ if Shouyou-kun ain’t goin’.”

Beside him, Osamu groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Overdramatic baby.”

“He can’t go with ya,” Kita delivered flatly, giving Atsumu a penetrating stare, waiting for him to calm down before he continued. Atsumu crossed his arms, looking absolutely mutinous.

“Obviously! ‘Cause the shitheads didn’t even invite him. Of all the fuckin’ dipshit decisions—” Atsumu was cut off by Hinata clapping a hand over his mouth, turning to look at Kita curiously.

“Why can’t I go?” The added bonus of Hinata becoming more attentive to both himself and those around him — at least when it came to volleyball — was that Hinata tended to listen to the details of conversations more. Like Kita’s inference that Hinata would be unable to go.

“My final announcement,” Kita said, giving Hinata a small, grateful smile, “is that Hinata-kun has been invited to a special first year training camp taking place at Shiratorizawa in Miyagi.”

The air in the gymnasium seemed to still. Hinata had rooted himself in place, the hand formerly clamped over Atsumu’s hand slowly floated down to rest at his side as he stared at Kita in a wide-eyed surprise.

Kita smiled. “Coach Washijou has extended you a personal invitation saying,” here Kita glanced down at his notebook, eyes glittering with amusement at the exact wording, “Hinata would have attended this camp if he’d stayed in Miyagi, so he might as well come.”

Even the most cantankerous of souls thawed when they met Hinata Shouyou — it really was fascinating to watch.

“The training camp runs from December 15-20, so Hinata will unfortunately not be able to sneak into the All-Japan camp with you this year, Atsumu,” Kita delivered flatly, but was pleased to see the smirks of amusement lighting up Aran and Akagi’s faces.

Atsumu was gaping like a fish, obviously having trouble processing this information. Hinata was— Hinata was vibrating at such frequency that Kita was kind of surprised he wasn’t hearing some sort of hum from the movement alone.

“YES!”

Kita blinked, staring at Hinata in alarm. “Pardon?”

“Tell them yes! I really, really, really, really, really want to go! Please!” Hinata clasped his hands in front of him, eyes shining in excitement.

Kita huffed a laugh. “Coach Kurosu already said yes on your behalf.” And then he allowed himself a moment to enjoy the sheer excitement and confusion of the team in front of him as Hinata yelped in excitement, bouncing around, accepting high fives and shoulder pats from the people around him.

Hinata froze mid jump as a thought occurred to him. “Oh! I should text Tendou-san!” He rushed over to where his bag was tucked against the wall. “I think they were playing their finals today!”

While he did that, Kita moved to pull Atsumu aside. Atsumu looked like he was trying to decide between being grumpy, being happy, and being surprised. “Try not to hold it against the national team coaching staff, Atsumu.”

Atsumu gave Kita an unimpressed look. “Short-sighted assholes.”

Kita didn’t disagree — it was just a marker of more people who could only understand one type of strength. “We’ll just have to prove ‘em wrong when we win Nationals, won’t we?”

That seemed to finally snap Atsumu out of it. He slid Kita a coy look, lips curling up meanly. “Hell yeah, we—”

Across the gym, Hinata gasped sharply. The sound froze everyone in place to look at him with concern. Atsumu licked his lips, slowly walking over as Hinata stared at his phone, face pale. “Y’okay, Shouyou-kun?”

Hinata looked up, absolutely stricken. He held out the screen for his team to see. Kita couldn’t make out the words from where he stood, only many, many skull emojis littering Hinata’s screen.

After a moment of silence, Hinata finally told them.

“Shiratorizawa lost.”

Atsumu blinked in surprise, tilting his head. “To who?”

Hinata looked down at the screen again, a curious frown Kita wasn’t familiar with creasing his features. But when Hinata looked back up at his team, there was an all too familiar fire burning in his eyes.

“Karasuno High.”