Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

At some point in life, Kageyama became used to the white walls of the hospital. The smell of disinfectants, the echoing of footsteps, and the random hushed discussions people had in distress.

For after Kazuyo’s Diagnosis, Tobio’s life crumbled right before his eyes.

The once warm house full of joy and laughter turned into an empty hole of solidarity. There was no more playing volleyball with Grandpa in the afternoons, no more cooking sessions of their favourite foods. No more was the feeling of home.

The greatest ache for Tobio was the pain of losing everything. Where one moment you were on top of the world, had everything, and then with a flick of a finger you lost it all. You don't know when exactly you began losing control of your life, but you only remember that once upon a time you felt happy.

In his first year of middle school, Kageyama felt like he had everything. He had his passion and dream in his hands. He had Kindaichi and Kunimi for him to call his best friends. And most importantly, he had a home to go back to. A grandad who carried the weight of the whole world with him, and a sister who he could share his thoughts with. Even if his mom and dad were never there, he had his grandad there to love him.

But Kageyama learned very early in his life that with every good thing given to him in life, there will be a price later on. With every sunshine follows a rain that floods his life and crumbles it into nothing. And with a blink of an eye, the first year of middle school finished, and so did everything Kageyama carried close to his heart.

And you see, no one in the world will ever care enough to heal you. No one will ever care enough to sit down with you for one minute and ask you if everything is alright. No one will ever question why Kageyama’s innocent baby blue eyes changed into a hollow deep ocean, why his personality all changed together.

And the ache that you once had it all remains, deep within you, bleeding every emotion into your heart whenever you think about it. And you always think about it, because you always think about what your life would have been like if you didn’t lose the things that you held most dear to yourself.

But you see, people like Kageyama are broken. And broken people are naive, they always think about a way to fix themselves again. And that is what Kageyama thought he was doing when he decided to be friends with Hinata. You put all the remaining hope into Hinata, hoping that one-day Shoyo will fix him. That one day, Shoyo would make him feel happy again, and one day Shoyo could become his sunshine.

And Shoyo did make Tobio feel happy for a while. He made him feel invited into Karasuno, he sat with him during lunch, and he listened to what Tobio had to say. And unlike everyone else in the world, Shoyo was not soft, he always came back, even when Tobio insulted him. And after all this time, Tobio felt like he could find a home in Karasuno again.

And Kageyama couldn’t ask for more. Soon Shoyo’s heat spread to everyone on his new team and for once in his life, Kageyama could have said that he had somewhere other than the corner wall of his house to call his home. Even Saltyshima was one of them.

Karasuno was a home to get judged without feeling like there was something wrong with him. Tanaka and Noya might laugh at his expressions but still advised him. Suga might have not liked his spot being taken but still guided him with a smile. Tsukishima might call him King, but still helped him study. Kiyoko might never talk to him but still checked in on him. And he might always shout at Hinata, but Shoyo always came back to stand next to him.

Until today at least, thought Kageyama as he sat alone in the doctor's office. Body covered in bruises.

He was not sure whether Hinata would ever talk to him again after their fight today.

And soon, Kageyama knew, everyone in Karasuno would follow. He always believed that the only reason they tolerated him was that Shoyo was there beside him. And now home is gone again.

But this is not a new feeling for Tobio. He is just losing everything all over again. His parents' love, his grandfather’s warmth, his sister’s smiles, Iwaisumi’s guidance, Kindaichi’s stories, Kunimi’s advice, and Oikawa’s presence. He has lost them all.

And so he sat there. Opposite to the doctor who was checking his blood and ECG results. Hoping to leave this wretched place that only brings back bad memories.

The only reason he was here was because the doctor wanted to talk to him about the results he took three days ago. I guess you know something is wrong when the doctor wants to see you face to face considering the short notice of everything.

“Kageyama” rang out the voice of the white-haired doctor, “you said your grandad died of heart failure right?”

“Yes”, answered Tobio, which increased the frown on the doctor’s face.

“It rare….very rare for someone this young”, said the doctor looking over his notes again, “but my diagnosis keeps leading to the same result”.

Saying this the doctor put all his notes on the table and looked at Kageyama with an apologetic expression. And he said slowly, “Taking into account the symptoms, various test results and family history, Kageyama we believe you have heart failure”

The world was colder than it ever was.

Chapter Text

The first problem arose for Ukai in the form of a phone call.

A phone call from the second most terrifying person he has met in his life. Of course, the first-place position will always go to his grandfather, but Couch Washijo had every right to be in second place.

Although he was half expecting himself to get yelled at or even cursed at, what he was not expecting was Wahijo’s calm voice inviting Karasuno to a training camp held in Tokyo.

You see, at the time, Ukai did not see it as a problem. Of course, as he also replied a training camp with a powerhouse would benefit his boys a lot. The invitation even got better after Washijo mentioned Nekoma and Fukurodani with a couple of other great teams being also there.

However, Ukai’s main problem was the fact that Aoba Josai was also invited. And to simply put Shiratoriza, Aoba Josai, and Karasuno under the same roof for three weeks is the equivalent of a world war. And to say that Ukai still had nightmares of that lanky redhead blocker was an underestimate.

But you see, Ukai really thought he could work through that. At least until the other problems coupled up.

The second problem arose when Takeda announced to the group that he would not be attending. Commenting about some gibberish of marking the first semester exams.

The third problem arose when Kiyoko announced that she would not be attending. Rather she would be spending time with her father in hospital after an accident at work. Which meant that there was no one left to put a leash around the older boys.

The fourth problem was when Yachi announced that she would not attend. Something about travelling somewhere with her mother. Now there was no one to connect the first years together.

And Ukai knew this trip would be a disaster. He would have to be a ‘responsible adult’ for a bunch of hot-headed teenagers.

Sometimes he really wondered why he was asking for grey hairs.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Despite the snow nearly covering all the roads, the Karasuno volleyball bus managed to get to the destination just in time.

Well not really on time, more like near midnight with all the other school buses already being in the quiet parking lot.

“Wow coach, we really are late” came Suga’s voice, who was one of the few players that were still awake and had yet to fall asleep.

“Oh come on kid, it is not like you would have trained on the first day anyways.” he replied as he turned the engine off and turned on the inner light of the old bus “Besides, our bus is a granny compared to what the other schools have come with”

And without hesitation, he pressed his hand on the horn of his bus. Kept his hand there and waited. After all, this is by far the best way to wake a bunch of teenagers.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Tanaka always knew that the other schools that were in the camp were rich.

‘But not this rich!’ he thought as he gazed at the campus that they were supposed to enter for the training. The whole establishment might have been double or triple the size of all of Karasuno. The blue walls extended on both sides with no windows, and in the middle lay the huge red doors equivalent to the size of two Tanakas on top of one another.

“...the great walls of China” murmured Noya, eyes still blinking his sleep away.

Before the team made their way any further towards the entrance, Daichi took steady steps in the snow towards the door and faced the team. “As we all agreed, no kicking, no punching, no biting, no fighting, no throwing things around, no shouting, no curing, no-”

“Geez, we got it the first 100 times you said”, with that Suga made his way towards the captain and gave him a reassuring smile “Nothing will go wrong ok”

“I am not sure about this” Asahi stated as he started fidgeting with the hem of his coat. “They will swallow us whole”
“Dude man up, who says we can’t swallow them,” said Noya, whose face was no longer visible with the thick yellow coat he was wearing.

“Great idea, that might add to your height,” remarked Tsukishima as he covered his mouth with his gloved hands.

“What did you-”

“Can we stop talking about cannibalism and just go in already” Ennoshita was jumping on the tips of his feet, trying to warm himself up.

Daichi sighed before taking in a deep breath. He then turned around and knocked loudly on the door. And waited.

And waited.

…..and waited

“Right let just all turn around and go back home…this must be a sign from God that we are not wanted here” - Asahi

“I swear if you start quoting things from the Bible I will-” - Suga

“Break the door!!” - Noya

“Nishinoya! We are not breaking anything!” - Ennoshita

“Can we just calm down!” - Narita

“I wanna be Olaf”- Hinata

“Omg…can you be less dumb”- Tsukishima

“God has left us in the snow..we are gonna die!!” - Asahi

“There might be a spare key under the door mat…”

Despite how quietly Kageyama said these words, it still managed to break through the chaos. And this might have been the only thing he has ever stated since they came on this journey. After a few seconds of the team gazing at Kageyama and trying to process what he said, Daichi returned back to his position and tried the new instructions.

And to everyone's surprise, there indeed was a key under the door mat and the door did open once Daichi tried it. Daichi turned his gaze back to the boy who was only looking up ahead with no expression of surprise or of anything in particular. “Ok?... let's go I guess” muttered the captain as he stepped into the building.

“You know what?....I am too tired to question anything anymore” said Tsukishima as he followed the rest of the group inside, still looking at the King.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The first area Karasuno entered was the empty hallway. Despite it being late at night, the team could still hear the voices of people coming through another entrance right in front of them. However, the walls of the warm hallway were covered with multiple coats and hats hanging on the hangers.

Not needing an explanation, the boys of Karasuno started taking off the extra layers of clothes, while some kept their belongings in the bags that they brought with them. And judging from the multiple layers of clothes already there, it was easy to say that Karasuno was definitely the last team to arrive.

As some of the boys finished getting ready, they waited for everyone to follow suit, while Narita told off their coach for smoking inside the room.

And when ready, the boys and their coach, with Daichi moving in the front made their way down the hallway and right to the new entrance where all the noises were coming from.

The first thing they saw was not pleasant, for Oikawa stopped in his tracks eyes wide with a toothbrush in his mouth, wearing ugly alien green pyjamas and pointed at them.

“Looks like the crows have come last again!” said that tall boy as he made his way towards them, mouth still full of toothpaste. Just as Karasuno was ready to re-attack and for Oikawa to reload, Iwaizumi hit the boy and bowed his head by pulling on his hair.

“Please ignore Shitikawa; he is just sleep-deprived” Iwaizumi let go of the boy in his hand and slowly made his way towards the captain. He held out his hand to Daichi and gently, yet firmly shook it. “We have never had a proper greeting have we?”

“No, but it is a pleasure meeting you Iwaizumi”

“The pleasure is ours captain”

As Iwaizumi let go of Daichi’s hand, he slowly tilted his head and smiled softly “It is also nice seeing you again Kageyama”

“Iwa! You traitor!”

But Iwaizumi did not reply, and Kageyama only nodded his head. With that, Iwaizumi turned around and pulled Oikawa with him with a heam of his shirt.

“I told you to stop harassing people”, said Iwaizumi and he pulled the boy out of the hallways.

“Well that went better than I expected” said Daichi to no one.

Chapter Text

What happens when you succeed at something? Say you have got a high grade on a test, won a match, or made someone happy.

Well, as far as Keiji could tell, ordinary people feel happy and proud of themselves. Some would reward themselves, some would go out and celebrate. But Akaashi was not like that.

He felt afraid, nervous, or even sometimes disgusted. He felt as if these were signs of a tick before a bomb, that a thunderstorm was coming soon. That he did not deserve to be happy, because the war was not over, but it was only starting

Pretty weird right? Not ever feeling the joy of success?

He talked about it once with one of his close classmates back in middle school. He does not remember their response, only the confused face they made and the echoing of their laughter in his brain.

So Akaashi decided to stop asking people about his feelings. After all, the more you give away, the more of an outcast you become. So what if he was a silent mask all the time? At least he would not be laughed at right?

Eventually, his questions lead him to the internet. Where the psychologist online told him it was because of trauma. That Akaashi has faced a lot of bad experiences to the point that his mind could not distinguish between the feelings of joy and sadness.

And that terrified him. It terrified him that now he was nothing more than a walking scribble of nervousness. Eventually, his fear made him stop making his own choices, because if he cannot decide on what makes him feel good or bad, then he will just let someone else decide what he should feel. At least that way, someone else will feel happy.

So he let people choose his life. He let the court decide which parent to stay with after their divorce. He let his mother decide that they should move to Tokyo, so his father does not see him. He let his mother decide that he should no longer phone his father. You see, this way Akaashi does not need to think about the consequences of his actions because they were not his; they were his mother’s. At least that way even if he himself felt nothing other than a tinge of sadness whenever he remembered his dad, he would still know his mother was happy.

And Akaashi still went by this rule.

He let his teachers decide which after-school club he should join. He let his team decide that they should go to nationals. He let his teammates decide that they should go to the training camp. Even if he feels uncomfortable with all these people there, it is not like he understands his own emotions; at least he knows people like Bokuto-san are happy that he came. And that meant the world to Akaashi.

So here he was now. At a camp larger than he has ever seen, more crowdy than it has ever been. It seemed like the crows finally arrived, becoming the sixth and final team to join the camp.

“Hinata!!” Despite Bokuto nearly falling asleep on the couches of the lodging area, his senses came back to high alert as he laid eyes on his discipline and made his way to him.

From the corner of his eyes, Akaashi saw the Nekoma boys already making their way to them with Kurro shaking hands with Daichi, Sugawara and Yaku smiling at one another, the two boldys hugging each other, Kenma and Bokuto making their way towards the little ginger and so on and so forth.

And Akaashi just stood next to the crowd looking at the scene in front of him. Behind him, the Aoba Josai boys were glaring at the newly arrived team that they saw as their rivals, the Shiratorizawa boys occupying three of the five sofas and playing a game of Uno with no care for what was happening around them, while the Nohebies were all nearly falling asleep on the one sofa they occupied.

And as Akaashi looked around, nothing looked out of the ordinary; it was all of what you would expect if you rounded a bunch of teenagers in one room.

Akaashi looked around a second time, and his eyes laid on the Karasuno’s official setter who stood further to the right, away from the interactions around him. The boy looked around the ceiling and the carpet as if he was trying to recognize everything. Akaashi has a lot of respect for Kageyama, a younger boy than him who was truly dedicated to what he loved. And Akaashi respected the level of loyalty he has to the sport.

As his eyes caught Kagayama’s, he sent the younger boy a small smile and nod of the head, which the boy nodded back.

But something terrified Akaashi.

Terrified him to the point where he slowly took several steps back.

Akaashi will always remember the day he woke up with his grandfather dead beside him. He will always remember the eyes that expressed nothing, held nothing and wanted nothing. The eyes that no longer belong to the world of the living.

And the blueberry eyes of that younger boy showed the same thing.

Suddenly, he flinched violently as a hand grabbed his arm.
Turning around, he saw Kenma looking at him with worry.

“You ok there Keiji?”

“Wha…I mean yeah...yeah I am ok”

Kenma did not let go but only held his arm tighter. “You look a bit pale there..well paler than usual”

Akaashi slowly moved his arm away from the grip and turned his attention back to Kageyama who was still looking at the walls and the ceiling.

“Does…has something happened to Kageyama? He looks a bit…a bit different” he asked in a hushed tone, mouth near Kenma’s ear.

“You mean their setter?” asked Kenma in the same tone while looking at the boy. “Shoyo said that they had a fight or something…Why?”

“I don’t know….I just felt...weird”

Kenma has learned many things about Akaashi after being friends with him for so long. And one of them was that whenever Keiji said he felt ‘weird’, something bad would happen.

A thunderstorm was coming.

Chapter Text

“Not under any circumstances am I obligated to spend a night with a bunch of brutes!” he shouted while pointing at the Karasuno boys who were glaring back at him. Despite all the commotion happening in the lounging area of the huge studio, Oikawa’s voice still managed to ring out the most while he directed all his anger at the old man, Washijo, who stood before him.

“You think you have it bad!” interjected Kuroo as he came forward to stand tall between Oikawa and coach Washijo. “At least you don't have to be afraid of your properties being stolen or your necks being sliced at night!”. Daishou only rolled his eyes at his accusations.

“....I do not have any objections”, came the calm voice of Ushijima.

“No one asked for your opinion!!” shouted back Oikawa.

“....I am not objecting either…I just wanna sleep..” replied Bokuto who was nearly half asleep standing up despite all the commotion happening around him.

“Bo, my bro, you are supposed to have my back man” Kuroo nudged at his friend.

“Enough!!” rang out the voice of Washijo as he glared back at the boys in front of him. “As I said before, each team will share a room with another and if you object to the team you are with then I am more than happy for you to spend the night outside in the snow”

Washijo continues as his glare intensifies on Oikawa. “Besides, this is all a sign of sportsmanship, so do not disappoint me”.

………………………………………….

Room 1 The Crows and the Plants 00:24 AM

“-- and don't you dare cross the line under any circumstances or do I have to say all this again because I know your brains cannot handle the information”, said Oikawa as he stood in the middle of the room shared by Aoba Johsai and Karasuno. As soon as the boys had entered their room, Oikawa began lining up everyone's bags in the middle of the room. Splitting the area into two designated sections.

“Please shut up Trashikawa…I am too tired for this” replied Iwaizumi quietly as he went over the line Oikawa had made, taking his belongings from the line. He went over to where Daichi and Ennoshita were laying their futons and were making an effort to ignore Oikawa.

“Iwa-chan! Don't go over the enemy’s side they will turn you!”

“Seriously captain…you can be real real childish sometimes” added Maki as he also laid his futon and his bag next to Sugawara.

“My absent heart squeezed every time he is this cringy” followed Matsun as he laid his belongings next to Maki and flopped straight on his pillow.

“This Is Utter Betrayal!!” Screeched back Oikawa. “Yahaba came sleep next to me!”

“...do I really have to?”

“Yahaba!”

“Fine!.....fine…”

………………………………………….

Room 2 The Cats and the Snakes 01:37 AM

“-- oh yeah?! How about the time you got a C on our Geography test because you thought the capital of America was the USA?!” Shouted Kuroo as he threw back his pillow at Daishou, who apart from Kuroo himself was the only one standing up with a pillow in his hand and not lying in his futon like everybody else.

“I was only 7!!” shouted back Daishou as a pillow hit him in the chin. “And I remember you mispronouncing Hungary as Hungry when we were in middle school!!”.

“...ahhhh….why and how long do you two know each other again?” asked Yaku with his pillow under his head while he gazed at the flying pillow over him.

“Can someone please turn off the lights already?” said Kuguri as he buried his head under his blanket.

………………………………………….

Room 3 The Owls and Eagles 1:54 AM

The whole room sharing with the Shiratorizawa players wasn't how Akaashi was expecting it to go. Instead of hyper shouting or competition between the two teams, as soon as they entered the door of their sleeping room both teams were really chill with one another. They both laid out their futons and even shared properties if one was lacking in their sleeping needs.

As for Ushijima and Bokuto, they settled on a rather unusual and yet usual talk about how fishes sleep under the sea. In fact, Akaashi can quite confidently say that a small friendship did form between the two as they decided to lay their futons next to one another, with Ushijima peacefully falling asleep in a mummy position next to the snores of Bokuto who had both his hands and feet out of his blanket.

And later well into the night, when all the boys fell asleep and the clock was nearing 2 am, Akaashi still found it impossible to fall asleep. Instead, he gazed tiredly at the ceiling of the room, counted all the 62 tiles over and over again, looked at the designs of the light bulbs and held on to every little thought that crossed his mind.

However, the ticking of the clock on the wall was later accompanied by the sound of blankets being removed followed by soft footsteps.

Akaashi wouldn’t have been curious. He wouldn’t have really. He would have just assumed that one of the boys was going to the restroom. That is until he remembered that the restroom was on his right, and for someone to have gone there then they should have gone past him. Instead, someone has gone to the left, near the windows.

Just as Akaashi started questioning why would someone go near the windows, his thought was interrupted as the window was suddenly opened, followed by the gush of snowy wind. Then closed shut.

Someone has gone out in the snow in the middle of the night.

Being worried, Akaashi quickly stood up, went over to where his bag was lying and put on two layers of jacket that he had in there.

He went over to the window, and as soon as he opened it and moved his head out to look around, his vision was whitened out by a light.

“Oh…. sorry,” said a voice, turning off the light.

When Akaashi’s eyes started to adjust again, he saw a lanky boy crouched down in the middle of the snow, one hand occupied by a flashlight and the other with a book.

And Akaashi stared at the boy. “Are you ok?” he asked the redhead.

“Eh?...why wouldn’t I be?”

“......you are out in the snow on one of the coldest nights of December, wearing nothing more than polka dot pyjamas and reading pandora hearts?”

“You know what pandora hearts is?”

“You are getting off-topic”.

“Wanna join me?”

Akaashi went out the window, closing it behind him and sat down next to the other boy. The boy who now had a huge grin on his face huddled closer to him and asked, “So what should I call you?”

“Akaashi”

“No silly, I mean you, not your family name. What is your name?”

“......its Keiji”

The other boy held out his hand and went for a handshake, “You can call me Satori”. The boy went back to his manga turning on the flashlight to read through it.

And that went on for a couple of minutes until Akaashi lost to the cold and his own curiosity.

“.....so….what are you doing here?...why at night and in the snow?”

The boy, Satori, turned to him with a smile on his face.

“Keiji my new best friend …sometimes in life, you don't have to think about what you are doing you know? You just need to do it. It is like getting a sudden urge and instead of leaving it be, you decide to play by it. That is how you create new memories instead of the repeated cycle everyone else lives. If I asked you now what did you do yesterday or the day before yesterday and the day before that, I bet you wouldn't be able to recall one memory of something different”

“But what if you get sick?”

“Don't make it complicated man. If something is bound to happen, then we will cross the bridge when we get there.”

The idea of not planning out anything, not playing by the rules of life or the disciples he has created for himself was new for Akaashi. And he did not want to let go of the feeling it created in him. So he continued sitting down with the boy and shut down every other thought he had in him.

“So..”, Akaashi spoke up. “What chapter are you on?”

Chapter Text

Pain. Pain was the only sensation Kagayama was registering now. Hot bubbling pain that spread from his chest all the way to his arms and jaw.

A crushing breathlessness that had him bending over himself in the middle of the court. Heaving as soundlessly as he could in the room covered with people. His arms shook with fear and the urge to hold his chest as tightly as he could. To beg his body to work properly, to stop spasming with exertion and fear.

Their practice match with Fukurudani had barely started. They were still in their first set with a losing score of 8 to 19. Across him, Hinata was jittering with frustration. Flexing the tip of his fingers in a way Kageyama has learned as deep annoyance. Kageyma was trying. He really was. He has kept running from one side of the court to the other, exchanging positions to pass to everyone in his line of vision. He has forced his lungs to expand when all he wanted to do was lie down in the middle of the court and forget about where he was. Just freeze there and let the pain wash over him.

But no. He can hear Ukai shouting at him to keep his head in the game. Across the court, he can see the other teams staring at the weakness of Karasuno. Staring at him.

You know the feeling right? The one where your world is crashing right before your eyes and you wish to tell your story to someone. Then you realize that no one ever cared enough to listen, so why should they start listening now? Why is this time any different from last time or the time before it? Why would this heartbreak be any less painful than any other he has ever experienced?

With shaking knees and skin covered in pins and needles, he made his way towards the coach. At that moment, Kageyama was prepared to admit that he didn't feel well, he was ready to admit that he was not doing well and would never become better.

However, just before he could formulate his words into a sentence, coach Ukai’s words cut through him.

“Seriously kid, what is with you today?! We can't start lagging just because we are in a fancy place alright?”

“ Coach I don-”

“ I mean it kid. I am swapping you with Sugawara. Suga!! Get your ass in there!”

From his side, Sugawara made his way forward and gave him a small smile before entering the court instead of him.

Replaceable right? That's what he always was at the end of the day.

Feeling the pain in his chest turning into small bursts of sharpness, he quickly packed his bag and left the court, ignoring the cheers of Karasuno and the stares from Aoba Johsai.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Yes Mom, I am fine,” said Daishou as he leaned further into the wall behind him with his phone near his ear.

“How is Kuroo doing?” said his mom. From the background, Daishou could hear the voices of the pharmacy staff laughing through their lunch break.

“Really Mom? You want to do this now?”

“I am just asking, not suggesting nor implying anything,” said his mom with an obvious sigh to her voice.

“I know very well what you are trying to tell me, and no”

“You can't keep doing this to yourself honey, he was your best friend and you cared about him right? You are sharing your sleeping rooms together, it's the perfect opportunity. Just go over to him and tell him you weren’t the one-”

“No Mom! If he was going to listen he should have tried listening the first time I tried to explain it! What happened 4 years ago should stay as it is”

“......Kuroo will listen to you, you know that very well…I have to go now ok? Take care”

“....I love you Mom”

“I love you most”

As the line at the other end ended, Daishou took in a deep breath and went to put his phone back in his bag beside his feet on the floor.

He hated this, he really did. Having to stay in an enclosed area with a bunch of other people. Sleeping where they slept and eating where they all ate. Although Suguru was not truly as anti-social as he always made himself sound, being in the same building as Kuroo always put him on edge. Deep down, he knows far too well that Kuroo is not as he always makes himself appear to be. He was far too observant and intellectual for his age and always read Suguru like an open book.

And all this fact makes him hate himself a lot more, because if Kuroo was truly as intelligent as he believed him to be, then Kuroo hating his existence added to the insignificance of Daishou. Added to the fact that the most intelligent person he knew in his life had labelled him as an “evil sly snake”.

Sometimes Suguru loved to dream. Loved to dream of an alternative reality where he never went to Kuroo’s 14th Birthday, where he stayed friends with him for the rest of his life, where Kuroo didn't raise his fist at him and neither did he.

Just as Daishou was ready to go back to the training halls and raised his backpack on his shoulder; his ears picked up on the sound of someone’s harsh breathing.

Episodes of quick and sharp intakes of breath somewhere in the halls outside the washroom he was currently in. The sound was too quick for Daishou’s liking, sounded as if they were choking, hiccuping on their own harsh breathing.

Although Daishou did not want to prey on someone’s breakdown, he also didn’t have the heart to leave someone in the middle of what sounded like a panic attack.

He quickly exited the washroom with his backpack and went down the halls and to where he believed the sound was coming from.

There in the distance was someone sitting next to their bag on the floor, their head on their knees and their hands tightly holding their chest. The boy's shoulders were sharply moving up and down with their collarbone tensed and red from exertion and covered in sweat.

“Hey….are you ok?” asked Daishou as he crouched down next to the smaller boy, hovering his hands on his shoulder but never actually touching.

The boy seemed to have heard him as he quickly moved his hands from his chest and moved them to the top of his knees.

“Is this a panic attack?” asked Daishou trying to get a glimpse of the boy's face.

But the boy did not answer and he continued to breathe as hard as before.

“Uhh…Ok, I have never seen a panic attack but we could try-” Dasihou’s voice broke off as he heard the boy mumble something between the intakes of his breath. “I...I couldn't hear you..”

The said boy replayed in a much louder voice and yet as strained.

“It's not a panic attack”.

Although Diashou was scared the moment he heard the harsh sounds, his panic doubled as he registered the words from the boy. Looking down, he caught sight of the medicine box the boy had next to him on the floor. Atenolol, it read.

“Why are you taking this? This isn’t a heart attack right?” said Daishou as he took the medicine in his shaky hands sounding more panicked than he ever was. He suddenly stood. “I have to call an adult!” he said as he turned to sprint down the halls.

“No!” said the boy as he finally moved from his position and clutched Daishou’s hands as hard as he could.

Now that the boy had moved, Daishou finally saw his face. The Karasuno first-year setter, had red-rimmed eyes, his face covered in sweat and breath rattling as he clutched Daishou’s hands even tighter from where he was sat.

“Please!” he said “Please don't tell anyone! It's not a heart attack…”

Daishou stared back at the boy on the floor and his heart ached like it had never had before.

‘It is ironic isn't it?’ thought Daishou he sat down next to the boy again and started rubbing the boy's back to help him breathe better.

The secret from 4 years ago turned Daishou’s life into a living hell. And yet here he was again, making someone a promise to keep a secret much darker than he had ever encountered.

At the end of the day, keeping secrets was what Daishou was made for.

Chapter Text

Iwaizumi does not have any siblings, but he always had people to call brothers.

He remembers playing under the little bridge of their neighbourhood. He’d collect the little tadpoles in his muddy water bottle, and show it around to Hiroshi and Yoko while Oikawa always stayed far off with a face of disgust. Hiroshi and Yoko would have warm smiles on their faces and their phones out to take pictures of him while ruffling his hair. It was easy to say that the two older boys were the first people in his life he viewed as brothers; while he confidently always called Oikawa the other part of his soul.

Growing up, Iwaizumi made it his duty to make his connections deep with the people around him. He believed that to be a human being meant to be part of the bigger social picture of the world.

He lived by his principles in the ways he listened to the seniors of his school and the ways he tutored and looked after the younger ones. And for a while, Iwaizumi can say that his life was quite simple. For he lived every day helping others without regretting anything in his life and his actions.

But then came Kageyama. And with Kageyama came regrets.

Iwaizumi still remembers the first time he met the boy. He remembers the bright blue curious eyes that shone with excitement. He would fidget with the sleeves of his jumper with uncertain fingers while he gazed at the gymnasium ceiling.

From that moment on, Iwaizumi decided to be an older brother to the younger boy. To protect him and guide him in any way that was possible for him.

So when and why did he fail in his promise? he would often ask himself.

Since when did the boy lose the shine in his blueberry eyes?

He knew about what happened after he left for high school. But was it that bad? Did the abandonment damage the boy that much? Did he get bullied for what happened at the end of middle school? Of course, everything was much worse than Iwaizumi assumed it to be. So why did he never check up on him?

Currently, he sat at the end of the dining room table. Doing nothing much but roll the cereal around his bowl while he stared distantly at Kageyama at the other table across from him.

The boy did not look well.

Anyone who would pay little attention to the boy would know. For the most part, he hadn't even touched his plate, sat with pale skin and the frequent jitters of his arms.

What angered Iwaizumi was the way no one in Karasuno seemed to even notice. Or in a way, it seemed as if they were trying to ignore the boy. Most of them were sitting at other tables with members of Nekoma and Fukurodani. It was not like Iwaizumi himself was any better as he did nothing but stare at the boy and ignored the urge to sit up and check in with him.

The only person in the room that showed any signs of concern was the captain from Nohebi who was surprisingly sitting next to the younger boy and putting the third cup of juice in front of Kageyema, encouraging the boy to drink from them.

“This is the deepest daydream I have seen in my life” muttered Oikawa beside him as he slowly waved his hand in front of Iwaizumi’s line of vision, “what’s got you frowning like that?”

As Iwaizumi broke out of his daze, he turned his attention back to Oikawa. All the different schools were currently in the dining area of the building, having been woken up by Washijo at 5:30 am to get ready for the day. It was easy to say that most of the teens had no mood in such an early morning. Across the table, both Makki and Matssun were half asleep with their spoons in hand.

“Does Kageyama look ok to you?” asked Iwaizumi, causing all three listeners to turn and look at the boy.

With a huff and a roll of the eye, Oikawa looked back at Iwaizumi, “Does he ever look ok to begin with?”, he sharply dropped his spoon inside his bowl and turned to drink from his cup.

“Now that you mention it”, muttered Makki who still had his head turned and was looking, “he does look a bit……”

“Sick” finished Mattsun.

“Who cares?”, replied Oikawa after doing a double take on the boy, “he probably is sleepy like everyone else. Give him a volleyball later and he will be just fine”.

“Would he though?” asked Makki as he turned back to stare at Iwaizumi and Oikawa, pointing at them with his spoon. “I mean, I don’t know much about the boy. But we have been here for five days now and the kid has been benched nearly every day.”

“And…”, continued Mattsun as he also pointed at the boys with his spoon, “there is definitely a drama happening between the Karasuno members. It is easy to tell that he and the shrimpy decoy had a fight and everyone is avoiding the setter and favouring the shrimp”.

“Well, it just sounds like he is getting back to his old habits of turning himself into a king, asserting dominance and then paying the price”, replied back Oikawa sharply as he swatted the spoons away from himself. “Like I said, he is fine. Same as always”.

“Then why does he look like he is about to kneel over any moment now? I am surprised the adults haven't done anything yet”, said Makki.

“Can we just stop talking about Tobio-chan?! There are other fun topics to talk about!” said Oikawa in an almost hiss, earring weird looks from both Kunimi and Kindaichi who were also listening in to the four older boys.

“Like what?” asked Makki with a glint of glee in his eyes.

“I know”, came in Mattsun, “You see there”, pointing at the five Karasuno players whispering near the doorway of the dining area, “I believe there is something shady going on with those five”.

With that being said, Iwaizumi turned around to gaze upon the five hovering near the door. From the look of it, Karasuno’s captain, vice-captain, libero, the bald guy and ginger were quietly whispering near the doorway and shooting glances at the outside corridor. While the other four boys looked excited at whatever they were whispering about; the captain seemed to be ageing with whatever their discussion was about.

“Let's go say hi”, said Oikawa as he quickly got up from his seat and made his way towards the boys. Ignoring Iwaizumi’s protest in the background.

Surprisingly, Iwaizumi also stood up to follow the other boy. Behind him, both Makki and Mastun followed behind each with a sly grin on their features and an uncertain-looking Kunimi and Kindaichi behind the older boys.

“No”, Iwaizumi heard Daichi saying as he got closer to the other boys. “Washijo-san clearly stated that we are not allowed to roam around the area. I don't care how excited you are about exploring the building, I am not ready for the team to be punished for it”.

“But Daichi we haven't even been allowed to go to the upper levels. Who knows what could be hiding there” replied the vice-captain with the other three boys nodding at him.

“What is this?”, came through Oikawa as he startled the other boys around him, “A ghost hunt? Well count me in”. Oikawa stood next to Sugawara, putting his elbow on his shoulder and grinning up at Daichi. “Don't tell me Karasuno’s captain is scared”.

Looking at the glare Daichi sent Oikawa, Iwaizumi knew Oikawa just won.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As it turned out, the building itself was only two floors. The first floor was where everyone was meant to stay. It had four large sleeping quarters, the students occupying three of them and the teachers the other. It had one large sports area where all the teams played practice matches through the mornings and the afternoons. There was one large dining area and a long hallway that led to the washrooms and restrooms.

The building itself was worn out. It seemed as though no one has been here for years. The gymnasium was bare and covered in dust. All the boys had to spend their first day cleaning the area around. From what they had heard from Coach Washijo, the heating system was not working well anymore, and the adults were afraid that the heating would stop working any day from now. There was still the option of chopping wood if it ever came to it and using the manual system instead, however, with it being the middle of December, it was very likely that chopping wood would take most of everyone's time.

Another concern the adults failed to hide was the likelihood of a snowstorm hitting the area soon. That would mean that in case of any emergencies, there would be nothing anyone can do, apart from waiting for help to arrive after the storm goes away.

That all aside, as the boys climbed up to the second floor of the building, things did not look in a better condition.

It was clear that the upper floors had also been abandoned for quite some time now, with nearly all the rooms in the hallway being bare of any materialist features.

“This place feels hunted”, said Kindaichi as he huddled closer to the third years of his school. It turned out that the heating system was turned off on the second floor to preserve whatever fuel that was left. The sound of the wind hitting the windows mimicked a howling scream of a pained animal, scaring Kindaichi further to stay close to the boys walking ahead of him.

“The guess monster said that this building used to be beautiful”, replied Hinata who was poking his head through another door to find nothing but dust and windows. “He said an old man used to look after this place, but after he died no one had the heart to take over this building. They say it was out of respect to him”

“Hinata, what did I tell you about believing everything Tendou tells you?” said Sugawara, who looked frightened despite his earlier confidence.

“You think his ghost is on the second floor”, asked Makki.

“Duh…maybe we are angering him by being on the second floor”, replied Matssun.

“You two need to shut up, it's not something to make fun of”, muttered Iwaizumi as he and Daichi walked in front of the group. “I think we should leave before someone finds out we left, besides there is nothing on this floor to begin with”.

“Wait, there is one room left,” said Oikawa as he made his way through the boys and headed to the last room down the corridor.

“Really Shitikawa, we need to leave. This is not one of your alien hunting sessions”. However, as usual, Iwaizumi’s voice of protest was ignored and he saw Oikawa quickly turning the handle of the brown door and getting in. The other boys followed with Iwaizumi entering last.

However, to his surprise, the last room was not bare like the others. For it appeared to be some sort of an award storage room. Stacked on the shelves of each wall were medals upon medals of different events. Some were awards for best teams, some for national winners and others for best players.

Each boy found themselves at a different corner of the room, gazing upon the magnificent achievement they didn’t know the past teams of this building had gained. But in the middle of it all, in the centre of the middle shelf lay an old picture frame. As Iwaizumi got closer to look at the frame, he saw Kindaichi and Kunimi doing the same.

In the frame, there was a smiling man. Quite old with his grey hair and wrinkled skin, but smiled with the spirit of a young child. And there, in his embrace was a child. Possibly no older than 10 or 9, who also reflected his smile with a trophy in his tiny hands. A raven hair and blue eyes.

“Is that the old man”, asked Maki from besides Iwaizumi, startling the shorter boy. All the boys in the room were huddling closer to the frame.

However, such discussion was short-lived as the door was suddenly pushed against the wall, and in came a furious-looking Washijo.

“What did I tell you all?! I clarified again and again that this floor is off limits!!” Shouted Washijo as he shooed the boys out of the room while glaring at each and every one of them.

“Downstairs! Now!!”

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Turns out that negotiation wasn't an option with Washijo as his shouts rang out of the whole building, attracting the attention of all the other boys who were having their breakfast quietly. As a punishment for defying Washijo’s orders, both teams, Karasuno and Aoba Johsai were to be banned from afternoon training sessions and to be escorted back to their rooms after their morning training sessions.

With that, the rest of breakfast was as uneventful as ever.

“Hey, Kunimi?” asked Kindaichi to the said boy sitting next to him.

“Hm?”

“Was that…..Did that man look like Kazuyo-san to you?”

Turning his gaze to the other boy, Kunimi took note of how pale the boy had gotten after their venture to the upper floor.

“What are you talking about? We talked about this before Kindaichi, you need to let go of Kageyama”

However, this did not seem to be the answer Kindaichi was hoping to hear as hunched further onto himself and stopped talking for the rest of the day.

Chapter Text

“Really Daichi, I thought you were better than this”, said Kuroo with his usual sly grin as he leaned further forward into the said captain's personal space.

“Yeah man! You are always on about being responsible, and then BOOM! You are the one breaking them”, Bokuto added.

“Could you please both lay off!” groaned Daichi. “It's only three more hours of morning practice, then I am forced to sit in the same room as people like Oikawa, Noya and Tanaka”. Daichi sighed while rubbing his eyelids with his knuckles. “Let me live those three hours in peace”.

Contrary to what most people believe, Kuroo knows that Bokuto is quite respectful and observant of other people’s wishes and concerns. On Daichi’s other side, he saw Bokuto quietly return to observing the practice match between Shiratorizawa and Aoba Johsai and deciding to stop bothering the other boy.

Kuroo was not heartless, he was about to do the same. He really was. That was until he saw someone from afar quietly approaching them.

Someone none other than Daishou Suguru.

Daishou swiftly moved in front of Daichi, blocking his way from watching the match and ignoring the other two boys at Daichi’s side.

“Hi Daishou!” Bokuto brightened.

“What is this? Did the snake forget to shed his skin”, Kuroo said simultaneously.

“Please not now Kuroo”, said Daishou quietly while waving back slowly to Bokuto.
And that paused both Tokyo boys, for they had known Daishou for a rather long time and for him to not fight back an insult, especially one directed from Kuroo, was unusual. To even call Kuroo by his name. Alarming.

“Uhh… Do you need something? Cus you are kinda blocking the way,” said Daichi, unaware of the boy's usual demeanour.

“I….”, Daishou quickly cut down his original phrase, instead looking around the room and then finally continuing. “...have you seen Kageyama by any chance?...He has been gone for a while”. Daishous's left hand went to his neck, tracing his collarbone quietly while watching Daichi.

And Kuroo knew that move too well. Daishou was nervous about something. Not the kind of nervousness you get before a match or an exam, but rather the nervousness you get while waiting for a cancer diagnosis. He remembers Daishou making that move before.

“...What do you want from our first year”, Daichi said raising his eyebrows.

“It’s–I wanted to return his charger”, replied Daishou, pressing his collarbone harder.

A lie. Kuroo knew.

“And is it really that urgent–”

“I saw him while passing the washrooms earlier!” cut in Bokuto.

With a tiny nod, Daishou quickly made his way outside to the hallways while Daichi only glared at Bokuto. With a sigh, Daichi started walking away from the two boys and made his way to his vice-captain who was handing out water bottles.

As Daichi moved away from their earshot, the two boys went back to looking at the game.

“He was scared. You felt it right?” Bokuto asked quietly. Not moving his eyes away from the game.

“....Yeah”.

“Something has gone wrong”.

“....Yeah”.

“You should talk to him”.

“....You know I would love to Bo”, hesitated Kuroo. He remembered the time when Suguru was his best friend, back when talking with him was the easiest and most calming thing in the world.
“.....But I don’t think I deserve it anymore”.

Chapter Text

“What do you call a person with no body or a nose”, asked Makki excitedly while sitting on the brown carpet of the sleeping room cross-legged in front of his best friend.

“Not sure, what do you call a person with no body or a nose?” said Mattsun while huddling himself further into his coat. It seemed that the heating system of the building finally gave away. With the heating system gone, it was safe to assume that everything in the building had powered out.

“No-body knows!”, exclaimed Makki who seemed to be the only person in the room who still appeared happy about the situation they were in.

“……not funny”

“Yeah, I know”, replied Makki as he also lost the glint in his eyes. He looked around the room and nothing seemed to have changed from the last 23 times he had looked around. The room is completely bare, apart from the 20-inch TV on the worn-out TV stand. Both the Karasuno and Seijoh boys were scattered around the room, huddled in their coats and scarfs that they had packed with them.

Both Oikawa and Iwaizumi sat beside them, with Oikawa scrolling through his phone and Iwaizumi giving him a rant about saving his phone’s charge since the power had gone out. Kyoutani and the first years were sitting near each other with Yahaba ranting about how irresponsible it was to drag everyone into the punishment mess.

Across the room, Karasuno was in a similar condition. Some play card games and some lightly chat about schoolwork and stories. And Kageyama was in the far back, sleeping with his coat on, on the carpeted floor.

“Tetsu-chan says they cancelled all afternoon training until they find a fix to the power shortage”, said Oikawa who was still focused on his phone.

“Who the hell is Tetsu-chan?” asked Iwaizumi whose mood hadn’t improved since the morning.

“The dude that laughs like a hyena”, replied Oikawa.

“You thinking what I am thinking”, said Mattsun while nudging his friend.

“Like the movie”, replied back Makki, mirroring his friend's grin. After looking at the confused looks both Oikawa and Iwaizumi were giving them, he continued. “There is a serial killer among us. In every horror movie, they go to an abandoned place then the three phases begin.”

Rolling his eyes, Iwaizumi questioned. “And what are the three phases?”

“We are currently in phase one, power goes off”, continued Mattsun while using his gloved hands to demonstrate. “Phase two will begin when people start going missing. Then phase three….”

“….death”

“Are we going to die?!” asked Asahi from across the room.

“No!” replied both Daichi and Sugawara. Both boys have spent hours telling Asahi to man up and that nothing will happen to them. The adults were going to fix the problem, there was no doubt about that.

“Say whatever you want, but mark my words. This is a typical setting for a tragedy…someone will die”, replied Makki, finding joy in scaring the other players who were listening in to their conversation.

“Don’t make jokes about death”, came the quiet yet irritated voice of Kyoutani, startling the third years. “If someone ends up getting hurt in the snow, then you are going to hate yourself later”.

If any of the other boys had said something like that, Makki would have certainly replied. But Kyoutani was off-limits. Kyoutani’s story was quite a famous one in Seijoh as it stayed on the news for days on end. The story of a family of four living in the rural sites of Japan. Farmers barely making a living with the harshness of the winter snow. A pregnant mother dead from childbirth after emergency services were blocked off because of the snow.

So instead, Makki closed his mouth and went back to making patterns with his fingers on the brown carpet.

Then suddenly, the peace that settled on the boys was broken as the door of their room was slammed open. Forcing in a surge of cold air. In the doorway stood Washijo with his grim face, it seemed as if the man had aged 10 years for every day he had to spend here.

“Where is Kageyama?”, he asked while looking over the heads of the confused boys.

“What could you possibly want from someone like Tobio-chan?”, asked Oikawa whose voice was ignored as Washijo spotted the sleeping boy at the back and quickly made his way towards him. Shaking the boy with a gentle that was abnormal for a man like Washijo, Kageyama was quickly woken up and sat straight up. Looking at Washijo with a surprise.

“Yes Washijo-san?”, asked the boy as he quickly rubbed his eyes, urging himself to become alert quicker.

“Sorry to wake you up kid”, said Washijo while moving one of his hands to the boy's shoulder, astonishing the other players who were watching the scene unfold. “It seems like the main power is busted off and we can't get the backup one to load. Any idea what is going on?”.

Kageyama paused with concern growing over his features then replied to the old man. “We never had time to fully install the backup one, which means once the main power is gone then everything is gone”.

“….You have any idea what we should do?” asked Washijo with more concern.

“Uh……we could get the heating system back if we manually work for it, but I am not sure if it still works. As for the electricity and appliances then no, I don’t think there is anything we can do….with the way the weather is going then it is safe to assume that the roads are blocked off…so we cannot travel back by car. Our only option would be by foot, but that would be too dangerous if we are not careful.”

“I have sent out the coaches to scout the area and see if they can do anything about the snow”, Washijo’s hand tightened on the boy's shoulder as he added. “You know how to get the heating system back up right?”.

“…uh...yeah…we just have to cut up some wood and use it to heat the water in the boiler” replied Kageyama

“And do you know where the equipment is kept and how to use them? We just need to cut up a small amount and see if it works first”, Washijo asked hopefully while standing up from his crouched-up position.

“Yeah…I remember where they were kept and I think I know how to use the axe”, replied Kageyama as stood up on his wobbly legs and made his way out of the door.

As Washijo was quick to follow behind, he came to a halt in the doorway and looked back at the boys staring at the scene.

“Does anyone else in here know how to use an axe?”, asked Washijo with his usual irritation back on his face.

Both Kyoutani and Iwaizumi raised their hands.

“Since when do you know how to cut wood?”, asked Oikawa as his confusion grew more and more by each second.

“You!”, said Washijo as startled Oikawa with his raised voice and pointed at him. “Go and help them. Make yourself useful”.

“Huh?! Why me?!” shrieked Oikawa as he was also pulled to his feet by Iwaizumi.

Kyoutani quietly made his way out of the room and followed Kageyama down the hallway. Just before Washijo was about to leave the room and follow them, he turned back to the boys and said. “If any of you bothered enough to read the name printed on the building then you would know that this building belonged to the Kageyama’s…..Kazuyo Kageyama, the owner of the building is Tobio Kageyama’s grandfather”. With his glare further intensifying on Oikawa’s shocked face, he added.

“Learn to show respect, Grand King”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Stupid fucking old man”, said Oikawa as he struggled to take steps in the deep snow with a heavy axe in his hand. “oh look, my name is Tobio-chan and my grandaddy owns this shit. Bow down to me you fucking peasants”.

“That sounds nothing like Kageyama”, replied Iwaizumi as he was moving around with less effort than Oikawa but purposely stayed behind to make sure the other boy did not face plant in the snow.

“You know he is thinking it!” shrieked Oikawa with no care about whether the two other boys moving swiftly in front of them could hear them or not.

“No Shitikawa…you just have this stupid image of Kageyama made in your head that sounds more like you than him. I think he is rather polite”, said Iwaizumi as he sprung his arm out for Oikawa to hold in case he fell over.

“Aww Iwa-chan….my simple-brained child. Don’t you get it, politeness can be used as a weapon too”, replied Oikawa as they finally made their way to the trees that Kageyama called ‘suitable for the job’. “And what is up with Washijo treating him like he is his uncle?”.

“….I think it probably might have something to do with him and Kazuyo-san knowing each other”, said Iwaizumi with a frown. “Do you remember what Kazuyo-san was like? I think we met him once didn’t we?”.

“Duhh…. He was at Tobio-chan’s parents' evening for his first-year mid-terms. Don’t remember him much, but I remember he had a camera with him and was recording around. And remember that photograph we found on the second floor? I think that might have been him”, frowned Oikawa. “His name was also registered on Tobio-chan’s emergency calls…I remember being surprised that he didn’t give his parent’s details instead”.

“Would you two just pay attention already?!” shouted Kyoutani while moving his axe around widely. “Some of us like to get out of the snow you know”.

“Right”, said Kageyama as he held his hand tightly with both hands. “I am just going to show a quick demonstration just to make sure no one gets hurt”, he said while clearly looking at Oikawa.

But Oikawa was not going to listen.

‘Nope. There is no way Tobio-chan can tell him what to do'.

Instead, he decided to zone out of the whole conversation and look anywhere that was not littered with Kageyama. When he thought about it sometimes, he really couldn’t pinpoint where his hatred for the younger boy even began. Was it when he got replaced by him in the court? He can reason with the coach wanting the first years to have a chance at the court. Was it how the boy didn’t understand on the social cues of Oikawa not liking him? Again he can reason this one with the boy being extremely socially awkward.

Or was it the mere idea of him? The story he made up for himself. Of a boy who was lucky with talent that came in and stole everything from the boy who had trained hard every day and night.

But who was he to know the side story of the talented boy?

Sometimes he ignored his subconscious thought telling him to apologize. To apologize for casting the boy out, for the way his fangirls treated him and how he did nothing to stop them, for telling him not to join Seijoh and taking away free will from the boy.

Pride is essential for self-respect, but too much of is a poisonous regret.

“Did that make sense Oikawa-san?”, he heard Kageyama say as he returned his attention back to the younger boy.

‘Right, screw his subconsciousness’.

“Whatever…the quicker we get this done, the quicker I can get out of here”.

And soon, all three boys started holding their axes and cutting away at the wood. Kyoutani and Kageyama looked to be the most experienced ones out of the crew, with Kyoutani swiftly making his way through the woods and Kageyama ever slightly slowing down as he quickly became breathless from the exertion.

Across Oikawa, Iwaizumi was swinging carefully with his moves and using as much force as possible to cut the woods swiftly.

“Oikawa-san you are holding the axe wrong”, came the quite laboured voice of Kageyama.

“Don’t tell me what to do”, replied Oikawa as he continued to move his axe around the way he preferred.

“Oikawa-san it is not safe…you could hurt yourself”

“Wouldn’t you like that”, said Oikawa as he continued to ignore the younger boy.

“Listen to him you idiot”, said Kyoutani from the distance as he set his axe down and stared at the scene in front of him.

“Shitikawa I swear-“

But Iwaizumi never got to finish the sentence as Oikawa’s axe came down and chipped the side of the tree he was aiming to cut. The sharp piece of wood that had chipped out quickly rebounded towards Oikawa. Going through the entire length of his lower arm. Cutting through the skin of his hand to the elbow.

“Ha-Hajime”, came the shaky voice of Oikawa as he dropped the axe from his hand. Clenching tightly at his arm.

“Holy shit”, Iwaizumi quickly dropped his axe and moved as quickly as he can in the snow.

Red started dripping into the white snow.

Once Iwaizumi got closer to his friend, he started inspecting the hand. Calmly touching the wound while he listened to Oikawa hissing beside him. “Kyoutani quickly run back and tell coach Washijo about what happened”.

“It-ITS BLEEDING”, shouted Oikawa as Iwaizumi moved his clenching hand away from the wound.

“It’s not that bad...not that bad”, assured Iwaizumi more so to calm himself down. He removed the white scarf around his neck and started to quickly wrap it around the boy's arm. Kyoutani was running through the snow now as fast as his legs could carry him.

“I-I can't”, Oikawa’s eyes started to water. “what-what about volleyball?”

“It’s just a scratch… it's not that bad Tooru”

Iwaizumi’s assurance fell deaf to his ears as he moved his now blurry vision to the younger boy who was left trembling before them. Kageyama's hands were clinging to his coat-covering chest while he looked at now red snow with wide eyes.

“Why does it always have to involve you?”, glared Oikawa. “Why do you always have to be there when I fall?”

“Oikawa-sa-“

“FIRST MY SPOT IN MIDDLE SCHOOL, NOW MY WHOLE FUTURE!”

“Tooru stop it-“

“WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT FROM ME?! HUH? WHY CAN’T I EVER GET RID OF YOU?! DO YOU FEEL SPECIAL JUST BECAUSE YOUR FUCKING GRANDFATHER OWNS THE PLACE?! GO ON! CALL HIM! GET US ALL KICKED OUT!!”

“Stop it Tooru!”

“He did this on purpose!”

“Like hell he did! You are just being your usual narcissistic bastard!”

Iwaizumi started quickly dragging Oikawa back towards the building. Ignoring the boy's protest, glares and hisses.

With a quick glance, Iwaizumi looked back at the younger boy. He stood in the snow, eyes not having left the redness. Both hands tightly clinging to his chest, trembling more than anyone in the snow-covered forest.

Let every year of Iwaizumi’s life pass by, but he would always remember this moment. Always remember the boy’s ocean eyes.

He had never seen Kageyama cry before.

Yet there he was, surrounded by white covered in red. With his shaky white breath and warm tears painting the bare forest with sorrow.

Chapter Text

Coach Irihata was furious.

Not at Oikawa, but for Oikawa.

It was obvious to say that Kyoutani alerted the coaches of what happened, as when Oikawa and Iwaizumi arrived back at the building all the adults were standing outside near the entrance. Coach Irihata, as Oikawa been told, had to spent his entire morning trying to fix heating system with the other adults, who despite his age, ran up to the boys as soon as he saw them. After wincing at Oikawa’s hand he led the two boys inside while he continued to glare at Washijo for sending kids out in the snow with axes in hand.

Ironically, it was Coach Washijo who knew most about first aid, which pissed Irihata even more causing him to storm off into the building kicking at everything and everyone Infront of him. It was the first time Oikawa had seen the man upset, let alone angry.

Currently Oikawa was sat crossed legged on the floor where his futon would usually be laid. With coach Washijo at his left calmly cleaning away the wound. Iwaizumi sat on his other side glaring at the floor and having said nothing since they came back.

The rest of the Aoba Johsai and Karasuno boys, minus Kageyama, were spread around them, looking at him, with Hinata looking too queasy from it to be normal anymore. Coach Ukai had also stayed in the room, quietly handing over items to Washijo.

There was a whole commotion going on outside of their door. Even though the coaches told the other boys to go back to their rooms, it was clear that they were listening through the door and trying to make out what was happening.

“You press any harder than this and my whole hand will fall off”, Oikawa glared at Washijo who did not seemed a bit fazed by the whole situation.

“It is barely a scratch”, replied back Washijo who only seemed to be pressing stronger.

“Or are just trying to purposefully tear my hand off? It makes sense doesn’t it? Tobio-chan puts the nail in and you hammer it to the coffin?”

“I am sure it was an accident. Kageyama is a good kid, he would never hurt anyone”.

And this only added the fuel to Oikawa’s anger. “What is with you?”, he replied back not caring if the other man was older than him or not. “Why are you defining him? I am the one who got his hand nearly cut off! And the first thing you tell me is he is good?!”

Washijo ignored the boy and continued applying the bandaged around his arm.

“I get it”, said Oikawa in a much calmer tone. “It’s his grandad isn’t it? Kazuyo-san?” With it Washijo’s hand froze, taking in a heavy breath.

“It is right then”, said Oikawa. “I get it now, you are scared aren’t you? What? is he like your boss or something? Are you afraid that he will kick us out because he owns the building? Is this why you are so dead set on protecting the honour of his grandson? So Tobio-chan is just more privileged than us? He did this on purpose! He is a-“

“Shut up!”, Iwaizumi’s voice rang out through the room breaking the hysteric phase Oikawa had turned into. “Please…..” Iwaizumi said quietly as he covered both of eyes with the palms of his hand, “just shut up Tooru”.

Oikawa felt bad before, but now he just felt like shit.

They turned back to the silent phase that it was and Washijo returned back to applying the bandages around Oikawa’s hand.

Oikawa's hand throbbed, a sharp, insistent pain that flared with every slight movement. The bandages around his arm was soaked through, the blood stubbornly refusing to clot. He bit down on his lip, refusing to acknowledge the pain as Washijo meticulously wrapped the fabric. The old coach's hands were steady, but Oikawa could see the faint tremor in his fingers, a subtle hint of age that Washijo would never admit to. The air was thick with tension, silence broken only by the hiss of Oikawa's breath and the rustle of bandages.

Looking over, Iwaizumi's usual steadfast presence was now eerily fragile. His face was an ashen grey, his strong, broad shoulders hunched forward as if the weight of the world had finally crushed him. He pressed his palms against his eyes, as though trying to block out everything—reality, pain, guilt. Oikawa knew that look. He had seen Iwaizumi like this only once before, after their first crushing defeat, when the weight of shattered dreams was too heavy to bear. But this was different. This was beyond defeat; this was heartbreak, raw and unyielding.

Oikawa hated himself. He had hated himself for as long as he could remember, but this...this was a new depth. His chest felt tight, constricted, as if the walls were closing in on him. He had hurt Kageyama—again—but this time, it was worse. He had hurt a little brother. A boy Iwaizumi saw as his little brother.

Oikawa wasn’t blind. He had noticed it all throughout middle school—the way Iwaizumi would soften when Kageyama asked him for advice, the way his hand would ruffle Kageyama’s hair with a gentleness Oikawa rarely saw. It wasn’t jealousy that twisted in Oikawa’s gut when he watched them. No, it was something else, something far more complex. There was a warmth in knowing that Iwaizumi had someone else he felt safe enough with to show his true self. But now, that warmth had turned bitter, a reminder of what he had broken.

And it was his fault. He had driven a wedge between them. The realization gnawed at him, eating away at whatever was left of his self-worth. The cold dread in Iwaizumi's eyes was proof enough.

Washijo's voice cut through the fog of his thoughts, dragging him back to the present. "Kazuyo won’t be calling anytime soon." The words were flat, matter-of-fact, but they made no sense to Oikawa.

He blinked, trying to piece together the fragments of his thoughts. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

Washijo didn’t look up, continuing his work on Oikawa’s hand. "Kazuyo died years ago," he said quietly. "The building doesn’t belong to the Kageyamas anymore."

Oikawa’s heart skipped a beat. The room seemed to tilt, the air knocked out of him in a single, crushing blow. He turned to Iwaizumi, watching as the color drained further from his face, his knuckles white as he dug his fingers into his skin. His breathing hitched, a sound so quiet yet so full of pain that it cut Oikawa to the core.

Oikawa's throat went dry. He wanted to say something, anything, but the words wouldn’t come. The pain in his hand was forgotten, overshadowed by the hollow ache in his chest. He had never felt so small, so helpless.

Washijo finished the bandage, his eyes finally meeting Oikawa's. There was no anger in them, only a deep, weary sadness. "The past is gone, Oikawa," he said softly, "and some wounds don’t heal."

Oikawa swallowed hard, his eyes burning with unshed tears. He looked back at Iwaizumi, his best friend, his rock, and saw the cracks in the facade they had built together. He reached out, his fingers trembling as they hovered over Iwaizumi’s arm, not daring to touch, afraid of breaking him even more.

"Iwa…" he whispered, his voice trembling.

Iwaizumi didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge him. He was locked in his own world of pain, a world that Oikawa had inadvertently helped create. The guilt was suffocating, drowning him in a sea of regret. He had always wanted to be the best, to be stronger, faster, better than anyone else. But now, all he wanted was to turn back time, to undo the damage he had caused.

Oikawa was pulled out of his spiralling thoughts by the sudden creak of the door opening. The sound jolted through the room, snapping everyone’s attention to the entrance. There, in the doorway, stood Kageyama, his usually sharp eyes now glassy and unfocused. His chest heaved with laboured breaths, each one more frantic than the last, as if the air around him was too thin to fill his lungs. He clutched at his clothes near his heart, fingers digging into the fabric as if to steady himself, but he looked like he was on the verge of collapsing.

The door, left ajar, revealed the curious faces of the other boys at the training camp, their expressions a mix of concern and embarrassment. Bokuto, who had been leaning too far forward in his attempt to eavesdrop, nearly lost his balance and had to catch himself against the wall, while Lev quickly shuffled out of sight, not wanting to be caught. The tension in the room thickened, every breath hanging heavy with unspoken words.

Kageyama took a shaky step forward, his gaze drifting over the faces in the room—Washijo, Iwaizumi, Oikawa himself—but it was clear that he wasn’t truly seeing any of them. His lips parted as if to speak, but the words caught in his throat, choked by the erratic rise and fall of his chest. He tried again, his brow furrowing in concentration, but all that came out was a strangled sound, a desperate attempt to communicate through the fog of his panic.

Oikawa’s heart twisted painfully in his chest. He could see Iwaizumi moving urgently beside him and stand up, his eyes wide with concern. But Oikawa couldn’t move. He was frozen, his mind a whirlwind of emotions—guilt, shame, a gnawing sense of helplessness. The sight of Kageyama in such a state was like a punch to the gut, a stark reminder of the damage his words could inflict.

“Kageyama,” Iwaizumi’s voice was strained, low with worry. He took a step forward, but Oikawa remained rooted in place, unable to tear his gaze away from the trembling figure in the doorway.

Daishou was next to Kageyama, his presence unexpected but oddly reassuring. He had one hand gently pressed against Kageyama’s back, his touch light but firm, as if trying to ground the younger boy. “Kageyama, it’s better if we leave the room,” Daishou murmured, his tone soft yet authoritative. “Just breathe, okay? Deep breaths.”

But Kageyama didn’t seem to hear him. His unfocused eyes remained fixed on Oikawa, his lips moving wordlessly as he continued to struggle for breath. Oikawa could see the effort it took for Kageyama to force out a single word, his mouth forming the beginning of an apology. “I’m—” but the rest was lost in a gasp, his chest constricting as the panic took hold.

The realization of what Kageyama was trying to say hit Oikawa like a freight train, and it made him feel even worse. He could barely breathe himself, the air thick with regret and the overwhelming urge to reach out and do something—anything—to make it better. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

“Let’s talk later, alright?” Daishou urged gently, his voice still calm. He gave Kageyama’s shoulder a gentle push, trying to coax him out of the room. “We can find somewhere quiet.”

Kageyama stumbled slightly but allowed himself to be guided away, his eyes still lingering on Oikawa until the last possible moment. As Daishou turned him around and led him out of the room, Oikawa caught a glimpse of Kuroo standing just outside, his usual composed expression replaced by one of confusion and concern. Kuroo’s eyes flicked from Kageyama to Daishou, his brow furrowing as if trying to piece together what had just happened.

Daishou didn’t say a word as he led Kageyama down the hallway, but before he fully turned the corner, he shot a glance back into the room—a sharp, almost accusatory glare that swept over everyone, but lingered longest on Oikawa. It was a look that said more than words ever could, a look that told Oikawa exactly who was to blame for the mess that had unfolded.

As they both left, the silence in the room became deafening. Oikawa felt a cold sweat break out on the back of his neck, his hands trembling as he tried to process everything that had just happened. He was still frozen, still unable to move, the weight of the situation pressing down on him like a boulder.

“What the hell was that?” Bokuto’s voice broke through the silence, his tone bewildered as he straightened up outside the door.

Kuroo stepped into the room, his eyes narrowing as he glanced from Iwaizumi to Oikawa. “Are you two alright?” he asked, though his gaze lingered on Oikawa, concern etched in the lines of his face.

But Oikawa couldn’t answer. He couldn’t do anything but sit there, his mind replaying the scene over and over again. Kageyama’s unfocused eyes, the desperate attempt to apologize, the way Daishou had stepped in to help when Oikawa couldn’t.

For everyday Oikawa had lived, he hated his existence more.

Chapter Text

Dinner that night was weird—well, more awkward than usual. If you had asked Akaashi, he would have said that dinner had been awkward for a few days now. The tension in the air was palpable, like a thick fog hanging over the dining hall, making it hard to breathe. The usual chatter and laughter that filled the space had dulled to a muted murmur, and even Bokuto’s boisterous energy seemed dampened, though he tried his best to keep spirits up. But despite his efforts, Akaashi couldn’t shake the discomfort gnawing at him.

He had to admit that Karasuno was getting on his nerves. He loved the boys, he really did, but something about the way they were handling the situation with Kageyama set him on edge. It wasn’t that they were ignoring him, per se—Sugawara kept shooting concerned glances in Kageyama’s direction, and Daichi had checked on him when he’d walked into the dining room earlier, pale as a ghost—but was that enough? Akaashi didn’t think so.

Kageyama and Daishou had claimed a corner table for themselves, a spot they had taken a liking to over the last few days. From where Akaashi sat, he could see Kageyama’s face, and the sight of it made his stomach twist. The boy was pale—really pale, to a point where it wasn’t normal anymore. His skin had an almost translucent quality, the shadows under his eyes stark against his ghostly complexion. He wasn’t eating, either. A plate full of food sat in front of him, but he hadn’t touched it. Daishou kept adding to the plate, his voice low and encouraging as he tried to coax Kageyama to eat, but the younger boy didn’t seem to hear him. He didn’t seem to register anything at all.

Kageyama looked cold, shivering slightly despite the layers he was wearing. Daishou had given him his jacket on top of the one he already had on, but it didn’t seem to be helping. The heating system cutting off wasn’t helping anyone, but Kageyama looked like he was freezing. Even Kuguri had noticed—he’d come over earlier, handing them some hand warmers with a look of concern that Akaashi had rarely seen on his face.

It was clear to everyone in the room that something was wrong with Kageyama. But so what? No one was doing anything about it. And with Karasuno only offering worried glances from a distance, Akaashi felt his frustration boiling over. Sure, he could go and tell one of the adults, but it wasn’t like any of them had shown up since the morning ruckus. The absence of their guidance only added to the grim atmosphere.

But there was one thing that worried Akaashi more than anything else in the room. This wasn’t just a case of Kageyama being tired or sick—there was something wrong with his legs.

“You see it too, right?”

Suddenly, Kuroo’s voice broke through his train of thought. Akaashi blinked, his eyes refocusing on the present.

“What?” he asked, glancing over at the captain.

Beside Akaashi, Bokuto was chatting loudly with the rest of the table, trying to maintain some semblance of normalcy. Kenma was at the other end, immersed in his handheld game console, barely acknowledging the conversation around him. Across the table, Kuroo was looking intently at Kageyama and Daishou’s table.

“His legs,” Kuroo said, his tone low and serious.

Akaashi’s heart sank. If Kuroo was seeing it too, then his worries might be more than just paranoid thoughts. “They seem swollen to you too?” Akaashi asked, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes darted back to Kageyama, zeroing in on the way the boy’s exposed ankles, peeking out from under the table, were indeed swollen.

“Yeah,” Kuroo replied, frowning even more deeply. “When I saw Daishou worried, I knew something was wrong.”

Akaashi swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. Daishou wasn’t the type to worry easily—his usual demeanor was cocky, confident, even a little smug. But now, he was a different person entirely. His concern for Kageyama was obvious in every move he made, from the way he kept encouraging the younger boy to eat, to the way he had draped his jacket over him, trying to keep him warm.

“Daishou doesn’t frown that easily… and now I see Kageyama’s legs, and I think about the way he’s been tired this entire time here…” Kuroo trailed off, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Something is really wrong with him.”

Akaashi nodded, his gaze fixed on the table in the corner. The more he watched, the more uneasy he became. Kageyama’s blank stare, the way his hands shook when he reached for his water, the slight hitch in his breath that seemed to grow more pronounced with each passing minute—it all painted a picture that was too grim to ignore.

“Why aren’t they doing anything?” Akaashi muttered, more to himself than to Kuroo. “They can see it too. They must know something’s wrong.”

“Maybe they don’t know how to handle it,” Kuroo offered, though his voice was tinged with doubt. “But that doesn’t mean they shouldn’t try.”

Akaashi’s eyes narrowed as he watched Daichi from across the room, the Karasuno captain’s concerned gaze flickering towards Kageyama every so often, but never lingering long enough to suggest he was planning to do anything about it.

“This is wrong,” Akaashi said quietly. “Someone needs to step in.”

Kuroo sighed, leaning back in his chair, his expression troubled. “I’m not sure what we can do, Akaashi. If Daishou’s this worried, then maybe he’s already done everything he can. We could step in, but without knowing the full picture, we might just make things worse.”

Akaashi’s eyes were still locked on Kageyama, his concern growing by the second. The way Kageyama’s hands trembled when he reached for his water, the way he shivered despite the layers of clothing—it all made Akaashi’s skin crawl with unease. But Kuroo was right. They didn’t know the full story.

But could they just stand by and do nothing?

“We should at least try to talk to him,” Akaashi finally said, his voice quiet but determined. “Even if it’s just to see if he’s okay.”

Kuroo nodded slowly, though his expression remained troubled. “Yeah… yeah, you’re right. We can’t just ignore it.”

With a shared look of resolve, the two of them stood up, their movements catching the attention of Bokuto, who had been animatedly chatting with the rest of the table.

“Akaashi? Kuroo? What’s going on?” Bokuto asked, his eyes wide with curiosity.

Akaashi offered a tight-lipped smile. “Just checking on something, Bokuto-san. We’ll be back in a bit.”

Bokuto looked like he wanted to say more, but he was quickly distracted by something Kenma said, allowing Akaashi and Kuroo to slip away. The dining hall felt even colder as they approached Kageyama and Daishou’s table, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a knife.

Kageyama didn’t even seem to notice them as they approached, his gaze unfocused, his body hunched over in a way that made him look small and vulnerable. Daishou glanced up as they neared, his eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion.

“Akaashi, Kuroo,” Daishou greeted them, his tone guarded. “What brings you over here?”

“We just wanted to check in,” Kuroo said, his voice careful and measured. “Kageyama… he doesn’t look too good.”

Daishou’s eyes flickered with something—anxiety, perhaps—before he quickly masked it with a tight smile. “He’s just tired. It’s been a long day, you know?”

Akaashi frowned, not buying the excuse. “He’s been looking tired for a while now. And… well, his legs look swollen.”

At the mention of Kageyama’s legs, Daishou’s smile faltered. He glanced at Kageyama, who still hadn’t responded to their presence, his face pale and drawn. “He’s fine. Just needs some rest. I’m making sure he’s taken care of.”

“But—” Akaashi started, only to be cut off by Daishou.

“Really, he’s fine,” Daishou insisted, his voice firmer now. “I’ve got it handled.”

Kuroo exchanged a glance with Akaashi, silently debating their next move. Something was definitely wrong, but Daishou was clearly not willing to share. Pressing further might push Daishou to shut down completely, or worse, stress Kageyama out even more.

Before either of them could say anything else, Kageyama finally spoke, his voice hoarse and barely above a whisper. “I’m okay… just… just tired.”

The three of them looked at him, each of their faces reflecting different shades of concern. Kageyama’s eyes remained unfocused, as if he were struggling to stay present, but there was a determination in his voice that Akaashi recognized all too well—the same stubbornness that kept him pushing forward, no matter how exhausted or hurt he was.

Akaashi wanted to argue, to insist that Kageyama needed more than just rest, but the look on Kageyama’s face stopped him. There was something else going on, something deeper than just physical exhaustion. Pushing too hard might only make things worse, especially if Kageyama wasn’t ready to open up about whatever was really going on.

Kuroo seemed to come to the same conclusion. He sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Alright, but if you need anything, anything at all, you know you can come to us, right? We’re here to help.”

Kageyama nodded weakly, though it was clear he was just trying to get them to back off. Daishou gave them a curt nod, signaling that the conversation was over.

As Akaashi and Kuroo reluctantly turned to leave, Akaashi couldn’t help but glance back one last time. Kageyama was still hunched over, his breath shallow, his eyes staring blankly at his untouched food. Daishou was talking to him softly, but it was clear that whatever was going on with Kageyama, it wasn’t going to be solved with words alone.

Back at their table, Bokuto greeted them with his usual enthusiasm, but even he seemed to sense that something was wrong. The rest of dinner passed in a blur, with Akaashi barely touching his food, his mind too preoccupied with worry.

He exchanged a glance with Kuroo as they sat down, the unspoken understanding between them clear: something had to be done, but they needed to tread carefully. They couldn’t force Kageyama to open up, but they could keep an eye on him, make sure he wasn’t left to deal with whatever was going on alone.

As dinner wrapped up, Akaashi found himself watching Kageyama and Daishou leave the dining hall, Daishou guiding the younger boy with a protective hand on his back. The sight only deepened Akaashi’s resolve. Whatever was happening, he wouldn’t let Kageyama face it without support.

“We’ll keep an eye on him,” Kuroo murmured as they stood up to leave, his voice low enough that only Akaashi could hear. “If anything changes, we step in. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Akaashi replied, his voice firm.

'But would it be enough?' thought Akaashi

Chapter Text

Oikawa hated himself. It wasn’t a new discovery. He had known this for a long time, though he’d never dared to say it out loud. It festered inside him like a wound that wouldn’t heal, raw and painful. Each morning, he would look into the mirror, and the person staring back at him wasn’t the charming, confident Oikawa Tooru the world loved to see. No, it was someone weaker—someone he despised.

He hated the way he talked. His voice always seemed too loud, too demanding, a desperate plea for validation hidden beneath layers of fake charm. Even his laugh grated on his own ears, an obnoxious sound that seemed to scream, look at me, please.

The way he moved—so carefully calculated, every step purposeful and controlled—felt like a mask. He felt the eyes of others on him constantly, and with it came the weight of their expectations. He hated how his body reacted, how he had to keep up the facade of grace and confidence, when inside, all he wanted was to crumble.
Oikawa tried to think about where his hatred started, but he could never quite put a finger on it. It wasn’t like there was a single moment, some clear-cut event that flipped a switch. It felt more like a slow, creeping poison that had worked its way through him over the years. Maybe it was the pressure to be perfect. To be the Oikawa Tooru that everyone expected him to be. The reliable captain, the charismatic ace, the heart of Aoba Johsai. It was exhausting, pretending to be something he wasn’t—someone stronger, better.

But the truth was, no matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he practiced, it never felt like enough. And that, perhaps, was where the hatred began.

Oikawa lay stiffly on his bedroll, staring into the thick, suffocating darkness that filled the shared room. His eyes, though wide open, saw nothing—only the pitch-black night and the faint outlines of the other boys scattered around the floor in their sleeping bags. It was quiet, save for the deep, steady breathing of his teammates, and he knew they were all asleep. Aoba Johsai and Karasuno, gathered under the same roof. The irony was almost painful.

He closed his eyes, hoping the darkness behind his eyelids might be different, less suffocating than the one around him. But it wasn’t. If anything, it was worse. It trapped him in his own thoughts, forcing him to confront the mess of emotions swirling inside.

He shifted slightly, curling deeper into his blanket. It was cold, but not the kind of cold that the blanket could fix. This cold settled into his bones, freezing him from the inside out.

His mind wandered back to the events of the day, replaying the scenes that had unfolded between him and Kageyama. He hadn’t wanted things to end up this way. The look on Kageyama’s face when Oikawa had yelled at him—that look—had stuck with him. The way Kageyama’s eyes had widened, the shock and fear evident in his gaze.

His breathing.

The way he was breathing.

The sound.

Oikawa bit down on his lip, hard, trying to push the image and sound out of his head, but it refused to leave. He squeezed his eyes shut even tighter, his fists gripping the edge of his blanket as if holding on to it could somehow keep the memories at bay. But nothing worked.

It wasn’t like he hated Kageyama. He didn’t. Not really.

So why? Why did I hurt him?

He had asked himself this a hundred times already, but no matter how many times the question looped in his mind, no answer came. Kageyama had always had a special place in his heart, even if Oikawa would never admit it aloud. Not to anyone. Not even to himself most days. The thought alone was enough to make his chest tighten with guilt.

Kageyama, with his wide, innocent eyes that seemed to follow Oikawa everywhere. The boy with endless potential and an untapped talent for volleyball that both terrified and inspired him. Kageyama had been a constant presence in his life for years, from the moment he joined the team as a first-year—eager, bright-eyed, and full of raw ambition. He had always looked up to Oikawa, had always admired him, even when Oikawa pushed him away, even when he tore him down with sharp words and harsh lessons.

And yet, despite all of that, Kageyama still looked at him with those eyes.

Blueberry eyes, Oikawa had once joked to himself. Big, round, and always filled with a mix of awe and determination. The kind of eyes that sparkled whenever he talked about volleyball, as if the game itself was the only thing that mattered in the world. Kageyama had always been like that—single-minded, driven by his love for the sport.

Oikawa remembered the way Kageyama used to wave his volleyball around like a little kid, grinning from ear to ear as if just holding the ball brought him joy. He had always been excited when Oikawa was around, eager to show off, eager to learn, eager to prove himself.

And Oikawa had crushed that excitement. He had destroyed it with his own insecurities and fears.

Why? he asked himself again. Why am I like this?

The self-loathing that had been festering inside him for so long bubbled up, stronger now than it had been all day. He felt it crawling beneath his skin, itching to break free. It was unbearable, this weight, this guilt that pressed down on him, squeezing his chest until it hurt to breathe.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to dig his nails into his skin and rip it apart, to tear away the flesh that carried all this hatred, all this anger. Maybe if he clawed deep enough, he could reach the part of him that wasn’t broken. Maybe there was still something left of the Oikawa Tooru who had once loved the game, who had once been able to smile without it feeling like a mask.

But that person felt so far away now. So unreachable.

His hands curled into fists, trembling as he pressed them against his stomach, trying to keep himself from shaking. His mind kept replaying Kageyama’s face—how his eyes had filled with something Oikawa never thought he’d see there: fear.

Kageyama had always been fearless, even when he was just a kid. He’d never been afraid to speak his mind, never afraid to challenge Oikawa, even when it meant going against someone older and more experienced. That was part of what made him so annoying, but also part of what made him so admirable.

And now, Oikawa had made him afraid. Of him. Of all people.

The realization made Oikawa feel sick to his stomach. He didn’t want that. He didn’t want Kageyama to be afraid of him. He didn’t want anyone to be afraid of him. But he had pushed too far today. He had let his frustration get the best of him, let his own fears bleed into the way he treated the people around him. The way he treated Kageyama.

His little kouhai. The one who had looked up to him. The one who had once trembled with excitement around him, not fear. The one who, despite everything, still sought Oikawa’s approval, still wanted to prove himself to him.

Oikawa’s chest tightened again, and he curled even deeper into himself, pulling the blanket up over his head as if that could shield him from the weight of his own guilt.

I’m a piece of shit, he thought bitterly, the words echoing in his mind like a mantra. I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve any of it.

He could still see the look on Kageyama’s face, etched into his memory like a scar. The fear, the hurt, the confusion. Oikawa had been the cause of that. He had been the one to make Kageyama feel that way, all because he couldn’t deal with his own insecurities.

The weight of it all was too much. He wanted to scream into his pillow, to let it all out, but he couldn’t. Not here. Not with everyone else sleeping just feet away. So he stayed silent, swallowing the scream, burying it deep inside with the rest of his emotions.

But it didn’t go away. It never did.

He hated himself. More than he ever had in his life. More than the day he lost to Shiratorizawa, more than the nights he stayed up, practicing serves until his shoulder ached. This was different. This was worse.

Because this time, he wasn’t just failing himself. He was failing Kageyama. And that hurt more than anything else.

Oikawa squeezed his eyes shut once more, wishing for sleep to take him. But he knew it wouldn’t come. Not tonight. Not when the guilt was so loud, so overwhelming.

He lay there in the darkness, curled up on himself, trying to forget everything that had happened today. Trying, and failing, to silence the voice in his head that kept telling him the same thing over and over again.

His breath hitched, and he pulled the blanket over his face, hoping to block out the world for just a little while. But then a voice broke through the silence.

“Oikawa-san…”

The voice was unmistakably Kageyama’s. Oikawa’s heart skipped a beat. He had hoped the younger boy was sleeping soundly, away from the harsh words and tense atmosphere of earlier. He turned his head toward the sound, his heart aching with a mix of fear and hope. “Tobio-chan?” he whispered back, pulling the blanket away from his face.

For a few moments, there was only silence, and Oikawa wondered if he had imagined it. Then, Kageyama spoke again, his voice trembling with a mixture of cold and emotion. “I… I’m sorry…”

The words hit Oikawa like a physical blow. He sat up quickly, his heart pounding. “No, no, no, Tobio-chan, you don’t have to apologize. Not to me. Never to me.” His voice was strained, a desperate attempt to deflect the guilt that was threatening to overwhelm him.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. “I’m sorry, Tobio. Okay? I’m sorry. Not just for today. I’m sorry for everything. Sorry for treating you like shit.” The words came out in a rush, his voice cracking with the weight of his regret. “I’m sorry for being like this. For being shit person. For being annoying. For being disgusting. For being…”

His voice faltered, and he struggled to find the right words. The depth of his guilt was too profound, too overwhelming. He wanted to convey just how sorry he was, how deeply he regretted every harsh word and every moment of cruelty, but the words wouldn’t come.

'Was there a word in the dictionary disgusting enough to describe me?'

“You’re a great person, Oikawa-san…” kageyama's response was a soft, gently murmur, muffled by the blanket covered him.

The sincerity in Kageyama’s voice made Oikawa’s throat tighten, and his chest ache more than it ever had. He couldn’t understand why Kageyama would say such things to him, especially after everything that had happened. The boy’s words were so fragile, so filled with a vulnerability that only deepened Oikawa’s sense of shame.

He was silent for a moment, the weight of Kageyama’s words and his own self-recrimination creating a heavy silence between them. Oikawa wanted to offer more comfort, to reassure Kageyama, but he wasn’t sure how.

“Are you cold?” Oikawa asked softly, concern edging into his voice.

“Y-Yeah,” Kageyama replied, his voice small and shivering.

Oikawa sighed, feeling a pang of guilt. “Hold on.” He struggled out of his bedroll, feeling the cold air hit his skin as he moved. Carefully, he navigated through the sleeping forms scattered across the room, his feet brushing against the carpeted and yet cool floor. He grabbed his blanket and made his way back to where he thought Kageyama was lying. Avoiding all the bodies of the other boys sleeping around in the dead on the night.

“Scoot over,” Oikawa said gently, his voice barely above a whisper. There was some rustling as Kageyama adjusted himself, making room for Oikawa. The older boy lay down beside him, draping his blanket over both of them. He settled in next to Kageyama, pulling the blanket up over Kageyama’s one and around them both.

Kageyama was incredibly cold, far colder than Oikawa had expected. His body felt like ice, and Oikawa could feel the chill radiating from him. Worry started steeping further into Oikawa’s heart as even through both his and Kageyama’s sock’s the chill of his flesh made his way to Oikawa.

“God Tobio-chan, you are freezing. It’s like you are not producing any body heat or something” Oikawa hissed out as he huddled closer to the younger boy.

“I am sorry” said Kageyama with his muffled voice, with half of his face being covered with the blankets.

“What did I say about saying sorry to me?”

“Sor-I mean ok”

And Oikawa let the silence stretch between them. He listened to the boy's breath as it shook and hissed with the cold.

“Give me your hands” said Oikawa as he already was searching for the younger boy’s hand under the blanket.

“W-what?”

“Your hands Tobio-chan. Now you have to promise me secrecy because even Iwa-chan does not get this privilege. The only hands I hold are of either pretty ladies or my sweet sweet mom ok? So you are getting the special treatment here” said Oikawa as he held the younger boy's hands in his. And they were colder than he was anticipating.

And time flew between the two as Oikawa methodically rubbed the younger boy’s hand in his, aiming to return or bring any warmth he could to him. He worked on subsiding the shivers that forced Kageyama’s hands to shake from the cold.

“You mean a lot to me, okay, Tobio-chan?” Oikawa said quietly, his voice filled with a mixture of sadness and sincerity. “Not just in volleyball, but in life.”

He rubbed both of his hands gently, trying to warm them up more. “I know I haven’t been the best… I know I’ve treated you badly at times. But I need you to know that you’re important to me. I see how hard you work, how much you care about volleyball. You remind me of myself when I was younger.”

Oikawa paused, struggling to find the right words. “I push you because I see your potential. I see the greatness in you, and it scares me. Because I know one day, you’ll surpass me. And that’s okay. It should be that way. I don’t want you to think I hate you. I don’t. I’m proud of you, even if I don’t always show it.”

His hands continued to rub Kageyama’s, trying to infuse them with warmth. “I’m sorry for all the times I’ve made you feel like you’re not enough. Because you are. You’re more than enough. More than enough to me. More than enough for this disgusting world”

In the dark room of a building surrounded by snow. Where the world was a sleep and stars covered by the clouds. Where Oikawa could barely see the blue in Kageyama’s eyes. He held the boy’s hands tight and whispered.

“Stay strong, okay, Tobio-chan? Become stronger every day. I want you to beat me one day. Fair and square.”

Oikawa might have heard the younger boy softly cry besides him that night, but he didn’t say anything. Neither did he know at the time what the younger boy was truly crying for.

But that night, Oikawa pulled him closer. He rested his chin on top of the boy’s head, gently stroking his hair to offer reassurance. He continued to hold Kageyama as tightly as he could, gently rubbing his hands to warm them up. He patted Kageyama’s head softly, offering what comfort he could in the quiet of the night.

‘The darkness was too cold’, thought Oikawa.

‘But not Tobio-chan’s heart’.

‘Never Tobio-chan’s heart’.

Chapter Text

Daichi woke up to the sound of coughing—deep, chest-rattling coughs that broke through the quiet hum of sleeping bodies around him. The air was thick and stale, carrying the muffled sounds of breathing, shifting blankets, and the occasional rustling of a restless sleeper.

Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he stared into the darkness, disoriented. It was impossible to tell the time. The world had been shrouded in thick, oppressive clouds for days, making it difficult to distinguish night from day.

The coughing persisted, rough and strained, accompanied by the hushed murmur of a voice trying to soothe whoever was struggling. Daichi pushed himself up with a groan, his limbs heavy with sleep. As he sat up, the weight of the blanket pooled around his waist, a small pocket of warmth escaping into the cold air.

He peered through the dim silhouettes of bodies cocooned in sleeping bags, trying to locate the source of the noise. A few feet away, two figures sat up—one hunched over, their shoulders shaking violently with every ragged breath, and another with a hand braced against the first boy’s back. A third figure stood above them, a faint glint catching off the glass they held.

Careful not to step on anyone, Daichi moved closer, his feet shuffling quietly over the rough floor. As he approached, the voices became clearer.

“—nned? Just cough it out, Tobio-chan. You don’t need to force yourself to be quiet,” came Oikawa’s voice, unusually soft but still carrying that ever-present smugness.

Daichi furrowed his brows. Kageyama? What the hell was he doing here, in Aoba Johsai’s sleeping area?

“Hey, man, don’t cough through your chest,” Matsukawa’s voice added, rough with sleep. “Relax, or you’ll mess up your throat even more.”

Daichi stopped beside them. In the faint glow of emergency exit signs along the walls, he could make out Kageyama curled into himself, his whole body trembling with the force of each cough. His hands were clamped over his mouth, his face barely visible in the shadows. Oikawa sat beside him, one hand on his back, rubbing slow circles, while Matsukawa stood over them, holding a glass of water.

“Hey,” Daichi murmured, making his presence known. Both Oikawa and Matsukawa looked up, their expressions tense. “Everything okay?”

“Define ‘okay,’” Matsukawa muttered, shifting his weight.

Before anyone could answer properly, another violent cough wracked through Kageyama’s frame, his entire body jerking forward with the force of it. His breathing was labored, shallow gasps between fits, and the sound of it made something tighten uncomfortably in Daichi’s chest.

“Shit, you’re not gonna hurl, are you?” Matsukawa asked, bending down slightly to get a better look at Kageyama’s face, though he kept a careful grip on the glass.

“I told you, idiot, he doesn’t have a fever—he’s not sick,” Oikawa snapped, glaring up at Matsukawa before turning his attention back to Kageyama. “Tobio-chan, stop curling up like that. You’re making it worse.”

“He doesn’t need to be sick to throw up,” Matsukawa shot back. “Ever heard of gag reflex?”
“Ever heard of not being an ass?”

“Guys,” Daichi cut in before the argument could escalate. He knelt down beside Kageyama, resting a firm but steadying hand on his shoulder. “Hey, Kageyama. You okay?”

Oikawa scoffed. “Do any of us look okay?”

Despite everything, Kageyama nodded, though his body betrayed him as another shudder rolled through him. His coughing was dying down now, each exhale shaky as he tried to regulate his breathing. The tension in his shoulders didn’t ease, but at least the worst seemed to be over.

“Here, man,” Matsukawa offered, finally handing over the glass. “Maki’s got some weird sore throat mints in his bag. I can grab one if you want.”

Kageyama shook his head weakly and took the glass with trembling fingers. No one commented on the way his hands shook as he brought it to his lips and took a slow sip.
Oikawa huffed. “Seriously, Tobio-chan, if you’re gonna keep coughing like that, at least warn people first. I thought you were dying.”

Kageyama shot him a tired glare over the rim of the glass. His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke. “I—” He stopped, swallowed, then tried again. “Didn’t… wanna wake everyone up.”

Matsukawa let out a snort. “Yeah, that worked out real well.”

Daichi sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Do you know what triggered it?”

Kageyama hesitated, eyes flickering to Oikawa, who grimaced before answering for him.

“Something in the air, probably. He was breathing fine earlier, but then he started coughing out of nowhere.” Oikawa said.

“Do you need anything else?” Matsukawa asked, his usual smirk absent for once.

Kageyama hesitated, then shook his head again.

“Alright,” Daichi said, standing up. “If it gets worse, wake someone up, alright?”

Kageyama gave another weak nod before setting the half-empty glass beside him. Oikawa watched him for a moment, then pulled a blanket over Kageyama’s shoulders with a small, begrudging sigh.

“Just go back to sleep,” Oikawa muttered. “You’re useless when you’re like this.”

Daichi decided not to comment on the way Oikawa’s hands lingered for just a second before pulling away.

“Oi, are you just gonna stand there watching, or are you gonna be useful?” Oikawa suddenly snapped, his sharp gaze flicking past Daichi.

Daichi turned his head slightly and noticed Kindaichi frozen a few feet away, half-hidden in the dark. He hadn’t moved, just staring, his face unreadable.
Kindaichi blinked, hesitated, then scowled. “I wasn’t watching.”

“Uh-huh.” Matsukawa smirked. “Just happened to wake up, then?”

Kindaichi scoffed. “Not my fault if you guys are being loud.”

“I don’t think the coughing was optional,” Daichi muttered.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Kindaichi grumbled. He rubbed the back of his head and finally turned away, slipping back into his sleeping bag without another word.

Daichi sighed, glancing down at Kageyama one last time. His breathing had evened out now, his head tilted slightly as if exhaustion was finally winning over. Oikawa sat stiffly beside him, clearly still awake, but he didn’t say anything.

Eventually, the room fell into silence again.

Daichi lay back down, listening to the rhythmic breathing of those around him, but sleep didn’t come easily.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kageyama wasn’t there when morning arrived.

Oikawa noticed immediately, not that he cared. Obviously. It wasn’t his business where that brat wandered off to.

Still, he found himself frowning at the empty seat while trying to eat his breakfast.

Maki, chewing lazily on a piece of toast, raised an eyebrow. “What’s with your face?”

“My face is fine.”

“Debatable,” Matsukawa muttered.

Oikawa shot him a look before turning back to Maki. “Tobio-chan’s gone.”

Maki didn’t even blink. “Yeah, and?”

“And,” Oikawa said, exasperated, “he didn’t say anything.”

Maki smirked. “What, were you expecting a goodbye kiss?”

Oikawa choked on air. “What—NO.”

“Damn,” Matsukawa said. “Guess we’ll have to cancel the wedding.”

“You two are idiots,” Oikawa grumbled, stabbing at his food.

Before Maki could continue his nonsense, Matsukawa spoke up. “Oh, right. Forgot to tell you. Kageyama left early. Washijō took him.”

Oikawa blinked. “Washijō?”

“Yeah. Woke him up at some ungodly hour and dragged him off to help with the heating system or something.” Matsukawa stretched his arms behind his head. “Guess he didn’t wanna risk sending kids out alone after, y’know.” He gestured vaguely at Oikawa’s hand.

Oikawa scowled, flexing his fingers. “It wasn’t even that bad.”

“Sure,” Matsukawa said dryly.

Maki leaned forward, grinning. “So what, Kageyama’s some kind of heating system prodigy now?”

“Apparently, he already knows how the equipment works,” Matsukawa said. “Washijō figured he could show the adults how to use it properly. Also, teach them how to chop wood without losing a limb.”

Maki whistled. “What a guy. Bet you’re proud, huh, Oikawa?”

Oikawa ignored him, choosing instead to take an aggressive bite of toast.

A sharp noise caught his attention—someone scraping a knife against their plate, over and over again.

He turned his head slightly.

Daishou.

The guy was mutilating his toast two tables down, glaring daggers at Oikawa as if he’d personally offended him.

Oikawa arched an eyebrow. “Do I have something on my face?”, he asked Iwaizumi.

Daishou continued to just stab the toast again.

Iwaizumi, sitting next to Oikawa, leaned in. “What the hell is his problem?”

Oikawa waved him off. “Just ignore it.”

“Ignoring it won’t make him stop looking like he wants to murder you.”

“I probably deserve it,” Oikawa muttered.

Iwaizumi sighed. “I swear, you attract weirdos.”

Across the room, Kuroo was hesitating near Daishou’s table, clearly debating whether or not to sit down.

Oikawa watched as Kuroo took a careful step forward. Then another.

Then Daishou’s glare shifted to him.

The air practically dropped ten degrees.

Kuroo, to his credit, lasted a full three seconds before backing away like a scolded dog. He turned on his heel and beelined for his usual seat.

The second he sat down, Bokuto cackled and slapped him on the back—hard, while making fun of him.

Maki smirked. “Called it.”

Oikawa gave him a suspicious look. “Called what?”

“The guy’s got a serious case of ‘wolf deprived of their pup,’” Maki said, gesturing at Daishou. “Kageyama’s not here, so he’s pissed. And he’s taking it out on everyone.”

Oikawa stared. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Maki shrugged. “Hey, I don’t make the rules.”

Matsukawa leaned in, smirking. “Jealous?”

Oikawa rolled his eyes and took another bite of toast, pretending he didn’t hear that.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I didn’t know you were trying to get into medical school.”

Kuguri’s voice broke through the quiet hum of the room, casual but edged with curiosity. He leaned over the back of the couch, peering at Daishou’s phone before the other boy could angle it away.

Their sleeping room was freezing. Wind howled against the windows, shaking the glass, and everyone had been sent back to their rooms with nothing to do. The coaches were too busy handling logistics, leaving the team stranded in a blizzard with only each other for entertainment.

Kuguri figured rooming with the Nekoma guys wasn’t the worst outcome. Kenma had an arsenal of handheld gaming consoles—though getting him to share was a whole different battle—and Kuroo was annoying but at least kept things interesting. The only one acting off was Daishou.

“I’m not,” Daishou muttered, fingers moving quickly over his phone screen, the glow illuminating his sharp features.

“Then why are you asking your mom about lung congestion?” Kuguri pressed, frowning. “Are you sick or something?”

Daishou stiffened almost imperceptibly. “It’s none of your business, alright? Now back off.”

Kuguri pulled back, taken aback. “Wow. Okay. I’m just asking, dude. No need to bite my head off.” He crossed his arms, eyes narrowing. “You’ve been weird this whole trip. More than usual, I mean.”

Daishou let out a sharp breath, shoving his phone into his hoodie pocket. “And you’ve been acting like a nosy little shit this whole trip. How about you back off and mind your own business for once?”

Kuguri scoffed, irritation prickling under his skin. “Oh, excuse me for being concerned.” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “You’re acting sketchy as hell, Daishou. Maybe if you weren’t being so damn secretive, I wouldn’t have to guess if you’re about to drop dead or something.”

Daishou’s jaw clenched. “I told you, I’m fine.”

Kuguri wasn’t buying it. “Yeah? Then why are you gripping your phone like it personally insulted your ancestors?”

Daishou shot him a glare. “Oh my god, do you ever shut up?”

“Not when something’s obviously wrong.” Kuguri didn’t back down, his voice rising slightly. “You’re being a dick, Daishou. Just tell me what’s going on.”

“Nothing is going on!” Daishou snapped, standing up so fast the couch creaked. “Why do you even care?”

Kuguri threw his hands up. “I don’t know, maybe because we’re literally stuck together in the middle of a goddamn blizzard, and if you’re dying or something, I’d like to know before you keel over in the middle of the night!”

Daishou rolled his eyes, stepping around him. “You’re being dramatic.”

“And you’re being an asshole,” Kuguri shot back.

Daishou turned on his heel, his voice sharp. “Fine.”

“Fine!”

“Fine!”

Kuguri let out a frustrated breath and stalked off toward the others, muttering under his breath.

Hiroo barely glanced up from his game as Kuguri plopped down beside him. “What was that about?”

Kuguri scowled. “Daishou being Daishou.”

Hiroo hummed, clicking at his console. “So, dramatic and emotionally repressed?”

“Exactly”

The room buzzed with quiet conversations and the occasional laugh, but Kuguri’s mind was still stuck on Daishou.

If that idiot needed help, he’d better figure it out fast. Because with the storm raging outside, they were completely trapped, and whatever was bothering Daishou wasn’t going to go away on its own.

Chapter Text

Kindaichi saw people as colours.

Not in the obvious way—hair, eyes, clothes—but in something deeper. The feeling they left behind in a room, the tone of their voice, the weight of their silences. His world had always been painted in shades of grey: the quiet greys of morning routines, the foggy greys of teachers’ voices, the leaden greys of classmates who talked about the future like it was a test they already knew the answers to.

Then he met Kageyama.

It was in his first year, just as autumn folded into the edges of the school fields and the leaves began turning crisp and gold. Kageyama was younger by a few months, but something about him burned brighter. His eyes were a sharp, undeniable blue—the kind of blue that wasn’t just seen, but felt. Like the sky just before it storms. Like ink dropped into water. Restless. Alive.

Kageyama wasn’t just a cold, brilliant blue. He was a warm kind. The blue of a familiar coat. Of hydrangeas in the rain. Of quiet skies after something has passed.
And although a lot of people would look at him strangely if he ever said it out loud, Kageyama reflected soft edges and gentle words—if you listened closely enough.
He hadn’t always been the terrifying genius everyone saw now.

When Kindaichi first met him, Kageyama was nothing more than a shy, awkward first year, crouched on the floor by the shoe lockers and wrestling with a hopeless tangle of laces.

“Need help?” Kindaichi asked, leaning down.

Kageyama’s head jerked up, cheeks flushing. “N-No,” he said too quickly. “I—I got it.”

“Doesn’t look like it,” Kindaichi muttered, crouching beside him anyway.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Kageyama stared at the floor, ears pink. Kindaichi worked at the knot gently, careful not to tug too hard.

“You new to the team?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Kageyama mumbled.

“I’m Kindaichi.”

“…Kageyama.”

“Your shoes are too tight,” Kindaichi said, glancing at the tongue of the sneaker. “You should loosen the second row.”

Kageyama didn’t reply, but his shoulders relaxed slightly. When Kindaichi finally untangled the knot, he handed the lace ends over wordlessly. Kageyama looked down at them, then up at Kindaichi.

“Thanks.”

It was barely audible.

“Anytime.”

That was how it began. No sparks. No great first impression. Just two boys at the edge of a school day, one helping the other with something small.

Kindaichi never forgot that moment. Because despite what everyone would later say—about how cold or strict or distant Kageyama was—he remembered this version first. The quiet boy with laces in a knot and thank-you on his lips.

Warm blue. That’s what he was.

Kageyama had been shy, soft, and awkward in a way that didn’t quite fit the picture others later painted of him. But to Kindaichi, he had been something entirely different.
He was life. A spark of colour. A new thread running through the dull weave of Kindaichi’s carefully repeated routines—early alarms, polite nods, quiet dinners.

Kageyama arrived like a breath of fresh air, like a tide suddenly rising in an otherwise still blue lake.

He got excited talking about setting. His eyes would shine, hands moving fast and clumsy as he tried to explain how the ball should feel when it left your fingers, how it had to float, not spin, and how he could tell when a set was perfect just by the sound it made.

“Like this, Kindaichi,” he’d insist, tossing an invisible ball between his palms, frowning with complete seriousness. “Can you hear it? That thump—that’s what I mean!”
Kindaichi never heard it. But he always nodded anyway.

He got puppy-eyed at vending machines, staring at new milk flavours like they were rare Pokémon. “Melon milk,” he’d whisper once, reverently. “What kind of genius thought of that?”

He got all pouty when Kunimi tried, for the seventh—or was it eighth?—time to explain how feudal lords worked.

“But why would they fight each other if they were on the same side?” Kageyama asked, brows drawn so tightly it looked like he was about to sprain something.

“Because they were greedy,” Kunimi said flatly.

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“You don’t make sense.”

“Shut up.”

And when he talked about his grandfather—when he really talked, in those rare quiet moments—it was like the whole world softened.

“He gave me my first volleyball,” he’d said once, hugging his knees in the empty gym after practice. “Said it looked like I needed something to do with all my energy.”

Kindaichi didn’t know exactly when he started using his first name. It wasn’t a decision—just something that happened, like water finding a new path downhill.

“Tobio,” he’d say, handing him a towel or calling him to the court.

It earned him an eye-roll from Kunimi every time.

“Since when are you two on first-name basis?” he’d mutter.

Iwaizumi, if he heard, would just give Kindaichi a faint, proud smile—the kind older brothers give when they see you do something right, even if they don’t say anything. And Oikawa, grinning far too wide, once chimed in with, “Ooooh, Tobiooo, huh? That’s practically a confession in middle school.”

Kageyama had turned scarlet.

Kindaichi had threatened to pour juice in Oikawa’s shoes.

But he didn’t stop saying it.

Because calling him “Tobio” felt right. Like the world had opened up a bit, like the colour blue had stretched into something warmer, deeper, easier to hold onto.

And in all the years that followed—all the matches lost, the silences grown too wide, and the cold corners Kageyama started curling into—Kindaichi never found anyone else who made his world feel that alive.

Not like Tobio.

Not ever.

.
.
.

“What?” said Kindaichi, turning in his seat. His voice was a little too loud in the quiet classroom, where the hush of lunchtime stillness hung like a veil. The desks were bathed in soft amber light, the sun bleeding in through the tall windows and casting long shadows across the floor.

Tobio was sitting at his desk, head down, slipping his books into his bag one by one with mechanical precision. He didn’t look up.

“You’re leaving again?”

No answer.

Kindaichi shifted, half-standing now. The words came before he could stop them, spilling out like frustration cracked open.

“You’ve already missed four sessions this week,” he said. “The third-years are graduating. This is our last chance to really work with them. And you’re—what? Skipping again?”
Tobio still didn’t look at him.

Kindaichi stared at the way his hands moved. Stiff. Fast. Not quite trembling—but close.

“I really need this, Yuu,” Tobio said quietly, eyes fixed on the zipper of his bag.

Yuu.

The sound of it was a punch to the chest. Kindaichi didn’t know why—maybe because it was the first time Tobio had used his name in weeks. Maybe because it sounded like a memory. Something from before.

“Yeah?” Kindaichi said, his voice rising despite himself. “But why? You haven’t told anyone anything! You won’t talk to the coach, you won’t talk to us, you won’t even look at me half the time. What’s going on? What could be more important than the team?”

Tobio paused.

For one breath, one long, heavy second, it looked like he might say something. He opened his mouth. Then closed it again.

His fingers tightened around the strap of his bag.

“There’s someone who really needs me right now.”

The words came out hollow. Like he was repeating them from somewhere else. Somewhere that didn’t have anything to do with volleyball or school or even Kindaichi.
And that hurt more than anything.

Kindaichi sat down again slowly, his chair scraping faintly against the floor.

“So it’s not us, then,” he said, trying to sound calm. “It’s not the team that needs you.”

Tobio still wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“I can’t explain it,” he said, finally.

“That’s the problem,” Kindaichi whispered. “You never do.”

Outside, someone slammed a locker shut in the hallway. The light shifted slightly, warming the wooden floorboards until everything looked soaked in honey. And still, neither of them moved.

Tobio stood, slinging his bag over one shoulder.

“I’ll be back for the next match.”

“You said that last time.”

“I mean it.”

But the space between them already felt wider. Like something invisible had stepped between their desks and made a home there.

Kindaichi didn’t follow him when he left.

He only watched the sunlight fade from Tobio’s desk and tried to remember when it had all started to go quiet.

.
.
.

And then the blue began to change.

It happened slowly, almost imperceptibly, like how water turns cold before you even realise you’re shivering. The gentle hue that once coloured Tobio—soft skies and still lakes, laughter over milk flavours, half-whispered thoughts about his grandfather—began to harden. Sharpen. What was once warmth became something colder, more precise. Edges where there used to be curves. Silence where there used to be stillness.

He stopped coming to lunch.

No more afternoon walks by the courts. No more shared vending machine experiments. No more Tobio, really.

Only practice. Practice, and more practice. Like it was the only thing tethering him to the earth.

He moved like a wolf now. Hungry. Desperate. Eyes fixed only on the next point, the next serve, the next impossible win. The kind of desperation that didn’t feel like passion, but panic.

Kindaichi watched it all happen from across the net.

And he knew—this wasn’t his Tobio anymore.

This was Kageyama.

King of the Court.

The nickname, meant to tease at first, stuck like tar. And after the final match—the one Kageyama had fought through with a fury that scared even the coach—he changed again.
He turned into a dark navy. Not rich or regal. But sickly. The kind of colour that clung to corners and refused to be scrubbed away.

Kindaichi saw him after school, sitting alone at the edge of the classroom. His face blank. His eyes cast downward. His fingers curling and uncurling in his lap like he still had a ball to set.

No one sat near him.

People started shoving him in the corridors. Someone spilled milk on his chair, and when he returned from washing his hands, no one said a word.

The teammates who used to cheer with him now snickered behind his back.

“Still think you’re above us, your highness?” Kunimi had muttered once, just loud enough.

Kageyama didn’t even flinch.

And Kindaichi—

He’d stood by the doorway, watching. His throat too tight, his legs too heavy. He could’ve said something. Anything.

He could’ve stepped forward.

But he didn’t.

Because by then, he didn’t know what he’d even say. Because by then, it felt like Tobio had disappeared into something colder. Something unreachable.

And yet.

Even now, long after middle school, long after they parted ways and stopped speaking altogether—Kindaichi still wonders.

If he had said something then—just a word, a name, anything—maybe, just maybe...

Maybe Tobio would’ve looked up.

Maybe the colour wouldn’t have darkened.

Maybe the blue would’ve stayed.

But Kindaichi had been afraid. And the thing about silence is that once you let it settle in—

It starts painting everything.

Even the people you loved most.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“—aichi! Oi! You’re not gonna sleep the whole day away, are you?”

Kindaichi opened one bleary eye to find Kunimi leaning over him, arms folded, expression equal parts bored and unimpressed. His hair was messy from napping, and his hoodie was bunched up at the sleeves.

They were still trapped in the shared sleeping quarters.

It meant one thing: being stuck in a too-cold room with too many bodies, too many socks, and too little space. Forced proximity. Minimal patience.

At least Kageyama was with the coaches and not here in the chaos of it all.

“What else am I supposed to do?” Kindaichi mumbled, slowly sitting up and rubbing his eyes, his limbs stiff from the uncomfortable futon.

Around them, the rest of Karasuno and Aoba Johsai were scattered across the floor in lazy afternoon disarray—some playing board games, others flopped over card games like wilted flowers. Someone had made a nest out of spare blankets in the corner. It was unclear whether they were alive.

Kunimi returned to his place, flopping backwards with a sigh and cracking open the book he’d barely read for the last hour.

“Hmm… entertain me,” he said, not even glancing up. “I’m bored.”

Kindaichi blinked at him. “What am I, your jester?”

“Well,” Kunimi said slowly, grinning now, “if the shoes fit—”

“AHHHH!”

The room jolted at the sharp screech that cut Kunimi off. Oikawa had leapt to his feet, dramatically flinging the playing cards in his hand at Hanamaki, who was wheezing with laughter across from him.

“I knew you were cheating, Maki!” Oikawa accused, pointing dramatically as if he were on a courtroom floor.

Hanamaki raised both arms in surrender, still snickering. “I swear on Matsukawa’s left kneecap I did not cheat.”

“I don’t want your curses!” Matsukawa said, casually gathering the thrown cards. “Why is it always my body parts?”

“Because they’re unlucky,” said Iwaizumi without looking up from the corner, where he was trying to untangle earphones that clearly hadn’t been used since the last era.

“Let’s do something else,” Oikawa whined, flopping dramatically onto his back like a starfish. “We’ve been playing cards for four hours!”

“Oh wow,” Matsukawa said flatly. “Oikawa’s been losing for four hours straight.”

“Hmph,” grumbled Oikawa, rising from the floor with dramatic flair, as though he were a nobleman about to make a proclamation.

Kindaichi watched from his corner as Oikawa stomped purposefully across the room, his socks sliding slightly on the carpet, until he came to a halt in front of a squat, dusty television stand wedged between the corner.

“What are you doing?” Iwaizumi asked, brow already creased, his voice laced with that familiar blend of exasperation and resignation that only Oikawa could summon in him.

“There is a fricking TV in this room,” Oikawa declared, crouching with the enthusiasm of someone who had just discovered buried treasure. “And we’ve been wasting our lives with cards and complaining. We’re going to watch a movie or something, before I die of boredom and take Maki with me.”

“Why me?” Hanamaki muttered from across the room.

“Because you were cheating,” Oikawa shot back over his shoulder.

“And how exactly are you going to do that?” Matsukawa asked, amused, joining the slow procession forming around the old television. “You think this ancient thing’s going to stream something?”

“Shh. Have faith in me,” Oikawa said, fiddling behind the set with a tangle of wires like a scientist defusing a bomb.

“Don’t encourage him,” Iwaizumi muttered, arms crossed, glaring at the side of Oikawa’s head.

But Matsukawa had already gone further. He bent down, tugged open one of the drawers beneath the stand, and gave a low whistle. “Ha!” he announced, holding up a small, black zippered case like it was the lost Ark of the Covenant. “Movie discs.”

“Don’t touch that,” Iwaizumi said quickly, stepping forward. “We don’t even know whose that is.”

“Exactly,” said Matsukawa, grinning. “So technically it belongs to all of us.”

Matsukawa made a strange face as he unzipped the black disc case, squinting at the contents like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

“…Weird,” he muttered.

Oikawa leaned in. “What?”

“There’s no titles,” Matsukawa said, flipping through the sleeves. “They’re just… numbers. One through twelve. All plain white discs.”

“No labels?” asked Hanamaki, peering over his shoulder. “No covers, no notes, no nothing?”

Matsukawa pulled one out—disc number 4. Blank, except for the neat black number written in marker at the center. “Nope.”

Hanamaki took it gingerly, as if it might bite. “What if they’re like… murder case files? Like, Washijo’s secret victim tapes.”

“Why is that your first thought?” Matsukawa asked, blinking.

“Or worse,” Hanamaki continued, “what if it’s his collection of por—”
“Nope!” Oikawa shouted, slapping his hands over his ears. “Ew, ew—go back to the murder cases! That was better!”

Suga wandered over, drawn by the commotion. “What’s going on here?”

“They found mystery discs,” Iwaizumi grumbled, crossing his arms as if by sheer posture he could will them all to be sensible. “Blank, numbered, highly suspicious.”

“We’re watching one,” Oikawa declared, already jamming disc number 1 into the ancient DVD player and twisting wires into the back of the television with what could only be described as overconfidence.

“We really shouldn’t be touching that,” came Daichi’s voice as he approached, standing beside Iwaizumi with a slight frown, arms folded with the weight of common sense.

“You’re the only person in this room with a bit of mind,” said Iwaizumi, nodding in agreement.

“Oh, come on, Daichi,” Suga said, patting his captain’s arm. “We’re all bored. No harm done, right?”

Daichi sighed, long and slow. “That’s exactly what people say right before harm is very much done.”

“Sheeesh! It’s playing!” Oikawa called, triumphant, leaping back and dragging Matsukawa and Hanamaki by the sleeves. “C’mon, this is history. We’re unlocking secrets.”

The screen flickered, the black rectangle glowing faintly in the otherwise warm, dim light of the room. The faint hum of the DVD player whirring filled the silence.

And then… nothing.

The screen stayed black.

The boys leaned forward, expectant.

They waited.

Waited.

Still nothing.

“Great,” Hanamaki muttered, collapsing backward onto the floor with dramatic flair. “It’s broken. Guess this ghost didn’t pay the electric bill.”

Oikawa groaned and got up with a grunt, reaching for the power button. “Fine, I’ll—”

And then it happened.

'Stupid technology,' came the voice of an old man, muffled but familiar, drifting out of the television speakers like a voice from a different life.

At first, no one reacted.

Then—

“Holy shit…” Hanamaki said under his breath, leaning forward, eyes wide.

“It worked,” Matsukawa murmured, barely believing what they were seeing.

The room, which moments ago had been alive with noise, groaning, half-hearted card games and half-asleep conversation, fell into an uncanny silence. They were still a group of boys, crammed into a too-small room with futons scattered like shipwreck debris, the smell of energy drinks and socks thick in the air—and yet, suddenly, not one of them moved.

The screen, black only seconds before, flickered with static and then slowly flushed with colour—sunlight pouring into a room on the screen, steady and golden.

“Wait—” Hinata blinked and stepped closer to the screen, pressing a hand against his knee to lean in. “That’s the gym! That’s our gym!”

Kindaichi stood a little straighter. He looked too.

It was the gym they usually practiced on. Or at least… it had been.

But not like this.

This version of it felt like a memory that didn’t belong to them. The floorboards, instead of dull and scuffed with years of scraped shoes and half-wiped sweat, gleamed under the light like they’d just been polished. The walls, usually lined with scuffed benches and cluttered water bottles, were bare and clean. And there were people—players in a mix of uniforms, none of which Kindaichi recognized, running drills, stretching, passing balls with calm concentration.

It was the same space, but from a different time. A different version of reality. One they’d never seen.

There was laughter. Not theirs.

The camera jerked a little, the lens swaying as the person behind it adjusted the angle. A small, callused hand came into frame briefly, and then the camera tilted upward—catching the face of the man holding it.

Tanned skin, creased cheeks, wild silver-streaked hair, and a laugh that came from deep in the chest, like a memory made whole.

'It actually worked,' the man said, and this time the voice rang clearer. 'This new camera actually worked. I’m getting better at this, huh?'

The grin on his face was unmistakably warm, like a grandfather at a summer festival.

“That’s…” Kunimi started slowly, brow furrowed.

Kindaichi didn’t even hear him.

His breath hitched.

His whole body, which had been lazily stretched out against a futon, shot upright like a puppet yanked by a string. His heartbeat flooded his ears.

“Kazuyo-san,” he whispered.

The name felt too heavy for how softly it left his mouth.

But it was enough.

Every head turned toward him.

Kindaichi was pale, eyes fixed on the screen like he couldn’t believe it was real.

“That’s… Kageyama’s grandfather,” he said aloud, this time louder, and it cracked the silence like thunder. “That’s him.”

No one spoke.

Even Oikawa, mouth usually moving faster than his thoughts, was frozen. The easy chatter that had filled the last hour dried up in an instant.

Then the screen moved again.

The camera tilted downwards, focusing on a small boy in the centre of the gym floor. He was standing stiffly, two hands wrapped around a volleyball that was clearly far too large for him—more like a boulder than a ball, resting against his chest as though it might tip him backward at any moment.

The boy couldn’t have been more than six years old. His fringe was slightly uneven, a bit too long, and his shirt hung awkwardly over his small frame. But it was his eyes that stilled the room again.

Gentle, impossibly round, the colour of sky after rain—blue in a way Kindaichi hadn’t seen in years.

'Say hi to the camera, Tobio,' Kazuyo’s voice said off-screen, warm and coaxing.

The little boy blinked up at the camera.

This wasn’t a mystery tape anymore.

This was a memory.

Chapter Text

"That's not what the story is about, Kageyama," Kunimi said sharply, snatching the crumpled sheet of notes from the younger boy’s hand before dragging his eraser across the margin with deliberate force. The rubber squeaked faintly against the cheap lined paper, fighting back the graphite that had been pressed too deeply into the fibers.

He didn't remember when it had become routine—these half-silent study sessions squeezed into the twenty-minute window of their lunch break. One day it had been a favor. Then a fluke. Now it was every Thursday by the west-facing windows, where the breeze drifted in lazily and the desks smelled faintly of old chalk and vinegar from forgotten cleaning sprays.

Kunimi huffed, jabbing the end of his eraser toward the scribbled paragraph in question. “Frankenstein is the story of a creature that tortures a poor doctor and kills his loved ones. His best friend, his bride—all of them. That’s the part you’re missing.”

“But don’t you see it—”

“It’s a horror story, Kageyama.” His tone cut clean and flat, a paper slice of finality.

Across the desk, Kageyama let out a long breath and dropped his chin onto the curve of his arms. His cheek pressed into his sleeve, and his eyes drifted toward the window, following the swaying branches of the plum tree outside. The sunlight slipped between the leaves in pale streaks, dotting his hair with gold.

“The creature just wanted companionship,” he said quietly, his voice barely audible above the rustling leaves. “He watched people from far away. He tried to learn how to be like them. But they only saw him as a monster.”

Kunimi frowned, glancing over at the boy’s profile—tired eyes, a cut healing badly on the corner of his lip, the kind of stillness that wasn’t peace but exhaustion wrapped in silence.

“Seriously, Kageyama,” Kunimi murmured, turning back to the notes, though he no longer saw the words.

“At the end,” Kageyama continued, more to the window than to his friend, “all that hope… turns into rage.”

Kunimi set down the pencil he hadn’t realized he was gripping too tightly.

“What am I going to do with you?” he muttered. “You’ve got the exam in a week and you’re quoting books like they’re confessionals.”

There was no answer, not right away. Just the wind curling through the half-open window, tugging gently at the edge of Kageyama’s fringe. Kunimi’s gaze lingered—on the way the sunlight kissed the strands, on the half-lidded expression in those dark, drifting eyes that always seemed to be watching something far away.

Something that no one else could see.

And then—

“Kunimi?”

“Hm?” he responded, voice caught somewhere between casual and something heavier.

Kageyama turned his head, barely, just enough to let their eyes meet. There was no dramatic tension, no theatrical pause—just the bare, aching honesty of someone who no longer knew how to lie.

“I don’t want to become Frankenstein's creature of this story.”

Kunimi didn’t reply right away. He didn’t know how to. Instead, he quietly slid the paper back to Kageyama, the erased patch still visible like a faded scar. And for once, he didn’t reach for his pencil.

He just sat there. Listening to the leaves.

Watching the boy beside him fall slowly out of childhood.

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And then, so many years into the future, Kunimi found himself staring at the flickering screen, the glow of the old projector casting gentle shadows across the floor and painting the walls in soft greys and golds. Dust motes swirled lazily in the light, suspended in the stillness of the room.

The old footage rolled on.

He watched as a boy with bright, unshakable blue eyes ran barefoot across a patch of worn grass, a volleyball clutched in his tiny arms. Laughter echoed in the background—warm, unfiltered, whole. A girl, older by a few years, chased after him, her dark hair whipping behind her like a banner in the wind.

“Slow down, Tobio!” she called between bursts of laughter, “You’re going to fall!”

That name—Miwa—had been a surprise. It was ironic, Kunimi thought, even cruel, that he and Kindaichi had spent nearly three full years by Kageyama’s side—eaten beside him, practiced with him, gone through wins and losses together—and not once had he mentioned a sister.

They didn’t know she existed until the third tape.

On the other side of the room, Oikawa sat hunched over, arms crossed tightly, a deep frown carved into his face. His eyes hadn't left the screen once. There was something in his expression—tension, yes, but confusion too. As if the foundation of a belief he'd carried for years was quietly crumbling beneath him.

Kunimi almost smiled.

This was the same Oikawa who had once sneered that Kageyama’s skill was nothing but raw talent. The same Oikawa who spat the word prodigy like it tasted sour.

And now he sat here, watching the evidence unravel in front of him—proof that Kageyama had been training since before he could tie his shoes. That his obsession wasn’t arrogance. It was inheritance. It was legacy.

On the screen, the boy—tiny, sun-bright, determined—darted toward a garden wall, but an older man stepped in just in time to block him, chuckling as he gently wrestled the ball from the boy’s arms and tossed it back to Miwa.

“Alright, alright, slow down,” the man said. Kazuyo, Kunimi remembered. Kageyama's grandfather. The one who had filled their house with cameras and laughter and warmth.

Kazuyo crouched to meet his grandson's eye.

“Did you think about what I asked you yesterday, Tobio?”

Kageyama blinked, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “You mean... about picking a position?”

“Yes,” Kazuyo said with a patient smile, hands resting on his knees. “Did you think it over?”

The camera wobbled as Miwa stepped closer, her gaze curious and expectant. “You should be a spiker,” she offered brightly. “Spikers are cooler. They always get the spotlight, y’know.”

Young Kageyama looked down at his hands, then up at the sky, as if the answer was somewhere in the clouds. He took a breath.

“No,” he said, and then, with sudden clarity—

“I wanna be a setter.”

Miwa blinked. “Really?”

Kageyama nodded. “Because…” He paused, fumbling for the words, but when they came, they came softly and surely—

“Because nothing feels more like magic than lifting the ball and knowing someone will fly behind.”

And a piece of Kunimi's heart broke that he didn't know he had.

He stared at the boy frozen on the screen—young, smiling, unknowing. And something inside him ached.

Maybe it was the sound of that voice—high and hopeful—unaware of the loneliness that would follow.

Or maybe it was that now, after all this time, Kunimi finally understood what that boy had always been chasing. Not praise. Not power. But the feeling of someone flying because of him.

A setter, Kageyama had said.

Not for the glory.

For the magic.

And after so many years, it finally occurred to Kunimi,

Kageyama was right about Frankenstein's creature, and Kunimi was Victor all along.

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"That gloomy face doesn’t suit you, Keiji."

The words floated over the chaos. Akaashi didn’t look up right away, but he heard the familiar voice—dry, teasing, laced with a strange sort of softness that Tendou rarely let anyone hear.

Around them, the room was alive with noise.

“Oi! That’s a foul, Bokuto-san!”

“There are no fouls in pillow volleyball, Washio!”

“Yamagata, block left!”

“That’s a decorative pillow, not regulation!”

“Shirabu, stop aiming for people’s faces—”

The floor of the sleeping quarters had been transformed into a makeshift court, futons shoved to the walls, and duffle bags doubling as nets. Pillows flew through the air like soft grenades, landing with satisfying thuds and a chorus of exaggerated battle cries.

Since the cancellation of practice, the boys had taken the announcement as an invitation to start a war.

But Akaashi sat on the far end of the room, knees tucked into his chest, his arms wrapped around them like rope. His back was pressed to the wall, and his eyes—distant, glassy—weren’t watching the game. They were watching the floor.

Across from him, Tendou tilted his head and blinked. He was sprawled out lazily near the wall just a few feet away, his mop of red hair even more chaotic than usual, one sock half-peeled off his ankle. He looked, as always, like he had just emerged from a whirlwind and rather liked it.

When Akaashi didn’t respond, Tendou rolled onto his side and then sat up with a sigh, stretching his arms above his head like a cat before dragging himself over. He dropped beside Akaashi with an unceremonious thud.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, louder this time, voice rising just enough to be heard over Bokuto yelling something about “Pillow Smashes of Doom.”

Akaashi didn’t lift his head. His chin rested on his arms now, eyes shadowed.

“You’ve been weird since breakfast. And I don’t mean your usual ‘I prefer to suffer in silence’ weird. I mean like… you’re doing that thing. Where your soul leaves your body and you stare at walls like they personally offended you.”

Akaashi gave a barely perceptible twitch of his lip. But still no answer.

Tendou sighed dramatically and flopped backward, folding his arms behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling. “Alright,” he said, “let me guess. Existential dread? A haunting from your repressed childhood? Did Bokuto eat your last protein bar again?”

“No,” Akaashi finally murmured.

There was a beat of quiet—broken only by:

“YESS! That’s 6 to 5, Fukurōdani leads!”

“You’re literally the only one keeping score!”

“I like keeping score!”

“Konoha, duck!”

Thump.

“Ow!”

“There’s something wrong with Kageyama,” Akaashi said, barely above a whisper.

Tendou blinked. “Karasuno’s genius?” he repeated, his tone shifting slightly from play to thought. He rolled onto his side, propped himself up on one elbow, and gave Akaashi a look that was unusually focused.

“I mean, yeah, he’s been looking a little rough around the edges lately… like an uncooked gyoza.”

Akaashi exhaled a breath through his nose, but there was no amusement in it.

“He’s not just tired,” he muttered. “He looks… wrong. Wilted. Like he’s trying to keep his insides from falling out. Like—” He bit the inside of his cheek. “Like someone trying to survive by going invisible.”

Tendou tapped his chin. “Hmm. You’re not wrong. He used to be attached to that little firecracker—Hinata, right? But lately…” He squinted in thought. “There’s been, like, space between them. Real space. Like they’re orbiting different planets.”

“And no one’s doing anything,” Akaashi said, his voice rising just slightly for the first time. “Everyone sees it—they have to—but they’re all acting like he’s just… being dramatic. Like it’ll pass if they ignore it.”

He raised his head fully now, frustration tightening his jaw.

“I mean, what kind of illness makes someone look that hollow? That fragile? It’s not a cold. It’s not overtraining. It’s something else. And then there’s this Daishou guy…”
Tendou arched an eyebrow.

“He knows something,” Akaashi continued, eyes flashing. “The way he looks at Kageyama—like he’s holding a grenade that might go off any second. It’s not casual. It’s not just concern.”

Across the room, Shirabu landed a particularly vicious hit with a throw pillow.

Someone screamed and fell over with flair.

Goshiki shouted, “I WILL AVENGE YOU!” and was immediately hit in the face.

"REON'S DOWN CAPTAIN!"

"I will give him the kiss of life", uttered Ushijima from somewhere.

Tendou, entirely unfazed, caught a stray pillow sailing toward them with a single hand and lobbed it back with alarming precision. Then he turned his head toward Akaashi, serious now, completely still.

“Well then,” he said, “why don’t we go find out?”

Akaashi blinked, startled. “What?”

“You said it yourself. Something’s wrong. So let’s stop watching the tragedy unfold like the audience and go rewrite the third act.”

“We’re not allowed to leave the rooms,” Akaashi said quickly, half-instinctive. “Not after Aoba Johsai’s captain's injury."

Tendou gave a slow, slow smile. The kind of grin that should come with a warning sign and a lightning bolt. Mischief curled at the corners of his mouth like smoke.

“Keiji,” he whispered like a secret, “rules are only rules if someone’s watching.”

Then, without missing a beat, he stood up, brushed imaginary dust from his sleeves, and offered a hand.

The pillow war raged on behind them.

And Akaashi—quiet, proper Akaashi—looked up at Tendou’s outstretched hand, his stomach tight with dread.

And slowly, very slowly, he took it.