Kageyama Tobio

Hinata is an idiot.

Hinata will always be an idiot.

That was the truth of the world. At least to him, that was the truth. Now nobody would ever know if it would remain to be the truth, but Tobio had a feeling- one like an itch where he can't manage to bend his arm far enough to reach it- that, regardless of how the world seemed to revolve around Hinata, it would remain a universal constant. Not dissimilar to how volleyball was the best sport on the planet; or how it couldn't be played by only one person.

It required six.

Tobio was only one person.

Fortunately, someone was on his side of the court when everyone in his life decided to step off of it.

Oikawa.

After Oikawa, more and more people seemed to stampede over themselves in attempt to gain his favor.

That's how he managed to get into Tokyo University. That's how he managed to be avoid warming the bench during his first season. That's how he managed to join the international team.

Tobio was close to his goal. He was still a rookie, but with Oikawa pulling their strings like he was, there was a chance he'd make it to the Olympics.

Both of them would; Iwaizumi too.

Hinata would remain in Miyagi, a few meters under the ground and still, always, an idiot.

Tobio wanted to hate him, but more than that, he wanted to forget. Hinata was nothing. Nothing. Yet his senpai spotted something in Hinata that he didn't find in Tobio; he couldn't name that something, but that didn't stop him from trying.

"Please." A voice croaked from beneath him, somehow still speaking despite everything Tobio had been doing to stop exactly that.

He tightened his grip, could no feel the callouses on his fingers start to vibrate against the squirming, pulsing skin. Heisuke's neck was sweating, but so were his hands.

"T-Tobio..." Heisuke cried out, clawing limply at the grip around his neck. Tobio could barely feel the pain, no more than he could feel the tension in his hands and fingers as he continued to choke the life out of the man under him.

Heisuke was like Hinata, an idiot. Had the same bright hair color- until Hinata had dyed his hair like an idiot. The same round eyes, though Heisuke's were a different color entirely; though they were now filling with red as his blood vessels started swelling and popping. The white of his eyes turning an almost interesting shade of red. He was crying though, like an idiot. He'd seen Hinata cry a dozen times and hated it more and more when anyone else did it.

Tobio released the grip on Heisuke's neck, and the man went limp onto the floor below them, falling over and bending over himself. He stood over the man, studying him; looking for something that Oikawa knew was there.

Nothing. It was always nothing.

Heisuke gasped into consciousness minutes later, and tried to scramble towards the door of their hotel room. Something in him prevented him from climbing to his feet, though, and Tobio had plenty of time to gather the redhead in his arms and carry him back to the center of the luxury suite they were sharing for the weekend.

He couldn't do it here.

Tobio grabbed at Heisuke's hair, threading his fingers through the sweaty, damp locks. Played with the ginger ends until they curled under his fingers.

"Tobio?" Heisuke called, once again distracting him.

His eyes were still bloodshot, but Tobio was more interested in the dark purple ring of bruises that were forming under Heisuke's chin.

"Why are you doing this?"

Tobio didn't answer. He used his tongue, instead, to curl around the damage he'd caused. Heisuke's neck tastes like sweat and musk; just like the others before him. Nothing special, nothing extraordinary, but Tobio continued to taste him. He could feel Heisuke's pulse, weak but still hammering away, under his teeth when he began biting at him. The damage was minor, but it was more about the fear that he could hear in the redhead's voice.

This was his favorite part. More than the charming, the dating and everything after.

For the next few hours, Tobio took what he wanted from Heisuke as the man gasped under him, still crying and begging for release.

He promised not to say anything. They all said the same thing.

Tobio never found out if they wouldn't.

He pulled his boyfriend away from the hotel. Tobio had to all but carry him towards his car as the man was too short for him to put a shoulder under his.

Tobio hated short people. With a few exceptions, of course.

Liberos mostly.

Nobody questioned where he was going in the middle of the night, and the bust streets acted as a more than sufficient cover as he tugged a half-conscious man out of the backseat of his car and into the nearest park.

Heisuke screamed when Tobio pulled out a knife. At first it was a hoarse gasp, but then it exploded around them, sending birds flying in all directions away from them. Kageyama shoved his shoe in the guy's mouth. And when Heisuke tried to push it out with his tongue, he shoved it in deeper.

Tobio did everything that had happened to Hinata that night, right down to the letters carved into his still bleeding chest.

He relived a memory that wasn't his.

Still, he found nothing in Heisuke- or Hinata- that he didn't already know.

Collecting Heisuke's severed parts in a jar, Tobio quickly wiped the man down of all traces of another being, disinfecting his skin until his own started buzzing in irritation.

He left Heisuke's corpse there, still spurting blood into the grass around him. Tobio put the jar under the driver's seat and returned home.

Three days past.

No mentions of volleyball, no mentions of his own name.

He'd done it again; gotten away with recreating something he didn't understand.

Oikawa still didn't contact him, aloof in a way that really pissed him off. The man all but guided his hand, but refused to speak to him.

When a week passed, he finally lashed out, toppling his bedroom over until all the furniture was upside down.

The unmarked book slid under the turned over desk and Tobio waited a long time before reaching under it and picking it up.

Someone had written about Hinata's life. Every thought he'd had since meeting that other setter, every game he'd played, every stupid idiot that idiot made friends with. It also spoke of Oikawa, gave glimpses of the man that Tobio had never seen, and of himself.

Whoever wrote it was an idiot.

5/7 The inside cover read, like it always did.

Tobio threw the book across the room, venting out the last of his frustrations.