I wasn't too happy with the ending when I wrote this in the middle of last week. It felt too hopeful. But now, I feel that a hopeful ending is what this story needs.
Kageyama hates me.
That's what Hinata thought.
All the times he'd received visitors in the hospital, Kageyama hugged the back wall. Everyone else would give him solace—Yamaguchi (even if his happiness felt fake), Coach Ukai (who remained as detached and clinical as the hospital itself), Kiyoko (who seemed too spiritually invested in Hinata's wellbeing for her own good). But Kageyama would avoid eye contact, invariably gazing into a random corner. Hinata would search the setter's misdirected pupils, seeking the source of the reclusiveness. Sure, Hinata appreciated the support of his other friends. But he wanted Kageyama.
He wanted the person whom he felt he'd let down.
Hinata hadn't said anything the moment Tobio stepped out of the gym, but he truly believed he'd spoken it with his eyes and that Kageyama had received the telepathic message: "I'll be OK."
Shoyo plodded onto the tennis court in the yard of a fitness center that adjoined the hospital. He didn't know why he was still in outpatient care and not at home like the others. The reason didn't matter as the prognosis was already certain, and he felt asking the reason behind his continued hospitalization be scribbled on paper far too tedious. Instead, he had snuck out every night to the lonely tennis court with a volleyball Ennoshita gave him. Tonight would be his third round of "testing" his condition.
Shoyo took up a position facing the tennis net, volleyball in hands. He flung the volleyball straight with a gentle, rearward torque and shut his eyes. If he could detect the faintest thump of the ball on the turf, he'd know the docs had screwed up.
Hinata stood, eyes clenched shut as he envisioned the ball's arc and descent. Right when he imagined the volleyball hitting the ground, he perceived what seemed to be a sound to his right.
Shoyo's spine whipped around so he could look over his shoulder. He searched the ground for the ball. He knew he'd heard it. He was positive. His pupils dashed madly, but the ball wasn't there. His eyes glanced rightward, looking towards what would be his left.
There, the ball wobbled in place.
Failed again.
From a berm overlooking the tennis courts, Kageyama pitiably ogled the spiker. Ukai spotted Hinata there when leaving the hospital the past two eves and tipped Tobio off.
"Go see him," Ukai said over the phone earlier that day. "If anyone can talk some sense into him, it's you." Tobio balked at the phrase "talk" but didn't say anything over the phone. Still, Kageyama didn't know why he himself came out here in the first place. If Shoyo wanted to be stupid and difficult and denialist (he thought that was the word), that was his business.
Even so, Tobio could barely look at Hinata. The spiker whose palpable abilities he'd adored since the beginning of high school—the end of middle school even—was reduced to a pitiful, self-defeating joke. Tobio gulped. He wanted to tiptoe away, but he'd felt incredibly guilty for making no attempt to interact with Shoyo during sanctioned visitor hours. He didn't even visit today. Just when he thought he could walk off, Tobio's brain convinced him any movement would somehow be noticed by Shoyo and then his presence would be exposed. He was here, so he had to take the plunge.
Stepping through the gate Shoyo'd left open, Kageyama found the lad sprawled on his back, gazing at the distant, twinkling stars. Tobio wanted to cough to make his presence known; he found himself mildly irked that he'd so far gone totally unnoticed. Just as he was about to step closer, Shoyo sat upright. His peripherals caught an inkling of Kageyama, and the boy wordlessly stumbled to his feet, taking a wary step backwards. Kageyama didn't like being treated like a stranger. Stay calm, he told himself. Be polite—whatever that meant.
"Hey," Kageyama greeted reticently, peering aside. He flinched, realizing the uselessness of words. He shyly waved one palm.
Shoyo ogled his late-night caller. "Hey," he sounded and also waved, only coincidentally imitating Tobio's greeting.
Kageyama continued to defer his glance. Why? Hinata wondered. Why was his setter so averse to looking at him? They were friends too—or maybe they weren't, Hinata reconsidered. It didn't matter. The fact was Shoyo had mutely promised to make it out of their predicament alive, well, and ready to play volleyball again. He'd lied, and Kageyama must hate him for that. But on top of being disabled, on top of bearing self-imposed guilt, he couldn't bear to be ostracized by the player he felt the greatest bond toward and desire to be understood by. He bit his lip and shook fiercely.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled. Though he couldn't perceive his own soundwaves, his brain retained the strange power to hear the words as they were sent to his vocal cords.
Kageyama jolted. He grimaced, as if angry. "For what?" he questioned brusquely.
Shoyo stepped back, sensing Kageyama's frustration. Sensing Shoyo's reaction and not born with patience, Kageyama spat to the side. "Idiot," he grumbled pointlessly.
After another moment, Tobio produced a notepad and pencil proffered by their coach. He held the lead above the leaf of paper as if ready to take dictation. Shoyo stared. Finally Kageyama wrote the only thing he could think of to ask at this time and handed the notepad to Hinata.
"How are you?" it read.
"Fine," Shoyo answered aloud, handing the notepad back. Kageyama wrote another question instantly.
"Does it hurt?"
Physically, no; emotionally, yes. Hinata didn't know how to answer the question so shrugged his shoulders.
"Will—" Kageyama wrote then balked. "Will you ever get better?" was what he wanted to say, but he knew the answer to that. After a few moments of hesitating, he scribbled down the only other thing he could think of, irrespective of the propriety of the matter.
"Will you play volleyball again?"
Shoyo stared long at the words on. He pouted and then solemnly faced Tobio.
"Yes," he voiced. Whatever it takes, he added in the privacy of his own mind.
Rather than accept the notepad back, Tobio stepped over to the abandoned volleyball. He subsequently lined up with the tennis net, ball in hands, and appeared ready to serve the ball Hinata's way. Shoyo's pupils dilated.
Was Tobio going to set for him?
Tobio launched the ball on a medium-strength arc. Shoyo ran a wide 180 to gain momentum then leaped into the trajectory of the ball. At the highest point in the sphere's arc, Shoyo's hand contacted the rubber, jettisoning it over the net and bouncing into the fence at the other end of the court.
Upon landing, Hinata couldn't believe his eyes. Kageyama had set the ball for him, and he spiked it. He'd spiked it! He found himself irrepressibly jubilant. He leapt bouncily in place, screaming like a fool. Kageyama, who had jogged to the other end of the court to snag the ball, pressed a finger to his lips and futilely shushed the elated spiker. Soon Hinata noticed Kageyama was back in positon, but this time he made one of their familiar signs with his fingers to communicate the set. Hinata nodded acknowledgement, and Tobio set up again. Shoyo spiked the ball as directed by the sign, the rubber sphere trotting its way across the tennis court into the fence once more. Shoyo beamed hugely.
He knew the set Kageyama was going for based on his pose and the signals. A crazy idea swirled in his head.
Could this really work?
It was inconceivable to say, but did he absolutely need sound to play volleyball?
To Kageyama's dismay, suddenly Shoyo was charging him. The energetic lad leaped onto Tobio, trapping the setter in a pint-sized bear hug, spinning Kageyama in place as Hinata twirled around him. Tobio gently shoved Hinata away, but Shoyo was too joyful to take offense.
"We can do this!" Shoyo celebrated.
It would take a lot of effort, and doubtless Shoyo hadn't considered exactly how much effort. Tobio didn't think he had really considered how difficult a task this would be either. Even so, the boy in front of him appeared to be the same idiot he'd known prior to their life-changing events. Tobio grinned. They locked hands and pumped their arms.
They could—no, would—do this.
As Hinata vivaciously bounced away shouting, Kageyama tried yelling and then waving his arms to get Shoyo's attention. Shoyo halted and cocked his head sideways. Tobio was writing on the notepad quickly.
"What were you sorry for?" the paper read. Hinata glared at the question. Funnily enough, at that moment, Shoyo couldn't remember.
Hinata waved for Tobio to pass him the pencil. Instead of replying verbally, Shoyo scribbled a response on the same sheet in the notepad and returned it. Tobio beheld the page with anxious anticipation.
"For making you worry," the words read. Tobio put the pad and pencil in his pocket, inwardly rebuked himself for his earlier reluctance, and accepted the volleyball back in a toss from Hinata, who himself had gone to retrieve it.