Chapter Forty-Eight
He sits there for a minute that could easily be an hour, stunned into silence even with the urge in his throat begging him to call after his setter, mixed with the phantom pain lingering across his vocal chords he's stuck staring at where Kageyama had disappeared. I hate you. It feels weird in his head, foreign on his tongue when he wets his lips. "I hate you." Tries the words, new yet ancient. Shouyou isn't sure what to make of Kageyama's admission, his declaration and his exit.
He wonders if Kageyama will show up to practice.
Hate, he thinks, over and over, he's not sure he could hate anyone, let alone tell them that. He's pretty sure that makes Kageyama brave, or stupid, maybe; one of those weird Kageyama habits that takes a while to iron out. Though, he's more concerned as to why, why Kageyama hated him so much that he had to isolate himself and then not explode, not have an outburst like he always does. It's intriguing and terrifying, a dangerous, stupid combination that he wishes that he could steer clear of, to learn his lesson once and for all that some mysteries don't need to be solved, even if Kageyama was his teammate, his partner on the court.
There's one thought rattling in his head when he approaches the court, kicking his toes into his shoes to buy a few seconds to negotiate with himself, I shouldn't be doing this. He knows that, he really, really knows that he should just back off, tell Daichi that he isn't well. It's not an excuse, he tells himself, he did forget to take his pills and he did have to swallows his breakfast down as soon as he saw Kageyama again. I hate you, Kageyama says with a blank face that still reflects too much.
"D-Daichi?" He asks, edging on the back line, toeing it with his shoe but not crossing, being on the court would mean sharing space with Kageyama while both of them are at their worst, he knows it's going to be catastrophic, worse than that, probably. "Shouyou?" Daichi asks, twisting out of stretch to stare at him face to face. The worry in his captain's face makes him worried, "Did you talk to Kageyama?" He nods, glancing around the whiteness of Daichi's shirt to glance at his teammate. Kageyama stares at him, then pretends not to be staring at him. Shouyou looks back up, nibbles on his lip, buying more time, knowing that Daichi would either scream or throw them both into a wall if he said anything. "I couldn't figure out what's wrong with him, sorry." He bows, something shallow as it is casual. Daichi shrugs when he looks up, frowns as he pushes hair away.
"You need a haircut, you'll end up like Asahi." Daichi shakes his head, somewhat fond but not at all negative. He shrugs, "I like it." The older boy nods, crooked, playful grin in place, "That's all that matters, I guess, now get stretched, we gotta win at least one game before we leave." He almost points out that they had won two games in the last week, the need to inform his captain that they wouldn't be using their freak quick if Kageyama didn't forgive him. He's pretty sure he's not going to be spiking today, at all.
Until he does, it's messy, sloppy even. Another oddity for Kageyama because the ball had come right to the setter and everything should have been perfect. The ball slides over the net and falls onto the ground, nobody says anything as they win the first set, changing sides is in equally quiet exchange while they all pretend not to give Kageyama weird looks. He even notices Takeda-sensei raising both eyebrows and frowning enough to expose some wrinkles. He thinks that might be what tells him, more than Kuroo and Kageyama, that this place was doing something to them, ruining them; he's also certain that leaving this place would be a mistake, that it would bring Tokyo one step closer to Miyagi and then everything would shatter.
They lose the second set. And the third set. Shouyou is pretty sure that everyone saw it coming, Shinzen's combo attacks were intense and everyone was too busy staring at Kageyama's twitching face to notice, he almost expected the setter to break down in the middle of the game. He thinks he can be proud of Kageyama for keeping it up for so long, all through three sets with everyone staring at him, asking to help just outside of the setter's reach. It might be more annoying than helpful for Kageyama, he's almost certain of that when the setter throws himself onto floor, glaring at everyone from around his water bottle. I hate you. It's still interesting, this old new word that labels what he thought was partnership with Kageyama. He tests it again, then again, whispering to himself between gulps of water, the flavor is harsh, the way it rolls off of his tongue is too new to feel good and it kind of scares him. Hate could turn him into Kageyama, alone and glaring on the floor, he still respects the setter though, for saying that, even if he hates that he did.
The next game the same way, crooked sets that spin instead of float over, the spikes are no better and the energy is barely there. Even their opponents look sorry for them, it's more irritating than it should be and he's pretty sure that Tanaka is going to climb over the net and peck someone's eyes out if there's another snicker from the other end of the court. The mood shifts between the next set and he's not sure why until his eyes fall onto the bench, over Ukai and Takeda and onto Kageyama, gripping his knees so hard Shouyou is pretty sure they're going to fall off. He takes another look around the court and catches the crooked grin Suga-san offers him from around the ball before he serves it perfectly between the back guards.
There's screaming, cheering for a comeback that isn't quite there yet, the court feels odd under his feet, like he's stepping in mud instead of waxed floorboards. Suga-san pats him on the back, another smile in place, "He'll get out of it." The older boy promises and Shouyou nods, even if he's not quite sure, more uncertain of Kageyama than he thinks he should be. They lose the next set. Kageyama doesn't join them for their penalty and he watches the setter in between dive drills, takes in the way a teenage boy is making two adults uncomfortable. It's almost funny but irritation swells through everything, the doubt and foreboding, his disorder is put to the side while he finds himself wrapped warm in anger. He thinks it's selfish of Kageyama to be like that, to hate him for no reason and then abandon their team, leaving them alone even with only a few meters disconnecting them.
Bokuto-san's team ends up on the other side of the court next, all of them are sweating enough that he thinks they might have a chance this time, until Akaashi-san ends up on the other side of the net, raising an eyebrow and flicking his head towards the bench. Shouyou frowns, not sure how to communicate everything that happened in half a minute, I hate you, the bench says all too loudly. He jerks when he hears the whistle, trips over his own feet trying to receive an out ball. His face hurts and he isn't bleeding from smashing his nose into the ball after tripping a second time. He grumbles while he finds his feet, making sure to keep them far away from each other until he finds his balance, someone else's fingers pinch his nose for him.
"Ice." The person in front of him says, loud enough that it rattles across the gym, Yachi squeaks somewhere to his side and continues doing so as she makes her way out of the gym. He almost regrets asking her to be the new manager, regrets insisting until his face no longer burns and Kiyoko's gaze no longer lingers on him. "Thank you." She says on his behalf, Shouyou lets his eyes slide shut, embracing relief despite its cost. "Be more careful." She says, whispered like they're sharing a secret and he thinks they might be, that her words mean more than they do. He doesn't ask, though, and she seems content enough to remain quiet while his nose clots. "What's wrong with Kageyama-kun?" He almost snorts at the honorific but opens his eyes to look into oddly intense ones, he glances away before the twisting in his gut gets worse, "He hates me." He admits, quiet and nasally. Kiyoko winces, thin brows twisting in confusion.
"Hates you?" She asks, as if they were speaking different languages. He nods minutely into her hand, "That's what he said." Muttered as casually as he can, like he hasn't been thinking about it every moment since the setter walked past him. "Hate." Kiyoko whispers, like she also discovered something ancient but also new, he watches her eyes glaze over for a second before that something is blinked away. "Probably just hormones." She says, tweaking a small, placating smile into place. It twitches when he stares and her lips slide into a frown when he doesn't look away, "Probably." He half-agrees, not really interested in Kageyama's problem as he is a solution.
"You should sit out for a bit." He thinks it might be a loaded statement, like she might ask about the truth, about the countdown or more about Kageyama, until he notices that the court is already back in action, Yamaguchi taking his place, not blabbering to Tsukishima about something. He could sit out for a bit, not affected by Yamaguchi's too bright smile, not even a little. That's what he tells himself while he stands between Kiyoko and Yachi and ignores their too intense looks, one with calm confusion and the other equally unnerving but in a way he can't quite explain.
"Are you okay, Shouyou?" The manager to be asks, twisting a mass of paper towels in her hands like she'd like nothing more than to wipe blood and snot off of his face. He nods, ignoring the weird changes in pressure in his skull as he does, "I'll be fine." He says around the sack of ice making his nose stiff. She nods, clenches her paper towels with more fervor than he thinks is necessary, "If you need anything let me know!" She chirps, pink swirling into her cheeks and her eyes much wider than he's sure is safe. "Right." He says airily, confused and not quite sure how to handle this situation in the slightest.
He watches the game proceed, half listening to Kiyoko as she explains the plays to Yachi, both of their pencils scratching down notes on anything and everything. It's calm, like they're shifted into a little bubble, away from countdowns and deals and mine, mine, mine. As much as he tries to embrace it, those thoughts continue to linger until he has to sit down, Yachi squeaks, prodding him and asking if he's dead. Kiyoko laughs, quiet and calm, "It's fine." She says. Shouyou feels his shoulders tense and he tries to take a breathe but his lungs won't draw in the air. But you will be. The words press against his skull, bashing it until his ears are ringing. But you will be. He tries not to snap at Yachi when her fingers settle on his shoulder, tries not to scream when her pinkie, small as it is, digs into one of the wounds that Grand King left him. "Yamaguchi-kun has this, Shouyou." She says with enough conviction, enough truth, that he's instantly reminded of where they are. On a volleyball court, brightly lit and away from the his teeth weren't clenching so hard, he would thank her. Even when her fingers shift and pull away, there's a residual throbbing that is left behind. Shouyou finds it cruel but fitting, that pain can send him spiraling back into those endless nights but can also rip him from them.
Observing the games is difficult after that small realization, with more fear and anxiety pooling in his gut, he's too scared to get back on the court and he's too scared to be anywhere else. Pain could bring him anywhere, it could help him and make everything wind into slow motion until he thought it would never end. He tries to blame the disorder for the lingering thought that pain might be not bad, that it had helped him see red before and how easy it would be to see it again. A number of voices tell him how stupid that is but the one urging him forward is louder than all of them. He doesn't move, though, just twists his hands around his legs and remains as still as possible.
Standing is an impossible task when he notices the team doing a penalty drill, his knees are trembling without any pressure on them and his head spins when he straightens his spine. He wants to move, to separate himself from the pinning stare from across the court, to reconnect with his team and feel something. He hates feeling like this, but he also knows the cost of escaping this feeling and he's willing to sacrifice a bit more when he sees blurs of crimson across the gym. Kenma is there, panting and face turned into a blurred mess with gleaming sweat, he's certain though, that one of those golden eyes is dusting over him. It's not quite enough to help him stand but the twisting in his gut slows, easing the nausea threatening his breakfast. He pulls away before anyone can comment on his staring and twists his head to the two managers guarding over him like statues.
"How's your nose?" Kiyoko asks, blue eyes twisting to meet his. He swallows, tries to ease his throat enough to respond and croaks out, "Fine, thank you very much." When he can't quite manage to calm himself down. Her lips morph into a more serious frown, "It doesn't sound fine." Yachi makes a weird possibly grunting noise.
"Yeah! You shouldn't stress your body if you're not feeling it." Her voice falters continuously through her words, volume lowering and lowering like someone is squeezing the life out of her. There's red on her cheeks when she finishes talking and she's staring at him with eyes wide enough to make him uncomfortable. "Sorry?" He says, forming it to be a question as much as a statement. She smiles something wicked, a look he's only seen on Kiyoko's face when her nose is between the wrinkled pages of that book.
"You'll get better in no time!" She says in what he thinks might be an assuring tone, if it wasn't for the wiggling Yachi was doing in her shoes, he might believe her. Kiyoko laughs when he looks towards her, something fond and special. "Just a few more minutes." Said with as much playfulness as there is seriousness. He nods without meaning to, half content to remain in this atmosphere, away from pain and thoughts of making red. Kiyoko smiles slightly. "It'll be over before you know it." Teasing, he knows that, he really, really knows that but two weeks flashes in his brain before he can suppress the sensation. He twists his chin back towards the court, glances at the emptiness and the mess of bodies throwing themselves towards the ground.
Daichi is leading them across the sidelines, face blank as his chest collides with the ground, the rest of the team isn't as composed and little groans escape along with the sound of bodies colliding with the floorboards. He watches, not quite as interested as he tells himself to be, but he needs to focus his attention on something until everything morphs back into a neutral tone, without pain and without the countdown breathing down his neck, making his lungs still into nothingness. He tries to make it okay, tries to think of the people important to him telling him that over and over until it becomes true.
He's out of the gym before anything can stop him, he tries gulping in fresh air but it hurts on the way into his mouth and won't pool into his lungs enough to stop the pinching between his ribs. The middle blocker isn't sure why he did it, why he ran away again when being alone makes everything more intense, makes breathing even more impossible and his eyes pulse with dots that promise something unless he can fix it. He tumbles against the side of the building, ignoring the burn of concrete into the skin of his back and doesn't let himself get pulled back into that night. Instead, he throws himself into the dark and wishes that it was easier to fight it.
He's still alive and still outside when his brain turns back on, giving him flashes of memories that are imprinted to the surface of his brain, the ones he remembers the most when he's feeling like this. His protector seems more distant than he should be, he can still hear the squeaking of shoes and the screams from the gym, knows that Kenma would be in reaching distance if he didn't decide to isolate himself. There was something wrong with him, to turn away from the one person who didn't make him feel like that, that much he was certain of. Thinking about the him made it a little easier to exist without being on the verge of panic, only just edging the blackness away from his vision and while he couldn't catch his breath, he was content to think about something not bad while he shifted between states of unconsciousness and empty hyperventilation.
As much as he hated being alone, isolated with nobody to help him while his lungs struggled to inhale the breeze drifting into his face, the reality of someone offering help to him irritated him more than it should. They settle beside him, long legs not giving much away in terms of identity. "Idiot." Muttered loud enough to picked up over the breeze and nothing more. He looks up at Tsukishima and Tsukishima looks down at him in return with icy calculations twisting under a narrowed brow. "Sounds about right." He returns in the same tone, looking down at the cement between them.
The taller boy makes a weird choking sound, then a snort, "Acceptance is the first step." Shouyou picks up on the sarcasm underneath the Tsukishima's blank tone, he's pretty sure that's the first step to understanding the other middle blocker, but he's not quite sure how Tsukishima would react to that revelation. Positively, he thinks, probably, maybe. It's quiet again after that, Tsukishima is still there though, lingering as much as he is silently towering. Shouyou almost gets the impression that Tsukishima wants to say something that isn't an insult. Almost but not quite. Instead, Tsukishima just stands there, beside him but also over him, like an umbrella that breathes really loudly.
It gets to him before he can quell his reaction. With a jerk, his neck twists until he's glaring up at his teammate and practically growls when he notices that Tsukishima's mouth, despite being wide open, is still curled in the corners and that weird gotcha look is still half hidden behind the glare of his stupid glasses. "Do you have to breathe so loudly?" He hisses, not annoyed, at all. The taller boy's lips twist again but another voice comes in his direction, "Yeah, Tsukishima, do ya gotta breathe so loudly?" Then there's another person lingering in front of the gym doors, shaved head and crooked grin easily recognizable.
It feels almost like an ally but also another hindrance on his need to be alone but also not. Tsukishima grunts lowly, sharp eyes sliding over him for a second, quick enough that he thinks he wasn't supposed to know about it. Then the taller boy is gone, up the gym stairs and past their upperclassman before another word is said.
"You feelin' alright?" Tanaka asks, gruff but the worry is apparent enough in the crook of the older boy's brow. He nods, not quite sure how to explain his desire to be alone without hurting his teammate's feelings, no idea where to even start on the topic of how alright he is. "Just lightheaded." He says, tilting his bloody nostrils into view until Tanaka makes a noise of disgust. It's odd to lie to the older boy like this, about how he's doing, but the words tumble out from between his teeth before he can help it, before he can even consider offering the truth.
Tanaka shrugs, "Last game is coming up, then there's a surprise." A wicked smirk spreads the older boy's lips into something normal. "Right." Is his reply, loud enough to escape the scraping of the gym door as it closes behind them.
Kageyama is still on the bench when the whistle blows, but that's not the first thing he notices about the game, it's the blurs of scarlet hashed on the other side of the net and the twisting, knowing grin from Kuroo is the second followed by the intense look Kenma is giving him, the one that says game over for the loser, just like the older boy had said all those weeks ago. He wonders if it will feel the same at the Spring Tournament, if his palms will be this sweaty and the thing eating him from the inside will take this long of a pause.
Without his partner on the court, he is still not quite whole, not quite there, but Kenma, even on the other side of the court, helps by just existing. Golden eyes follow him, tracking his movements for setting but also more. He can't quite name it, even when they manage to snag the first set away from Nekoma. Kenma smiles at him when they change sides but it falls into flatness as soon as the net is between them again, it's amazing and terrifying at the same time, being close and far from Kenma, sharing this something. It's weird and he feels normal because of it, which he thinks might be even more weird, but that's not really his biggest concern, even if it should be. Kageyama was still on the bench, in the same position with the same death grip on his knees, he thinks about offering his head as a replacement, thinks about making some comment on how teammates help each other but the taller boy's words linger in his head like rocks that drop into his feet whenever he turns to walk towards the bench.
Ukai catches his eye and the man looks desperate, like he's asking for help in an impossible situation, because that's exactly what Kageyama is, anything less would seem like an insult, but he's pretty sure that Kageyama would squish his head into nothingness if he found out that out. He offers a squirming half smile that feels like a grimace and quickly shifts his eyes away from the older man because he probably has even less ability in dealing with the setter than anyone else, let alone fixing him or the situation that he tried to handle because he thought that he knew Kageyama. He's pretty sure that's irony. He doesn't like it, doesn't like the additional twisting in his gut or the way the court feels almost empty without the taller boy to fall in sync with. Rising above Kageyama doesn't seem like an accomplishment when he's like this. That's why Ukai wanted him to fix it, probably. He just has no idea how.
Kageyama, even with his head down and silent as ever, draws his attention away from the match, away from Kenma and everything but the countdown and the stupid issues between him and his teammate. His, unfortunately, divided attention causes as many problems as he should have expected, with two missed tosses, one of them smacking him in the face when he tries to jump after it a second too late and the other soaring over his head when he totally wasn't staring at Kageyama. Suga-san offers him a placating look, like the older boy would forgive him for stepping off the court and taking I hate you a second time. He hates that he considers it, even for a second, that making the setter say it twice would somehow fix it. He takes a step forward instead, towards the net and smooths his face into something while catching Suga-san's next signal. With a nod, the play is set into motion, receive into set into a spike and everything goes perfectly. There's cheers and more smiling, still riding on the happiness from winning their first set even with Kageyama's weirdness weighing them down.
When they win the next set, everything should feel good, great even. When they win the next set, there's cheering but all of them are looking over there, concerned but a glare that reaches all of them keeps them edging off the court. Kenma bumps into him, offering him a fist that his limbs respond slowly to, the older boy's knuckles are warm against his and it melts part of the weird iciness inside of him. There's a raised brow above above a golden eye that stares into his soul and asks. A flick of his head and they're gone, onto the bench where Kageyama isn't cheering or moving.
"Hmm." Kenma hums, quietly, before someone yells something over Kenma's words and the setter dives across onto the floor. The other teams watch, whispering about the game, or Kenma, but he's willing to bet it's about Kageyama. He wonders if they can feel the setter's glare from across the gym, somehow he doesn't doubt it.
"Uh-" From behind him brings him out of his stupor, drags him away from too many half-ideas about why Kageyama would hate him, turning on one foot he takes a look at his interruption and Yachi is squirming but smiling brightly. "Shouyou, the barbecue is starting." As much as he tells himself it's a bad idea, as weird as it is to be walking away from Kageyama, he walks beside Yachi through the gym doors. The sun is lower than it was before the game, shaded somewhere between mute orange and bright yellow that feels bittersweet when he thinks about the last Hinata with orange hair but there's still enough blue to push those thoughts away.
Kenma ends up by his side before he can even to think about finding him. "Shouyou," Kenma says and he looks away from the sky and into golden irises, "Good game." There's another fist extended to him and he bumps it in return. "Good game." He echoes, smiling easily this time, Kenma smiles too, something small but very Kenma. "Oh!" Not Kenma says from his other side, then Yachi is leaning over him, bowing and extended her hand along with rushed greetings. "Uh-" Kenma sounds with a step backwards. Yachi squeaks, taking a step back as well.
"Sorry! That was probably weird." Kenma makes a weird face that falls flat.
"It's fine, Yachi." Yachi twitches, like the lack of honorific is bothering her more than it probably should.
"Uh-" Yachi says, gesturing wildly with her arms before dropping her head, "I'm Yachi Hitoka, Karasuno's new manager!"
Kenma blinks, looks away from Yachi and at him, "Kenma." He says without looking away. Shouyou almost laughs but manages to keep it locked up. "We should probably eat." Yachi twitches again, rises from her bow with a jerk and then takes a step towards the ocean of bodies blocking them from the grills. "Right! Sorry for keeping you." Kenma's mouth twitches and Shouyou isn't sure what to make of it. Walking with Kenma and Kenma's not-quite-replacement is also something he's not quite sure of, but it does feel nice, so he just lets them lead him without a word otherwise.
"Ah! Kenma, Shouyou and- you!" Lev says, suddenly towering over all of them, blocking the sun and the food with one step of his too long legs. "Uh." Yachi mumbles, while Kenma just sighs for almost too long to be healthy. "Shouyou-senpai! That last set you played so-" Lev trails off, twisting his giraffe neck like an owl to the mob of red surrounding one table, "What was that thing you said, Inuoka-san?" He doesn't pick up Inuoka's reply, until Lev decides to lean forward and repeat it, "Guhwaaah!" Chirped loudly, accented with a dark sauce sliding down one end of his lip that reminds him how hungry he is. "Uh-" He tries, but Lev is already in his own world, offering a monologue about being the greatest ace despite this minor defeat.
"Lev," Kenma says, serious and looking like he might beat the taller boy up under a mask of polite indifference, the older boy doesn't even wait for Lev to stop talking, let alone responding to his name, "Get out of our way." The half-Russian practically throws himself in one direction with apologies and a too deep bow. "Right, right! Sorry, Kenma! See you around, Shouyou-senpai, and- you." Yachi makes a weird squawking noise that he can't figure out, but her pouting face is quickly dissolved when Kenma hands her a paper plate heavy with raw meat and is replaced with raw terror that only lasts a second longer than her terrified squeal.
"Barbecue! Uh-right." Yachi's eyes dart across the space their in, wide and almost panicked and too familiar that he needs to look away for a second. "Barbecue." She echoes, shoulders rocking forwards then back slowly, rhythmically before the motion ends all together and the manager in training is smiling again. He tries to think nothing of it and offers his best smile and nothing more.
They find spare grill space near Bokuto-san, who waves them over with smiles and a dripping chin, "Good last game, Shouyou! The way the ball went-" The Fukurodani captain swings his muscled arm with an imitated explosion, "Nice kill!" He chirps. Shouyou tries to smile, makes a solid attempt at compressing the game into victory and nothing more, instead of too many glances at the bench and the smell of Kageyama's breath when he said I hate you. It's harder than he thinks it should be to make his smile feel real and Bokuto-san switches topics before he can quite manage it.
"Shouyou?" Bokuto-san says in the middle of a sentence, effectively interrupting himself. Tilting his head he takes a look at the older boy, "Yes?" Questioned with slight apprehension because he's pretty sure that Bokuto-san doesn't frown often. "You're not eating." That, he thinks, makes more sense than the spike of dread that rattled between his ribs at Bokuto-san's frown. Taking a look down at his plate, still full of raw meat and raw meat juices, he nods, "Yes."
"You're not on a diet are you?" Jested with a sharp smile and a sharper prod to his stomach.
"No?" Bokuto-san smiles brightly again, "Then get that grill on the meat!"
Akaashi-san's sigh isn't quite hidden in the sizzle of the grill, Shouyou almost feels bad for him, having to stay in Tokyo with the guy who just caught his jersey on fire.