Work Text:
Yamaguchi asks Kageyama during the awkward few weeks at the end of their second year, after the Spring Interhigh and the third years retiring but before Yamaguchi is willing to let himself be called captain.
More specifically, he asks at the end of practice, ducking out of a conversation with Yaotome before his adrenaline wears off and he uses being too tired as an excuse to avoid making the request, again.
“Hey, Kageyama? Will you teach me your serve?”
Kageyama pauses in the middle of capping his water bottle, and blinks. Then he says, “Like Miya-san.”
Yamaguchi wants to say, no, like you, even though he knows Kageyama’s referring to the two serve thing, because messing with him is still pretty fun. He doesn’t though. He feels weirdly nervous, scrutinized or at least scrutinizable, standing here and asking Kageyama this.
Instead he goes with, “I guess, although I was thinking more Bieniek,” because taking inspiration from an international player is definitely cooler than just copying another high schooler, although that’s definitely what’s happening here. “Having two serves is clearly a good trick to have, you know?”
Between them, the ghost of Miya Atsumu’s final service ace of their final game of Interhigh thuds to the ground. A break. One point later, and Karasuno was rotated out of the Interhigh and Yamaguchi into responsibility.
Kageyama has paused again – he’s running a simulation, working out whether Yamaguchi can even learn this, or else he’s deciding if he can be bothered to give up valuable practice time, or maybe he’s already lost interest and is thinking about dinner – but then he nods. “Okay.”
“Okay?” Yamaguchi parrots. “Okay! Okay. And you’re not going to tell me I don’t have enough time to learn, or ask me why, or something?”
“Why would you need a reason to improve?” Kageyama asks, and from anyone else it would be pointed; the insinuation of you're-not-good-enough-yet is integral to the question. But Kageyama really is that straightforward.
“I don’t know,” replies Yamaguchi, drumming a finger against his thigh. “Tsukki asked why.”
Kageyama probably isn’t capable of an eye-roll, or at least Yamaguchi’s never seen it if he is, but the slight pout he does has the same feeling. “Before morning practice tomorrow,” is all he offers in response, though. “At five.”
Yamaguchi pulls a slightly queasy face. “Can we at least do five-thirty?” he asks. It’s not really any better, but at least he can tell himself it could be worse.
“Sure,” Kageyama returns to his bottle, twisting the cap firmly onto his bottle before hesitating and untwisting it for another drink. Yamaguchi takes that as his cue to go, but as he does, Kageyama speaks again. “You have the keys now, right?”
Yamaguchi is a few minutes late, because it’s five-thirty in the morning. Kageyama is already waiting, because it’s Kageyama.
He stands in the darkness by the door, and although he looks up when Yamaguchi arrives he seems neither surprised nor bothered by his lateness. He just nods a greeting, and then follows Yamaguchi into the gym once he’s unlocked it. The key – old, but still new to Yamaguchi – sticks a bit, and Yamaguchi feels his neck beginning to heat up in the second or two it takes to get it to turn in the lock.
The cold air had woken Yamaguchi up on his walk here, but in the shelter of the gym, the sleep he should be getting settles around his brain again and cuts off access to his mouth. As a result, they get ready in silence, sitting to put on their trainers in parallel, before Yamaguchi runs to push the ball cart to the serve line and Kageyama stretches, wheeling his right arm round in fast and deliberate movements that mimic the swing of his serve. At some point, Yamaguchi has racked up enough time watching Kageyama that he can see the exact moment he would hit the ball: a beat after his arm is pointed directly up to the ceiling, just as it begins its descent.
“So!” Yamaguchi tries brightly. “Serving!”
“Yeah,” Kageyama responds, picking up a ball. “I’ll show you, then.”
And that’s what he does. He shows Yamaguchi. No less, but also no more. He just serves five balls (brilliantly fast, and loud in the silence of the gym, not just when they crash to the floor, but as they whip through the air too) and then turns back expectantly. Your turn. Yamaguchi knows immediately that he’s not going to get any explanation, but he waits for one anyway, just in case. He likes to think the best of people.
After a few seconds, he sighs, and heads over to the serve line. He’s not going to beat Kageyama in a silence-off, no more than in any other type of competition. “Kageyama, I’ve seen you serve a thousand times. Just watching you isn’t enough.”
Kageyama frowns at that. “It’s how I learnt.”
“Yeah, but–” Yamaguchi bites off the rest of his response, which was going to be something like, that wasn’t normal or healthy or okay. Instead he goes with, “I think we learn in different ways. You’re going to have to give me some pointers.”
Kageyama tilts his head to the side, which is a bad sign. That means it’s not a processing pause, just a blank one. Has he really managed to get through a whole year of having kouhai without any of them asking him for advice? It’s possible that he has, actually; Yamaguchi distinctly remembers laughing at Hinata doing very grumpy impressions of Kageyama in front of their new sign ups in the very first week, which probably would have been enough to put him off, if he'd been a year younger. The national level setter thing does teeter between being inspiring and intimidating, and Yamaguchi can imagine that Kageyama’s whole, well, self is enough to make it just the latter if you’re new to knowing him.
Still, though, Kageyama asks: “What do you want to know?”
“Um!” Yamaguchi casts around for an answer. What’s the first thing you do, when you serve? He imagines watching Kageyama, again. “How many steps do you go back, from the line?”
“Five,” Kageyama answers immediately. Of course; it’s probably on the first page of his volleyball journal, circled several times. With arrows or exclamation marks or little love hearts drawn around it.
“Right,” After putting his foot against the service line, Yamaguchi takes five very deliberate steps, and turns to face the court. He looks at Kageyama, just to check. Kageyama nods. “And then, how do you hold the ball, before you start?” Seeing a look of confusion begin to cohere on Kageyama’s face, he adds, “You can show me this one, just slowly.”
“Right,” Kageyama says, and gets into position. He looks uncomfortable and slightly unimpressed to just be holding the ball there, so Yamaguchi quickly copies him.
“Like this?”
“Your legs,” Kageyama says, straightening up. “They should be more–” he considers for a moment. “Bent. Like you’re about to run.”
Yamaguchi obligingly crouches a little more, puts his body a little more forward, looks a little more determined. The last one is just for Kageyama’s benefit, so he knows Yamaguchi’s taking it in.
“Yeah, that’s it.” He quickly ducks into the position himself again, and then nods. “Yeah.”
“Right! Okay,” Yamaguchi stays there for a moment longer, trying to commit the particular stretch along his back leg to memory, and then he stands normally. “How long do you wait, after the whistle, before you start the run up?”
That one gets Kageyama. “I don’t know. I just go when I’m ready.”
“Hm. Okay, well, if you serve again, I can try and count how long you take?”
Kageyama aquieses. They don’t have a whistle, so Yamaguchi just says “Tweet!” loudly. He feels sort of ridiculous and is thankful that it’s just Kageyama here, who won’t realise there’s a way to find that funny.
When he’s done, Kageyama turns quickly back to Yamaguchi, sharp-eyed and ready to know more about himself. He only paused for just over a second, which barely feels worth recording at all, but when Yamaguchi reports this, he clearly files the information away.
“Maybe I should try varying it,” he says, and looks to Yamaguchi. It takes Yamaguchi a second to realise he wants approval, at which point he nods vigorously.
“Yeah, why not! Although–” he looks mock stern. “Not during my tutoring session.”
Kageyama sort of chuckles at that, which has Yamaguchi blinking, confused, before he grins too. “Okay,” Kageyama agrees.
They proceed like that. Not the Kageyama laughing thing (that’s a one-off that Yamaguchi instinctively wants to blame on the time of day or something), but the slow procession through the various components of a serve. It’s clear Kageyama’s never thought about the constituent parts before – which should have been obvious, now Yamaguchi thinks about it, because because the way he moves is so smooth, one motion always leading into the next – but he seems to find it an interesting exercise, and at a certain point Yamaguchi doesn’t have to prompt him with questions anymore: Kageyama offers up the next step himself.
They end fifteen minutes before the start of actual practice, so Yamaguchi can have an energy bar and pretend that he's given himself enough time for it to digest. Kageyama’s already had breakfast, but when Yamaguchi woke up, the very idea of eating made him feel queasy.
Now, though, he’s hungry. They finished with Yamaguchi doing a very slowed down, very weak, but still complete version of the serve. It’s a start, and even though it didn't really take any exertion to do it, Yamaguchi feels like he’s worked hard.
“That’s it,” Kageyama had said. He hadn’t sounded surprised, or impressed (although Yamaguchi’s hardly done anything impressive, not yet). Instead, it sounded like Yamaguchi had done exactly what Kageyama had expected him too. Which, Yamaguchi thinks, gathering up the balls that have ended up all over the gym, is no small thing. Kageyama Tobio believed in me is probably going to end up being something he’ll boast about at dinner parties for years.
Whilst Yamaguchi tosses balls back into the cart, Kageyama does his serve at full power again. There's no whistle, but Yamaguchi thinks he's working on adjusting the timing of the run up. It's hard to tell, though, because it’s just as clean and terrifying as ever.
“Way to make me feel confident,” he calls across the hall.
“Oh,” Kageyama says. “Sorry.”
“I’m kidding!” Yamaguchi adds quickly. “It’d be pretty stupid of me to ask you for help if you weren’t way better than me, right?”
“Uh, yes,” Kageyama agrees, but not before Yamaguchi can notice his hesitation, which sort of sounded like an unwillingness to admit to being better. He doesn’t comment on it, but he does file it away, in the bit of his brain allocated to ‘things that I wouldn’t have believed could happen two years ago’. Most of what’s in there is related to volleyball.
They end up returning to sitting side-by-side on the floor, their backs against the cool of wall. Through the windows on the opposite side of the hall, the sky is no longer black, but a rosy grey, almost blushing with the first light of the day. Yamaguchi’s going over the steps of the serve, visualising it happening perfectly: his head on Kageyama’s body. Who knows what Kageyama’s thinking about. Probably what he’s having for lunch, Yamaguchi decides, and goes back to imagining his arm seamlessly meeting the ball, which has been placed just where it needs to be in the air.
It’s surprising, then, when Kageyama speaks first. “Did you want me to ask why?”
“Hm?” Yamaguchi, quite frankly, doesn’t know what he’s talking about. That isn’t that unusual with Kageyama, who normally either has way more idea what’s going on than he does (when it comes to volleyball), or way less (when it comes to everything else). There’s a reason Yamaguchi felt slightly off-kilter approaching him: their interests don’t often align, and so instead they mostly orbit past each other and away, in opposite directions.
“Yesterday, you said Tsukishima asked you why. Should I have?” Kageyama’s looking intense, a similar expression to the one he had when Yamaguchi told him how long he waited before he serves.
“Not if you’re not interested,” Yamaguchi hazards. Kageyama doesn’t really make conversation without a purpose, and Yamaguchi can’t really see what he’ll gain from this, given that all of Yamaguchi’s reasoning is based on a very different experience of volleyball to Kageyama's, one with a lot more misses and a lot less youth camps. Still, he offers: “I can tell you if you want?”
Kageyama nods, back to neutral.
“Um, so, you and Hinata and Tsukishima are all really good, right? And no matter how much effort I put in, I can’t really make up those ten centimeters, or ten years of practice, or–” Yamaguchi can’t think of a way to sum up Hinata’s particular brand of drive, so he moves quickly on. “You know. But if I’m on court this year, I don’t want to just be there. I want to, you know, make a difference. Be someone to rely on. And so I thought I should try as much as possible at the one thing I can work at on my own.” Yamaguchi shrugs. “Even though my jump serve works, people always adjust to it. And watching Miya Atsumu– I mean there’s a reason he’s hard to play against.”
“Miya-san isn’t only good at serving, though,” Kageyama replies. So simple, so blunt, so devastating.
“Gee, thanks,” Yamaguchi responds, putting as much sarcastic emphasis on the word as he can, so it won’t get lost on its way into Kageyama’s brain. “I know I’m not as good as him, but I want to be as good as– well, me. As I can be.”
Kageyama’s eyebrows had shot up, almost the moment Yamaguchi started talking and his tone was evidently defensive. “I didn’t mean–” he starts to reply, before correcting. “I meant it as a good thing. You don’t just have to serve. You’re useful on court too. Even if your receives do need improvement.”
“Thanks,” Yamaguchi says again, slightly less sarcastically this time, although it’s still not like Kageyama’s being nice, exactly.
“And anyway, you’re not the only one on court.”
“Okay?” Yamaguchi can almost sense the point Kageyama’s trying to make. It’s right there, waiting; like something seen through an unfocused pair of binoculars, it just needs to be clarified. “Go on.”
“There’s other five people. You messing up doesn’t mean we’ve lost,” Kageyama gets all squinty, clearly trying to bring his thoughts together, or remember someone else’s. “You don’t need to be outstanding, or work alone, because you’re not fighting alone.”
“Huh. You know, that was really encouraging, Kageyama!” Yamaguchi is honestly less inspired by the point, which is like, volleyball platitude 101, than the fact it came from Kageyama. “Definitely a good speech to bring out as vice captain.”
Kageyama’s shoulders visibly relax at that, and Yamaguchi thinks, ah. Vice captain is such a ceremonial position – as he understands it, the only reason Kageyama has it is because he’s the most calm (and intimidating) of their year, so he’ll be a steady presence behind Yamaguchi when they have to go and register at tournaments and stuff like that – that he’d basically forgotten that it was something Kageyama could be worried about. But he clearly has been. Yamaguchi supposes he's thinking of Suga, and his very particular kind of example of vice captaining: bright and helpful in all the ways Kageyama is not, but also doesn’t have to be.
Not sure what to add, Yamaguchi gives Kageyama what he intends to be a hearty, encouraging pat on the arm. It ends up a bit weak and fluttery, but Kageyama doesn’t seem to mind.
“Thanks,” he says.
“No problem!” Yamaguchi starts, and intends to follow up with something like, you’ll be great! but Kageyama continues. The pink light outside makes it look like he's blushing, just a bit.
“For teaching me, too.”
“Did a ball hit you when I wasn’t looking or something?” Yamaguchi replies, consciously chirpy. “You were teaching me.”
“You showed me how to teach you.” Kageyama gets a bit mumbly here; Yamaguchi guesses it’s been a while since he’s needed to really be talked through how to do anything. Normally, he just goes and does it, eyes forward.
“Oh! Well, no problem! I guess teaching is part of my job as captain, right? So I’m practicing that too.”
“Yeah,” Kageyama agrees, and there it is again, that very small laugh. It makes Yamaguchi grin widely in response. He wonders why such a small action provokes such an unequal reaction, and echoes, “Yeah.”
Hinata bursts in two minutes later, punching the air in victory at being the first person at the gym, until Yamaguchi coughs and he spins and sees the two of them sat there and starts to complain. First, though, sunlight begins to slip in through the window, throwing golden patches through the silence of the gym and onto the opposite wall. At the same time, the buzz in Yamaguchi’s finger tips spreads its way up to his palm. It’s probably just from the impact of the ball earlier, but it makes him want to use his hands: pointing out a tough opponent, pulling someone into a team talk, shaking hands with the referee, pushing himself back to his feet after a tough dig. Spiking one of Kageyama’s tosses, more than once or twice a tournament.
First, though, they sit, and wait for next year to arrive.