Archive of Our Own

shoyo hasn’t seen him in two hundred and two days. it’s the longest they’ve been apart since they met on that fateful day in karasuno high school’s gymnasium four and a half years ago, and shoyo would say he hasn’t been counting each and every day with a growing homesickness reserved for sharp eyes and gentle hands, but he’s never been great at lying, so…

it’s been two hundred and two days. and then the glass doors of the international arrivals hall slide open and a large swath of people make their way through, carrying suitcases and backpacks and homesickness of their own, and shoyo rises onto his toes, straining to see through the crowd of weary travelers, and—

shoyo’s heart does something he’ll try not to dwell on later, when he’s trying to fall asleep, and there he is. his hair is longer than it was on the television during the olympics, and he looks something haggard from the near-twenty-four hours of flight time alone, and he seems a little lost like he always does in a new setting, and definitely out of place here among brazilian strangers, but it’s him. it’s him.

unbidden, shoyo remembers being fifteen and opening wide the doors to the place that was to become his home for three years, and seeing kageyama tobio in the least likely place in the world. he remembers the panic and horror that immediately overtook him, the way his mind reeled, the way his heart skipped an entire eight count. now, he wonders what that version of himself would say upon understanding that when this version of himself sees the boy he once swore to hate, all he feels is…

relief.

it’s been two hundred and two days, and there he is—kageyama tobio, jetlagged and out of sorts, and shoyo thinks, oh god. oh fuck. no matter how far apart they are or how many days it takes to see him again, shoyo’s heart will simply be as foolish as it ever was. it doesn’t matter where he goes; his feelings are always going to follow him.

it’s a brief moment of panic—a moment in which shoyo has to shove it all down down down into the parts of himself that he’ll pretend don’t exist, because it’s easier and safer and now’s not the time, anyway—and then he steps out from the band of waiting watchers, and makes himself known.

“kageyamaaaaa!” he calls above the din of the airport, and kageyama’s head snaps toward him. when their eyes meet, there’s just a hesitant moment in which shoyo recognizes the same relief in kageyama’s gaze that he feels in his own chest, and then kageyama realizes what shoyo is doing, which is—opening wide his arms and taking off across the room with the intent to make this a very embarrassing public display of affection.

“hinata—” he manages to get out as shoyo barrels toward him, and he adds a panicked, “wait, idiot, i’m not—” and then shoyo throws himself at kageyama with the full force of a volleyball player whose specialty is jumping. kageyama at least has the good sense to drop the duffel bag he’s carrying, but when they collide, it’s with too much power to keep them upright. shoyo is laughing wildly as kageyama stumbles and then falls, and they both end up sprawled out on the floor.

shoyo is still laughing when he pushes himself up with his hands planted on the floor on either side of kageyama’s head, and kageyama glares at him. “what the hell?” he grumbles. “that hurt!”

“have you been slacking in the gym, kageyama-kun? i thought you were stronger than that.”

“have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately? you’re heavy.”

maybe he has a point; shoyo isn’t the skinny kid he was in high school anymore, although neither is kageyama. “well, whatever,” says shoyo, because he’s too happy to let this dampen the moment. he grins, breathless now, as he peers down at kageyama, and kageyama watches him with something shifting in his expression. it’s been two hundred and two days. two hundred and two, and now they’re together again, and shoyo just says, voice filled with wonder, “you’re here.”

kageyama’s adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “i’m here,” he agrees.

two hundred and two days ago, shoyo left for brazil. he packed up his entire life and flew across the world so he could play beach volleyball in a foreign country where he didn’t know the language or anyone other than a distance acquaintance, really, and it was hard, at first. hard and tiring and unbearably lonely, but shoyo is nothing if not someone who seeks challenges and chooses to meet them with a fiery passion for overcoming them. he loves living in brazil now, and playing beach volleyball, and even his delivery job. he loves his roommate and his friends and the food. he loves everything about this life he has been living for two hundred and two days.

but god. god. he missed kageyama.

suddenly, there’s so much he needs to say, so much he hadn’t realized until this very moment. but then kageyama is breaking the eye contact, glancing sideways, and, with cheeks blooming red, mutters, “can you get off of me now? we’re in public.”

“oh,” says shoyo, like he forgot. when he looks up, there are several clusters of people staring at them, and even he feels embarrassed. “right. my bad.” he clears his throat as he clambers off of kageyama, and then offers his hand, which kageyama smacks away playfully as he rises. they dust their clothes off, a tension settling over them when shoyo realizes what he’s just done—bulldozed kageyama in the middle of the fucking airport, surrounded by strangers and airport security, and god, he wouldn’t be surprised if kageyama just got on the first flight back to japan. he couldn’t help it, though; he was just so happy to see kageyama again.

and anyway, kageyama just coughs lightly, scratching the back of his neck as he picks up his duffel bag. “so,” he says. “now that that’s out of the way, are you going to give me a proper welcome? you know, with food and stuff? i just spent a million hours on a plane, so i’d like to get out of this damn airport.”

the tension eases, and shoyo grins sunny bright as he remembers everything he has planned for kageyama’s visit; he’s taking the whole week off of work so he doesn’t have to worry about ditching kageyama, and he made a thorough list of all of his favourite parts of this city to show off, not to mention the regular tourist attractions. and of course—volleyball. they’re going to play so much volleyball.

“c’mon,” he says, grabbing kageyama’s free wrist and pulling him toward the exit. “i have just the thing.” and kageyama huffs anyway, muttering something about shoyo being a dumbass, and shoyo only feels warm enough to burn a hole in the sky because he’s missed this, missed him, and everything feels right again.

it’s been two hundred and two days, and now, just five minutes about being reunited, shoyo’s not sure how he’s ever going to let kageyama go home.

he’s counted two hundred and two days with growing impatience and homesickness and now, finally, as he steps out into the sun setting over rio, shoyo takes a deep breath and thinks—one.

☾

seeing rio through the eyes of a tourist rather than an inhabitant is oddly exhilarating as he and kageyama flit from place to place in shoyo’s grand tour of his home. the first night is mostly spent hanging out at local places to eat and relax, since kageyama does look awfully tired and ragged after his traveling, but the next few days are jampacked with activities, sightseeing, and experiences shoyo has been meaning to have for the past six months but was never able to. now, with kageyama, he finally has a chance, and there’s no one else he would rather experience all of it with.

shoyo takes him to his favourite restaurant, his favourite bar, his favourite spots to hang out on a lazy afternoon—even his favourite mom and pop grocery store. (that last one makes kageyama guffaw with incredulous laughter, but shoyo pouts that you told me to give you the whole experience of what it’s like living here, and i don’t want to disappoint!) of course, shoyo has to take him to the beach, where they splash around in the water and watch a few volleyball games. they’ll play together later, when kageyama has recovered more from the jetlag, because shoyo wants to give him as much of an advantage as possible since he’ll still end up getting his ass kicked by someone who has been playing on sand for six months already.

and the truth is—shoyo kind of likes not playing volleyball with kageyama. their entire relationship over the past four and a half years has been defined by volleyball, entangled with it, irrevocably one with it. volleyball is what brought them together and allowed them to grow together as friends and partners and so much more. but for once, it’s kind of nice to just… hang out. to be tourists together, to exist side by side without needing to pass a volleyball back and forth.

see, the truth is, the moment kageyama stepped off that plane, shoyo realized he missed kageyama not as a volleyball partner, but as a partner, full stop. just… a friend. a best friend. a maybe something more, this wonderful, ridiculous human he has gotten to know inside and out over the past four and a half years. they’ve talked about volleyball in the past few days, sure, and they did pass a ball back and forth on the first night when the jetlag was so bad that kageyama couldn’t fall asleep for the life of him and shoyo woke up in the middle of the night for a piss only to see his guest reading manga on the sofa, and they’d met eyes through the darkened hallway and wordlessly agreed to it: this thing that has connected them, kept them close, given them an excuse to never let each other go.

but it almost feels like playing a real game together will make this visit something else. so they wait. they tour around and speak japanese to each other (and god, how shoyo has missed it) and try interesting foods and buy souvenirs, and of course—they drink.

“this place is so cool,” sighs kageyama when they’re two beers in each, chin propped up on his hand as he leans against the table. shoyo has taken him to his second favourite bar, which is more lowkey than many others, and kageyama seems taken by the décor as he stares at the string lights hanging overhead.

shoyo can’t help staring at him, at the slight flush high on his cheeks. he looks skinnier than the last time shoyo saw him—his jaw is more defined, cheekbones more prominent, eyes bigger compared to his face shape. he’s paler, too, although he always was, and definitely now compared to a sunkissed shoyo who has spent the past six months in brazil. shoyo marvels at how such simple things can change in a small amount of time, and he didn’t think he paid so much attention to kageyama’s physical features until now, when he can mark the difference like he’s charting star patterns in the sky.

and anyway, he’s still kageyama, even skinnier and with longer hair and with that dazed look in his eyes. shoyo knows it’s probably embarrassing, but he’s been staring a lot since kageyama showed up. he just knows that all too soon, kageyama will go home again, and it might be a hell of a lot more days until they’re together next time.

he only realizes he hasn’t responded when kageyama’s gaze shifts to his, and shoyo hums, leaning back in the booth to watch the lights, too. “to be fair, i don’t really do most of the stuff we’ve been doing, at least all the time,” he says, “most of the time, i just work and play volleyball and hang out at home. go out on the weekend sometimes, maybe sightsee once in a while when there’s a good opportunity. but it’s just… life, you know? just normal.”

“but it’s not like japan.”

shoyo tilts his head. “well, no,” he agrees. “but japan is cool, too.”

“except we’ve lived there our whole lives,” sighs kageyama. “someplace new is always going to be more interesting. plus you have—beach volleyball.”

this, shoyo can agree with. “it’s so amazing, kageyama-kun,” he says, feeling a giddy sort of grin on his lips just from the thought. “it’s still volleyball, but it’s so different. for so long, it felt like i was back in middle school and having to learn how to play all over again. but once you figure it out, it’s so worth it.”

“you’re insane, you know? to come here and relearn the sport you’re already great at…”

“aw, is that compliment, kageyama-kun?” gasps shoyo, laughing at the scowl that immediately appears on kageyama’s face. “you think i’m a great player?”

“shut the fuck up,” snaps kageyama. “you know what i mean.”

“that i’m an amazing volleyball player?”

“that you already spent so long mastering your skills only to start over with sand—that’s what baffles me.” shoyo considers ribbing him a bit more, because they can’t go five minutes without bickering about something, but the alcohol has softened their edges and loosened their tongues, and shoyo enjoys the fact that this is probably one of the more meaningful conversations they’ve ever had.

so shoyo purses his lips, leaning on the table as he watches kageyama and considers his answer. “i guess… i don’t see it as starting over,” he finally says. “i can still serve and receive and hit the ball the same. it’s just, when you’re on sand and outside with the weather affecting your game, you have to think about everything differently. you have to move differently. it’s just looking at volleyball from a different angle and learning how to adjust. i think it’ll make me a more well-rounded player in the end, anyway.”

kageyama snorts. “no shit. those guys we were watching today are no joke.”

“you still think you can kick my ass, though, right?”

he knows he’s caught kageyama when he makes that face he always does when he’s trying to cover for himself, and shoyo rolls his eyes for show before kicking kageyama’s shin under the table. “what?” scoffs kageyama, kicking him back. “it can’t be that much harder. i can still receive better than you, i bet.”

shoyo has six months’ worth of training to suggest otherwise, but he doesn’t want to get into that argument. so, instead, he takes a sip of his beer and brings the conversation back to kageyama’s original musing.

“i do really like it here,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest as he regards kageyama. “i was homesick at first, because everything was so different and i didn’t know how anything worked. but it really grew on me… and i’m glad i came here.”

“you don’t regret not trying to join the v.league after high school?” asks kageyama. it’s a question he’s been asked countless times; after shoyo’s exponential growth as a volleyball player in high school and his performance on karasuno’s team for three years, it seemed inevitable that he would join a professional team once he graduated. he knows his own team and former teammates were shocked most of all to learn he wanted to move halfway across the world to learn to play beach volleyball, of all things.

at first, he was never sure how to answer that question without getting defensive. but now, he just shakes his head. “nah,” he says. “i know this was the right decision for me. obviously, i want to play volleyball for the rest of my life, but why do i have to start right away? i want to learn more and try new things. plus—i’ll be honest, i also really wanted the experience of living outside of japan first. seeing the world a bit more. this isn’t just about volleyball, i think.”

he remembers when he’d first brought it up to kageyama—the idea of living outside of japan for a while. kageyama’s initial reaction had been a very confused why? he thinks this visit might change that initial disbelief over why anyone would want to or care that much, but he got it, back then; japan provides everything they need, and has their support systems, and a language they know, and, ultimately, the sport they love so much in an environment where the big shots most definitely know their names.

so why would he want to uproot himself and settle back down in an unknown country, where no one knows him and his opportunities for more are few and far between?

“i love japan,” says shoyo. “it has my family and friends and volleyball and egg on rice and manga and everything. but… this is really great, too. every day is a new experience and i’m learning so much and it’s two years that are going to change my entire life.”

shoyo hikes his shoulders up to his ears, feeling oddly vulnerable now that they’re talking about it; most of the conversations he’s had with friends or former teammates have revolved around how cool it is that shoyo is living abroad and playing beach volleyball every day, followed by demands to hear bad words in portuguese or wild stories from drunken nights. he’s never really talked about it like this—but of course it’s with kageyama, who will either make fun of him or understand more than anyone else.

today, it seems like the latter.

“i can tell from the way you look at this place… the way you talk about it.” kageyama takes a long sip of his beer, peering at shoyo over the lip of the bottle the entire time. shoyo isn’t entirely sure what he’s getting at, until kageyama swallows and says, “you’re in love with it, aren’t you?”

shoyo swallows tightly.

“i’ve wondered about it before. a lot, really,” he continues, watching shoyo now with some awful sort of yearning in his gaze. “it can’t be that great, i thought. living abroad is cool, yeah, and it’s volleyball, but it’s so different and far away and not what anyone expected you to do. but then i got here, and… yeah. i see it. when you’re taking me around and showing me stupid shit like how the crosswalk works and your favourite local foods and whatever—you talk about that stuff the way you talk about volleyball. i never thought i’d hear you talk about anything the way you talk about volleyball, but it’s… this. it’s all of this.”

he hadn’t realized he’d been talking about that way, but—shoyo does love it here. he gets excited about these things, and getting to share his life here with kageyama. shoyo supposes he’s never really thought about it in depth, since he just lives here, but now that kageyama is bringing it up, he’s bursting with joy over what he has built for himself here.

“it was hard at first,” he admits after some time, “but it’s so worth it, kageyama-kun. i do love it here. even if my life is kind of mundane at best and i’m not making a tonne of money and i don’t get to be a tourist like this all the time, it’s… it’s amazing. playing volleyball and learning new things and challenging other players here. knowing it’s going to make me better when i go back to japan, and knowing i can share that with my future teammates—” he shrugs, unsure how to put it into words. he knows there’s a stupid look of wonder on his face, but he’s not afraid to show that to kageyama, who noticed it first anyway. “it’s cliché to say this is living the dream, but it does feel like that.”

when he glances back at kageyama, there’s a moment of… sadness in those blue eyes. and then just as quickly, kageyama covers it with a grin. “i’m really glad, hinata,” he says. “i’ll be nice to you for once because we’re drinking, but i really am glad you get to experience this. it sounds amazing. it looks like you’re… you’re really thriving here.”

“i am,” nods shoyo. “i’m having a great time. i miss japan sometimes, and my family, and—” and you, he thinks, but he’s not drunk enough for that yet—“but honestly, it’s only been six months and i already don’t know how i’m going to leave.” it’s odd to admit, especially to kageyama, but he thinks he’ll get it. kageyama is staring at him, either way, and shoyo can’t quite put a name to the expression on his face—something hesitant and sorrowful and grateful, too, mixed with that same wonder and awe.

but maybe it’s a little too vulnerable, anyway, because then kageyama blinks and straightens and says, “well, that’s just cowardly, you know. you can just admit you’re too afraid to come back and never beat me professionally.”

shoyo makes an indignant noise. “as if,” he says. “i’m going to come back to japan and wipe the v.league with your sorry ass and you’ll be eating those words.”

“and who has been to the olympics between the two of us?”

“hey, you promised not to use that as an insult!”

“and when have i ever kept my promises about being nice to you?”

“you asshole, kageyama tobio!”

“dumbass,” laughs kageyama, and then they’re off squabbling again, like they always do, and they order another round of drinks, and shoyo forgets entirely about that strange look on kageyama’s face, the one that makes him think maybe there’s something that kageyama isn’t saying after all.

☾

the next afternoon, they finally get to play. it’s as much of a disaster as shoyo anticipated, which means he spends more time laughing at kageyama struggling to do basic volleyball moves than he does actually playing, but it just goes to show that even olympic level players can be reduced to flailing messes by the unforgiving sand and wind.

but they play for hours, for and against each other, different partners flitting in and out—many of them shoyo’s regular opponents or guys that he plays with recreationally. most of them have something nice to say about kageyama, at least once he begins to get the hang of playing on the beach. it’s nice. it’s really nice—to play volleyball at all, because shoyo misses it even after a day or two of rest, and to play with kageyama again. it’s only been six months since they last saw each other and were able to practice together, but it’s a damn long time when they used to play together every day.

the first time they actually manage to hit a quick like they used to, shoyo cheers so loudly that he scares most people in their general vicinity, and he tackles kageyama into the sand like he did at the airport.

“oh my god, you have to stop doing that,” grumbles kageyama when shoyo rolls off of him, laughing. they’re both sweaty and covered in sand, a shade darker after being in the sun all day. it won’t be long before the sun begins to set and they’re the only ones left on the beach, but something tells shoyo they still won’t leave after all.

so he laughs again, shoving kageyama into the sand when he gets onto his knees. it’s only then that kageyama’s shirt rides up on his back and shoyo sees the massive, purple bruise peeking out from his waistband. “holy shit!” he exclaims. “you know you have a crazy bruise on your ass, right?”

kageyama scowls at him, but he tugs his shirt back down as he gets to his feet. “you thought bowling me over in the airport wasn’t going to give me a bruise?”

“you bruise easy, kageyama-kun,” he laughs nonetheless. “that was nothing compared to the kind of injuries we got in high school.”

“i don’t get injured playing volleyball anymore. since, you know, i now have teammates who actually know what they’re doing and don’t serve the ball into the back of my head.”

“that was one time.”

“it should have been none.”

shoyo sticks his tongue out, and kageyama kicks sand at him. but he can tell that kageyama is tired and out of breath from playing so much—and probably from having to try a lot harder to get used to the sand—so he adjusts his cap, glancing at the sun beginning to set over the buildings beside the beach. “do you wanna take a break?” he asks. “i know this shit is tiring.”

“it’s not that bad,” says kageyama, even though he’s trying to catch his breath. for someone as in shape as kageyama to be out of breath like this, the sand must be taking a huge toll on him. “but yeah, i guess i could stop for a while if you need to.”

there’s a quiet, fond grin on shoyo’s lips, but he doesn’t argue with kageyama’s stupid pride. he just tells the pair they were playing with that they’re going to sit out for a while, and then he pulls kageyama off to find some ice cream to enjoy on their break.

they don’t end up going back to play a proper game after that, because kageyama looks a lot more tired than he was letting on—but it’s been a long day of volleyball, plus it’s a hell of a lot hotter here than in japan right now, and they’ve been running around for almost a week straight at this point. he’s not surprised that kageyama’s stamina is starting to reach its limit, because even shoyo’s is after the whirlwind week they’ve had, and that’s really saying something. he thinks back, none too fondly, on the fever he developed during their first nationals because he had been too busy bouncing around to eat and rest properly. the last thing he needs is for kageyama to get sick from this visit.

but, well. it’s them.

they walk along the beach as the sun sets further, and once they’ve finished their ice cream and the crowd on the beach has begun to clear at a rapid pace, they head back to their belongings. there, shoyo pulls out a volleyball and they begin tossing it back and forth lazily, like they always did in high school—never a pair to pass up an opportunity for extra practice.

it’s strange how much has changed since then. shoyo is here now, playing beach volleyball in brazil, and kageyama is in his second season of the v.league, having competed at the olympics just a few months ago. they’re far from the pair they were that game in middle school, with a net separating them and too much desperate desire to put into words, when kageyama had glared at him with those dark, haunting eyes, and snapped, what have you been doing for the past three years?!

it makes him feel… warm to think of it now, of how far they’ve come and how much they’ve grown—both individually and as a pair. he’s never felt luckier to have kageyama as his eternal partner. so yes, he loves it here, but he’s also excited to go back home and challenge kageyama again, to face him on the world stage, to keep pushing each other to reach greater heights until the day he can no longer jump for fear of breaking a hip. and even then—there are plenty of other ways to challenge kageyama once they’re old and grey.

“so,” says shoyo between one toss and the next, shuffling on the sand to set the ball back to kageyama. “are you finally going to admit that beach volleyball is harder than it looks?”

he can tell kageyama’s expression sours without even needing to look at him. “it was an off day.”

“oh, c’mon, you big baby,” laughs shoyo. “you were out of breath after ten minutes, plus you kept falling over and missing your sets. also, your serves were shit, mister olympic pinch server. just admit that i was right.”

“absolutely not. especially if you put it like that.” kageyama catches the ball rather than setting it the next time it flies toward him, though, and his face scrunches up as he stares at shoyo. it almost looks like he’s constipated, but shoyo knows that just means he’s trying to force himself to say something he doesn’t want to. “but... i guess,” he begins, voice strained, “it’s not as easy as i hoped it would be.”

“boo,” shoyo calls. “that was a three out of ten at best.”

“it’s all you’re getting!”

shoyo rolls his eyes. “fine.” he says. “i’ll take it. just hit the ball back, would you?”

kageyama does, and they pass the ball back and forth in silence for another few minutes, until, this time, kageyama breaks the silence. “you’re not half bad at it, though, you know. for someone who’s so shit at regular volleyball, i mean.”

“that was almost a compliment. i’m impressed, kageyama-kun.”

“dumbass. i’m just saying it’s… it’s nice to watch you play. and to play with you again, i suppose.” his face is doing something funny again, but he’s focusing on the ball this time. “i missed it.”

shoyo grins. “me too. i’m really glad you came to visit. i’m glad i got to share this with you.”

“i can tell that you really love this,” says kageyama, and shoyo thinks back to their conversation in the bar last night. “i can tell it’s difficult, but you’ve put in the work to become skilled at beach volleyball already.”

“i have. so i’m glad that it’s showing.”

“honestly, it does make me a little afraid for when you come back.” he hesitates, and then adds, “not afraid enough to think i’ll lose. but you know—i’m a little envious that you’ll have this experience.”

“you could always move here, too, you know,” shrugs shoyo, bumping the ball with such a perfect trajectory that he mentally counts it as a bonus win against kageyama. “if you really wanted to.”

“don’t be stupid. i can’t just leave in the middle of the season.”

“i’m just saying. we could play together every day.” shoyo laughs at the thought of kageyama living here, though, learning the language and getting a job and trying to master beach volleyball knowing that shoyo is already ten steps ahead of him. “it would be fun.”

“yeah,” muses kageyama, and the next bump hits his arm funny, causing the ball to fly sideways toward the water instead of toward shoyo. “it would be, wouldn’t it?”

shoyo heads for the ball, picking it up and hesitating when he sees that kageyama has joined him, and rather than toss it between them again, the two of them stand at the water’s edge and look out at the ocean together, something still and silent settling over them. “but you’re living the dream, aren’t you?” kageyama muses. “i can’t intrude on that. not when you’re having such a good time here.”

“i wouldn’t mind,” says shoyo, bumping their elbows together. “but either way, it’s only for another year and a half, probably. i’ll come back when i’m ready. in the meantime, i’m gonna get way better at volleyball than you.”

“right.” the tide nearly reaches their feet, but neither of them moves out of the way.

and suddenly, hinata is keenly aware that kageyama is going to leave in less than two days.

he turns his head toward kageyama, glancing at him and how the fading colours of the sky frame his lovely face. “i’m really glad you came,” he says quietly, as though it’s easier to admit that way. “i missed you a lot. and i’m gonna miss you when you go back.”

“well,” laughs kageyama. “it’s only for another year and a half, right? like you said.”

“you say that like it’s not a really fucking long time.”

“it’ll be fine, shoyo,” says kageyama, looking down at him with that same look from last night, again. “you just… enjoy brazil. play lots of volleyball and have fun and live your dream. i’ll still be there when you come back to japan. when you’re ready.”

he looks tired again, still jetlagged, like the sun has leeched everything he could possibly give it. and shoyo offers him the gentlest of grins, knocking their shoulders together again but staying there this time, so they’re pressed side to side before the vast unknown of the ocean, as terrifying and beautiful as the future for them, too. “i will,” he says. “as long as you live your dream in japan, too.”

“i’ll do my best,” muses kageyama, and then neither of them says anything at all, and shoyo wonders how he can feel so homesick with kageyama standing right beside him, and his heart feels a lot like the waves crashing somewhere in the growing darkness.

☾

hinata is in the shower when yamaguchi calls, and tobio retreats into hinata’s bedroom with the door shut tight, sitting with his back against the wall the room shares with the bathroom so he can tell when the shower stops running. he can hear hinata singing in the shower, too, a habit he clearly hasn’t dropped in the six months he’s been here, and he’d be worried about hinata’s roommate eavesdropping if not for the fact that they don’t even speak the same language.

and it’s not—like he’s worried about privacy. but it’s yamaguchi, which means this is going to be a very difficult conversation, and tobio can’t have hinata overhearing a single word of it.

he pulls his hood up like he can hide from a friend who is eleven thousand miles away with only a thin piece of material, and hunches over until his knees are pressing into his bony chest, and answers the call.

“ah, kageyama-kun?” comes yamaguchi’s voice, static through the phone, as grounding as it’s always been. “you actually picked up this time.”

tobio flushes, thinking of all the missed calls from the past week. in his defense, he wanted to have a nice week with hinata without anyone from home interrupting. and he knows why yamaguchi has been trying to reach him. it’s only fear of his friend’s wrath should he return home without answering a single call that had him picking up this time.

“hi, yamaguchi,” he mutters into the phone. “and sourface, i assume.”

“tsukki, kageyama-kun says hello,” says yamaguchi. tobio hears a familiar voice mutter something on the other end, something he can’t quite make out, but yamaguchi laughs and says, “he says hello back.”

“i highly doubt that.”

“how’s brazil?”

tobio takes a very deep breath, pressing his forehead into his knees. through the wall behind him, he can still hear the shower running and hinata’s familiar voice singing a portuguese song, and some part of him wants to pretend that this is just how things are now. he wants to pretend he doesn’t have to go home because he already is.

“kageyama.”

“it’s hot as fuck,” he says, because that’s the easiest. “i feel like i’m going to turn into a fried egg on the sidewalk every time i step outside. it’s way worse than it was in july, because i forgot the seasons are opposite here. but the food is great. i saw some cool stuff. beach volleyball sucks.”

yamaguchi hums to show he’s listening, but tobio doesn’t go on. what the fuck does yamaguchi want him to say? they both know what this phone call is really about; in what world is yamaguchi—or tsukishima, for that matter—the type of friend to not be able to go a week without updates, especially when he knows tobio doesn’t do much conversation through the phone? why would he ever need to call to ask when tobio is coming home in less than forty-eight hours, anyway, and he could find out then?

tobio knows he’s not calling to ask how brazil is, so he doesn’t bother to pretend that’s what this is about.

after a moment of terse silence, yamaguchi asks, “and how’s hinata?”

god, it physically aches. worse than the fatigue and the weakness and the random nausea. worse than the infections and bruises and wounds that won’t close. just thinking about it—about him—makes tobio hurt in ways he didn’t think possible.

but yamaguchi probably knows that, too, having borne witness to the development of hinata and tobio’s relationship from the very beginning. so he just replies, “he’s fine.”

“super tan?”

“obviously.”

“great at beach volleyball?”

“what do you want, yamaguchi?” he could be nicer about it. but he knows he’s about to get his ass handed to him the way it did in their final year of high school anytime tobio did something yamaguchi didn’t agree with as the captain of karasuno. he never once doubted ukai and takeda’s decision to make yamaguchi captain, even if he was a pinch server and didn’t seem fit for the role to an outside eye. but it’s weird the kind of hold he can have on tobio even now, a year and a half after graduating.

he hears mumbling on the other end, yamaguchi and tsukishima talking, and it sounds like yamaguchi has covered the end of the phone. not that he cares; he knows tsukishima never has nice things to say about tobio, even now. it would feel like a slap to the face otherwise, if tobio is being honest.

then—“it’s great you’re having a good time,” says yamaguchi, deadpan. “but you leave… soon, right?”

tobio lifts his head from his knees so he can scrub at his face. “tomorrow’s the last day, and then i leave the morning after.”

“right. so have you told him yet?”

ah, there it is. he was anticipating this—has been this entire trip, really, and with each passing day in which tobio didn’t tell hinata, he came to dread this conversation even more. part of him has been hoping that yamaguchi would forget or let it go until tobio is already back in japan, when there’s nothing he can do about it. but this is yamaguchi.

tobio clenches his hand into a fist, and then slowly uncurls it so he can stare at his nails. he needs to fix them again after playing in the sand all day; it’s left a few of them a little dirty and chipped. not that it’ll matter what state his nails are in soon, but—even now, personal hygiene and whatnot is of the utmost importance to tobio. there are some routines that he simply won’t give up, and this is one of them.

“kageyama,” says yamaguchi again, and tobio lets out a long breath, leaning back until he can let his head thump lightly against the wall. “have you?”

“i can’t,” he says quietly, because that’s the truth he has settled on the past six days. “yamaguchi, i fucking can’t.”

“kageyama-kun—”

“i know. i know.” he squeezes his eyes shut. “it’s the whole reason i came here in first place. i came to tell him because it’s not fair to tell him over the phone and he has to know, but i just—” tobio huffs, unsure how to put any of it into words. “you don’t get it. if i tell him, he’ll come home, yamaguchi. he’d pack his things and come back to japan with me, if he could. and i can’t do that to him.”

“why not? we’ve been over this, kageyama-kun. he has a right to know. he needs to know. and if he decides to come back to japan because of it, isn’t that his right, too? it’s his life. he can make his own decisions.”

“but it’s my fault.”

“this is not your fault, kage—”

“not like that,” tobio groans, thumping his head against the wall again. “i mean… he’ll come back because of me. for me. and i know… i meant to tell him. i was going to tell him on the second day, honestly, but then he started showing me around and taking me to his favourite places and i played beach volleyball with him, and he’s… yamaguchi, i think this is the best thing that’s ever happened to him. as a person and as a volleyball player. he said it himself: he’s living the dream. it’s amazing. he loves it here. this is going to change his life and make him better.” tobio opens his eyes, gaze settling on the dirty volleyball sitting on hinata’s desk chair, the same one they’ve been passing back and forth all week. there’s sand hewn into its very lining, well-loved and well-worn.

“you should see the way he looks at this place,” whispers tobio. “you should hear the way he talks about it. this is everything to him, yamaguchi. and if i tell him… he’ll leave. i can’t take this away from him. i can’t make him cut short his dream like that.”

for a time, yamaguchi says nothing. and tobio knows it’s an awful thing to decide, and he knows that no one will be happy with it, but they don’t get it. they’re not here; they don’t see how hinata looks at the setting sun and how he soars when he’s playing on the sand and how excited he gets to speak with the locals. they don’t hear the wistful tone to his voice when he speaks about life here and how much he looks forward to the next year and a half. and in the end, it’s tobio’s decision whether or not to tell him. yamaguchi is right—hinata has a right to know. but tobio has a right to tell him or not.

at long last, there’s a voice on the other end of the phone—but it’s not yamaguchi’s.

“so don’t tell him, then,” says tsukishima, voice seething with indifference. “and when he comes back in another year and a half and finds out the truth then? you’ll have no one but yourself to blame for the way he hates you for it.”

tobio wants to bite back, but… well. if he thinks about it, tsukishima is right. “he’ll get over it,” he whispers. “at least he’ll have had his time in brazil. that’s going to affect the rest of his life, especially as a volleyball player. him being mad at me—that’s fine. but i won’t ruin his chances of being the best volleyball player he can.”

“i would almost think you care for him if not for the fact that you’re going to withhold the most life-changing news possible about his best friend.”

“if you’re going to lecture me, i’d rather you put yamaguchi back on the phone.”

“he passed it to me because he knew i’d be nicer to you at this point, honestly.”

tobio takes a deep breath. “i’m not going to tell him,” he says with finality. “i won’t ruin his dream like that.”

“it’s not up to you, kageyama,” says tsukishima. “you know that, right? if he wants to come back to japan, that’s up to him. you think you’re saving him by taking away that option, but it’s just going to make things worse in the long run.”

“why do you even care? you’re not even friends with hinata.”

“i can’t talk to him anymore,” says tsukishima, although it’s farther away, and it’s clear he’s talking to yamaguchi. “he’s a fucking idiot and no amount of good sense will make him change his mind.”

behind him, the shower finally cuts out. tobio feels something shoot up and down his spine, although it might just be his saving grace if it means he can get out of this conversation. he’s not going to change his mind, no matter what yamaguchi and tsukishima say—no matter how they try to reason or argue with him. because the truth is, they are right; hinata has a right to know, and it’s not up to tobio if hinata decides to leave his dream behind so he can return to japan in the wake of the news. it’s unthinkable not to tell hinata something like this, something so harrowing and life-changing and devastating. tobio did come to brazil in order to tell hinata, but after seeing him living the dream, well…

he can’t. he just can’t.

there’s more talking on the other end, but tobio is paying more attention to the noises from the bathroom. and then, when his mind is elsewhere, he hears the question that makes him falter most of all—crystal clear in his ear, piercing through the hesitation in his heart like the sharpest of arrows—

“you know you might die, right?”

tobio stares at the door, and suddenly, he feels very, very small.

softly, void of all the frustration and anger that tobio expected, yamaguchi continues—“you could die, kageyama-kun. i know you’re starting treatment when you get back and it’s not progressed enough to be fatal yet, but you act like you have the flu. but… this is still life-threatening. and what if something goes wrong? what if it doesn’t respond to the treatment? what if hinata is blissfully playing beach volleyball in brazil while you’re fighting for your life somewhere in japan and the way he finds out is a phone call telling him that you’re dead and you never even told him you were sick, and you never got to say goodbye, and you never got to tell him how you really feel?”

it’s the part that tobio has chosen not to dwell on much—the possibility of simply not surviving this. he has his pride. and they made a promise, didn’t they? to meet on top of the world, to fight once more, to conquer the volleyball world together. so it doesn’t matter, because tobio has no other choice but to make it through.

it’s a good argument on yamaguchi’s behalf, of course. it would turn even the hardest of hearts. but this is kageyama tobio, and his stubborn pride has seen him through the rest of his life, too.

so he simply says, “that won’t happen. i’m going to get better.”

“kageyama-kun, please.”

“i said i’m going to get better.”

“kageyama, you have to tell him—” but suddenly the door to hinata’s bedroom is opening, and tobio’s eyebrows rise as he sees hinata enter, still drying his hair with a towel.

“sorry, i have to go,” he says into the phone, ignoring the sounds of yamaguchi shouting at him to wait, wait, you have to tell him, kageyama, listen, you have to—

hinata notices him sitting against the wall, a half-amused, half-incredulous look on his face as he drops the damp towel around his shoulders. “who was that?” he asks.

“yamaguchi,” says tobio, rising from the floor and pocketing his phone. “he wanted to know how much fun we’re having without him. i told him i kicked your ass on the beach, though.”

“kageyama,” growls hinata, although he’s laughing, and tobio stands with his hands in his pockets, watching his laughter and listening to his protests with the same dread in his stomach that he felt upon seeing yamaguchi’s name pop up on his phone. his decision has been made, and was made days ago; he’s not going to tell hinata, no matter the consequences that will come of this decision in years to come. seeing how hinata is living here, the fun he’s having, the things he’s learning—there was really no decision that needed to be made. he does care about hinata, so deeply that it makes him ache even standing right in front of him. but that means protecting hinata from the truth, and letting him enjoy his time here, and choosing to deal with the consequences in a year and a half from now, when it doesn’t even matter anymore.

and yet—yet.

as hinata is throwing the damp towel at him in retaliation for blatant lies as to who is better at beach volleyball, he can’t help hearing yamaguchi’s voice ringing in his ears over and over, like a song he can’t get out of his head no matter how much he hums another tune—

you know you might die, right?

☾

kageyama tobio gets diagnosed with cancer at the age of twenty, on a warm morning in october, while his volleyball team plays an exhibition match against the strongest team in the league.

acute myeloid leukemia, to be exact, which means his blood cells aren’t developing normally, and if he doesn’t receive immediate treatment, his body won’t be able to protect him from even the simplest of colds. he looks it up when he gets home after his doctor’s appointment, despite knowing it’ll only drive him over the edge, and nearly throws up when he finds out the five-year survival rate with this type of leukemia for people aged twenty or older is twenty-six percent.

tobio has always considered himself the elite, leagues above the rest, one of the lucky few. but this isn’t volleyball. and twenty-six is a small fucking number.

he’s lucky, the doctors tell him. they catch the cancer early, which means there’s a much greater chance of it responding well to treatment. there’s a good chance he’ll be just fine, if he begins chemotherapy almost immediately after diagnosis, and continues remission therapy after his blood counts return to normal, and continues maintenance therapy for up to two years in order to ensure the leukemia stays away for good.

he’s lucky, the doctors tell him. tobio is notorious about taking care of his health, particularly as a professional volleyball player; he’s always been particular about eating well, getting plenty of rest, and taking vitamins or supplements daily. it’s rare to see him sick, even during flu season. it’s weird, then, when he gets sick after returning home from the olympics in july, and he never really gets better—even after taking medication and antibiotics. then he notices the fatigue, which he originally attributed to the olympics and volleyball in general, but all through august and into september, he finds it hard to practice at all, to stay awake all through the day, sometimes even to walk. the bruises are a problem, too, considering he was never one to bruise easily.

but for a long time, tobio thinks it’s fine. he’s stubborn and prideful and hates to ask for help. he pushes himself harder, convinced that he just needs to work more to make up for the weakness and fatigue that he’s experiencing. he needs to spend longer hours at the gym. he needs to eat healthier. he needs to do better, because he can’t let something as silly as an infection ruin the upcoming v.league season.

it’s miwa who, after finding out how greatly his health has deteriorated when she visits him at the beginning of october, convinces him to go to the doctor. tobio expects he’ll be saddled with some medication, maybe advice for how to combat tiredness and the other worrying symptoms he’s been experiencing, and then, several weeks later, he’s sitting in a doctor’s office and he’s—

dying?

he has cancer. he’s twenty years old and he’s a professional volleyball player and he has cancer. he’s not sure if it’s shameful that the first thing that goes through the mind after the initial shock wears off is—how am i supposed to tell hinata?

the rest of it is simple, however horrifying and devastating, after all. he’ll have to step back from volleyball in order to go through treatment. they’ll blast the leukemia with whatever they’ve got so they can get tobio back on his feet as soon as possible. he’ll have to spend weeks at a time in the hospital, and he won’t be able to work, and he won’t be able to play volleyball for a long time, but he’ll be fine. he’ll be fine. he’s not deathly ill yet and he trusts the treatment and he trusts the doctors and he’s stubborn and he refuses to be seen as weak.

so he’ll get better. leukemia is a life-threatening disease and it might not respond to the treatment and he might die, but he won’t. he won’t. he made a promise to someone and he intends to keep it, cancer or not.

but—hinata is in brazil. hinata is supposed to be in brazil for the next year and a half, and now tobio has cancer, and how is he supposed to tell him? for some reason, it’s this question that plagues him in the days following his diagnosis. as plans are made and his life turns on its head, tobio can’t stop thinking about hinata.

he tells the others at dinner three days after his diagnosis, most of them physically present and several others joining through digital means. there are tears and questions and well-wishes, and it’s sugawara who says what everyone is thinking—“what about hinata?”

it’s as simple as everything else, really. he needs to start treatment immediately, he knows, but it took him no time at all to realize there’s only one answer to any of this—he can’t tell hinata over the phone. he has to tell him face to face.

tobio has to see him.

“i’m going to brazil,” he says, staring at his plate rather than anyone’s eyes. “my doctors don’t recommend it, but the cancer hasn’t progressed enough for it to be a huge issue, and they need to finalize my treatment plans, anyway. i’m leaving tomorrow night, and i’m going to be gone for a week. i’ll tell him there.”

no one says anything. hesitantly, tobio dares to look up, and the first gaze he meets is daichi’s, and the look in his eyes makes tobio want to cry, so he looks back down again. “he deserves to hear it in person,” he continues quietly. “so i have to ask all of you not to mention it to him. i don’t know how he’ll react, but he should find out from me at least.”

he feels a hand on his knee, and when he looks up, he finds yachi next to him, squeezing his leg in comfort, and that makes him want to cry, too.

“he’ll probably be pissed that he wasn’t the first to know, actually,” says tanaka, and tobio’s eyes snap upward. “you know how he is about that stuff.”

“probably,” ennoshita agrees with a laugh. “you better buy him a bunch of snacks to make up to him for it.” the others laugh and join in, too, and they’re not—making fun of him, or making light of the situation. but one of their own, one of the best of them, has been forced down to his knees in the face of cancer itself, and tobio appreciates the way they lighten the darkness now, too, as they did when he was in high school, by bringing in the sunshine of hinata even in his absence. he knows they’ll be supporting him through it all, in whatever way they can, and he couldn’t be more grateful for every single one of them.

yachi doesn’t remove her hand from his knee, and he’s grateful for that, too—because even with the laughter and the well wishes, tobio can’t help feeling sick to his stomach at the idea of flying across the world so he can tell his best friend that he’s dying. but hinata deserves to know. hinata deserves to know more than anyone.

it’s what he tells himself at dinner, and as he’s packing his things to visit hinata, and as he’s flying over the ocean, and as he’s being bowled over in the airport, and as he’s sitting at dinner night after night, trying to work up the courage to just say it.

hinata deserves to know. hinata deserves to know.

but with each passing day, tobio knows he can’t say it. not when he’s seen what hinata’s life is like here, and how much he loves it, and how much he’s thriving. because if tobio tells him, hinata will come back home. he won’t hesitate to pack up his life here and come back to japan to be with tobio, to support him, to see this through to the end. tobio knows he would, because hinata couldn’t sit in brazil knowing that his best friend is fighting for his life in japan.

tobio knew this when he got on the plane. but at the time, he thought he would be okay with hinata leaving brazil—but seeing hinata here, he knows he can’t possibly ruin this. hinata’s life is wonderful here and he loves it. he loves everything about rio. he’s playing beach volleyball every day and learning so much, and he’s right; this will make him a better player in the future, and even a better person. this is the right decision for him. this is the best place for him right now.

and if tobio tells him, he’ll be ruining everything hinata has wanted since before he graduated high school. he’ll be ruining the life that hinata has here. he might even be ruining hinata’s future, particularly as a volleyball player. and hinata—hinata is so happy here. he’s glowing, thriving, excelling in ways tobio thought impossible. tobio can’t ruin that with news of his own health. even if hinata deserves to know, and it’ll eat at tobio every day that he’s deceived his own best friend—isn’t it better this way?

in a year and a half, when hinata comes back home, tobio will be fully recovered. he’ll be fine. and he can tell hinata then. and hinata will be angry, of course. they’ll fight about it, because they fight about everything. but they’ll be okay, and tobio will be healthy, and hinata will be the amazing volleyball player he’s come here to become. and tobio will have the rest of his life to make up for the lie.

it’ll kill him not to say anything, but it would kill hinata if he did say something. so tobio won’t. he simply won’t. he’ll let this visit be a bright mark in both of their memories for years to come, untarnished by cancer, and when he goes home to a hospital room and chemotherapy and the potential for his own death, he’ll hold onto it like a child to a safety blanket.

☾

shoyo stares at the entrance to security and feels all too reminiscent of his days in high school when he would walk into a gymnasium saturated with the scent of salonpas and immediately feel the need to run to the bathroom to throw up. except he’s not in high school anymore; he’s twenty-one and standing in the airport and having to say goodbye to kageyama. he’d been so focused on enjoying their week together that this somehow snuck up on him, and suddenly he can only think of everything else they should have done together. shoyo wanted to do so much more, spend so much more time together. he doesn’t know when they’ll see each other again, is the thing. maybe in a year and a half.

nothing has ever felt further away.

he takes a short breath, and then glances sideways to gaze at kageyama’s side profile. kageyama, too, looks vaguely sick to his stomach, and pale, and tired, too. he’s looked tired this entire time, but shoyo can’t blame him with all the running around they did. they didn’t get to play much volleyball, in the end; they pushed it off until the last few days and then they were too worn out from the week to do much real playing. oddly enough, shoyo finds that he doesn’t mind. as much as volleyball is their thing, it was nice to spend time together outside of that.

but now that he’s standing here and kageyama is just minutes away from leaving him, he wants nothing more than to pull kageyama away from this, to run to the beach, to play again and again and again, to call for a toss once more, to hit the perfect set, to dive in the sand and laugh at the wind ruining kageyama’s serves. it’s not fair that japan has to be so far away from brazil. and shoyo knows he chose to come here, knows he was well aware of the distance when he left, but he didn’t think it would be so hard to say goodbye.

again.

they were never ones for sentimental words, though, so shoyo knows he’s going to have to hold it together until kageyama has disappeared through security. what he wants to say is, don’t leave me like i left you, but what comes out is, “you know which gate you’re supposed to be at? and what time the plane is leaving? i don’t want to get a call from you in an hour because you missed your flight.”

kageyama glances down at him, scowling. “i’m not five,” he says, but then he looks at his ticket again anyway. “like you’d be able to handle me getting stranded here, anyway.”

it wouldn’t be so bad. but shoyo can’t say that either. “i’m just making sure. remember that time you got lost on the way to the youth camp?”

stay, stay, stay. there’s so much more we need to do. there’s so much more i need to stay.

“i was sixteen. i can handle the train system just fine now, thanks.”

“but these are planes, kageyama-kun—”

“would you shut up already? isn’t this supposed to be our goodbye?”

shoyo’s grin falls—don’t make me say it. don’t make me let you go.

“right,” he says, then, rubbing the back of his neck. “well, it’s been a blast, kageyama. i’m glad you came to visit and that i got to kick your ass at volleyball for once. think of it as an appetizer for when i come back.”

kageyama turns to face him, his mouth caught in a crooked grin that looks almost pained. “i regret coming here every time you say that, you know.”

“i’m making it less painful for you to leave.”

“it’s not that painful…” but there’s something in kageyama’s eyes now, something that loses its mirth. he’s watching shoyo like he’s trying to work up to something, like there are so many words caught behind his clenched teeth. shoyo understands, because his own words are crowding to the front of his mouth now, all of these things that he’s been meaning to say since they were in high school but never found the time nor opportunity nor courage to, the loudest of which is simply—

i love you.

shoyo swallows them down once more, as he has done for years now. it doesn’t seem fair to tell kageyama now, when he’s about to get on a plane. besides, he’s convinced some part of kageyama knows already, because some part of shoyo thinks that kageyama loves him back.

then kageyama is reaching out, fingers toying with the ends of shoyo’s wild hair on top of his head. “thank you,” he says earnestly, “for… this. all of this. i’m sorry we didn’t get to play much.”

“it’s okay,” says shoyo. “it turns out i actually like just hanging out with you. we should do it more often when i get back. we can do everything when i get back.”

“yeah,” breathes kageyama, but the words seem to darken something in his gaze. he stares at shoyo for a long beat, seemingly preoccupied with touching his hair, and then all at once, something clears in his expression and he drops his hand until his fingers are curling into the collar of shoyo’s shirt, tugging him a little closer. “hey, you… you’d forgive me if i ever fucked up, right?”

shoyo’s eyebrows furrow, but kageyama isn’t looking him in the eye anymore, instead staring somewhere near the hollow of shoyo’s throat. “what are you talking about?”

“just answer me. you would, right?”

“well, i guess it depends what the definition of fucking up is—”

“i mean, you know i’d never want to hurt you. right?” kageyama finally looks up, and when he does, there’s something wild and desperate in his eyes. “you know that, right, shoyo? you know i—i care about you, right?”

“tobio, what’s going on?”

“just answer me. please.”

shoyo swallows tightly, hands rising to clutch at the bottom of kageyama’s shirt. he has no idea why kageyama is saying this—why he’s worried about ruining something between them, or fucking up badly enough that shoyo won’t forgive him. it’s not like kageyama to think about those things, to become paranoid about their relationship, to ask these questions. perhaps he has a guilty conscience about something, although shoyo can’t begin to guess what.

but in an instant, he decides it doesn’t matter. if kageyama is saying these things because he’s done something or just because he’s worried about hypotheticals, the answer is going to be the same. maybe he’s feeling anxious because of their impending separation; maybe he, like shoyo, is already feeling his homesickness return tenfold before they’ve even parted ways, and he’s trying to grasp at any semblance of a promise that when they reunite once more, everything will be okay.

maybe this is kageyama’s way of asking the question that neither of them has ever been courageous enough to voice—do you love me? do you love me, too? do you love me like i love you?

and anyway, if shoyo thinks about it, the answer is simple: “of course,” he says firmly, ducking so he can catch kageyama’s gaze, to make sure he knows. “of course i’d forgive you. of course i know you’d never want to hurt me and that you care about me. i’ve known for a long time, tobio. you don’t have to worry.”

kageyama visibly relaxes, sighing as though he hasn’t been able to in years. but he doesn’t let go of shoyo’s collar, and in all honesty, shoyo isn’t sure he wants him to. not when shoyo is worried now. nonetheless, kageyama says, “okay, good. i should probably go, then.”

“are you okay?” asks shoyo. “what is this about?”

“it’s nothing. i promise.” even then, kageyama’s reassuring grin doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “i’ve just been thinking about stuff recently. we’ve never had a really bad fight and i just—if we do, i want to know it’ll be okay in the end.”

the truth is, shoyo can’t really promise anything. what if kageyama does something that shoyo can’t forgive him for? yet—this is kageyama tobio, who cares more about his nails than most other humans and who, no matter how many stray cats hiss and howl at him, tries and tries again to make friends with every animal he comes across. kageyama tobio, who has hands that heal and hold, who loves with every bit of himself—with his heart and his smile and the backs of his knees.

kageyama tobio, who loves shoyo. whom shoyo loves in return.

so shoyo grins, and he nods, and he says, “it’ll be okay, tobio. you know me. i’ll be trying to catch you for the rest of my life.”

kageyama nods once, and then again, brows furrowing and then smoothing out as he seems to come to terms with something. shoyo watches his face until their eyes meet once more, and then kageyama says, “okay. i really have to go this time.”

“okay,” says shoyo, but neither of them lets go of the other. “have a safe flight, okay? text me when you get back to japan.”

“i will. i’ll see you soon, okay?”

“okay.”

“oh, and—shoyo?”

shoyo tilts his head. “what?”

kageyama hesitates, licks his lips, and then—he tugs shoyo toward him with the hands still on his collar, bending down and ducking his own head, and he kisses shoyo. it’s so sudden that shoyo almost doesn’t react, eyes going wide when he feels kageyama’s lips against his, a warm and steady pressure. but then his mind goes completely blank and his instincts take over and he presses back, surging forward of his own accord to return the earnest kiss.

he barely has time to think of it—what it might mean, what to do with his hands—before kageyama is pulling away. it could only have been a few seconds, but it feels like a lifetime before kageyama is letting go of him and stepping away, face burning a bright red when he grabs the duffel bag at his side and turns to escape through the security gate.

shoyo stands and stares after him, shellshocked for several beats before he comes back to his senses and, realizing kageyama is running away, calls out, “kageyama! kageyama-kun! hey, dumbass—”

“that’s my line!” kageyama calls over his shoulder, but he doesn’t stop, and he doesn’t turn around. shoyo watches him go, cheeks burning, lips warm with the phantom ghost of kageyama’s own, and he’s never wanted to follow kageyama more than he does now.

he stands there for a long time after kageyama has disappeared through security, trying to will his feet to move either way—home or toward kageyama, as though he can just buy a plane ticket and come back to japan with him. in the end, he doesn’t really have a choice, no matter how his heart yearns for the dark-haired boy with hands as gentle as rain, who will soon be halfway across the world again.

eventually, he does move, mind turning over the strange conversation they had. but in the end, he knows it’ll only be overshadowed by the kiss—the kiss he’ll think of again and again and again, the kiss he’ll hold onto until he comes home. he’s had seven days with kageyama, which isn’t nearly enough, but isn’t it better than nothing?

he waited two hundred and two days for this.

and now, again, as he steps out of the airport—alone this time, and somehow colder despite the scorching heat of the afternoon—shoyo takes a deep breath. he peers up at the cloudless sky of rio. and he thinks—

one.

☾

tobio gets better, just like he said he would.

you know you might die, right? yamaguchi had said when he was trying to convince tobio to tell hinata about the cancer—and it had been his pride, yes, and his stubbornness, and his refusal to ask for help from even his closest friends, but tobio’s resolute response had been simple: that won’t happen. i’m going to get better. at the time, he knew all too well there was a possibility of his condition getting much worse and even the chance of dying without telling hinata the truth, but kageyama refuses to let it end like this. he’s going to play volleyball for many more years. he’s going to play volleyball with hinata for many more years, and they haven’t even gotten to play against each other again like they promised, so there’s really no other option.

kageyama tobio simply refuses to die.

and so he doesn’t.

his treatment starts immediately after returning from brazil, and tobio finds himself in the hospital for weeks—months. it’s awful, but he does have a revolving door of friends and family members who visit him, and even though his doctors threaten to take away his visiting privileges if he so much as touches a volleyball, he spends a great team of time watching games, chatting with his teammates about the sport, and strategizing for his grand return to the court once he’s finally healthy again.

and slowly—slowly, tobio gets better. the initial treatment is aggressive and vicious, but after several months, he officially goes into remission. he’s hardly out of the woods yet, though, since maintenance treatment of leukemia can take up to two years to ensure that the cancer doesn’t come back. and he knows the statistics, too; about fifty percent of patients relapse. fifty percent of the time, the cancer comes back. but he trusts the treatments and his doctors, and although he knows he has to watch for signs of relapse, the day tobio hears that he’s free, he breathes a sigh of relief he’s been holding in for longer than he remembers.

it’s been a long journey since he first noticed the symptoms, but he’s made it. and tobio is sure he’s going to be fine.

they have another dinner when tobio announces the news of his remission—his friends and old teammates back together, this time when almost everyone can be there since it’s not at such short notice. and this one is a hell of a lot nicer, considering its celebratory nature. there are still a lot of tears, but happy ones, and drinks, but not to drown the sorrow. tobio sits at the head of the table and watches the ragtag army of people he’s come to call his friends, and he’s never felt so grateful for his life. it’s easy to forget about the simple things when he thinks he’s invincible, but a brush with death has awakened something more in him, something that tells him to cling ever more tightly to all of this.

of course—this would be better if there was a certain orange-haired ball of sunshine thrown into the mix, but tobio resigned himself to missing hinata until the time they can be properly reunited. and even if this is the biggest news of his life, he has to hold himself back, just as he’s asked the others to.

but conversation must turn, as it so often does in hinata’s absence, to the missing piece of this puzzle. it feels like they’ve had this conversation before, but then yamaguchi, sugawara, and daichi—along with a handful of others who are half-listening as they have their own conversations—are practically cornering him with innocent intentions at first, until daichi says, “so are you actually going to tell hinata now?”

tobio shifts uncomfortably. it’s been four months since his visit in october. four months of treatment and hospital visits and keeping his mouth shut every time he talks to hinata. and he is better, so it would make sense to tell hinata now—since his entire reason for not telling him in the first place was that he didn’t want hinata to come home early knowing that tobio was sick. and tobio isn’t sick anymore.

but he knows hinata.

“no,” says tobio quietly, ignoring their expressions as he does. “i can’t tell him until he comes home on his own.”

“are you serious?” asks yamaguchi. “he’s not supposed to come back for another year, kageyama-kun. you’re going to lie to him for that long? and for what?”

“even now, he’d still come home if i told him,” says tobio. “actually, there’s a better chance he’d come home now than if i had told him about this in october. you already know why i didn’t tell him in the first place, so all of that still stands.”

sugawara and daichi exchange a look, and tobio steels himself for the look of disappointment he’ll get from both of them. it was strategic, this conversation—both of his former karasuno captains, plus his former vice captain and the setter that taught him just about everything he needed to know in his first year in high school. out of everyone he played with at karasuno, the three of them are probably the ones he looks up to most—and fears the most, even now. he still gets chills thinking about the times daichi chewed him out five years ago.

now daichi just sighs and says, “i can’t say i agree with that line of thinking whatsoever.”

“look, i know it’s… like, super shitty,” says tobio quickly, “and he’s my best friend and if i was in his position, i’d be fucking enraged if he didn’t tell me he had cancer in the first place and then beat cancer. but he’s gonna be mad either way—if i tell him now or if i wait until he comes home. we’re going to fight either way. i’m going to have to grovel for his forgiveness either way.”

“that’s your silver lining?” sugawara mutters.

“i’m just saying, he’s going to be mad whether i tell him now or i wait until he comes home on his own,” says tobio. “but this way, at least he can still finish his time in brazil properly and get the full experience and learn everything he can on those beaches. i didn’t tell him in october because i refuse to ruin his dream, and if i tell him now and he comes home anyway, what was the point of not telling him then? i’d still be ruining his dream. if i tell him when he comes back next year, it’s going to be a shitshow anyway. but at least it’ll be better for him in the long run.”

for a time, none of them say anything. then sugawara sighs. “i can’t say i agree with you,” he says, “and i think it’s really irresponsible, honestly. hinata… he’s going to be so hurt, you know?”

“he’s going to be hurt either way. i already fucked up when i didn’t tell him in october.”

“how does that make this better? shouldn’t you be trying to make it up to him now already?”

“look, my decision is made—”

“we can’t stop you,” says daichi firmly. “we know that. it’s clear that your decision is made, so i don’t think there’s a point in arguing.” he sends sugawara a stern look, since that comment seems to be mostly directed at him. “and… we support you, kageyama. we want you to be happy and healthy. this has been really tough on you and we understand that. you’re an adult so you can make this decision. but i just hope that your faith in hinata’s ability to forgive you isn’t misguided.”

it’s this that sticks with tobio the most, through the rest of the dinner and after—in the days and weeks after as he continues his treatment to keep the cancer away, and as he keeps from telling hinata every time they speak: what if hinata doesn’t forgive him?

he did promise, back in the airport—but that was speaking purely hypothetically, and not telling his best friend about cancer is much different from breaking a valuable possession or telling a little white lie. tobio knows this. what if he doesn’t know hinata as well as he thinks he does? what if their feelings for each other aren’t enough to patch whatever breaks when the truth comes out?

but even as the doubts plague him, tobio remains resolute in his decision—because he knows that telling hinata now would ruin more than just their relationship, and he refuses to take brazil away from hinata. he refuses to be the reason he comes home now, only one year into his experience. like he told the others, hinata is going to be mad anyway. so he might as well be mad when he’s had every opportunity to grow as a volleyball player and as a human overall.

and besides—while hinata is thriving in brazil, kageyama is going to thrive here. he’s looking forward to finally getting back on his feet, to regaining his strength so that he can return to volleyball as soon as possible. his future looks bright once more without the shadow of leukemia hanging over his shoulder every day. the treatment from here on out won’t be easy and he’ll have to visit the hospital more than he would like to, but he’s moving on. he’s going to get better every day until he’s even better than he was before all of this, and then when hinata comes back in another year, tobio will kick his ass on the professional stage.

and it’s going to be good. it’s going to be great. no matter what the others say, tobio knows this is finally going to be the beginning of it all.

☾

suddenly, shoyo has been in brazil for almost two years, and it’s time to go home. well—almost. the thing about moving across the world for two years is that he’s accumulated a lot of shit and now has to find a way to go home whether with or without it, and despite often running headfirst into everything without thinking much about it, shoyo knows he at least has to prepare for this.

with just under a month left until his departure date, shoyo starts making preparations to go back to japan—to go home. he didn’t think it would feel so bittersweet as he starts packing and sending off the things that he won’t need for a while, things he can send on ahead of him, and as he starts cleaning up his room and giving away the things he won’t be able to take with him. he uncovers memories he forgot he had while here, or trinkets and belongings he’s accumulated over two years. it feels too much like he’s simply going to leave a piece of himself here.

when he first moved to brazil, two years felt like such a long time. it seemed impossible that his time here would ever end, especially in the beginning when everything was new and uncertain, and he struggled to learn the local language or get used to the culture. but now it seems all he did was blink and those two years are nearly over, and it’s time to go back to japan. with less than a month left, he fears it’ll go too quickly and he’ll regret not doing more—not going out more, not playing more volleyball, not making more friends or sightseeing more often. suddenly, there’s a bucket list of things he still hasn’t gotten the chance to do here in brazil, and one month doesn’t seem like enough time to complete it all before he leaves.

and—sure. it’s not like he can never come back to brazil again, but it’ll never be like this. it’ll never be now, with the whole world ahead of him and nothing holding him back. when he leaves here, he’ll be closing a chapter in in his life—but despite the impending sorrow of leaving brazil behind, shoyo can’t wait to go back to japan and finally begin his professional volleyball career now that he’s had all of this time and opportunity to better himself as a player on the beach. and he can finally make good on his promise to kageyama to kick his ass on the world stage.

speaking of which… shoyo puts down the large plastic bag he was busy filling with clothing he’ll donate rather than bring home, and instead pulls out his phone to check his messages. he and kageyama have kept in close contact in the past two years, but he notes with dismay that it’s been at least a week since kageyama last responded to him despite shoyo sending an array of messages and memes. it’s not unlike kageyama to disappear for a week or two when he’s at a training camp or needs time to himself, but he would at least mention something about it first.

not to mention shoyo isn’t even sure kageyama does have training camps to go to. he’s watched the volleyball scene in japan quite closely over the past two years, but after the olympics in rio, kageyama kind of disappeared from the news cycle. he was still part of a team, as far as shoyo knows, but he didn’t seem to be playing in any games or proudly displayed on any billboards like some other players. as time went on and shoyo saw little evidence of kageyama’s career blossoming the way he always anticipated, he couldn’t bring himself to say anything unless it was a sore spot.

kageyama must have his reasons, after all. and shoyo doesn’t like to pry, not when he knows kageyama would say something if it was a real problem. then again, shoyo has been preoccupied with his own life here in brazil, and he’s seen plenty of proof that kageyama is training, so… maybe he’s just waiting until shoyo comes back home. which sounds stupid even in his own mind, but shoyo won’t give himself over to any sort of panic or paranoia.

he trusts kageyama, see. and besides, shoyo will return home in less than a month and then he can rib kageyama about it all he wants. it’s this, of course, that makes shoyo most excited for returning—he’s going to miss brazil and everything he’s done here, but brazil doesn’t have kageyama. he hasn’t been able to see him in person since he visited that time in october, and it’s been too long. shoyo has almost forgotten to count the days because the number is too high and it hurts too much, but soon, soon, soon—

shoyo’s phone rings.

it startles him as he’s holding it in his hand, and for a fleeting moment, he thinks perhaps he summoned kageyama by thinking about him—but the name and contact photo on the screen don’t belong to kageyama. rather, he’s staring down at sugawara’s smiling face. briefly, he checks the time—it’s seven in the evening here, which means it’s seven in the morning in japan, and he furrows his brows when he tries to reason why sugawara would be calling him at such a time.

but he loves hearing from any of his senpais, especially those from his first year at karasuno, so he thinks nothing of it as he picks up.

“sugawara-senpai!” he greets happily, hopping onto his bed as he prepares for what he assumes will be a lovely chat to catch up and ask when shoyo is coming back home.

it’s the silence that alerts him first. see, whenever sugawara called before, it was all chipper words and praises, and reassurances, and reminders of how wonderful it is that shoyo is in brazil at all. this time—there’s nothing. not at first. shoyo’s grin freezes on his face as he hears an exhale on the other end, shaky with static, and shoyo asks, “senpai?”

“hey, hinata,” says sugawara, and it sounds tired. it sounds like this isn’t a conversation he really wants to be having.

“are you okay?” shoyo asks, alarmed at the tone of voice.

“i’m fine, don’t worry. but, um—do you have time to talk right now?”

“yeah, i’m just at home. what’s going on?” there’s a growing dread in the pit of shoyo’s stomach, some terrible foreboding about what sugawara is about to tell him. he’s had serious conversations with his former teammates before, and he knows simply from who is talking how devastating it’s going to be. and it’s sugawara. shoyo feels like something within him is about to be shattered so completely that he won’t even find the fucking pieces.

sugawara takes a deep breath, and then hesitates, as though he’s not sure what to say. and then he says, “hinata, i don’t know how to do this, so i’m just going to tell you. um… kageyama has cancer.”

there’s a very long minute in which shoyo says nothing, instead staring at the photo frame on his desk in which he chose to place one of his most precious photos—it’s one of that first team he was on at karasuno, all of them squished together at their last practice with wide smiles and warm hearts. it’s just a photo, really, but what makes it so special to shoyo is the fact that he and kageyama are side by side in it, and shoyo is making a peace sign at the camera, eyes creased in crescent moons from the force of his smile—and kageyama is looking at him, one edge of his mouth curled up into a crooked grin, expression soft and fond. it just seems to encapsulate so much of their relationship and personalities, and he has loved it for the five years since it was taken.

now, he thinks perhaps he should have been looking back at kageyama this whole time.

finally, once shoyo’s brain catches up with his ears—although he has yet to really process what he’s been told—he whispers, “i’m sorry?”

“he has leukemia, actually,” says sugawara. “he’s been getting tests done for the past few weeks and he just got diagnosed a few nights ago, so he’s been in the hospital. they’re going to start treatment as soon as possible, but he’s not really in a position to tell you, so we—i knew i had to. i’m sorry it’s not coming from him.”

“i’m—what?” shoyo asks, because it simply doesn’t make sense. kageyama—cancer? “sorry, this is just a really terrible prank, right?”

“hinata, i’d never joke about something like this, i’m really sorry.”

“what? he can’t… that doesn’t make sense. kageyama can’t have—” he can’t even bring himself to say the word, because that feels like making it real. that feels like he’s accepting it.

then sugawara sucks in a breath, and he says, “actually, there’s something else. i’m really, really sorry to do this to you.” shoyo swallows tightly, hand clenching in the blankets under him. “hinata, it’s… not the first time he’s had leukemia. he actually relapsed.”

oh, he thinks. there it is. the catastrophic shattering of everything within hinata shoyo, as simple as that, with so few fucking words. it’s not the first time.

“what… what are you talking about?” he breathes. “kageyama’s never had—had c-cancer before. i would know.”

“fuck,” says sugawara, sounding so pained that it scares shoyo. “i didn’t want to—god, fuck. shit. this is why i told him—”

“suga-senpai, please,” whispers shoyo.

“i’m sorry. i’m so sorry, oh my god.” sugawara hesitates, and then lets out another breath. “it’s not really my story to tell, so i can’t tell you everything, but—hinata do you remember when kageyama went to visit you about a year and a half ago? in october, when he stayed with you for a week?”

shoyo has a terrible, awful feeling about all of this.

“he actually went to visit you because… he was going to tell you. he’d gotten diagnosed with leukemia just before that and he felt it was only right to tell you in person before he started treatment. so he went to visit you in brazil, and…”

shoyo swallows again. “he didn’t tell me.”

“no,” says sugawara. “he didn’t. i’m not the one who talked to him about it at first, so i can’t tell you everything, but from what i understand… he knew you would come back to japan if you knew that he was sick, and he was afraid of ruining your dream in brazil. he didn’t want to take that away from you or stop you from gaining the experience of playing beach volleyball, so he decided to just… not tell you. he thought he could get better without you knowing and then he’d tell you when you came back home.”

suddenly, shoyo remembers those puzzling words kageyama said to him at the airport when he visited, which at the time had seemed completely out of the blue and unrelated to anything pertaining to their relationship: you’d forgive me if i ever fucked up, right?

hindsight is cruel. shoyo lets himself fall back onto his pillows, holding a hand over his eyes as he tries desperately to comprehend any of this. kageyama—has cancer. kageyama had cancer when he visited in october, and he chose not to say anything because—because what? he wanted to protect shoyo? he didn’t think it was right to impede on shoyo’s life like that, as if they aren’t best friends, as if shoyo hasn’t been in love with kageyama since he was fifteen years old, as if leaving brazil behind to be with kageyama as he went through undoubtedly the hardest months of his life was going to leave him resentful—

“are you fucking kidding me?” shoyo whispers, and he’s not—angry, oddly enough. he’ll have time for that later. right now, he’s just upset. he’s just hurt. “are you fucking kidding me?”

“i’m sorry, hinata,” says sugawara again, even though he’s not the one who should be apologizing. “we tried to talk to him. we tried to convince him to tell you, but he wouldn’t listen to us, and… honestly, it wasn’t our right to tell you. he made us promise we wouldn’t.”

“you should have said something anyway. what kind of best friend is he not to tell me he has fucking—cancer?”

“you’ll have to ask him about it. i can’t speak for him, but i think he just saw how happy you were in brazil and didn’t want to ruin that for you.”

“by lying to me? keeping me in the dark about something as devastating as that? and he wasn’t going to tell me until i came back on my own?”

“he said you’d be mad anyway, so it was better if you were mad after you’d gotten to be in brazil for two years.”

shoyo groans. “what kind of thinking is that? how stupid can he be?”

“he did get better, though,” muses sugawara. “we wanted him to tell you for obvious reasons, but he was convinced he would get better and it would be fine and it would easy for you to forgive him because he was healthy again. and he did get better. it’s been about a year since he went into remission, but…” he sighs again. “it came back, hinata.”

it’s unthinkable—that kageyama could have cancer the first time. it’s unthinkable for shoyo not to have known the first time, and now kageyama has relapsed.

“i hate being the one to tell you all of this,” says sugawara, not for the first time. “but you deserve to know the truth. when he got admitted to the hospital the other day and told us about it, he didn’t want to tell you again. even if you’re coming home soon, i think this time he realized he had fucked up by not telling you in the first place and he didn’t know how to admit it.”

for some reason, that makes shoyo laugh. it starts out as a choked giggle, and then the laughter is bubbling up his throat at an uncontrollable speed, spilling over into the silence of his room, and he laughs for how ridiculous this whole situation is, and he laughs for how unbelievable it is, and he laughs for how badly he wants to break something. he laughs so loudly that it makes his throat ache and then, between one ragged breath and the next, something breaks—and the laughter becomes a choked sob, and shoyo squeezes his eyes shut as the tears come.

“oh my god,” he says, half-crying and half-laughing. “oh my god, i hate him. i hate him. what a fucking idiot.” sugawara doesn’t say anything, just letting him laugh and cry until the giggles die down and there are just warm tears leaking from his eyes, even if shoyo feels almost numb to it all. then, suddenly, he says, “how could i not have noticed? how could he have hidden it from so well? i should have—i should have noticed. he was so tired and weak when he was here, and he had these bruises… and then when he went back home, i never heard anything about volleyball from him.” only now is he realizing that it makes sense, of course. he was showing symptoms of leukemia when he was here, and he couldn’t have been playing volleyball during treatment. at the time, shoyo hadn’t wanted to pry in fear of hurting kageyama’s pride. but now he sees the obvious answer staring him in the face, and he just didn’t ask for a year and a half.

but sugawara is quick to say, “no, hinata, this isn’t your fault. please don’t blame yourself. you had to your own life and he should have told you—”

“but i should have noticed,” says shoyo firmly. “i should have.”

“hinata—”

“why didn’t he tell me, senpai?” he drops his hand from his eyes, staring up at the ceiling blurred from his tears. “why didn’t he want to tell me? i’m his—i thought i was his best friend. and he didn’t tell me he had cancer.”

sugawara sighs, static through the phone. “i don’t know,” he admits. “he was trying to protect you.”

“i’m not a child.”

“you’ll have to talk to him about it. i just knew you needed to know this time. he’s not dying right now, but… well. the treatment didn’t get rid of all of the leukemia cells in the first place, so i think we’re all on edge this time around.”

somehow, shoyo hadn’t considered it—that kageyama might die. he’d been too wrapped up in the feeling of betrayal over not having been told about the cancer the first time, and now he realizes: of course. of course. this is leukemia. and kageyama has relapsed.

how many people beat the same cancer twice?

shoyo sits up, tears suddenly ceasing. “i’m coming home,” he says decisively. “this weekend. i’ll find a way to send the rest of my shit after, but i’m coming back.”

it’s ironic, maybe—that’s exactly why kageyama didn’t tell shoyo about the cancer in the first place, apparently, but he’s coming back anyway. kageyama was right, after all. shoyo would have come back to japan if he’d known the first time. but whether or not that would have been detrimental to his life or volleyball career is something he has yet to dwell on, and something that he’ll likely have to yell at kageyama about when they finally see each other. all that shoyo knows is this: kageyama’s wellbeing is more important than shoyo’s ability to play beach volleyball.

kageyama’s life is more important than spending two years in brazil. and kageyama is a fucking idiot if he thinks otherwise.

☾

shoyo hasn’t seen him in four hundred and sixty-one days. it’s the longest they’ve been apart since they met on that fateful day in karasuno high school’s gymnasium six years ago, and shoyo would say he hasn’t been counting each and every day with a growing homesickness reserved for sharp eyes and gentle hands, but he’s never been great at lying, so…

it’s been four hundred and sixty-one days. and now shoyo stands in a godforsaken hospital room, white walls and white sheets, and he’s out of breath from running up the stairs because he refused to wait for the elevator, and he hasn’t showered in so fucking long because he came here from the goddamn airport after nearly twenty-four hours of flight time alone, and kageyama tobio is staring at him from a hospital bed with both relief and fear in those achingly familiar eyes.

shoyo stares right back. see, three days ago, he was happily preparing for his return to japan in a month, blissfully unaware of the horror awaiting him in his home country. see, he couldn’t sleep on the plane nor during his layover, and he knows he looks a mess, but it’s nothing compared to the sight before him—of a kageyama tobio that has lost just enough weight to make him look wrong, pale and gangly in ways he never was in high school, with a hospital gown and iv tubes, and enough flowers on his bedside table to let shoyo know he’s been here a while.

it’s been four hundred and sixty-one days. shoyo hasn’t seen him in four hundred and sixty-one days. and now that they can be reunited once more, the first thing out of shoyo’s mouth is: “fuck you.”

kageyama visibly flinches, and he says, “hinata—”

“how could you do that to me?” shoyo whispers, and he didn’t realize he was trembling until now, hand clenched tightly on the strap of the backpack still slung over his shoulder. “how could you not tell me?”

“i wanted to—”

“protect me, yeah. i’ve heard. i think you have some pretty fucked up ideas of what protecting someone looks like, kageyama.”

kageyama looks more ashamed than shoyo has ever seen him. but he got caught in his lie—a lie that he was apparently intending to see through to the very end. he was right about one thing: they would be having this conversation one way or another, and shoyo would have been pissed off one way or another, and it would have taken time to mend one way or another. but now there’s the unforeseen wrench thrown into his plans—the relapse. and how can shoyo really be angry when kageyama is sick again?

“you should have told me,” says shoyo, voice low. “you should have told me, kageyama. what if you had died?”

“but i didn’t,” says kageyama. “and i’m not going to this time, either. so it’s gonna be okay, right?”

“it’s the principle of the thing, you asshole! you have cancer and you didn’t tell me—twice! you didn’t tell me the first time and you didn’t want to tell me this time. what am i to you, even? what kind of person do you take me for?”

“hinata—”

“sugawara-senpai told me some of it,” says shoyo, swallowing tightly. “but you better look me in the eye and telling me the fucking truth right now, kageyama tobio. were you ever going to tell me? or does the past six years of our relationship mean absolutely nothing to you?”

he thinks perhaps that kageyama will yell at him—will yell back. he’ll get angry as he defends himself, will shout and break down the walls of this hospital with the force of it all. in truth, shoyo thinks that’s what he wants. he wants to fight with kageyama, because they were never great at just talking things out, and fighting will be easier. fighting will make him feel better. fighting will mean that at least something is the same between them, even after his entire view of their relationship has been skewed by the knowledge that kageyama kept something so important from him.

but kageyama doesn’t yell. in truth, he looks too tired for it—too tired of the tests, and of the impending treatments, and of the symptoms that must have been plaguing him for a while for him to be right back here again.

instead, he just looks down at his hands where they’re clasped in his lap, and then he looks up at shoyo with wet eyes, and he says, “i wanted to tell you even before i knew what was wrong with me. i kept getting sick and not getting better, and feeling tired all the time, and feeling weak. and i was scared, because i didn’t know what was happening to me. and i—” he almost laughs, shaking his head. “i wanted you here with me, shoyo. but i was too prideful to say anything even then, no matter how badly i didn’t want to be alone in it. i didn’t want you to worry about me if it ended up being nothing.”

shoyo lets out a long breath, brows furrowing. “but it wasn’t nothing, tobio. why did you think you couldn’t tell me?”

“i was going to, i swear,” says kageyama. “you were the only one i thought of when the doctor told me, but i didn’t think it was fair to tell you over the phone, and i… i wanted to see you. i needed to see you, just to know that some things weren’t going to change. and then i actually got to brazil and it was like…” he does laugh this time, incredulously. “i didn’t think you going to love it like that. i didn’t think brazil would be so good for you. and i saw the way you looked at everything, and how you talked about it, and how you said—it was like living your dream. you kept saying it was going to change your life and make you an amazing volleyball player, and i knew, shoyo—i knew you’d come home if i told you i was sick. and i couldn’t do that to you.”

shoyo clenches his teeth. it’s not the first time he’s heard this, but hearing it from kageyama is infinitely worse than hearing it from sugawara—especially face to face, when he can see how earnest kageyama’s expression is. he truly believes he was making the best decision for shoyo, that he was doing the right thing.

and that’s the problem.

“of course i would have come home, you fucking idiot,” snaps shoyo. “you’re my best friend, tobio. how could i stay in brazil when you’re fighting for your life here in japan?”

“then how could i tell you?”

“how could you make that decision for me? yes, brazil was amazing, and it was the best thing for me at the time, and i learned so much there, but—how could you possibly think it would be better for me to be there when the person i love most in this world is dying from cancer?” shoyo feels tears welling in his eyes and he wipes them away, not wanting to cry just yet. not when he’s still so fucking angry. “tobio, i have the rest of my life to go to brazil and learn beach volleyball. i have the rest of my life to practice and become better and experience new things. but i might not have the rest of my life to be with you. you are so much more important than brazil. you must know that, right?”

it’s odd, really. the more shoyo thought about it in the past few days, the more he realized maybe kageyama doesn’t know. he’s always thought so highly of himself, at least in terms of volleyball, but—what if he really thinks that shoyo ought to prioritize his volleyball skills over his own best friend? what if kageyama doesn’t think he’s worthy of shoyo putting his life on hold for?

“you needed me,” says shoyo. “you needed me and you decided to shut me out instead, because you thought that when you had cancer was the best time to be selfless for once in your life. and even if coming back here to be with you would have ruined something for me—that would have been my decision to make. do you think i would have resented you for it? for getting sick when you had no control over it?”

kageyama’s face pinches. “i don’t know.”

“listen to me, kageyama tobio,” snaps shoyo, finally stalking forward until he’s at the edge of kageyama’s bed and he can point his finger in kageyama’s face. “you are so much more important to me than anything else in this world. i would have chosen you knowing fucking well the consequences, and none of them would have mattered in the face of being here for you when you needed me most. nothing would have mattered more. i would have chosen you.” he wipes at his eyes again, hating how he’s unable to hold it together even now. “i would have fucking chosen you, tobio.”

kageyama stares up at him, and then his lips curve into a small, tired grin. “but you shouldn’t have had to,” he says. “your future is important too, shoyo. i thought i could get better on my own and you wouldn’t have to know, and we could have had this argument when you came back. i was prepared for your anger. i was prepared for your unforgiveness. it would have been fine.”

“what’s this, then?” shoyo asks, gesturing to the hospital room. “huh? what’s this, then? this is you getting better and being fine so i don’t have to know?”

finally, he sees tears in kageyama’s eyes. and of course it’s not kageyama’s fault. of course there’s nothing he could have done to keep the cancer at bay, not when he was already getting treated and staying healthy on his own terms and coping with it all, and shoyo didn’t mean it like that, but it doesn’t matter—because kageyama just takes a deep breath, and he looks away, forehead creasing in a tell of how emotional he is.

“it wasn’t supposed to be like this,” he whispers, hands clenching in his blankets. “i wasn’t supposed to get sick again.”

shoyo sniffs, wiping at his cheeks, now wet with fallen tears. “yeah, well,” he mutters. “no shit.”

there’s a long bout of hesitation, and then kageyama glances up at him again. “i’m not sorry that i didn’t tell you,” he admits. “i still stand by it. but—i’m sorry that i hurt you, shoyo. and i’m sorry that you had to come back early anyway.”

there’s not much they can do about it—any of it, really. they can’t go back in time and change what happened, and shoyo can’t be there for kageyama during his first battle with cancer. it’s over and done with, even if the hurt remains. all they can do is make something of this battle, and even if shoyo is still upset and angry and knows he will be for a long time, now that he’s gotten to yell and chew kageyama out over it, the anger has subsided. in its wake, all that’s left is sorrow, and dread, and, even still—relief.

shoyo sighs again, finally letting his backpack slip off of his shoulder. it hits the ground with a dull thud as he leans down and prods at kageyama’s side. “come on, shove over,” he says, and kageyama gives him a confused little, what?

“i’m getting in.”

kageyama’s expression shifts through a myriad of emotions before he settles on confused, but he shuffles over anyway as shoyo slides onto the bed beside him. “i thought you were angry at me,” says kageyama.

“of course i’m angry at you,” says shoyo, “but i’m also really fucking glad that you’re still alive.” he does his best not to jostle kageyama too much, rearranging himself so that he’s half curled around kageyama with his leg thrown over kageyama’s thigh and his cheek squished into kageyama’s shoulder. “i’m really glad you got better last time, and i’m really glad that you’re okay right now. and i know—” he sniffs, frowning. “i know you have to get treatment again, but i’m here now. and i can take care of you this time.”

the truth is, shoyo is angry. and he will be for a while. he’ll be upset about what happened and feel betrayed and hurt. that’s not going to go away in an instant. but he had a very long flight to mull over it and consider it, and the truth is—he can be two things at once. he can be upset that kageyama lied to him and still relieved that it didn’t end up worse. he can be hurt by kageyama’s actions and still want to be with him and take care of him and see him get better. he can be angry and love kageyama at the same time, so that’s just what he intends to do.

kageyama swallows, letting his head tip back against the pillow. he’s silent for a time, and then he says, “i was really fucking scared last time. and i’m really scared this time, too.”

shoyo sighs, rubbing his cheek against kageyama’s shoulder. “i can’t imagine. how did you stop yourself from saying anything that whole time?”

“you were always telling me about brazil, and sending me pictures and things. when i saw that, i just reminded myself that you’d have to let it go if i said anything, and it worked surprisingly well.”

“i appreciate your intentions, really,” says shoyo, “but they were incredibly misguided.” then his brows furrow, remembering another part of this that has been weighing on him heavily. “i don’t know how i didn’t notice, though. i always notice everything about you.”

“don’t beat yourself up over it,” says kageyama. “i made a point of hiding it. and—to be fair, when i visited you, my symptoms weren’t that bad. it was easy to pass everything off as jetlag or whatever. and it’s not like that i mentioned anything after.”

“yeah, but you weren’t even playing volleyball,” says shoyo. “why didn’t i think that was weird? it’s—it’s you.”

“shoyo, stop.”

“but i should have said something.”

“and i would have brushed you off every time. it wouldn’t have made a difference. it was my decision to keep it hidden from you, so don’t hate yourself for it.” kageyama hesitates and then adds, “not that it matters, anyway. i’m right back where i was like the past year and a half never fucking happened.”

shoyo sighs again, lifting his head and leaning up on his elbow so he can look at kageyama properly. the anger has subsided now, leaving something aching in its wake, and—it’s a lot. he hasn’t seen kageyama in a year and a half, which would make him miss kageyama under any circumstance, but now that yearning is compounded by the knowledge that kageyama is sick. he’s overwhelmed with it now, and he can’t help himself; shoyo reaches out, running his fingers through the long hair resting against kageyama’s forehead.

he’s not interested in pretending or hiding anymore. he’s known of his own feelings for years and has been at least half-certain of kageyama’s, too—not to mention kageyama kissed him the last time they saw each other. but now there’s no time to wait, not when they face such a vast unknown.

“i’m really, really glad you’re still here,” he says quietly. “please don’t ever lie to me like that again. i want to—i want to be here, okay? i want to worry about you. i want to help you.” he thinks perhaps that’s part of the reason kageyama didn’t say anything; he’s always been prideful and stubborn, and has a hard time accepting help or advice in even the most mundane of things. of course he wouldn’t want to be seen as weak even if he had cancer. of course he wouldn’t want shoyo to fret over him, or worry, or go out of his way to make kageyama feel better.

but that’s what shoyo wants. and kageyama is just going to have to accept it this time. so he swallows again, smoothing his thumb over kageyama’s eyebrow, then his cheekbone, then the corner of his mouth. “will you please let me help you?”

kageyama’s forehead pinches, something painful passing over his face. shoyo knows he doesn’t want to, but it’s too late to resist now; shoyo knows he’s sick. he’s already left brazil and has no intention of going back, not when kageyama is here. there’s no point in refusing. but he knows that, even now, he can’t force anything on kageyama, especially when he’s sick—and sick for the second time in two years.

it takes a second, but then kageyama finally whispers, “okay.”

shoyo almost grins. “thank you,” he says, “because i’m not going anywhere, not until you’re better again and i can kick your ass in professional volleyball like i promised.” he thinks perhaps the words will bring a grin to kageyama’s face, but even that isn’t able to do it—not right now, at least. but they will make good on the promise. he knows cancer is serious, and he knows there’s a chance of—of kageyama—

but he refuses to think of it. not now. not when he knows kageyama is thinking of it, and one of them has to be the strong one. shoyo knew before he opened the hospital door that it would be him. last time, kageyama had to be the strong one because shoyo didn’t even know, and kageyama didn’t have him. kageyama was alone. and he’s already been through this hell once. he already looks more tired than shoyo could imagine.

so shoyo will carry this with him. he’ll be here through it all. he’ll make up for the fact that he wasn’t here last time. and when kageyama is finally healthy again, it’ll all be worth it.

shoyo stays for as long as he’s allowed, although they don’t talk about it again—the lie or the cancer, the first time or this time. they don’t talk about the past year and a half or kageyama’s symptoms or what comes next in terms of treatment and prospects for the future. shoyo purposely doesn’t ask him, because kageyama has been suffering alone for long enough, and shoyo isn’t here to make it worse. he’s here to take care of kageyama the best way he knows how, and right now, that’s by talking about everything else.

so they talk about volleyball, and they talk about what their senpais have been up to, and they talk about the latest manga series that shoyo has gotten into. they talk about brazil and the terrible plane food shoyo had on the way over and the fact that hospital sheets are fucking awful. they bicker here and there, just like they used to, and it’s not the same—not in a hospital, not with the iv tubes, not with the nurses popping in, but it’s still them. it’s still them, and they haven’t seen each other in four hundred and sixty-one days.

but when shoyo finally gets kicked out of the room—and he concedes that he does have to head to yamaguchi’s place, where he’ll be staying until he can get a place of his own close to the hospital, to shower and pick up his luggage and sort things out—he can’t help glancing back at kageyama one last time and feel like he only misses him more now that they’re no longer apart.

in the taxi, shoyo puts his finger on it almost immediately; he misses the kageyama that he left behind two years ago when he moved to brazil. he misses the kageyama that no longer exists, taken from him twice over by cancer. he misses what they’ll never have again, or at least won’t have for a very long time.

but no matter—a hospital-bound, cancer-stricken kageyama tobio is still kageyama tobio. and maybe it’s not what shoyo imagined when he thought of coming home for the past two years, but there’s nothing he can do to change it. he made a promise. he made a promise now, and he made a promise six years ago when he chose kageyama as a partner in more than just volleyball. and hinata shoyo is nothing if not someone who sees everything through to the very end.

☾

it doesn’t take long for shoyo to realize why kageyama tried so hard to protect him from all of this. watching kageyama go through chemotherapy is absolutely fucking horrible—but he knows it’s not nearly as horrible as being the person actually going through the treatment, so shoyo shows up at the hospital every day with a smile plastered across his face and an array of new ways to help kageyama stay upbeat. see, they don’t actually know if the treatment will work this time, or if they’ll have to do something new to beat back the cancer, but shoyo is infinitely optimistic. and anyway, they won’t know for weeks, at least, so he’s just going to do his best to make this less painful for both of them.

they chat a lot, catching up about the past two years—and kageyama tells the truth this time, which is painful when he tells shoyo about his symptoms and his first battle with cancer, and what it was like to go through treatment and try to rebuild his life after he was able to the first time. shoyo tells kageyama endless stories about brazil and what it was like to play beach volleyball there. he brings in all of kageyama’s favourite snacks and they make a mess of the hospital bedsheets with them, crumbs everywhere, so that kageyama’s nurses have to make a new rule about that sort of thing even if they know shoyo will still bring in the snacks because it makes kageyama happy to eat them.

they watch a lot of movies together, too—many of them ones from brazil that shoyo fell in love with in the past two years. shoyo even tries teaching kageyama some portuguese, but it seems kageyama’s propensity for the portuguese language is about as good as his propensity for english, so they don’t get very far.

shoyo is there when others come to visit—and there always seems to be someone else stopping by, even for only a few minutes: their old teammates from karasuno, and kageyama’s family, and his teammates from the schweiden adlers, even though kageyama hasn’t really been a part of their team for a while because of the cancer. seeing ushijima wakatoshi walk into kageyama’s hospital room is a surreal experience, to say the least—even moreso than when a handful of kageyama’s teammates from the national team during the olympics stop by, although that time, shoyo has to stop himself from asking for autographs.

and of course, there’s always volleyball. they watch game after game, and discuss strategies and plays, and shoyo teaches kageyama everything he can think of about beach volleyball. he teaches him everything he learned in the past two years, even though kageyama tells him that it’s going to come back and bite him in the ass when they can finally play each other again, because he’ll have revealed all of his secrets. but shoyo likes the way kageyama’s face lights up when they talk about volleyball, and this way, they’ll never run out of something new to discuss.

he even sneaks a volleyball into the hospital and they pass it back and forth for all of ten minutes before one of kageyama’s nurses catches them and scolds shoyo hard enough that he actually refrains from bringing the volleyball back… for a week, anyway, and then they just have to be more discreet about it. again—it’s all because it makes kageyama happy, and that’s what shoyo is here for.

he can’t make the treatment hurt less, after all, or make kageyama less sick. he can’t stop kageyama from throwing up the way he does when he goes through chemotherapy, and can’t make him less tired from all of it. he can’t lighten the physical load. but he can be here. he can be the emotional support that kageyama so desperately needs—and so desperately needed the first time around but barred himself from having. he can be the optimistic one, constantly asking questions about what kageyama will do once this is over, commenting on their plans for the future, reminding kageyama of their promise when it seems he’s becoming too downtrodden about the cancer.

the truth is that shoyo is fucking terrified, too. he goes home every night and just stands in the dark entryway to his apartment and stares at nothing for half an hour, at least, and lets everything crash over him that he has been keeping at bay while at kageyama’s side. sometimes he cries—because seeing kageyama in the hospital is one of the worst experiences of his life, knowing that he can’t actually do anything about it. sometimes he breaks down when kageyama has an especially bad day, when the chemotherapy is too much, when he’s closed himself off to any of shoyo’s attempts to make him feel better, when he’s reminded yet again that there’s such a long journey before they can make good any promises.

but this isn’t shoyo’s battle. it’s kageyama’s. so shoyo can’t show his pain to kageyama for fear of how it might affect him. and anyway—the reason kageyama didn’t tell shoyo about the cancer the first time was because he didn’t want it to affect shoyo. so if shoyo lets kageyama know that it does hurt, that it does make the days hard, then he’ll just be giving kageyama an excuse to say he was right all along.

in the end, though, it’s worth it. even if it’s hard and even if it hurts. because he loves kageyama. he wants to be here. he’s going to see kageyama through this damn cancer and then they’re finally going to do everything they promised back in high school.

it’s going to be fine. every time shoyo wakes up in the morning, he tells himself that it’s going to be fine. every time he walks into kageyama’s hospital room, he tells the both of them that it’s going to be fine. he has no choice but to believe that, because there’s so much more they’re meant to do together. there’s so much more he has to tell kageyama, and experience with him.

it’s going to be fine.

it’s going to be fine.

shoyo knows it.

☾

“kageyama-san, there’s… there’s no easy way to say this.” tobio’s doctor stands before his bed, a clipboard tucked under her arm, and there’s a look on her face that tells him everything he needs to know before she even continues. tobio waits nonetheless, praying to anyone who will listen that she’s not about to say what he’s feared for weeks now—“your leukemia isn’t responding to the chemotherapy this time. this isn’t entirely uncommon, particularly in a relapse, so it’s nothing to be devastated about. we’re going to try several different treatments from here on out until we find one that works.”

she goes on to outline what those treatments entail, but tobio isn’t listening anymore. he’s staring at her moving mouth, but the only thing he can hear is those ten words repeated over and over, echoing inside of his head like a bad song on repeat: your leukemia isn’t responding to the chemotherapy this time. your leukemia isn’t responding to the chemotherapy this time.

it’s not working this time.

the fucking cancer isn’t going away this time.

the first time, he couldn’t imagine anything being worse than chemotherapy. they ran his body ragged to rid it of the leukemia cells, forcing him through a sickness that at times seemed worse than the cancer symptoms that had been plaguing him for months. he lost his hair, lost weight, lost his strength. for weeks at a time, he lost sight of why he was doing this in the first place because he was suffering so terribly.

but tobio made it through the treatment, and he went into remission. the maintenance treatment afterwards to keep the leukemia away wasn’t nearly as horrible as chemotherapy, and since he didn’t have to stay in the hospital, his mental health improved. he was weak at first, but his determination to return to volleyball and his normal life as soon as possible helped drive his recovery, and over time, he regained his strength and vitality. he was fine on the other side. he was better. he looked forward to normal life again, looked forward to being able to play with the adlers and on the national team come the next summer olympics. he looked forward to hinata coming home, even if he would have to tell the truth then—because hinata coming home meant playing against him, and being with him, and making good on their promises.

for almost a year, tobio was better. for almost a year, he was optimistic and hopeful and certain of his future.

and then the symptoms returned.

at first, he turned a blind eye to them, making excuses because it was unthinkable, horrifying, devastating. tobio didn’t want to mention any of it to his doctors, because that made it all real, and he knew they’d immediately get him tested. in the end, they noticed anyway. and in the end, kageyama found himself right back here again, drugs pumping through his body that could kill the cancer but kill every other part of himself, too.

almost immediately, tobio learned there is, in fact, something worse than chemotherapy. it’s chemotherapy the second fucking time over.

tobio has had a lot of time to mull it over, to put his thoughts and feelings into words. but all that he’s really able to say about any of it is that he’s—he’s so fucking angry. he’s tired, yes, and not just from the leukemia. he’s tired of this hospital. he’s tired of throwing up and losing his hair and sleeping all the time. he’s tired of fighting this illness with a treatment that always seems to do more harm than good. he’s weak and sad and filled with dread every day that he wakes up. he’s well aware of the statistics and the possibility of his own death, which brings about every goddamn stage of grief at once whenever he dwells on it.

but underneath it all, tobio is just… angry. he’s so fucking angry all the time.

because he already went through this once. he already put his life on hold once, already passed up so many opportunities, already stepped back from volleyball. he already spent months of his life in this hospital and went through chemotherapy treatment. he already went through telling his family and friends about this, went through their visits filled with pity and sorrow of their own. he already watched the world move on around him, without him, and resigned himself to seeing everyone else grow and reach greater heights while he’s stuck here with a body that has betrayed him. he already went into remission and was let out of the hospital and given the green light to return to a normal life. he already started over again.

and now here he is again. here he is, going through it for the second time—and it’s just worse this time. the treatment is harder on him. the pity he receives is deeper, more tragic. his teammates and opponents are only better than they were last time, and succeeding exponentially this time around. the world is two years ahead of him now, and slipping away at a faster and faster pace.

and tobio still has cancer. tobio is still trying to beat cancer.

and it’s not fucking fair. he’s so angry about it, about this body that won’t stop trying to kill him, about this life that has turned out to be so different from the one he hoped and planned for. he’s so angry that sometimes he doesn’t know what to do with it all, doesn’t know where to put it. it’s only the cancer symptoms and effects of the treatment that keep him confined to this bed most of the time, unable to exact his anger how he sees fit. and that only makes him angrier, anyway.

and then there’s—hinata.

hinata, who found out the truth and was rightfully upset about it. but hinata, who came home anyway, and chose to stay, and has been at tobio’s side every day. they haven’t talked about the lie since that first day, and tobio isn’t sure if hinata has forgiven him for it yet, but it doesn’t matter, because hinata is still here. he still does his best every day to make tobio laugh or smile or just feel at least halfway fine about all of this. tobio can tell he’s upset, too, but hinata never lets it show, and that almost makes tobio angrier.

but that’s what’s different this time—tobio isn’t alone. he has hinata. and most days, he thinks hinata is the only thing keeping him afloat.

he’s done his best to stay optimistic, too, despite the anger and fatigue and pain. they do have promises to keep, after all, and there are volleyball games to be played, and olympics to win, and lovely things to say, and days to face together. having hinata here reminds him of it and keeps his heart from turning to despair day in and day out. hinata helps. having hinata helps.

but… the treatment isn’t working. and there’s no going back from the consequences of that.

hinata doesn’t arrive until hours later, when tobio has had time to confront the gravity of the situation and realize that perhaps some promises aren’t meant to be kept, in the end. he knows he could have texted hinata and he would have come immediately, but he was busy with errands today, and if tobio is honest, he kind of wanted the time alone.

but hinata does arrive, as enthusiastic as always, and—he takes one look at tobio’s face and freezes. there’s a bag of snacks in one hand and his backpack laden with games and movies and books in the other, and it was probably going to be a fun day together, like it is every day, because hinata is good at distracting tobio and making the best of the situation. but now hinata stops midstride and says, “what happened?”

tobio doesn’t bother masking it, because the truth is he’s just tired. he’s just angry. so he points to the chair beside his bed, the one that hinata has long since claimed as his own, and when hinata is sitting, he says, “it’s not working.”

he doesn’t even need to clarify what he means, because there’s only one thing he could be talking about. hinata’s face falls, and then rapidly shifts through a myriad of emotions—all emotions that tobio knows he’s been feeling about the situation and has simply refused to let tobio see: the pain and sorrow and anger and dread and grief. finally, it settles on something filled with concern, tinged with helplessness that he seems to not be able to keep at bay.

“oh,” says hinata. “okay. do you wanna… talk about it?”

tobio’s brows furrow. “no,” he says eventually. “but i also don’t think i want to pretend it’s not happening.” that’s kind of what they’ve been doing since the treatment started—allowing themselves to be distracted. they talk about the cancer sometimes, and the treatment, and how tobio feels about it all. but for the most part, they keep the ugly parts on the backburner, and today, tobio doesn’t want to do that.

“the chemotherapy isn’t working,” he says firmly. “they’re going to try other things, but i can’t ignore the fact that the chemotherapy isn’t working and the leukemia isn’t responding to treatment right now. i’m not getting better right now.” he pauses, and then adds, “i might die.”

it’s just… the truth. tobio is still choosing to believe that the other treatments will work and he’ll be fine in the end. but he can’t run from it, and neither can hinata.

he might die.

he might actually die.

hinata doesn’t apologize. he doesn’t become overwhelmed with grief, even if he might be feeling it internally. he doesn’t even ask how tobio is feeling, because the answer is probably obvious. for that, tobio is glad.

instead, hinata asks, “do you want me to leave?”

tobio doesn’t even need to think about it. “no,” he says. “actually, if… if the nurses are okay with it, i kind of want you to stay the night.” they’ve never done that before, but it’s what he wants now. he doesn’t want pity or coddling or distractions. but he does want hinata to be here. “and if you’re okay with it, i mean.”

despite how horrible it all is, hinata graces him with a soft, fond grin. “there’s no place i’d rather be right now, kageyama tobio,” he says.

“you’d better not snore, though.”

hinata makes an offended noise. “i’ve never snored.”

“that’s not what my memory says.”

“do you want me to stay or not?”

tobio grins, laughing lightly, and hinata grins back at him, and it’s shit. it’s all so fucking shit. tobio hates absolutely everything about his life right now, but at least he has hinata shoyo. and as hinata hops up to ask the nurses for permission to stay, like they’re teenagers and have to ask their parents for everything, tobio decides he might have been wrong to keep this from hinata the first time, because he missed all of this. he missed having hinata care for him in the big ways and in all of the small ways, too.

but he has hinata now. and he’s going to have hinata from now on. and hinata is everything he could ask for.

☾

“hinata.” his name is whispered in the darkness of the hospital room, carried across the silent, empty space between them. from his bed, tobio can see hinata resting on the bench-like row of cushioned seats under the window, the ones they pushed together to give him someplace to sleep. it’s only the gentle moonlight with which he can see by, and tobio watches the rise and fall of hinata’s chest before he tries again, a little louder. “hinata.”

this time, hinata’s head lifts from his pillow. his eyes shine in the darkness, meeting tobio’s. “what?” he whispers back.

“were you sleeping?”

“no.” hinata shifts, sitting up and causing the thin blanket over him to fall to his waist. “these chairs are fucking uncomfortable.”

“oh,” mumbles tobio. he grabs the remote attached to his bed and clicks the up arrow, causing the upper half of the bed to move until he’s sitting more upright and doesn’t have to strain his neck to look at hinata. “okay.”

“why?”

“dunno.” tobio shrugs. “i can’t sleep so i was gonna check if you could.”

hinata blinks at him. it’s been a strange day. they didn’t do anything fun—no movies or volleyball games or giggling about things they’ve snuck in under the nurses’ noses. not when they just found out the chemotherapy isn’t working. instead, they sort of just… existed together, not talking often. tobio slept a lot, which is probably why he isn’t tired now, and every time he woke to check that hinata was still there, hinata was reading manga or on his phone or, in a few cases, resting along with him, awkwardly bent over in his chair with his face pressed into the bed next to tobio’s thigh.

in truth, there were things tobio wanted to say. but it would have felt awkward to say them in the light of day, with other people able to walk in on them, and now—now they have privacy, and the cover of night, and anything he says now can exist between dusk and dawn. it’s an ethereal time, in limbo. if it gets too embarrassing, he can just pretend it didn’t happen tomorrow.

“do you need anything?” asks hinata. “i can call the night nurse—”

“no,” says tobio quickly. “i just… i mean.” his cheeks warm. “i kinda just wanted to talk.”

“oh. okay.” he can hear in hinata’s voice that he’s pleased, and tobio bites his cheek. yeah. yeah. if he pretends he doesn’t have cancer, this is actually really nice. “can i stay over here, though? i don’t feel like getting up.”

“i mean, sure.” he watches hinata flop back down onto his back, scooting around until he’s more comfortable, and tobio turns his gaze to the window. it’s darkness out there, the landscape spotted with lights from nearby buildings and streetlamps. it’s kind of pretty, if he thinks about it.

“something on your mind? or do you want me to ramble about beach volleyball again until you can fall asleep?”

at first, tobio doesn’t answer. it might be nice to just talk about nothing, or about volleyball; that topic always makes him feel calmer, at least. but his heart is still wrestling with the news that things are looking far grimmer than he expected, and it would feel wrong to talk about volleyball now. and yet—he’s not sure he’s ready to talk about the rolling emotions within him, the thunder of his anger, the howling winds of his grief. he’s not sure he has the words for all of that right now. one day, they’ll have that conversation.

for now, tobio settles on: “i’m really glad you’re here.”

he hears hinata shift, likely to look at him, but tobio turns his eyes to the ceiling. “it was hard enough going through this the first time,” he continues, “but the idea of doing it again alone… i don’t think i would have lasted two weeks. i know you probably feel like you’re not doing much because you can’t take my cancer away, but you really don’t know what you’re doing for me, hinata.”

there’s a pregnant pause, and then a small and quiet, “yeah?”

“yeah,” tobio breathes. “last time, it was really scary because… i mean, it’s cancer. of course it’s scary. and i had my family and other friends, but it was also so new and i didn’t know what was happening or what was going to happen. but this time, it’s different. i’ve already done this. and my fear is different, too, because i—i dunno how many people beat leukemia twice.” he hesitates, but hinata doesn’t say anything. “i know how chemotherapy works, and i know this hospital and its staff like the back of my hand at this point. i know it all. and when i first got diagnosed again, i thought i would be able to handle it fine alone because i’d done it before, but… i don’t think i could have.” quietly, he adds, “i think i really needed you.”

“i’m glad i’m here, too,” says hinata. “i’m still pissed that you didn’t tell me the first time, but i’m more grateful than i can be here this time to help you. even if you’re right—it feels like i’m not doing much.”

“one of my doctors talks a lot about the resiliency of the human spirit,” muses tobio. “when i first got diagnosed, he really stressed the importance of having a good support system when you’re going through a life-threatening illness, because sometimes, even if the treatment works, the human spirit just gives out because it’s not receiving adequate support during a really tough time emotionally and mentally. i kind of thought that was bullshit, but i get it now. i couldn’t do this without you.”

“well,” says hinata. “i’m really, really happy, then. you know i just want you to be alright, don’t you?”

tobio finally looks at him, their eyes meeting in the moonlight. “i know. but i’m gonna be honest, and i think i can only say this because it’s the middle of the night—i’m really fucking terrified right now.”

even in darkness, he can see hinata’s expression break.

“i mean, who wouldn’t be?” tobio continues quickly, so he doesn’t have to dwell on that. “i’ve just been told that chemotherapy isn’t working. and there are other options, yeah, but what if they don’t work, either? i bet most people who relapse lose their hope a lot sooner, because they thought they were out of the woods but the cancer came back. but i think for me, i just… i assumed it would be fine, because it was the first time. and i only just realized it might not be fine, shoyo.”

“we have to believe it will be,” says hinata. “we can’t lose hope. not now.”

“it’s not fair, is it? did you know this type of cancer only makes up one percent of all cancer cases in the world? and it’s most common in people aged sixty-five or older? an estimated three hundred thousand people get diagnosed with leukemia globally every year, and here i am. twice in two years. i’m twenty-one years old, for fuck’s sake.” tobio shakes his head, feeling his anger bubble up from just beneath the surface. “how is that fair?”

“that doesn’t mean you’re going to die.”

“it could.”

“but it doesn’t. and you won’t.”

“aren’t you scared out of your mind, shoyo?” asks tobio. “don’t you think about it all the time? me dying? doesn’t it make you wanna fucking scream?”

hinata hesitates, like he’s going to give some bullshit answer again. but then he sits up, the blankets once more pooling in his lap. “you know what?” he asks. “yeah. i do think about it all the time. and it does make me want to scream. but you’re the one fighting cancer, so i can’t afford to be the one paralyzed with fear and grief.”

“i wish you would cry in front of me once in a while,” says tobio. “i know you do it when you go home. you used to cry about volleyball all the time and you expect me to believe you’re not upset about me having cancer?”

“i can’t cry in front of you. i have to be strong.”

“but why? it’s not like the cancer is going to see you crying and take it as a challenge to get worse.”

hinata opens his mouth, and then shuts it again.

tobio sighs, and then says, “maybe it’s rich coming from me, but you’re trying to protect me, aren’t you? just like i tried to protect you by not telling you about the cancer the first time? but that just backfired. you know, it’s not that i think you’re not affected by me having cancer, but… you’re allowed to be sad in front of me, shoyo. you don’t have to be strong all the time. you don’t have to pretend you’re okay with all this.”

it’s what has been bothering him about hinata this entire time; he appreciates the jokes and laughter and light conversation. but he has cancer. and sometimes, he doesn’t want to talk about their friends or brazil or volleyball. sometimes, he wants to sit in his sadness. sometimes, he wants to talk about what it’s like to have cancer and feel hopeless. sometimes, he just wants to hold hinata’s hand and not say anything at all.

“oh,” says hinata. “i didn’t realize… i didn’t realize you thought that. but i don’t want you to be upset.”

“but i am upset,” says tobio. “i have cancer, shoyo. i’m fucking angry as hell. i’m tired. i’m sick. i’m sad about it. you also being sad about it isn’t going to change anything. so is it okay if we’re sad about it together? i think we need to stop trying to protect each other and just… i dunno. be.”

he doesn’t know what’s going to happen to him—not anymore. he doesn’t know if the new treatments will get rid of the leukemia. he doesn’t know if things will only go downhill from here. he doesn’t know. but what he does know is that having hinata here is all he could ask for. what he does know is that hinata is trying his best, but tobio doesn’t need to be protected from this—from this disease that is slowly killing him, and has tried to kill him already. he doesn’t need hinata to be strong. he just needs hinata to be here.

finally, hinata whispers, “okay. i think i can do that.”

“good,” says tobio, and he takes a deep breath. “because—because i love you, shoyo. and i’ve loved you for a long time, and it’s not fair that we don’t get to have what we should. it’s not fair that we can only spend time together in a hospital. but i just want to be with you at all. and i think it’s best if we’re just honest.”

he glances down to make sure hinata understood, and finds a breathless sort of wonder on hinata’s face. it makes tobio blush, averting his eyes again. “c’mon,” he mutters. “it’s not like you didn’t know. i kissed you in brazil.” it’s something he’ll never let himself live down, but it needed to be done. it had been long overdue at that point, after all.

“of course i knew,” says hinata. tobio can hear the grin in his voice. “and you know, too, right? that i love you?”

tobio swallows tightly, stomach twisting into sudden knots. “yes,” he whispers. “that’s why i didn’t tell you about the cancer in the first place, dumbass. you would have uprooted your entire life again to be with me. if that’s not love, then i don’t know what is.”

he did it anyway, in the end. hinata was going to return to japan in a month, but he left early anyway, dropped everything without a second thought—and maybe this time, he was at least half fueled by anger, but he did it anyway. he came for tobio anyway. most days, tobio isn’t sure what to do with that sort of devotion, and he’s not sure he deserves, but—he’s glad. he’s so glad he gets to be the object of such affection.

“i’ll do whatever i can to help you, tobio,” says hinata. “you know that, right? anything you want, you just ask me. i’ll do it in a heartbeat.”

tobio looks at him. really looks. and what he sees is… everything.

“what if i want you to come over here and kiss me?” he asks before he can think better of it. he wants to believe hinata will say yes, anyway, because it’s hinata and hinata loves him and hinata has been staring at tobio’s mouth since they were fifteen years old and—the chairs creak. tobio watches hinata rise, the blankets slipping carelessly to the floor, and move across the room until he’s at the edge of tobio’s bed.

for a time, they just look at each other. tobio likes to think that, in some other alternate universe where he’s completely healthy, they’re already two years deep into a relationship built on love and volleyball and everything in between. he likes to think that they had time, and the courage to say the right words. he likes to think they have infinite plans for the future that include no what ifs. he likes to think they don’t fear death.

but they live in this universe. they live in this universe, where tobio is sick and they don’t have time and death lurks in every single one of his joints. they only have this. they will have nothing else, and so—so tobio reaches for hinata’s wrist to bring him closer, and hinata goes willingly, lifting one knee onto the bed so he can crowd tobio against his pillows, and when their mouths meet, for the first time in tobio’s life—it feels like something eternal.

☾

they work through other treatments. other drugs, different kinds of chemotherapy, blood transfusions. tobio’s doctors have a long chat with him about stem cell transplants, but tobio is only half-listening the entire time. he’s tired. it’s been months and months of this already—not to mention the two years beforehand. he doesn’t want to be in this fucking hospital anymore. with each day that passes, he feels himself losing his spirit and hope just a little more, because it doesn’t seem like the leukemia is responding well enough to anything, and even hinata’s attempts to distract him have stopped working so well.

often, when tobio is actually awake and feels half-well, he and hinata just sit together and do absolutely nothing. it’s cruel, if he thinks about it—that they should finally have admitted the truth to each other, and now they don’t have the time, energy, or means to do anything about it. they can’t go out on dates like other couples, or enjoy fancy meals together, or travel the world. mostly, they just sit and hold hands, and tobio tries to remind himself that he made a promise. he made a promise, so he has to stay.

but what at first seemed like just another challenge to overcome has quickly become a behemoth monster in his path, blocking his way forward. what started as something to remain optimistic about and work through so they can get back on track with their lives has become, well… the finish line. not the sort he’ll be rewarded for crossing, either.

tobio knows he has to hold out hope for the best. he knows how the body can so quickly give in once the mind does, but he’s always prided himself on trying to be a realist about most things. and after another several months of this back and forth, treatment after treatment, new drug after new drug, and no clear sign of improvement, tobio just… knows. he just knows.

it occurs to him quietly and simply, as he’s eating lunch in his hospital bed with hinata at his side, as always. hinata is peeling a tangerine for him because up until two months ago tobio insisted on doing it himself and then one day, he just wasn’t strong enough to do it anymore, and he had such a horrendous emotional breakdown over it that hinata doesn’t even give him the option anymore. it makes him feel like a child sometimes, but hinata asked tobio to let him take care of him, and this is what hinata can do for him. so he allows it.

but now he watches hinata put one slice of tangerine on tobio’s meal tray at a time, stealing one for himself with a shit-eating grin, and apropos of nothing, tobio thinks, it’s a shame we won’t get to do this for the rest of our lives. the thought startles even him, and he blinks down at the tangerine slice. it wasn’t thought out of depression or anger or sorrow. it was just… a thought. a gentle understanding. a quiet comprehending of the ending of it all.

and suddenly, without much pomp or circumstance, tobio knows.

“shoyo,” he says quietly, taking the tangerine slice into his mouth. hinata’s eyes brighten as he looks up at him, and tobio says, “i’m going to die.”

hinata’s expression muddles. “what?”

“it’s not working,” says tobio. “i can tell. i just… i just know. i’m not going to get better.”

“how can you say that?” hinata asks, brows furrowing. “you don’t know for sure, tobio. didn’t the doctors say they were looking into some clinical trials that are starting soon?”

“don’t you ever just know something about yourself? it’s my body, shoyo. it’s my cancer. and i just know nothing is going to work.” he can tell the words are upsetting hinata, so he adds, “i’m not being pessimistic or emotional or anything. you know i want to live, but i… i don’t think that’s going to happen. not this time.”

for a long time, hinata just stares at him. and then, eventually, his breathing begins to deepen, his chest rising and falling as it seems like he’s trying to stop himself from hyperventilating. tobio can see it happening on his face—the confusion, and then the anger, and then the sorrow. tobio can tell he’s going to yell, and he’s prepared for it—for the sudden onslaught of every emotion that hinata has been keeping at bay for over six months since this whole thing started. it’s been a long time coming—a long time of hinata repressing his own emotions in the interest of protecting tobio, and a long time of them steering the conversation away from depressing topics to help the both of them.

but this, finally, seems to be hinata’s breaking point. and if tobio is being honest, he welcomes it. he’s facing down his own mortality, but he’s too tired to be angry or upset about it. but hinata? hinata is still so full of life. hinata has been sitting at tobio’s side day in and day out, watching him suffer through treatments, encouraging him to stay positive, loving him as fiercely as he ever did to make this easier.

and now tobio is telling him it doesn’t even fucking matter.

and finally—finally. tobio watches hinata snap.

“no,” says hinata, quietly, and then louder—“no. you’re not going to die, tobio. you’re not—i won’t let you die.”

tobio just watches him.

“you can’t die, tobio,” says hinata, eyes now welling with tears. “after everything—after everything we’ve been through and everything you’ve fought for. you can’t just… give up. you can’t say that.” he wipes at his eyes, although it does little to quell the spill of tears onto his cheeks. “you’ve been through this once and you made it, so you can do it again this time. you can do it again, right?”

“i don’t think so, sho,” whispers tobio.

hinata throws the tangerine onto the ground in anger, and it hits with a sickening splat. “bullshit!” he snaps. “bullshit, tobio! millions of people survive cancer every year and you’re going to be one of them. you’re—you’re one of the strongest people i know, and the doctors are good, right? they’re really good. they’re going to make you get better.”

his chest is heaving now, face red with tears and exertion, and tobio just watches him. maybe it’s because he’s not yelling back that hinata must realize the truth in his words—at least understands that tobio has already accepted it, and he’s the only one left. “you can’t die,” he says. “you… you promised. you promised me we’d play together forever, tobio. you promised we’d meet on top of the world no matter how long it took. but we haven’t, so you can’t die. you have to stay.”

tobio takes a deep breath, finally feeling tears stinging his own eyes. “i know, shoyo. i’m sorry.”

hinata stares at him, jaw clenched shut. it’s odd—he always has the words to say. he always knows how to make tobio feel better, always knows how to best express his own emotions. but for the first time, tobio sees a hinata shoyo who simply doesn’t know what to say. not anymore. what is there to say, anyway? tobio understands. he understands that this is cruel, and they should have had more time, and there’s so much more that they have yet to do.

but cancer waits for no one. cancer is an asshole. cancer doesn’t give a fucking shit about a promise kageyama tobio and hinata shoyo made to each other at fifteen years old. and so here they are.

finally, hinata stands up, so quickly and forcefully that his chair tips over and crashes to the ground. and tobio watches him. he kicks the fallen tangerine, letting it smack against the wall and leave a mark the nurses won’t be happy about. and tobio watches him. he lets out a strangled sort of cry, one that is angry and guttural and raw, and turns away from tobio before dropping down into a crouch with his head in his hands.

and tobio watches him.

having leukemia sucks. there’s no reason to sugarcoat it; this has easily been the worst experience of tobio’s life. and he doesn’t want to die by any means, so knowing that his death is impending will no doubt do a terrible number on his mental health and emotional wellbeing. but suddenly, tobio finds something just as horrible, at least in this moment—

watching the person he loves most in the world understand that tobio is going to die. watching hinata break down after months of remaining strong and composed. watching this, and understanding that this cancer is going to take so much more than just tobio’s life. it’s going to take everything, even hinata’s joy. it’s going to take everything good out of this world, and the worst part is tobio won’t even be around to try and make it better. he’s just going to be gone, and hinata is going to have to cope with that alone.

tobio swallows tightly, and he has to look away from the sight before him, even if he can’t stop hearing it—hinata’s ragged sobs that grow with power, breath dragging in and out of his throat, and the cried words that he repeats over and over again: it’s not fair. it’s not fair. it’s not fair.

you promised.

tobio knows he is going to die. he doesn’t want to, but he can at least come to terms with it. but knowing that hinata is going to suffer because of it? knowing that hinata is going to have to grieve and suffer and deal with the loss for the rest of his goddamn life? tobio’s not sure how he’s meant to accept that.

slowly, he turns his eyes back to hinata’s weeping form, and he says, “shoyo, come here.” at first, hinata doesn’t hear him, too overcome with his own emotions, so tobio says it louder, and after the third try, he hears a hiccup. hinata turns over his shoulder and meets his eyes, face streaked with tears and pain, and tobio lifts up his hand to beckon him closer.

hinata does, reluctantly, wiping at his eyes as he does so. when he puts his hand in tobio’s, he gets a gentle squeeze in return. “what?” hinata asks miserably, and it almost makes tobio laugh, if it weren’t for the fact that hinata is crying about tobio’s inevitable end.

“you promised me that we’d be sad together, remember?” he asks. then he nods to the chair. “so sit down, at least.”

reluctantly, hinata does. he’s never looked worse in his life, and tobio loves him. tobio loves him and he doesn’t know how he’s meant to leave him, meant to say goodbye, so—so for now, he just holds hinata’s hand. he watches hinata’s face crumple once more, watches him tip forward until he’s hunched over the side of the bed with his forehead pressed into tobio’s thigh. for now, tobio runs a hand through hinata’s unruly hair, and he lets hinata cry into his bedsheets, and he watches the window like any of this is fair.

outside, the world continues to turn, same as it always has. tobio prays it will still be beautiful once he’s no longer around to see it.

☾

weeks later, after another intensive round of testing, tobio’s doctors stand before him once more and tell him that the leukemia has spread to his brain, and after exhausting so many types of treatment, it has become clear that further treatment is extremely unlikely to cure it. they believe it would be in his best interest to shift the focus of his treatment to controlling his symptoms for as long as possible in palliative treatment.

they ask him plenty of questions, and answer any that he has. through it all, tobio finds himself wearing nothing more than a straight face. he’s known for weeks, after all, in some deep part of himself that it would soon come to this. but it’s different hearing it. it’s different knowing the doctors know, knowing that this is simply… how it’s going to end.

once the doctors leave, tobio stares down at his hands. his hands, which have held countless volleyballs, which have hit countless serves, which have set countless tosses. his hands, which have yearned to play for three years now. his hands, which will never play again.

kageyama tobio is going to die. he is twenty-one years old and he is going to die.

“tobio?” asks hinata gently, putting a hand on his arm. “are you okay?”

“yeah,” says tobio with a slight nod. “i think i’m just… gonna sleep. okay?”

“okay. if you need anything, please let me know.”

tobio nods again, and then turns his face toward the window, away from where hinata can see him. he closes his eyes. he sees, in his mind, the first toss he ever sent to hinata, and then the last while playing a professional game, in their third year at karasuno, when they lost nationals for the final time. his hands clench and then unclench. if only he’d known then that it would be the final time—the final time they would ever play together, the final time hinata would ever hit one of his tosses. if only he’d known it would all come to this, a life he was barely able to live.

when the tears come, tobio doesn’t try to stop them this time. the truth is, he’s been strong, too. now he sees no point in it—in pretending he’s okay with any of this, in holding himself at bay. for months, he’s been too tired to truly feel the emotions that rage just below the surface, but now, he lets down his guard. he puts down the shield.

when tobio breaks down, he finally allows it. because it’s not fair, and it’s not right, and he doesn’t want to die. he was going do so much more. he was going to be so much more. when he cries, hinata allows him to, holding his hand through it all. when he shouts and when he curses and when he pleads for something else, to be someone else—there’s always that hand keeping him grounded, holding him here.

it doesn’t change much. it doesn’t take away the pain. it doesn’t make this any less unfair or cruel. but at least tobio knows he’s not alone.

☾

tobio is sick of these get-togethers. but here he is anyway, once more surrounded by family and friends as they celebrate and mourn together. the only comfort he takes in any of this is the knowledge that this will be the last one. and that’s because, well—this is his goodbye party.

because kageyama tobio is going to die, and there’s absolutely nothing any of them can do about it.

tobio has spent the last few months at home, with hinata, simply waiting for his time to be up. he hasn’t stopped treatment entirely, but he’s well aware that no number of drugs is going to cure him of this leukemia, and when the doctors told him to make the most of the time he has left, he took it to heart. so did hinata, who decided to plan this party as a chance for everyone to say goodbye, but also as a chance for everyone to celebrate the life that tobio lived, and to have a bit of joy in the midst of one of the most horrifying things any of them might ever go through.

the park they’ve stationed themselves in is so large that it doesn’t even feel like they’re in tokyo anymore, surrounded by tall trees and colourful flowers and an array of equipment they’ve brought in. there are tables of food, boxes of different games, and even a projector and screen that hinata rented so they can watch one of tobio’s favourite movies later—after watching his volleyball career highlights, of course, and apparently a long and emotional goodbye video that his friends have been putting together for him.

it’s all quite awful, if he thinks about it. he’s twenty-one years old and now confined to a wheelchair because he’s too weak to walk, and if he happens to get injured or sick, he could be gone within a few days at most. the party itself has been lovely so far, seeing his friends and family and past teammates chatting and mingling or playing games. if he tries hard enough, he can pretend that this is just an autumn get-together, just a party for fun. if he tries hard enough, he can almost pretend this might be for a wedding.

except, of course, for the revolving door of people coming to sit next to him and take their last opportunity to talk. most of the time, they keep the conversation light, reminiscing about memories or joking about this and that, but he can always see it in their eyes, anyway—the weight of it all, and the knowledge that this will be the last time. when they hug him, he can feel the way they shake in his frail arms, and tobio chooses not to give himself over to grief—not yet. he wants to enjoy this, to make this one last, lovely memory before it inevitably goes downhill very quickly. this is supposed to be a celebration, and so he’ll make it a damn celebration.

then there’s hinata—lovely, wonderful hinata, who has been at tobio’s side through this all and still manages to smile every day. they’ve had their fair share of breakdowns, particularly since tobio was released from the hospital, but he never loses that sunshine in his eyes, the spark that made him so extraordinarily perplexing and infuriating when they first met. even now, he’s flitting around the area to chat, offer more food, and make sure everyone is enjoying themselves. and tobio watches him, and he muses again just how unfair all of this is, and he thinks perhaps it would have been better if tobio had gone to a different high school, and if they had never met, and if hinata would have never known this type of pain—

but then he thinks that hinata would smack him for even considering that, and he can hear hinata scolding him for it even now, and tobio grins to himself, small and fond and full of endless love. no, he thinks, hinata wouldn’t have this any other way, so neither would tobio.

once everyone’s dinner has settled but there’s still plenty of daylight, tobio watches hinata approach him with something vaguely mischievous in his eyes, and tobio almost begs someone to wheel him away before his (lovely) boyfriend can get his hands on him. knowing hinata, he’s probably planned something ridiculous because it’s their last chance, and his suspicions are confirmed when hinata reaches him, leaning down to plant one hand on either of the wheelchair’s armrests.

“tobio, my love,” he says. “the main event is about to begin. are you ready?”

“does it involve me doing more than just sitting here and laughing at bokuto-san and kuroo-san trying to fit as many pieces of watermelon in their mouths as possible?”

hinata glances over his shoulder, where bokuto and kuroo are doing just that. “yes,” says hinata. “but you’ll love it, i promise.”

tobio is suspicious nonetheless as hinata turns to call everyone’s attention. as he does so, tobio takes a moment to appreciate the sheer number of people who were able to make it to the party—every single member of the karasuno team in every year that tobio played there, even the ones who weren’t able to make it to the past parties. most of the coaches tobio has had, too, as well as plenty of other teammates from the national and v.league teams. then, of course, are friends and family—and those he knew in high school, past opponents and training partners. people he hasn’t talked to in years but still care about him so deeply, and it blows him away to see them all here. it blows him away to think of how many people might miss him, even just a bit, and he thinks of the middle school kid he was—who held everyone at a distance, who unintentionally forced away the ones who tried to know him.

he hopes that kid would be proud of him. and he hopes his grandfather would be proud of him, too, for finding himself again, for allowing himself to be found by the people who care this much.

tobio glances up at hinata again, who is still grinning wide with his hand resting against the back of tobio’s wheelchair.

(—for finding his someone stronger.)

“thank you so much for coming to our party today,” says hinata when everyone is listening. “it’s a very difficult time right now, but we wanted to celebrate instead of mourn. and we wouldn’t be half as joyful without you here. but as you know, tobio’s life wasn’t just about friends or family… mostly it was about volleyball.” he looks down at tobio, the mischief growing in his gaze. “our dear tobio made the volleyball world kneel to him everywhere he went, and i certainly wouldn’t be the player i am without him. but before he was a professional volleyball player or an olympic athlete, tobio was a high school setter. as all of you know, that’s where we met—at karasuno high school, where we made a name for ourselves.”

tobio swallows tightly. this is turning out a lot more emotional than he was expecting.

“if you know us, you probably know we were not friends at the start,” says hinata, and there’s a loud guffaw from the crowd. it sounds like tanaka. “in fact, we were both pretty upset when we found out we had to be on a team rather than be opponents. and so, back then, we made a promise to each other. and it’s a promise that i certainly intend to see through.”

“oh, no,” says tobio suddenly, eyes widening as he realizes what hinata is getting at. “shoyo, don’t—”

“when we were fifteen, we promised each other that one day, we would play against each other again,” continues hinata. “we would find out who was the strongest volleyball player once and for all, at the top of the world. we were partners and teammates for three years, but we always planned to play against each other once more, when we were able to. now… well. we’ll never get to do that in a professional setting. but a promise is a promise.” hinata laughs, shrugging a little. “so if a number of you would be willing to help me… i’d like to make good on that promise to you, tobio.” he turns to tobio, eyes shining before he asks, “will you play volleyball with me one last time, tobio? and find out once and for all just who the better volleyball player is?”

god. it’s the easiest answer tobio has ever been able to give.

it’s nothing like it should have been—the fulfilment of a promise made in earnest and desperation and perhaps even love. there are no shining lights and no cheering crowd. there is no stadium, no scent of salonpas in the air, no jerseys or team chants or stakes. this should have been done surrounded by thousands of adoring fans, on a floor that squeaks with the weight of rubber soles, in a time when both of them are at their peak.

instead, they have this: a large patch of grass, the ground uneven in some spots, and a recreational volleyball net bought from some sports shop, and a small crowd of onlookers who were there from the very beginning, and t-shirts sticking to sweaty skin, and birds calling as they flutter into the blue sky, and absolutely nothing to be gained other than, perhaps, finishing some unspoken bucket list that might have kept him tethered here otherwise.

but if tobio is being honest, he kind of prefers it like this. he has spent so much of his life playing volleyball where every point and step and second mattered. he has spent so much of his life playing volleyball only to win, because winning means he can play another game, can spend another hour on the court, can go further and jump higher and become something greater.

for the first time in a very long time, perhaps since he was just a young boy following in his grandfather’s footsteps, tobio plays volleyball for the love of it. for the fun of it, for the joy of it. no one really cares who wins or loses. no one really cares about the rules. they’re not here to become better. they’re just here to play, this ragtag group of volleyball players from across the country, different teams and backgrounds—now different careers and aspirations. when they come together in this park, though, they’re practically those same teenage boys again, and they’re all here simply because they love this goddamn sport.

it’s a strange mix of players, and they rotate in and out constantly to give everyone a chance to play. tobio finds himself with ushijima and houshiumi, by virtue of both of them being some of his last teammates, and they actually care about him enough in some capacity to be here—and anyway, since hinata is playing on the other team, tobio is relieved to have such a powerful jumper on his side. there are a handful of karasuno players on his team, too, along with akaashi and kenma, who alternate as the second setter for tobio. across the court, tobio faces off against not only hinata, but bokuto, atsumu, and sakusa (again, a surprising addition, but they all play for the same team now and apparently bokuto and atsumu insisted on sakusa coming along for misguided emotional support), along with kuroo and oikawa.

the game itself is odd, since tobio is in a wheelchair and can’t exactly move across the court. they position him near the net, then, and do their best to pass the ball directly to him, but as in any volleyball game, things rarely go according to plan. tobio isn’t exactly strong enough to give tosses up to par with what he used to, and when they let him serve, they rarely make it over the net (without help, at least; nishinoya takes to bumping the serves over to their opponent and then making a show of praising tobio for fantastic serves).

but it’s not only him that struggles; the first bit is hilarious as the teams try to figure out how to play together to begin with, wayward passes and tosses causing playful arguments. the ground is surprisingly uneven, and at one point, the game has to stop for a full ten minutes after miya atsumu trips over a bump in the grass and slams face first into the ground so hard he gets a nosebleed and, perhaps worse, a grass stain on his forehead. the game doesn’t stop for him, thought; it stops because the rest of hinata’s team won’t stop laughing, and then atsumu tries to physically fight half of the team, and they have to take a break to build team camaraderie once more.

and then there’s hinata. it’s been so long since tobio has watched him play in any capacity—since they were both in brazil and hinata was admittedly kicking his ass at beach volleyball. this game is meant to fulfil their promise to find out who the better player truly is, but most of the time, tobio just finds himself watching hinata run around with nothing short of wonder in his eyes. hinata is used to unforgiving footing, after all, and knows not to trust the ground the way he knew not to trust the sand. he thrives out here, zipping from end to end and soaring through the air the way he always did, but… it’s different now. there’s more purpose in his jumps, more power.

the fact that he’s honestly one of the best receivers on the team is the most surprising of all, and as hinata slams ball after ball into the court, tobio can’t help thinking that perhaps he had been right all along; if he had told hinata about the cancer the first time and hinata had come home, he wouldn’t be playing like this. he wouldn’t have learned all he did in brazil and wouldn’t have the experience that makes him an absolute terror on this makeshift court.

tobio can’t wait for him to finally be able to play in a professional setting. he can’t wait for hinata to be able to show off all of his hard work and make the world notice him once and for all. he can’t wait for hinata to become one of the strongest players in all of japan—

even if tobio won’t be there to see it happen. but he has this. he has this, and he knows, as hinata runs across the court and jumps directly in front of tobio, looming high above him in shadow with the now-setting sun at his back, tobio knows that he’s going to be at the very top of the world one day, and it was such a pleasure to be at his side every step of the way. it’s bittersweet knowing this will be the one and only time tobio ever gets to see this, but he got so many years of this. he got so many years of hinata. and now he can let the world have hinata, too.

he watches, still with eyes of wonder, as atsumu sets the ball directly into hinata’s palm and hinata slams it down on the other side of the court for the winning point. there isn’t even any time to react as the crowd of onlookers erupts in cheers and tobio’s team curses at their loss, but tobio can’t take his eyes off of hinata as he lands in a crouch, face damp with sweat and a breathless smile on his face.

same as always. that’s the face he used to make when tobio tossed to him, too, and now he wears it with another setter, and for years, tobio wasn’t prepared to see that familiar sight knowing he had no hand in bringing it about. he used to stay awake at night seething with jealousy of an unnamed, faceless setter in hinata’s future, the one who would undoubtedly play on his team if tobio’s path took him to a different team.

he feels none of that now. no—now, he’s only glad that there is another setter who can make hinata look like that. he knows that hinata will be in good hands no matter what team he plays on, and he knows now more than ever, finally, that none of this is his doing. when they first began playing together, so many leveled the insult at hinata that he was nothing without tobio, that he could do nothing without tobio. perhaps that was true back then. but this? this monster of a player before him, now standing tall and wiping the sweat off of his face, has clawed his way to the top on his own. has worked tirelessly to be able to stand on his own two feet, to be the one everyone else wants on their team.

this is hinata shoyo, the greatest decoy, the ninja. this is a man who no longer needs tobio to be a good volleyball player. soon, the world will understand that. soon, the world will see this. but right here and now, tobio can pride himself on being the very first to witness the birth of it all.

as hinata’s team celebrates—more raucously than they ever would in a real game—hinata stands at the net and grins down at tobio. wordlessly, he sticks his hand out between them, and tobio grins as he takes it in a firm handshake.

“good game, kageyama,” says hinata.

“same to you,” says tobio. “although you’re a bit of an asshole for not letting me win, you know. i have cancer.”

hinata laughs so loudly it almost breaks tobio’s heart. “you’d be pissed off if i did let you win,” he says. “besides, having cancer shouldn’t be an excuse for those sorry serves.”

“oh, fuck off.”

“it’s revenge for all the shit you gave me for my receives back in high school.”

“you’re supposed to be nice to me right about now—”

“and now we know once and for all who the better player is. i always knew it would be me.”

“only because i’m literally on my deathbed. have fun telling that story to anyone who wants to listen.”

and hinata laughs again, louder and louder, and tobio has never felt more fucking alive than right now, as hinata ducks under the net and they come toe to toe and he leans down down down, hands moving to tobio’s face, just to give him the sweaty post-game kiss they should have had in high school, probably, and on a professional court, too, and at the olympics and in the v.league and everywhere. everywhere.

and still—still. tobio likes this better. tobio would take this over any of that, and right about now, he feels like he might just live forever.

☾

“here you go,” says daichi has he hands tobio a folded-up blanket, and tobio grins gratefully as he unfolds it across his lap, glad for the extra bit of warmth.

“thanks,” he breathes. “sorry for bothering you. i just get cold a lot easier these days.”

“don’t apologize,” laughs daichi as he returns to the folded lawn chair next to tobio, where his half-finished beer awaits. “i’m happy to help.” normally, tobio finds it hard to ask anyone for anything, particular his former captain and someone he still looks up to immensely, but having leukemia has taught him to swallow his damn pride when it comes to these things. besides, it was daichi who noticed him trying to warm his hands between his thighs and offered to ask hinata for a lap blanket. it’s not even that cold, but in the fall and with the sun rapidly setting behind the trees, the temperature has dipped.

the party is still going strong, although it’s probably because of the alcohol thrown into the mix. they’ve brought out another round of snacks along with it, as well as a few more games, and once it’s dark enough, they’ll fire up the projector. for now, tobio sits and watches his friends mingle and play together, oddly proud of himself for bringing them all together again, even if it’s because of such a terrible thing.

daichi joined him twenty minutes ago, seemingly not interested in joining the antics of his former teammates. it’s understandable; nishinoya and tanaka have taken to challenging everyone to ridiculous competitions while ennoshita tries to wrangle them in (even if bokuto keeps trying to take them up on every single challenge); kinoshita and narita are playing some game with sugawara and asahi; tsukishima seems to be attempting to dodge kuroo and bokuto’s (and, by association alone, it seems—akaashi’s) pleas to do some good old blocking practice; yamaguchi and yachi are trying to rope coach ukai and takeda-sensei into karaoke; kiyoko is safely away from all of that chaos, chatting with tobio’s sister; and hinata seems to be everywhere all at once, flitting from conversation to conversation and game to game, ever the social butterfly and gracious host.

it’s as chaotic as it always was, and tobio aches to be able to join in properly—to beg for another game of volleyball, to take up the challenges, to chat about this and that. but the truth is that he’s tired. he’s not sick enough to be out of it, but his days have become much more limited as the illness takes more of a toll on him. it won’t be long before it takes too much from him, he knows, and he’s fighting to stay awake, to stay here, because this is it—this is the last time. he doesn’t want to miss a single moment of it.

he doesn’t want to miss a single moment of watching hinata in particular. he loves all of his friends and former teammates (or—most of them, he thinks, as he hears yamaguchi shout for tsukishima), but he feels as though he had enough time with them. he learned all he could from them, grew with them, enjoyed life with them. but hinata? he could spend a hundred years with hinata and still never feel as though it was enough time. and he knows that soon, there will be no more easy days like this. no more celebrations or games or laughter. the cancer is going to steal hinata’s joy as much as it will tobio’s, and right now, hinata looks so free. tobio wants to etch this image into his memory so that he can hold onto it for the rest of his time here, always remembering when hinata was smiling just like this.

daichi must notice him watching, though, because he breaks the silence with a quiet, “do you regret not telling hinata the first time?”

tobio turns his gaze to daichi. he suddenly remembers that daichi was one of the people who pushed him the most to tell hinata the truth—first when he found out about the leukemia, and then later when tobio went into remission and he had the chance to come clean once more. he always got the impression that daichi was disappointed in tobio for choosing not to say anything, but it’s much too late now, and he doesn’t sense any judgement in the words. just curiosity.

so he considers it. there was no way he could have known that it would turn out like this when he was first diagnosed and decided not to tell hinata when push came to shove. he only has the cruel lens of hindsight, and given how long he spent apart from hinata, it would make sense to regret his initial choices.

but then tobio really thinks about it, and the answer is easy. “no,” he admits, turning his gaze back to hinata, who looks to be in the middle of telling some wild story to kenma and a group of other opponents from their high school days, gesticulating wildly and drawing laughter from his captive audience. “i don’t regret it.”

“but you would have had two more years together,” says daichi. “given how it turned out, do you ever wish you could go back and change your decision so you could have had as much time as possible?”

tobio shakes his head. “i do wish we had had more time,” he says. “i wish we could grow old together, like we’re supposed to. i wish we could have everything that normal couples have. but… even if i wish that, i still wouldn’t take away the two years that shoyo had before all of this.”

when daichi doesn’t respond, tobio looks at him again, finding a small grin on his own lips. “shoyo got two years of happiness in brazil before this whole shitshow,” he says. “and the fallout from not telling him was brutal, especially at first. i still don’t think he forgives me fully, and he would certainly disagree with me now, but… he got to have brazil. and brazil made him happy. it made him so happy, daichi.” tobio laughs, remembering the utter joy in hinata’s eyes every time he spoke of it when they were together

“you would have made him happy, too, you know,” muses daichi.

tobio nods. “yes. but if i had told him about the cancer, it would have just been two more years of suffering for him.” he hears hinata’s laughter echo toward him, like a messenger calling him home. “he’s going to suffer after i’m gone,” says tobio, frowning now as he looks down at his hands. “he’s going to suffer a lot. he already is suffering a lot, even though he doesn’t show it. and we could have been together for two more years if i had told him, yes, but he would have suffered. he’s suffered enough, daichi. he will suffer enough. i’m got he got brazil first.”

he can’t tell if it’s selfish, or if hinata would call that self-deprecatory. it’s not that he thinks brazil is more important than himself, or that hinata doesn’t deserve to have two more years with him. he just thinks that there would have been too much bad with the good, and it’s not like he can change the past anyway.

“besides,” laughs tobio. “you saw how he played, and that was just for fun on grass. he got there because of brazil. he’s going to take the world by storm now, and i hope that will make him happy in the long run, once he doesn’t suffer so much because of me. and i hope one day he’ll be grateful for my choice, even if he hates it now. i mean—in the end, he’s only twenty-two. he has his whole life ahead of him, and i’m sure he’ll fall in love again, and he’ll have a beautiful family and an amazing career, and i’m going to be another, albeit tragic, chapter of his life that hopefully made him stronger. and two years will feel like just a moment in time, but those two years in brazil will be a happy memory rather than two years at my side being another reason to grieve.”

he watches daichi’s face now, searching for the disappointment. but he doesn’t see any, and for that, he’s glad. “i can’t give him more time with me,” says tobio. “i can’t give him anything at this point, and i know that loving me is going to break his heart once i’m gone. shoyo—he feels everything, doesn’t he? i can’t protect him from that. i can’t give him any comfort once i’m gone. but i can give him brazil. i gave him a little happiness, and a little respite, and a little ease before he has to face whatever comes next. and i’ll never regret that.”

for a time, daichi says nothing, just watches tobio and then eventually turns his eyes to hinata. tobio does the same, and together they watch him, and together, they marvel at this force of nature they have had the pleasure of knowing.

then, eventually, daichi says, “do you remember the kageyama tobio who walked into karasuno’s gym for the first time and refused to give up even an ounce of his own happiness for someone else? the kid who wouldn’t think twice about a teammate suffering, who was blinded by his own desires and desperation to make something of himself?”

tobio swallows tightly. “yeah,” he says. “i do.”

he can practically hear daichi’s grin. “ah, look how he’s grown. it’s a shame, tobio, that you won’t be able to grow even more. but god, what a pleasure it’s been to watch you unfold.”

tobio clenches his jaw as a swell of emotion overtakes him, and he’s glad for the waning light of day so that it can hide the shine of his eyes. this day has been one for celebrations, but he can never forget that it’s also one for goodbyes, and here it is. one of the only people who has seen him through from beginning to end, who gave him chance after chance, who believed in him, who watched him grow and will suffer for it, too—tobio clears his throat, and it makes daichi chuckle.

“it’s been a pleasure for all of us, i think,” he adds hesitantly, when tobio doesn’t respond. “and i think none moreso than hinata himself. you said he would disagree with you about not telling him, but you can tell him everything now, you know? everything you didn’t have time for.”

“i know,” whispers tobio. “i’ll tell him. i promise.”

“maybe you didn’t have those two years, but you have now, don’t you?” daichi asks. “in the end, i think that’s what matters. when you’re playing a five-set game, it feels like a thousand years, doesn’t it? feels like it’ll never end. just how many five-set games do you think you have with him now?”

of course, daichi would use a volleyball metaphor on him—probably the best way to get him to understand anything. and anyway, it works. tobio watches hinata from across the party, and no, a few months doesn’t feel like much. not when they should have had fifty fucking years. but daichi is right—perhaps it’s not about the time, but what you do with it. what it makes you feel.

once more, tobio grins. “you’re the best captain i’ve ever had,” he says. “when i die, you better use it as an excuse to take a week off of work.”

the words make daichi snort with laughter, and tobio knows he would never do such a thing, but he wants daichi to know anyway. and when daichi leans over to squeeze his shoulder, tobio thinks once more of that boy daichi spoke of—the boy tobio was in middle school and into his first year of high school. it is a shame that boy will never truly grow into a man, middle-aged, then old and withered, but he’ll live on anyway, even long after tobio is gone. he’ll be right here, with them—with all of them. tobio trusts them to take care of him, to love him, to teach him.

like this, maybe tobio truly will live forever, even just as a retired jersey number or a fond memory from high school. he doesn’t mind. oh, he doesn’t mind at all. that selfish, broken boy from middle school just wanted to be remembered at all, and now he’ll forever be etched onto the hearts of every person here—not as the strongest volleyball player in japan like he imagined so many years ago, but as a good friend, he hopes. a good teammate, he’s sure.

and perhaps, even—best of all—a good person. someone who learned and grew and changed the world in even the smallest of ways. it was a pleasure to watch him grow, daichi had said, but tobio thinks the real pleasure was being watched by them all, being changed by them all, and being able to sit here now and look back on his short life and knowing there is truly something to be said for allowing himself to know and be known.

to love and be loved.

for a long time, tobio was angry about this hand he has been dealt. for a long time, he was tired. he still is, but now—now, tobio looks out at this life he has and he feels nothing but gratitude for having any of it at all. he wants more time—he wants more years, wants the rest of the life he thought he would have. but if he can only have twenty-two years, tobio is glad they were spent this way, with these people.

it wasn’t a terrible life. as his eyes land on hinata once more, and hinata seems to sense his gaze and turns back to meet him with eyes brighter than any star and filled with so many dreams that he could burn a hole through the sky, tobio is filled with so much love and contentment that it almost feels wrong.

no.

it wasn’t a terrible life at all.

☾

shoyo doesn’t remember falling in love with kageyama tobio, only that one day in his second year of high school, he and kageyama finally succeeded at some complicated play they had been trying to master for the better part of a month, and the moment hinata hit the ground after finally smashing the ball onto the opposite court, his eyes met kageyama’s and he found an expression there that mirrored his own—one of surprise, amazement, and pure delight. they stared at each other for a belated moment, and then it was almost like they’d rehearsed it; shoyo jumped up and threw himself at kageyama, while kageyama barrelled into him with his full weight, arms wrapping around shoyo’s middle in a celebratory hug.

it felt like a movie, like a scene in which they, the underdogs, had been working tirelessly to beat the odds and make it to the top, and they’d just scored the game-winning point that would finally put them on the map. of course, they were just in karasuno’s gym, and it was far past the time ennoshita had told them they better be gone by, and it might have just been a fluke that they’d made the play, anyway.

but it didn’t matter; the glee and triumph was palpable as kageyama swung him around in his arms, laughing into shoyo’s chest as shoyo held both fists in the air and shrieked at the ceiling like he’d just won nationals. in truth, it might not matter much. they had only just made a point without anyone blocking or receiving, and they both knew from experience that anything they did in practice could easily be thwarted the moment they stepped on the court in a real game. this might not make a difference. this might not bring them any closer to winning nationals.

but knowing they’d done it, even this much, was a feeling that shoyo wouldn’t trade for anything. knowing he and kageyama had decided on this together, worked out the mechanics together, worked and slaved together—and now they had finally succeeded together.

together. they had done this together.

shoyo isn’t sure what it was, but when he looked down and saw kageyama’s beaming face looking right back up at him, he thought, unbidden—this is the only thing i want for the rest of my life.

in retrospect, it must have been happening for a long time. it must have been happening between the practices and games, during tosses and receives, underneath the bickering and insults that veiled perhaps something more. it must have been happening when he wasn’t looking, too busy keeping his eyes on the toss and watching where his spike would land. it must have been happening in those quiet times, too, as rare are they were, when they could just exist together—long bus rides to and from tokyo, after crushing defeats and hard practices, the occasional sleepover that always revealed a bit more than shoyo was ready for.

shoyo doesn’t think he could pinpoint it, even now. suddenly, it just felt like he had loved kageyama for his entire life, like some part of him had simply been waiting for kageyama to show up, and now—now the world was right. now he was certain of his place here, where he belonged, whom he belonged with.

when shoyo looked down at kageyama on that day in second year, he just knew this was it. this would always be it. he was going to spend the rest of his life loving kageyama tobio, no matter if kageyama loved him back.

now, shoyo thinks fate has a cruel way of dealing with such things. see, back then, he thought the worst-case scenario was living a life in which kageyama loved someone else, or simply did not love shoyo. but it turns out there is something worse than not being loved by kageyama, because at least then kageyama would be alive—

there are some things that shoyo just knows. one is: he will love kageyama far after he is gone. one is: so long as he lives, there will never be anything as beautiful and tragic as these years of his life.

one is: this is the end. for months, he has watched kageyama wane, his health rapidly deteriorate, the leukemia take piece after piece of his love as if he ever belonged to anything but himself. for months, he has waited for this but always known, even during a scare or two, that it was never truly the end. not until now. not until this.

shoyo lays in bed with kageyama, body curled protectively around the frail, thin body that kageyama has come to own, with his head resting against kageyama’s chest to feel the weak rise and fall there and to hear the gentle pitter-patter of his heartbeat, and he knows. he knows. this is all the time he has left.

oddly enough, the knowledge doesn’t give him over to despair. he’s known for a long time that it would come to this and that it would be the hardest thing to do in the world—say goodbye to kageyama. but kageyama is still here, and there will be time to mourn later. there will be time to scream and shout, to cry until he vomits, to become despondent in his grief. he’s already done such things anyway, when he thinks kageyama isn’t watching. but he thinks back to that last volleyball game, now several months ago, and how happy it had made kageyama, and even if kageyama is ill beyond measure and only coherent for a few hours a day, he deserves to have something gentle and soft and good here at the end.

shoyo can be that. shoyo can be anything for him, if it means this life was well-lived—and if it means kageyama tobio was well-loved.

so instead of breaking down or begging kageyama to stay, shoyo just lifts his head and looks up at kageyama’s resting face. “hey,” he whispers, reaching up to run his hands through kageyama’s unruly hair. he traces the features of kageyama’s lovely face, gaunt with illness now but still strikingly beautiful. “hey, tobio.” he sees kageyama’s face twitch and then his eyes slowly open, focusing on shoyo. it makes shoyo grin something bright and fond, fingers coming to rest against kageyama’s cheek. “hi.”

kageyama makes a noise, a grunt of sorts in place of a word. perhaps he’s slipping already, trying to stay here for one more day at a time. but even then, shoyo can tell that he wants to go. it’s time. and he wants kageyama to know it’s alright.

“do you know how much i love you?” asks shoyo, and it takes a moment for the words to register, but then kageyama’s lips are curving up into a grin.

“of course,” he breathes.

“and do you know how lucky i feel to have known you?”

kageyama nods.

“and do you know how badly i still want to kick your ass on a real volleyball court?”

at first, kageyama doesn’t respond, and then he lets out something akin to a snort. “later,” he says, closing his eyes again and resting his head against the pillows. “you can kick my ass later.”

shoyo swallows tightly, willing away the string of tears. “okay,” he says. “how about… next week?”

“think you can get on a professional team by then?”

“wow, asshole. any of them would be lucky to take me on in a heartbeat.”

kageyama chuckles weakly, mirth written all over his face. “next week, then.”

“then we can eat all the curry buns in the world.”

“loser buys them.”

“of course. and then what?”

there’s a long pause—so long that shoyo almost thinks kageyama has fallen asleep—and then kageyama whispers, “let’s get married.”

shoyo has to duck his head, pressing his forehead into the cavity of kageyama’s chest, because if he thinks about it too hard—and if he looks at kageyama’s face, with the ghost of a grin on his lips, like he’s imagining the perfect world and feels only bliss—he knows he’ll never last. he takes a deep breath to steady himself, and then whispers, “okay. big or small?”

“small.”

“where?”

“karasuno.”

shoyo laughs quietly. “getting married at a school? how terrible.”

“and kids.”

he takes another deep breath. “how many?”

kageyama hums. “two.”

“why not six? then we could have a whole volleyball team.”

“s’too hard.”

it makes shoyo snort—the idea that, even hypothetically and dare he say whimsically, kageyama doesn’t want six kids because it’s too hard. it’s not like they will have kids. it’s not like they’ll get married. it’s not like they’ll play that volleyball game next week, but this is the life they should have had. this is the life they were promised by no one but still feel cheated out of by the cancer killing kageyama day by day.

but it’s nice to think about anyway, isn’t it? to live it all in their imagination and then perhaps feel more at peace with not having it at all.

or maybe it’s just the first time in weeks that shoyo has heard kageyama sound so… happy.

“okay, then, two kids,” agrees shoyo. “one setter and one middle blocker.”

“two setters.”

“don’t be greedy, kageyama-kun.”

“they can have orange hair.”

shoyo considers it. and then he lifts his head and presses a kiss to the center of kageyama’s chest. “okay,” he says. “they can both be setters.”

“s’gonna be amazing,” whispers kageyama, and he sounds more content than he has in a long, long time. “can’t wait.”

“me neither,” says shoyo, and he means it. he really does.

then, for a time, neither of them say anything. shoyo finds himself thinking of that ethereal, unreachable future they can only imagine now, the one they’ll never have. it’s not fair. he wanted to do so much more with kageyama. they were going to play volleyball forever. they were going to keep challenging each other every day. they were going to bicker and fight and make love and make something of themselves together.

it was going to be good. it was going to be so goddamn good.

once, kageyama told shoyo about his grandfather, and about the promise he made to kageyama as a child—that if he got really good at volleyball, someone even better would come and find him. that someone stronger would find him. back then, kageyama had told shoyo in no short terms that that someone stronger had found him, and it was even better than his grandfather had promised.

he isn’t sure how to tell kageyama that he was shoyo’s someone stronger, too.

eventually, shoyo feels kageyama stirring beneath him, and then a gentle hand touching his hair. “thanks, sho,” mumbles kageyama, and shoyo looks up at him with furrowed brows.

“what for?”

“everything, mostly.” his fingers curl weakly in shoyo’s hair, the action so reminiscent of their high school days that shoyo can almost pretend they’re still sixteen and know nothing of this sort of tragedy. “but also for being the first one to stay.” somehow, shoyo knows what he means—not now, but then. shoyo was the first person crazy enough to stick by kageyama and hit his tosses when his own teammates in middle school had turned their back on him. it was this, in the end, that gave kageyama the chance to flourish and break out of the suffocating mentality he had found himself in for three years.

it was this, in the end, that laid the groundwork for their entire relationship—both in volleyball and out of it.

shoyo stayed. and it breaks his heart that now, kageyama can’t.

“thank you for everything, too,” shoyo replies, nuzzling into kageyama’s hand. “but also for giving me something to stay for.”

“will you stay this time, too?”

“of course. always.”

“okay,” breathes kageyama, settling back into the pillows a bit more. “m’sorry i can’t. i tried—i wanted to—”

“you did well, kageyama tobio,” whispers shoyo, watching kageyama’s lovely face once more. his eyes begin to fill with tears, because he knows—he knows—“you did well. but don’t be silly. we have that volleyball game next week, remember?”

kageyama’s lips pull back into a grin. “right,” he says. “right. i’ll be there. promise.”

it’s one promise he won’t be able to keep. but shoyo allows it anyway, because there’s nothing else he can do. he has spent years learning all of the ways to love kageyama tobio—in volleyball and friendship, across oceans and telephone calls, in a hospital, in a home they made for themselves. now, he will simply have to learn one more way. one more way to love kageyama, one more way to exist with or without him. and shoyo—shoyo loves a challenge, doesn’t he? he’s always loved the challenge of kageyama tobio, this enigma, this force of nature that came into his life so suddenly and will leave in much the same fashion.

he wishes he could have it any other way. but like this, wrapped up in bed with the boy he loves most in the world, shoyo makes a promise to himself, too. he will take kageyama with him, keep him tucked away safely in his heart—into each volleyball game and across each continent, with friends and family and strangers alike, when shoyo weeps and laughs and smiles brightly enough to burn the world.

shoyo will bring kageyama home. and like this, kageyama tobio can live forever.

and like this—shoyo can live forever, too, and they will never be parted again.

☾

kageyama tobio dies just one week shy of his twenty-second birthday. it’s neither sudden nor surprising, but that does not take away from the devastation of it all. one morning in december, shoyo wakes up, and kageyama does not wake up with him. and finally—it’s over.

and finally—it’s only just begun.

the funeral is simple and elegant, as they planned before kageyama’s death. a great number of people turn out for it—kageyama’s former teammates, classmates, coaches, friends, family. even a number of strangers show up, fans from his time on the national team and in the v.league, and shoyo sits and watches as they come in droves—the people whose lives kageyama touched, the people whose lives would be worse off were it not for him. shoyo hopes he knew how loved he was. he hopes he knows, even now.

he spends the entire week with kageyama’s family, and they dig up old photo albums, pour over home videos, reminisce about memories that aren’t far enough in the past to be reminiscing about to begin with. shoyo watches old highlight reels and game after game from their high school days, marveling at their strange beginnings. for an entire day, he becomes obsessed with watching youtube videos of kageyama from the olympics, and has to avoid the comment section when he sees fans mentioning his death and sending well wishes to a rising star taken too soon.

to the rest of the volleyball world, kageyama was a promising young man who was supposed to dominate the japanese volleyball scene for years. it’s a great loss in any capacity, knowing he had such potential and was instead stolen from the world by cancer at such a young age. but when shoyo watches those old games, the ones from when they were just fifteen years old, he sees not a rising volleyball star whose illustrious career was cut short, but a human being who was only just beginning to understand his place in the world. a boy who barely had time to grow into a man who loved and was loved in return.

shoyo sees something tragic, sure—knowing kageyama is gone and will never return, knowing they didn’t have enough time. but mostly, he just sees pure, unbridled joy. mostly, he just sees… love.

the truth is, he’s not sure what the rest of his life will look like now that kageyama is gone. he doesn’t know what the next few years will look like, or even the next few months. grief is a strange thing, and he knows it will be his constant companion for as long as he holds kageyama in his heart. there will be days when he finds it impossible to get out of bed, too burdened by the pain and agony of losing someone so precious to him. there will be days when he’s angry, when he wants to yell and break things, when he wants to curse the universe for taking kageyama from him. there will be days when perhaps he feels nothing at all, and those might be the worst of all.

but just as the pain might overwhelm him some days, shoyo knows, too, there will be days when he wakes up and feels lighter than the day before. there will be days when thoughts of kageyama bring nothing but joy and fondness and comfort. there will be days when he begins to realize the grief hasn’t gone away—he’s just learned better ways to live with it, and so he will take one step forward every morning that he wakes without kageyama at his side, and bit by bit, shoyo will live his life.

it won’t be easy. but living his life with kageyama wasn’t always easy, either, and here it is: shoyo’s next great challenge. the challenge of learning how to live without kageyama tobio, and how to live for him.

and just like every other challenge involving kageyama tobio in his life, shoyo won’t back down. he won’t run or hide.

two and a half years later, shoyo steps onto the court at ariake arena donning the number ten for the first time since he was in high school. this time, his jersey is red. and this time—there’s no number nine to accompany him, no other half to the freak duo that they came to be known as in high school. it’s bittersweet to have dreamed of playing on the national team at the olympics but still feel as though his accomplishment is diminished knowing there was someone else he promised to be playing with.

no matter. shoyo stands with his head held high, grinning at the bright lights and the cheers of thousands of fans and the familiar smell of volleyball. the truth is, he’s not alone even here—not when he’s carried kageyama with him for two and a half years and has felt kageyama in every volleyball, every game, every toss and spike for those two and a half years. and kageyama is here, too, in the squeak of shoes against the floor and the heft of the volleyball and the calls of his teammates.

kageyama is here, in shoyo.

now shoyo takes a deep breath, and he turns his face toward the sky. he closes his eyes, letting himself get lost in the triumph of this moment. and then he whispers, “i’m here. you’re here. and now we’re even, kageyama-kun.”

maybe they never really got to play against each other like they promised, and maybe they never got to play together again like shoyo had always hoped. but shoyo’s victory here will be kageyama’s victory, too, and like this, kageyama will be in every moment of every game, in every toss, in every spike. like this, he’ll be so much more than whatever the cancer tried to make of him.

like this, they can finally live forever.