Chapter Text
The crowd roars, filling the arena with equal cries of joy and despair.
“Wow! Did you see that? Did you two see Tenma’s game winning spike? Oikawa! Iwaizumi! That was incredible! Did you—“
“Shrimpy!” Oikawa grunts, struggling to hold Hinata’s withering form above his shoulders. He sways dangerously, heart lurching in his throat. “I could hardly focus on the game with your constant blabbering, and don’t get me started on your annoying ‘ooh’s’ and ‘ahh’s’.” Hinata’s heel slams hard against his sternum. He yelps. “Oi! Quit squirming or I’m going to drop you on your head! Your bony bum keeps digging into my shoulders!”
“S-Sorry!” Hinata giggles, leaning slightly to the right to veer his curious pupils past the bustling crowd. There’s too much chaos, far too many patrons jumping up and down to get a good view of Tenma on the court. He frowns, huffing and puffing like a petulant child. He’s on the verge of throwing a tantrum.
“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa shrieks, “help me get this brat off me! He may be short, but he’s built like a boulder!”
“Hey!” Hinata scoffs, trust falling back into Iwaizumi’s awaiting arms. On the way down, he makes sure to ‘accidentally’ smack Oikawa in the face with his shoe for good measure. A startling yelp signifies his success. “I’ll have you know, I’m made up of one-hundred percent muscle!”
With a palm over his wounded eye, Oikawa retorts, “I knew you were too dumb to have a brain.”
“Oi!” Hinata barks, striding right up to face Oikawa as soon as his sneakered soles touch the bleachers. He strains his neck, despising the overt height difference. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Oikawa scowls, leering into his soul.
“Point proven.”
_______
_______
The crisp night air is brisk, brimming with chatter. Distant cheers can be heard, muffled by the national gymnasium’s thick walls. Patrons bustle about amongst the street, scurrying to the nearest celebratory bar where crowds of fan will be celebrating the Railway Warriors mightiest victory.
There was once a time in his life— precisely a year ago— when Hinata found himself looking up to the Grand King. But over the course of a year, as the trio grew tremendously closer, Hinata sordidly discovered that his friend wasn’t all that glorious. Even Oikawa has his flaws. At first, he was blinded by his charismatic charm and godlike skills, but once Hinata’s initial elation dwindled, he found an egotistical prick in the place of a man he considers a King.
On the contrary, although few and fleeting— Oikawa does have his admirable moments, and despite the constant bickering that conspires between them, Hinata knows, deep down, that Oikawa does care about him. He’ll never admit it aloud, and Hinata will never return the sentiment to his face, but it’s a silent, unspoken agreement between the two. Every insult is a term of endearment, rooted in a blossoming seed of friendship.
Hinata huffs, shoving his fists into his red, puffer jacket’s pockets. He breathes a shuttering sigh before stealing a quick glance to his left. The moment him and Oikawa’s eyes meet, they divert their gazes, scowling into oblivion as they mumble insults beneath their breaths.
“Shorty.”
“Jerk.”
“Carrot top.”
“Self centered, egotistical ass—“
“ENOUGH!” Iwaizumi grits, sending both boys his most lethal glare. It’s frightening to say the least, but it certainly does the trick. Both Oikawa and Hinata glower, hiding their imaginary tails in between their legs.
“Can you two grow up already?” Iwaizumi scolds. “This is the second time we’ve been kicked out of a game because of your insolence. Why you always need to wrestle it out is beyond me, but next time, can you two just duke it out on the streets instead of in an arena full of witnesses?”
Hinata spazzes out. He chaotically throws his arms this way and that. He’s nearly on the verge of another tantrum.
“B-But he started it!” Hinata huffs, pointing an accusatory finger in Oikawa’s direction, and the Grand King has the audacity to look offended. WOW! Talk about entitled… Hinata wants nothing more than to wipe that incredulous facade off his face.
“Are you kidding me? You think I started it?” Oikawa scoffs, pouting like a whiny baby. “Iwa-Chan! Can you believe this pipsqueak?”
As expected, Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. “He’s right though,” he admits, gaining a prideful ‘hmph’ from Hinata in response. Oikawa growls. “You’re the one who pushed him.”
“Yeah!” Hinata pipes up, egging him on. “You pushed me!”
“I was pushed from behind!” Oikawa counters, huffing in frustration. “I fell into you by accident. Then you came at me!”
“Ugh…” Iwaizumi groans, rubbing out the stress amassing in his temples. “You’re both at fault, and you’re both annoying. End of story.”
Like the rowdy toddlers they are, they whip their heads back and protest in unison.
“Nuh-Uh! He’s the annoying one!”
Then, as if realizing they were just insulted by the other, they turn to glare at each other and growl like two feral wolves crossing paths in the forest.
It’s been a long, exhausting day, and Iwaizumi’s had enough. Its one thing to babysit Oikawa, but without Tenma’s consolidating presence, babysitting Hinata becomes downright hellish. In an effort to dispel the tension, Iwaizumi decides to try a different approach.
“So…” he drawls, whistling lowly. He squints, noting a quaint restaurant in the distance. In response, his stomach grumbles. “What’re we feeling tonight, boys?”
Instantaneously, his friend’s eyes shift from rage to hunger, only for anger to rear it’s ugly head once more.
“Ramen!” Oikawa suggests at the same time Hinata says, “Sushi!”
And faster than the blink of an eye, Hinata and Oikawa are back to square one. With newfound vexation, they glare daggers into each other’s souls.
“Hell no, shrimpy!”
“Absolutely not!”
With a heavy sigh, Iwaizumi looks to the heavens and begs for mercy.
_______
_______
Dinner is a sordid affair.
Hinata is glum, and It’s not because they ended up chowing down at the nearest Ramen bar, and it’s not because Oikawa keeps shooting him weary, concerned glances every minute of the hour.
Hinata’s mood has plummeted because a certain someone isn’t here.
The air feels heavy, suffocating even as all three friends slurp up their noodles in relative silence. The next time Oikawa and Hinata make eye contact, he receives a small pitying smile, but Hinata can’t find it in himself to reciprocate the gesture. All it serves to do is further churn the bile in his gut.
He can hardly eat.
With a sigh, Iwaizumi sets down his chopsticks. He chews absently as he stares down at his meal. It’s been half an hour, and the broth still nears the rim.
“What was his excuse this time?” He asks, ignoring the warning glare Oikawa shoots him.
Without looking up from his bowl, Hinata relays solemnly, “he didn’t have one.”
Iwaizumi chokes, pounding his own chest with his fist. Oikawa slams his back with his palm, features impassive.
“W-What?” His face is beet red, and his voice emits gritty from the gunk in his throat. “What did he say?”
Sullenly, Hinata’s mind wanders back to him and Tenma’s short exchange. This time, he actually thinks Tenma broke the world record for shortest reply over text! He should probably get in touch with Guinness World Records. This is the sixth time Tenma’s turned the group down over a span of two weeks, and that’s not even the worst part of it. For the past month, Tenma hasn’t attended a single group practice match, leaving Iwaizumi, Oikawa, and Hinata to their own devices.
“I sent him our location,” Hinata mumbles, swirling his noodles round and round with his chopsticks. He appears dejected, lost. He stares absently down at the Ramen whirlpool he’s creating. He feels like he’s in the middle of a sea storm, drowning. “I said, let’s celebrate your win! Dinner is on us!’” Hinata scowls, stabbing his Ramen with his chopsticks in a ferocious manner. Broth flies, splattering all over his white tee. It’ll stain, but he can’t find it in himself to care. His voice changes into a mocking tone as he continues. “And then he said ‘Cant! Sorry!’”
Oikawa blinks, narrowing his eyes. “That’s it?” He asks, “that’s all he said?”
“Yup!” Hinata pipes up, popping the ‘p’. He laughs, but it’s clearly strained. He looks up toward the ceiling as his eyes sting, pricking with unshed tears. His throat hurts. It stings so bad that he actually feels like he’s swallowing shards of shattered glass. “I didn’t want to admit it, but…” his voice cracks. He closes his eyes. “I think Tenma-san is avoiding us.”
It hurts to say it. It crushes his soul to voice it, but he knows it’s true, they all know it’s true. As much as they wish it weren’t, they can’t just ignore the stone cold facts. Tenma is hardly in their lives anymore. He ghosts them, doesn’t answer their calls, takes way too long to text back, and when he does, it’s curt and final, leaving no room for further conversation.
“Maybe…” Iwaizumi begins, looking sheepish, but even he doesn’t sound confident in his own words. “Maybe he’s busy?”
A disbelieving snort sounds. They wince, glancing toward Oikawa.
“Busy?” The Grand King’s brows rise far above his fringe. He looks quizzically at the piece of chicken between his chopsticks before he plops it into his mouth. He utters through his chews, voice oddly coherent despite the intrusion. “He quit his nine to five job to be a professional volleyball player.” Oikawa scoffs, incredulous. “Trust me, he’s got plenty of time to spare.” He shakes his head, eyes sharp and unforgiving. With every word he speaks, he jabs his chopstick in the air. “That’s why I have to agree with shorty pie over here.” He jerks his head along with pointing the pair of chopsticks in Hinata’s direction. “It’s clear our tiny giant has been avoiding us.”
The truth sounds even more brutal coming from Oikawa’s mouth. Despite his whiny nature, he’s the smartest one of them all; therefore, his perception is almost never wrong, and his theories are typically proven correct. On a side note, he believes aliens exist, and it’s only because Oikawa says so that Hinata strongly believes it to be true.
Aliens… Hinata thinks. He shivers. Maybe he can befriend some aliens and convince them to abduct Tenma for him. That would be nice. Oh, and maybe he could beg them to abduct Kageyama too, but only so he could witness the pure mortification on his setter’s face.
“You look really creepy smiling like that, shrimpy,” Oikawa notes, slurping up a good bit of noodles. His bowl is nearly finished. He always eats like an animal, just like Hinata after game day. “What’s churning in that pea sized brain of yours? Hm? Are you imagining Tobio-kun’s demise?”
With pursed lips, Hinata tilts his head from side to side. He hums. “Sort of.”
“PFFFFFT!”
He didn’t even find his response to be all that funny, but somehow, Iwaizumi did. He spits out his food, and since he happens to be sitting directly across from him, Hinata receives the brunt of the spewed contents with full force.
He closes his eyes and emits a long, exasperated sigh, pointedly ignoring the vile liquid that slithers down his flesh. His nostrils flair and his fists clench. He breathes— in and out, in and out— as the voices around him grow muffled through his irritation. His gut plummets. He feels nauseas. Great. He thinks. Just my luck.
With his head thrown back, Oikawa laughs, loud and boisterous. He gains the attention of nearly all the patrons in the vicinity. As they shoot menacing glares, Iwaizumi sends them his scariest scowl yet before turning urgently to Hinata to apologize.
“Hinata—“
“It’s fine.” He smiles, eyes still snuggly closed. His lips quiver and his throat constricts. His hands tremble, so he clenches his fists a tad tighter. Slowly, a bit shakily, he rises to a stand.
He wants to cry.
Cautiously, he blinks his eyes open. A small piece of noodle obscures his left eye. He swallows, biting back the bile that threatens to rise in his throat.
“I’ll be back,” he speaks urgently, voice hoarse. He swallows harshly. With a pitying nod from Iwaizumi, and a cheeky grimace from Oikawa, Hinata turns and makes a direct beeline for the restrooms. During his trek, he hears the distant jingle of the front entrance bell— signifying the arrival of newcomers.
Following the bell- loud, raucous chatter booms, instantly overwhelming the serene atmosphere of the joint. Hinata scowls, cursing the abrupt rudeness and the lack of respect the newcomers seem to harbor towards the softly chattering patrons. Rather than glancing back toward the entrance to quell his curiosity, Hinata barrels into the door of the restroom instead.
He’s quick to turn on the sink, and even quicker to wash the nauseating food off his face. He scrubs hard and hisses through the burn. The hotter the water, the more germs he’ll kill. At least, that’s his philosophy. He can’t be too sure though, after all, he never really paid that much attention in Algebra.
When he deems himself germ free, he turns the knob to cease the flow of water. He breathes heavily, shutters, and takes a long, good look at himself in the mirror. Water falls, pattering into the sink below. The front of his strands are soaked, lying matted to the expansion of his forehead. The occasional water droplet slips into his lashes, so he blinks. Amber irises become glued to the dark circles beneath his lids— evidence of a sleep deprived man.
Every night, Hinata sends Tenma a text. It ranges from day to day, depending on his mood. Typically, it’s something absurd or silly. Like— ‘did you hear about that new alien movie coming out? Oikawa won’t shut up about it!’ Or, when he’s feeling a bit braver, he’ll say a simple ‘hey’ in a desperate attempt to initiate a conversation.
He stays up in the hopes of hearing a response. Every time time his phone dings, he jolts and his heart speeds up. Once in a blue moon, it’s actually Tenma replying with a curt response in the dead of night. Other times, it’s Kageyama asking him to hangout, or Kenma asking him to hop on Xbox. Nevertheless, nine times out of ten, whenever his phone dings, his chest crushes in disappointment.
He stays up because he’s a hopeless fool.
His mind is in a constant battle. Half of his conscious begs for him to give up, while the other half encourages him to keep pushing. Half of him is envious. He’s jealous of Tenma’s teammates and how much time his idol devotes to his new friends. That should be me he thinks whenever he sees Tenma post a new picture with his teammates. That should be us.
Before Hinata can drown further in his sorrows, the door to the bathroom bursts open. The knob slams into the anterior wall, producing an echoing CLACK! Hinata flinches, catching a wide eyed, heaving Oikawa in the mirror. He looks paranoid, petrified even.
Such an uncanny sight causes Hinata’s heart to sink.
“Wha—“
“I tried calling you.” Oikawa blurts. With a quick jerk of his arm, he tosses an object in the air. With vigilant eyes, Hinata turns on his heel and catches the gadget with ease.
He looks down, noting the device in his palm. His phone. With a quick tap of his thumb, the screen turns on, displaying a one missed call notification from The Grand King.
Hinata looks up, brows furrowed.
“I was going to tell you to remain in the restroom.” Oikawa admits, tone weary. His breathing rate has yet to decrease, and his eyes still remain wide and alert. It’s haunting. “But then I realized you left your phone, so I had to personally come and warn you myself.”
This sounds bad, he thinks, ignoring his own thundering pulse. He fiddles with the hem of his tee. “W-Warn me about what, Oikawa-san?”
Without missing a beat he says—
“They’re here, Shouyou.”
Hinata winces as if he was stung by a hundred bees— violent and sharp. Oikawa never, never ever uses his given name unless the situation is horribly dire. This is serious. This is bad, and whoever they are must be worse.
“W-Who?” He dares to ask. Tenma and his teammates? An old, long forgotten nemesis? Previous rivals? Or… No. No… it couldn’t be… “Who’s here?”
And there it is. The look Hinata was afraid to see. His stomach twists into unforgiving knots at the sight. He knows that expression like he knows the back of his hand. The rapid twitch of Oikawa’s brow, the minuscule twist of his lips, the slight wrinkle in his forehead, and the spiteful look in his chocolate brown eyes…
It’s the same exact look he encompasses whenever Kageyama’s name is mentioned.
Which must mean…
“Karasuno,” Oikawa supplies, confirming Hinata’s worst living nightmare. “Your entire team is here.”
Like a deer caught in headlights, Hinata freezes, hypnotized by Oikawa’s thunderstruck gaze. He’s too stunned, too panic stricken to form any coherent words. Instead, he mouths the ultimate question.
Kageyama?
Grimly, with a hint of malice, Oikawa nods in confirmation.
Yes.
A wave of dizziness overcomes him. He stumbles, falling back into the sink. He grips the edges tight, knuckles turning a ghastly white as terror consumes him.
He doesn’t care how many times he needs to repeat it. This is bad. This is really bad. This is like… the end of the world bad. Okay… so maybe he’s being a little dramatic. Still, this is bad.
It’s bad because one: Oikawa. Two: Hinata, and three: Kageyama, and if three finds out one and two are together then blood will rain from the skies, demons will scavenge the earth, and the universe will implode!
Seriously. He isn’t kidding.
Oikawa is Kageyama’s arch nemesis. They’re rivals— enemies through and through. Hinata assumes he’s Kageyama’s best friend. (C’mon now. Nobody else puts up with his mood swings like Hinata does.) So if Kageyama finds out Hinata has been befriending Oikawa in secret for about a year now, then someone is surely going to end up dead, and Hinata has a sinking suspicion it’s not going to be Oikawa suffering by Kageyama’s hand, but Hinata himself!
When Hinata is around Oikawa, he talks shit about him to his face. When Hinata is with Kageyama, they talk shit about Oikawa behind his back! In Kageyama’s mind, Hinata hates the Grand King just as much as he does, if not, more! He has to keep up pretenses so of course Hinata tries to make himself sound like the bigger hater. However, his intense hatred is just a facade, because deep down, Hinata is just as much a fan of Oikawa as he is his friend.
That is the sole reason why Hinata is freaking the hell out. On the other hand, Oikawa has his own reasons to look paranoid. Though, his reasoning stems from something more sinister. In the past, he quote on quote said—
“Shrimpy! You’re an embarrassment to be seen with! If your pesty friend’s ever find out we’re acquainted, then my reputation will be sullied!”
Therefore, as Hinata mentioned many times before…
Oikawa is a prick! But also…
“This is bad…” Hinata mumbles, pacing back and forth across the bathroom. Oikawa’s eyes track his every move. “This is bad…”
“No shit!” The Grand King hisses, eyeing the door to the bathroom with intense trepidation. “And it’s all your fault!”
“Mine?!” Hinata hisses back, steps coming to a squeaking halt. He rounds on Oikawa, gaze lethal. “How is it my fault?”
Oikawa scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. His eyes appear crazed as he stares back into Amber orbs. “They’re your friends, shorty! Yours! How the hell did you not know they would show up here tonight?”
“I wouldn’t know because I turned down their offer to watch Tenma’s game with you guys!” He counters, spitting through clenched teeth. “The hell did you want me to do, huh? Track their locations every hour like some crazed stalker?”
Oikawa blinks, expression morphing into one of perplexed guilt. A slight furrow contorts the skin between his brows.
“Oh my god…” Hinata raises a shaky hand, finger taut and aimed directly at a suspected stalker. “Oh my god, seriously?” He takes a step back, and Oikawa flinches. “You track Iwaizumi, don’t you?” He accuses.
Oikawa doesn’t respond.
“You totally do!”
With reflexes faster than he can see, Oikawa bounds forward to snatch up the collar of Hinata’s tee in a vice grip. In response, the ginger squawks, cowering in fear as he’s pulled nearly centimeters away from a snarling demon.
Forget Kageyama! Oikawa will murder him for sure!
“Listen here, Shrimpy,” Oikawa grits, spitting the nickname with venom. Hinata winces, grimacing. “Don’t act like you don’t track Tenma’s ass!”
“B-But I-I don’t!” He whimpers pathetically.
Oikawa stares, hard. His eyes flit, searching for the truth, and every second that ticks by is another second towards Hinata’s demise. He waits with bated breath.
Finally, after what feels like forever, Oikawa’s complexion reddens further in humiliation. He seems to shamefully realize that Hinata is, in fact, spewing the truth. It’s true. He isn’t lying no matter how lovesick he is for his dwindling friendship with the infamous ace. Tenma has never shared his location with Hinata; therefore, there is simply no way for him to track him.
With a new resolve, Oikawa is quick to threaten, “breathe a word of this to anyone and I’ll turn your raw shrimpy ass into a fried popcorn shrimp, ya hear me?”
So weird… Hinata thinks, unable to fully process the threat and what it insinuates. He doesn’t know whether he should laugh or cry. Oikawa always emits the strangest string of words whenever he’s feeling sheepish or stressed. Nevertheless, Hinata would be wise to heed the Grand King’s advice.
“Y-Yeah,” he stammers, unable to quell the stutter of his tongue. “I-I hear you.”
BZZZZ! BZZZZ! BZZZZ!
The crystal clear sound of a phone vibrating tears through the tension in the air like a knife. Hinata releases a shutter as he blinks up at Oikawa expectantly, only to find that the legendary setter has no intention of moving.
He knows it isn’t his phone that’s going off, because his ringer is actually on. Plus, the buzzing isn’t coming from the device in his own hand, it’s radiating from the seething man in his direct line of sight.
“Err…” he gulps, diverting his eyes. “Are you uh… are you going to answer that?”
“Tsk.” Oikawa tuts, mumbling a curse beneath his breath. He doesn’t relinquish his grip on Hinata’s tee even as he rummages through his pocket with his free hand. When the device is free, he huffs, blowing air up toward his fringe to clear his vision.
“I’m in the middle of murdering shorty here,” he greets, tapping the speaker icon on the phone screen. “What’s up?”
“Well,” Iwaizumi’s voice immediately cuts through the line. He hisses, voice low and sharp. “If you two idiots don’t find a place to hide, then you’ll both be six feet under the ground.”
With a nervous intake of breath, Hinata looks up, meeting Oikawa’s anxious doe eyes head on.
“Iwa-chan?” Oikawa whispers, fearing the worst. His eyes flit between Hinata’s pale face and the door.
“I’m not playing around!” Iwaizumi whisper-shouts, pausing as loud, recognizable laughs chime in the background. The familiarity of it all send Hinata’s heart into a wild frenzy. “Two of Karasuno’s players are heading toward the restrooms right now. It’s that bald dude who plays wing spiker and his hyperactive libero friend.”
“Tanaka and Nishinoya…” Hinata blurts, instantly recognizing them by Iwaizumi’s strangely spot on descriptions. “The loudest of the bu—aAH!”
A sharp jerk to his arm has Hinata howling. He’s being dragged, that much is discernible from the tile lines moving quickly underneath his feet.
“O-Oikawa! Wha—“
“You heard the man!” He hisses, throwing Hinata into the farthest stall from the entrance door. “They’re coming. So we need to hide.” Oikawa rushes in after. He’s quick to slam the stall door shut, and even quicker to slide the lock into place. “There’s only three stalls,” he informs, breaths heavy, “and the big gap beneath the doors doesn’t provide much privacy at all. If anyone walks in, they’ll most definitely see that there are two people in this stall.” He turns then, eyes round and robotic as they lock onto Hinata, who in turn, is holding onto the stall walls for dear life.
“Stand on the toilet seat,” Oikawa commands, tone leaving no room for argument. “You’re shorter that me, so it’s only logical that—“
The sound of the door opening kills the words right off Oikawa’s tongue. The setter snaps his teeth shut with a CLACK. He glares at Hinata expectantly, gesturing for him to move.
So he does. For the time being, he swallows his pride and allows the short comment to slide. For the sake of the friendships that could be severed due to being caught, Hinata stands on the toilet seat like the obedient, incredible friend he is. Oikawa definitely owes him for this.
He sticks out his tongue for good measure, only to receive a janky middle finger in turn.
“—but atleast I didn’t fail.”
New voices invade the vicinity. Hinata freezes, muscles growing rigid. Oikawa straightens, jaw visibly tightening.
“What’d you get?” Tanaka’s tone is curious, but incredibly weary.
“A twenty-six!” Nishinoya proudly exclaims.
Oikawa gawks, expression morphing into one of pure terror. Wordlessly, he mouths, oh my god.
Hinata shouldn’t be one to talk. Not with his grades rarely venturing out of the single digits. Still, he will admit that’s bad.
Tanaka doesn’t answer for a few seconds, which means he’s probably deduced the same conclusion.
“Dude…” finally, he finds his voice.
“What?”
“That’s like really bad. You failed failed. That’s worse than receiving a zero.”
Absently, Oikawa nods in agreement.
Scoffing, Nishinoya asks, “how can a zero be better than a twenty-six!?”
The zipping sound of a loosening zipper rings clear. Not long after, the trickling sounds of urination becomes prominent.
“A zero means you didn’t even try, but a twenty-six means you tried and still failed.”
“Ugh,” Nishinoya groans. “Whatever. It’s not like grades matter anyway.”
Oikawa clutches his chest with one hand. The other moves to grip Hinata’s forearm with inhuman strength. With how fast his chest rises and falls, he looks about ten seconds away from going into cardiac arrest. That’s bad, because Hinata failed his CPR certification test. Not once, but twice. So if Oikawa’s heart fails him now, he’s definitely a goner.
Plus, if Hinata yells for help, it’ll draw too much attention to them. Oikawa would probably rather die than be outed, so all in all, Hinata would be doing him a favor.
However, because the gods are sorely out to get him, Hinata’s heart nearly fails him the moment a newcomer joins the fray.
Just as the door creaks opens, Nishinoya shouts—
“KAGEYAMA!”
He’s lucky Oikawa’s hand is still clutching his forearm, otherwise, Hinata would have fallen face first into the tile. Although, while it’s enough to prevent him from cracking his head open, it isn’t enough to stop him from stumbling. He missteps, his foot slips on slippery porcelain—
*PLOP!*
He gasps, only to be shushed by a warm, clammy hand. Oikawa’s mouth is set into a firm line as he stares. He shakes his head slowly, begging for Hinata to remain silent with his eyes. It’s hard to stay quiet as his mind reels from the shock of stepping into toilet water of all things. Hinata’s right foot grows increasingly cold and wet as the water fills his shoe. He shutters, glad for the palm that muffles his weak whines.
The bathroom grows quiet, mortifyingly so. The only sound Hinata hears is his own pounding heart pulsating in his ears.
Then, to further spike his amassing humiliation, the bathroom erupts into a tumultuous fit of giggles.
Hinata flushes so deep with embarrassment that he ultimately resembles a ripened tomato. He cringes internally, and although his identity remains a secret, he still can’t help but feel thoroughly appalled.
Hearing Kageyama’s throaty chuckle is the worst sound of all.
“T-That was a big doo-doo!” Nishinoya harshly whispers. The group’s cackles grow ever louder after the witty side comment. So immature, Hinata thinks, enraged. He didn’t even take a dump! He misstepped into the toilet bowl. That was all!
At least Oikawa finds the situation more frustrating than funny, but maybe that’s because Oikawa’s sneakers are the ones showing, not his. Though, the Grand King seems to have already contemplated this thought, because his complexion is just as red as Hinata’s, if not more.
“Ah man!” Tanaka huffs, fond. A giddy sigh filled with wistfulness escapes his lips. “It’s too bad Hinata isn’t here with us.”
“Ah yeah!” Nishinoya pipes up, “Where is Shouyou anyway?”
Hinata gasps, but Oikawa’s palm presses harder, stifling the noise.
“I already told you,” Kageyama growls, “he has plans.”
“Oh?” Tanaka says, “what sort of plans?”
Oikawa rolls his eyes. Can they hurry up already? He silently mouths, clearly exasperated.
The sound of clothing ruffles, most likely a shrug.
“I didn’t ask,” Kageyama deadpans. He sounds as dull and clueless as ever.
“Well…” Nishinoya butts in, sounding oddly mischievous, which can only mean one of two things. He’s either thinking of Kiyoko, or he’s concocting some sort of idiotic plan. Neither is ideal. “Let’s ask him then!”
“H-Hey!” Kageyama screeches. A scuffle resonates. Shoes squeak and grunts emit. “That’s my phone! Hey! Give it back!”
“Tanaka! Hold him down!”
“Oi! Get off me!”
Nishinoya’s evilest laugh fills the vicinity. Hinata pales drastically, emerging ten shades lighter than his natural complexion. He resembles a ghost, and one glance at Oikawa tells Hinata that he doesn’t look any better.
“Hey! Hey!” Kageyama cries out, struggling. “Use your own damn phone! Oi! Why does it have to be mine?”
“Ha-ha It’s simple!” Nishinoya cheers, giddy with excitement. “There’s a better chance he’ll answer if he sees the call is coming from you!”
“Agh!”
Urgently, with hands grabbier than a selfish toddler, Oikawa begins to pat Hinata down. He lacks any and all self respect in his search as he digs his muscled fingers into the pockets of his sweatpants. Hinata flinches, yelps when Oikawa gets too handsy, and effectively punches him in the chest.
“Your phone!” Oikawa hisses lowly, brows pinched in alarm. He holds out his hand, “give me your phone. hurry.”
With as much sass as Hinata can muster, he raises his phone in front of the Grand King’s face. He waggles it, flashing the other a pointed look that says— You’re an idiot. It’s been in my hand the entire time.
As expected, Oikawa rolls his eyes. He scowls, snatches the phone from Hinata’s grasp, and makes a move to silence the ringer.
Maybe it’s high strung nerves, maybe it’s the raucous volume, or maybe it’s both; nevertheless, Oikawa doesn’t get the chance to silence the device before Kageyama’s name flashes across the screen. It rings, loud and shrilling. It blares so suddenly that it ultimately startles Oikawa. He jerks, caught off guard, and Hinata helplessly watches as his phone flings in the air, bounding off the Grand King’s palm like a volleyball. He’s too frozen to move, too dumbstruck to reach out. His heart jumps, fluttering dangerously.
Thankfully, Oikawa recovers quickly. He plays hot potato with the ringing device, desperately doing everything he can so it won’t hit the tiled floor. Never has Hinata ever hated the sound of his ringtone more than he does now. He’s lucky it’s the basic, customary sound of an iPhone. If it was distinct, they’d be screwed. As long as they don’t drop the device, they can play it off as a coincidence. However, if the phone hits the ground and slides out from the stall, they’ll be thoroughly fucked.
With that knowledge in mind, Hinata rouses from his stupor. With feline-like reflexes, he reaches forward and catches the pummeling device with ease. Unfortunately, he doesn’t take into account his own predicament as he does so. He neglects the fact that he’s balancing on the seat of a toilet with one foot within the bowl. The phone is safe, but he isn’t.
He loses stability, succumbs to his fourth heart attack of the day, and tilts forward.
With a grunt, Oikawa miraculously catches him, but the angle is all wrong, there’s too much momentum, and as the Grand King mentioned before, Hinata is built like a boulder. Oikawa stumbles and loses his footing. His forearms are supporting Hinata beneath his pits, so he doesn’t have any upper limbs to stop himself from ramming his back into the door of the stall. He grits his teeth, enduring the brunt of the hit to the best of his ability. *BANG!* He heaves, spitting through clenched teeth in an effort to keep himself from cursing.
Hinata gapes, wholly stunned. From his position in the Grand King’s arm, he can only stare dumbly at the floor as time ticks on. His phone falls silent, as does the entirety of the guests in restroom.
They wait with bated breath.
“What the hell?” Tanaka whispers. Footsteps resound. They grow increasingly louder as he approaches the inhabited stall farthest from the entrance. Hinata shakes, squeezing his eyes tight. He prays to the gods for mercy.
A knock reverberates, rattling the door of the stall. Hinata squeaks, gluing his lips shut. He hears the exact moment Oikawa’s breath hitches. The arms around him tighten.
“Uh, hey man,” Tanaka’s voice is weary, laced with concern. “Everything alright in there?”
On the outside, Hinata remains impeccably still. On the inside, he’s a raging firestorm.
He can’t believe his shitty luck. Of course Karasuno would choose to come to this specific ramen bar on a random Friday night. Of course Kageyama would walk directly into the restroom and get his phone stolen by Karasuno’s most mischievous duo. Of course Nishinoya would request to call Hinata.
Of course! Of course! Of course!
Is this a movie? Is this a nightmare? Is this some sort of prank? Is this some shitty half assed fanfic? Hinata doesn’t even know anymore! Life feels far too surreal to be real!
He’s freaking out. He knows it, but he can’t help it. His breaths are coming in far too quick and leaving him way too fast. His heart hammers within his chest cavity. He can hear it thundering in his ears, deafening the activity around him. His eyes are wide but unseeing. The floor blurs, blending into one slab of color.
“Tanaka!” Nishinoya pipes up. “Leave the poor guy alone. Y’know how rough a bad meal can be,” he laughs, “even better than the rest of us.”
“Huh?” Tanaka’s shoes squeak as he sharply turns. Nishinoya’s boisterous laughter echos again. “You think you’re funny, huh?”
Footsteps fade, but the chaotic sounds of bickering ensue. A shaky sigh of relief whistles past Hinata’s trembling lips as he gratefully welcomes the reprieve.
“Hey,” Oikawa mumbles, jostling him softly to gain his attention. “You okay?”
It’s rare moments like this when Hinata becomes privy to the king’s kind hearted soul surging beneath the thick layer of his stoney facade. The minimal times in which Oikawa does show he cares is so scarce, that Hinata ends up remembering them all. This precise moment will be engraved in his mind for years to come, but that might also be because of the trauma that will surely result from such an experience.
“Yeah,” he whispers, because that’s all he can muster. In return, Oikawa pats his back gently. It’s a reassuring gesture, one that does well to ease his nerves.
The door opens up, causing the noisy chatter from beyond the door to blast in. This time, his anxiety doesn’t spike. Kageyama was the most of his worries; therefore, he’s immune now.
Distantly, he can hear his other teammate’s lively babbles.
“I can hear you guys from all the way out here. The hell are you three doing? Throwing a party?”
Ennoshita, Hinata easily discerns. Captain.
Upon arrival, the accumulating tension in the bathroom dispels, along with the rowdy squabble that was just beginning to transpire.
At once, the mischievous duo begins to stammer.
“I-I… w-well, you see…”
“Um… um, w-wait, it’s—“
Ennoshita is quick to extinguish their efforts.
“Out. All of you.”
“But—!”
“No ‘buts’. The restaurant closes soon. They’re taking last calls for orders. Stop wasting your time by causing a ruckus and get out there so you can order your food.” His tone is final, leaving no room for argument. “If you wish to argue with me, go on ahead. But just know, I’ll be making arrangements for you to run the entirety of practice on Monday. Your choice.”
“Wow!” Tanaka laughs nervously. “Food sure does sound good right about now! W-What do you say, guys?”
“Food sounds great.” Kageyama hastily deadpans.
“I-I don’t believe I’ve ever been more famished in my life!” Nishinoya adds weakly, feigning a light hearted chuckle at the end. “Hah… Hah?”
“Excellent.” Ennoshita says. The door creaks open wider. “I couldn’t agree more.”
Shoes drag shamefully along the tiled floor as Hinata’s teammates shuffle out one after the other. Words are exchanged quietly between Nishinoya and Tanaka in their descent, so Hinata strains to catch some of the phrases conversed.
“Wasn’t that weird?” Nishinoya asks.
“Hm?”
“When we called Hinata, that guy’s phone rang at the same time.” He elaborates quietly. “Wasn’t that weird?”
“Oh, yeah totally,” Tanaka whispers back. “I thought the same. That’s why I walked over to the stall, but then I realized how absurd I was being. Why would Hinata be here? Plus, I made sure to check the dude’s shoe—“
The bathroom door shuts with a clack, cutting off the conversation. Hinata doesn’t need to hear the rest to deduce what Tanaka was going to say. He’s thankful for Oikawa’s wisdom. If he wasn’t the one standing on the toilet seat, then they would have been easily outed. His shoes aren’t anything special, but they are distinctly his, and Oikawa took that little fact into account.
“Thank you,” he says eventually, minutes after his teammates leave. He has both feet on the floor now, one booted in copious amounts of paper towels. They remain in the stall, listening cautiously to every footfall that slips past the outskirts of the door.
For a moment, Oikawa appears perplexed by the phrase. His eyes widen minimally as he looks upon Hinata in a different light. It takes him approximately twenty seconds to recover from his stupor. Hinata counted.
The Grand King lifts his chin and “hmphs.” He narrows his eyes down at Hinata, lips twitching as he suppresses a grin.
“No need to thank me, shorty,” he sniffs, glancing away. There’s really nothing to look at, so ultimately, he finds himself staring at the stall wall. “I didn’t help just so you could save face, y’know. I helped because—“
“Because you care about me,” Hinata chimes in, feeling teasingly bold. “I know.”
“Right. Yes. Well—“ Oikawa pauses, and Hinata can only watch in pure, unadulterated amusement, as the Grand King’s features contort into an expression full of dismay. “W-Wait. No! No. Me? The great Oikawa Tooru?” He scoffs. “Care about you?” He rolls his eyes. “In your dreams!”
Post adrenaline rush, Hinata laughs. His eyes crinkle delicately at the edges, curving into elated half moons. Taunting Oikawa never fails to humor him, especially when he catches the legendary setter off guard. It always brings a smile to his face and a chuckle to his throat.
And that’s just what Hinata needs after such a nerve-wracking ordeal.
“I’m a busy man,” Oikawa continues, going off on a tangent. “I have no time to think about others and their feelings.” He’s babbling again, which means he’s growing increasingly anxious. “So, it’s impossible for me to care about you because I simply do not harbor the capability to, nor the time.” If anything, it sounds as if he’s trying to convince himself to buy his own lame excuse for not caring, rather than selling Hinata on the notion. He isn’t even looking at the young spiker, which further proves his guilt. When Hinata tries to tilt his head into Oikawa’s line of sight, his eyes are quick to flicker away.
BZZZZ! BZZZZ! BZZZZ!
“Saved by the bell…” Hinata mumbles, patiently watching as Oikawa struggles to withdraw his phone from the confines of his pocket. He mumbles something intangible beneath his breath, but the moment he peers down at the caller ID flashing across the screen, his shoulders visibly relax, tensions dispelling. He raises the phone to his ear…
“Iwa-“
“WHAT THE HELL SHITTY-KAWA?”
Oikawa flinches, tearing the phone away with a startled jerk. The action prompts Hinata to wince in response. He pities his frenemy. His eardrum must be wrecked after that terrorizing shout. They grimace, overflowing with dread.
Iwaizumi may be their friend, and while he does have a soft spot for those special individuals within his inner circle, when he’s really riled up about something, he can be the scariest man alive.
Subconsciously, his adrenaline spikes, fight or flight response kicking into overdrive. Hinata’s limbs shake, and it’s not because he’s cold.
The phone doesn’t need to be on speaker. They can hear Iwaizumi’s booming voice quite clearly.
“I told you two to hide! Not make fools of yourselves!” Iwaizumi growls. They stiffen, bracing themselves for the inevitable lecture that’s only one heaving breath away. “If you both weren’t so immature, maybe, just maybe you two would stop dancing around the fact that you’re friends. Stop being stubborn fools. Accept it and grow up. I shouldn’t have to play hero every time Karasuno shows up. This is ridiculous. How old are you two?”
They stare, seeing but unseeing. Their tongues lie flaccid in their gaping mouths. They stand, too stunned to speak.
“Tsk.” Iwaizumi tuts. “Don’t have anything to say, huh? Not even a ‘thank you’? Not even a ‘sorry’.” He waits an extra second, but neither of them can find it in themselves to respond, let alone breathe. “Fine then.” He settles. “Since you both can’t seem to mature, I’ll just give away our movie tickets for tomorrow night.” Bingo. Oikawa jolts like he was stung by a jellyfish. His face contorts, morphing into one of pure mortification. “— and Matsukawa would sure love to go. I’ll call him up and—“
“NO!” Oikawa shouts into the receiver. He clutches the phone tight, cracking the hard shell case surrounding the device. Hinata gawks, thoroughly stupefied. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t impressed. Gah! He’s not surprised by the Grand King’s hand strength. He’s a fantastic setter after all. Second to Kageyama (in Hinata’s totally unbiased opinion.) So cool! He fumes with giddy awe.
“Iwa-“ Oikawa stutters. “Iwaizumi…” he coos, but the usual, persuasive lilt to his tonality is lost. His tone dangerously tilts on the verge of panic, emitting ineffective. “Y-You know how long I’ve been waiting to see Space Galaxy IV…”
“Oh?” Iwaizumi hums, feigning naivety. “I had no idea.”
“B-But,” Oikawa gulps. The sound is so audible that it echos off the bathroom walls. It’s clear Iwaizumi is playing with him, baiting him into a trap, and Oikawa is so panic-stricken that it’s actually working. Hinata hums; impressed. There’s only one person that can effectively push Oikawa’s buttons past his breaking point, and that person is none other than Iwaizumi Hajime.
“Y-You know that’s my favorite movie series. D-Don’t you?” Oikawa’s voice trails off, doubtful. “I’ve read the series four times! All ten books! You bought me the tenth one for Christmas. It was signed by the author and everything! You waited in line for so long! Don’t you remember?”
Hinata slaps a palm over his lips to stifle his laughter. His eyes widen with amusement as his shoulders shake with mirth. He remembers last Christmas, and he especially recalls Oikawa’s reaction the best. How could he forget? He screamed so loud after tearing open Iwaizumi’s gift like a madman that Hinata actually thought someone had died. However… he had no idea Iwaizumi went to such great lengths in order to get Oikawa a signed copy. That is what humors Hinata the most.
His heart warms at the thought. What a softy!
Iwaizumi sputters like a guilty man. His own devious plan seems to be backfiring and Oikawa isn’t even trying to retaliate. The Grand King has always been spectacular at winning any sort of verbal battle, and it seems he’s even better at it subconsciously.
“Crappy-Kawa!” Iwaizumi hisses urgently in warning, voice oozing with fear. His discomfort is almost funny. No. wait. It’s definitely funny. Hinata can’t stop giggling.
Oikawa’s so enraptured in his own frantic thoughts that he doesn’t even perceive Iwaizumi’s shaky outburst. Judging by the choked scream that tears from Iwaizumi’s throat as Oikawa senselessly prattles on, Hinata surmises that this affair was supposed to remain a private matter. How unfortunate. He smiles.
Iwaizumi was right about two things. Hinata is stubborn and childish, but he wouldn’t change his demeanor for the world. Even when he’s an adult, even when he’s hunching over a cane and hardly mobile, he vows to remain as childish as possible. Sure, humans age physically, they grow wrinkles and their bone density deteriorates, but one thing that should never age is the youthful joy in one’s heart.
“—that jog your memory?”
Hinata shakes his head, snapping back into focus. He rouses just in time to hear Iwaizumi’s endless stammering once again. He’s embarrassed, clearly.
“I-I… w-well. I—“
With a sharp gasp, Oikawa jumps like he just unlocked a long forgotten memory. “Oh! Oh! And you waited all night for that book! I remember! I remember! You camped outside the bookstore in the freezing cold! And when you had to go number two you went in the—“
“SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!” Iwaizumi screeches. When Oikawa flinches this time, he loses his grip on his phone. Thankfully, Hinata was already semi prepared for another outburst, so he catches the device before the screen can crack next.
“I remember. I swear to the gods I remember. Damnit!” Iwaizumi seethes, breaths loud and staticky as they heave over the line. “I won’t give away the tickets. Alright? I promise. Just… get the hell out of the damn bathroom. I already paid the bill and talked to the manager, so he knows you’re coming. Turn right and head into the kitchens. One you’re there he’ll direct you to the backdoor. Make sure you thank him and apologize for the trouble. I’m waiting right outside.“ He instructs, mouth running a million miles a minute. “Got that?” As an afterthought, he adds, “oh, and you’re welcome.”
“Yes. Thank you.” Hinata says in the Grand King’s stead. Oikawa appears too pale to speak, and he doesn’t look like he’s capable of completing the task on his own, so Hinata shuffles past him to unlock the stall. He grasps Oikawa’s wrist and shoulder’s his way out. “We’ll see you in a minute,” he informs.
“Yeah, yeah, just make it quick,” Iwaizumi grunts.
The line goes dead with three muffled beeps.
With a heavy sigh, Hinata pockets the phone, making a quick mental note to hand it back to Oikawa once he’s regained his sanity.
“Hey, Oikawa-san? Um… Thanks again.” He gulps, recalling Iwaizumi’s previous lecture. “You’re…” he pauses. His hand floats, palm ghosting the hard wood exterior of the bathroom door. “You’re a good friend.” He mumbles. The term feels foreign on his tongue, strange and wholly peculiar. He glances nervously to his right, but nothing but impassivity greets him.
Oikawa doesn’t hear him.
_______
_______
“Hinata! Hinata! One more round! One more round!”
Bokuto is known for being loud and chipper, but he’s even more unbearably raucous when his voice blares right into Hinata’s ear.
He scowls, adjusting the volume on his headset to a more tolerable setting. Preferably, a much-much lower frequency, but not too low, or else he won’t be able to pick up on Kenma’s occasional murmurs and his tactical battle strategies.
“C’mon shrimpy,” Kuroo coos, exaggerating his words with the sly voice the gods so graciously gifted him with. Lucky bastard. He’s perfected it over the years. Hinata can tell just by how effective it is when he commands his teammates and awes the crowd with a simple phrase. Any insult can tear from his throat and nobody would bat an eyelash. Hence, why Hinata falters. “You can’t get off now,” he hums. “We’re on a roll. We’re whooping everyone’s ass! Look how many total kills we have. Look at it. Take a good look. Hm? Hmm? You see? You can’t abandon us now. You can’t. We need you… Kenma needs you.”
“I never said that.” Kenma deadpans.
“Just go with it-!” Kuroo hisses, speaking as if Hinata can’t hear him perfectly through the mic.
“I gotcha buddy!” Bokuto whispers before his voice grows increasingly loud again. If it’s even possible, his whines seem to have increased in pitch despite the lower volume. “Hinata! Hinata! One more round! Just one more round!” Hinata winces. So much for turning down the volume…
“You said that after last round.” He grumbles, but nevertheless, at the end of the night, it’s their unwavering determination and incessant pleas that keeps Hinata rooted to the spot playing round after round with his friends. He plays even as 1 a.m. turns into 2, even as 2 a.m. shifts into 3.
They log off at 3:52 a.m.
Tenma doesn’t text Hinata back until 4:08 a.m.
As he lounges in bed, he glares at his phone like it emotionally harmed him. Well, he supposes in a way it did, but it isn’t his device that infuriates him to no end. No. It’s Udai-fricken-Tenma!
He glares down the stupid gray bubble of words in an attempt to burn the letters with his telekinesis. He fails, no surprise there. The words glare right back, taunting him.
[11:45 p.m.] ME: hey, you free tmr night?
[4:08 a.m.] TINY GIANT🏐: ah no! sorry! got practice! :( perhaps another night.
It isn’t a question. It’s a statement. It isn’t Tenma asking Hinata to make plans for another night, it’s Tenma giving Hinata false hope. It seems like a step forward, which would be just as pitiful, but it’s actually a step further back. It’s saddening to see what has become of reality. Their friendship, which was once built slowly; piece by piece, layer by layer, and brick by brick, is now withering away, deteriorating faster and faster before his very own eyes. It’s agonizing to watch it all crumble right in front of him. He pours everything he has into all of his relationships, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t pour a little extra more into maintaining this particular one.
So it sucks. It really sucks. This feeling in his chest… it sucks. It sucks worse than getting slammed in the face by a volleyball. It sucks worse than failing a class he studied hard for. It sucks worse than stubbing his toe on the edge of a hard wood surface. And believe it or not, it sucks a little worse than losing a game he gave everything to win.
Because he gave everything and more to win over Tenma’s friendship. He fought hard to break that hardcore exterior the tiny giant shielded himself with. It wasn’t easy getting to know Tenma. It wasn’t easy getting him an opportunity to try out for Japan’s national volleyball league. But it was easy to open up to Tenma, and it was even easier to be himself.
Time is valuable. It is the most precious treasure in a life that comes and goes in a blink of an eye. Hinata gave up a part of himself and willingly handed over a whole years worth of his time for Tenma, only to now receive little in turn.
He sighs heavily, ignoring the pinprick of tears that rim his lids. He clutches his phone tightly in his right hand and brings it to his chest. He leans back and stares unblinkingly at the bland white ceiling above. His breathing rate picks up and his throat constricts as he desperately prays for a reprieve. He won’t cry. He won’t. He refuses to shed a single tear for a man who won’t even think of him twice.
“I…” he sucks in a sharp breath, shuttering as he gathers his thoughts and what he wishes to voice. He speaks to no one in particular, but he recites what he wishes he could scream at the top of his lungs. “I shouted the loudest, but you never acknowledged me. Not once.” He closes his eyes, overwhelmed with perplexed emotions that he can hardly even begin to decipher. He feels nauseas, sick. That’s all he can discern in spite of the overwhelming ache encompassing his body. “I started a fight in the bleachers. I caused a commotion, but you didn’t look up. Not once.”
He opens his eyes and lifts his phone overhead. Through the blur of tears, he stares at the glistening contact picture located at the top of the screen. His heart pangs with nostalgia. It’s an eight month old photo of him and Tenma. They have their arms lazily thrown around each other’s shoulders. Their tongue’s hang out— peace signs held high and mighty with their free hands.
“I’m your biggest fan…” he whispers, “your best friend.” He bites down on his lip, hard, and it’s enough to draw blood. “So why do I feel like a stranger to you?”
Although there is a lot Hinata wishes to say over text, in the end, he chooses to remain silent and say nothing at all. What’s the point? He thinks. It’s not like Tenma will reply. So why give him the satisfaction? Why give him the time of day?
Instead, Hinata turns off his lamp with a subtle click. He rolls over, burying his face in the plush confines of his pillow. With one hand, he fumbles with the settings on his phone until the do not disturb moon icon shines a bright, royal blue.
For the first time in weeks, Hinata sleeps soundly without the hope of hearing a single ding.