Chapter Text
"KAGEYAMA!!"
Tobio turned around, greeted by a wild tuft of orange hair bouncing toward him.
Hinata Shoyo.
As hyper, chipper, and loud as ever. Normally, Shoyo's high-pitched, booming voice barely fazed him—it was just background noise, part of the daily routine of being teammates with someone who had the energy of a caffeinated squirrel. But today? Today, something was different. Fundamentally, viscerally different.
The sound of Shoyo's voice felt like it was scraping against the inside of his skull. Each syllable grated on him like nails on a chalkboard, like sandpaper against raw skin. Tobio's jaw clenched involuntarily, his teeth grinding together as an unfamiliar wave of irritation crashed over him.
What the hell is wrong with me?
The thought flickered through his mind, accompanied by a strange, unsettling sensation in his gut—something coiling and tightening, something that made his skin feel too hot and too tight all at once. He'd woken up feeling off, but he'd chalked it up to poor sleep or maybe coming down with a cold. Now, standing here with Shoyo's voice drilling into his ears like a power tool, he wasn't so sure.
His body felt wrong. Foreign. Like he was wearing someone else's skin and it didn't quite fit right. There was a restlessness thrumming beneath his ribs, an itch he couldn't scratch, a heat that had nothing to do with the temperature of the air around him.
It must have shown on his face because when he turned to Shoyo, the boy jumped and took a fighting stance.
"H—hey...what's your problem, huh? You wanna go??" He raised his fists, pretending he could take on Tobio, even though they both knew he would lose.
Tobio sighed, trying to push down the inexplicable surge of annoyance that threatened to bubble over. His hands were trembling slightly—when had that started?—and he shoved them into his pockets to hide it. "Stop being ridiculous. I'm fine, okay? I think I'm just...sick or something. I'll be alright."
Even as the words left his mouth, he knew they were a lie. This wasn't sickness. Sickness didn't make your skin feel like it was buzzing with electricity. Sickness didn't make you want to simultaneously run away and curl up in a dark corner. Sickness didn't make every sound feel like an assault on your senses.
What is this? What's happening to me?
"SICK!?"
Tobio flinched at the volume, his hands clenching into fists inside his pockets. "Will you be quiet—"
"Who am I gonna practice with if you're sick??"
"The rest of the team, you idiot!" The words came out sharper than he intended, laced with a venom that surprised even him.
"You know they can't keep up with me!"
"Then maybe calm down and act normal for once!"
"What do YOU know about 'normal'??"
"More than you do, you complete—"
He was cut off by the abrupt opening of the gymnasium doors.
"Are you two done?"
Leaning against the doorway was Sugawara, with Tanaka and Nishinoya snickering behind him at the scene.
With a huff, Tobio shoved Shoyo aside and stomped into the gym, desperate to escape the conversation, desperate to escape the way his body felt like it was betraying him. He heard Shoyo let out a small "oof" as he hit the ground, followed by an annoyed growl before the shorter boy swiftly tackled him.
What a fantastic way to start the day.
· ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Practice proceeded as usual, but Tobio felt a nagging unease in the pit of his stomach—no, not just unease. It was more than that. It was a creeping dread, a sense that something was fundamentally wrong and getting worse with each passing minute.
He did a few serves for Shoyo, who tried and failed to receive them. Each movement felt sluggish, like he was moving through water. His muscles didn't respond the way they should, and there was a strange heaviness settling into his limbs that made everything feel like it required twice the effort it normally did.
Suga, usually quiet during practice, unexpectedly offered Tobio some pointers on setting. That was unusual; Suga rarely intervened unless something was seriously off. Was he off today? The thought slightly frightened him; he was never off. He prided himself on consistency, on being reliable, on being the setter his team could count on no matter what.
But right now? Right now he felt like he was falling apart at the seams.
As the practice match began, his internal turmoil escalated into full-blown panic. He was messing up everything at an alarming rate. Sure, he had blunders before—everyone did—but never this bad. Never this consistently. Each mistake felt like a weight pressing down on him, crushing his chest, making it harder to breathe.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
The question repeated in his mind like a mantra, growing more desperate with each repetition. He missed at least four receives, his body moving a split second too slow, his reflexes dulled by whatever was happening to him. One ball even hit him square in the face because he had completely spaced out, lost in the fog that seemed to be filling his head, making it impossible to think clearly.
The impact snapped him back to reality for a moment, pain blooming across his nose and cheekbone, but even that felt distant and muted, like it was happening to someone else.
When he served, he accidentally hit Tanaka in the back of the head. The sound of the ball connecting with skull made him wince, guilt and frustration warring in his chest. Tanaka turned around with a confused expression, rubbing the spot, and Tobio wanted to apologize, but the words stuck in his throat.
And then his tosses to Shoyo began to falter.
That was the worst part. The tosses were his specialty, his pride, the one thing he could always count on. But now they were off—too high, too low, too fast, too slow. His hands weren't listening to his brain, and his brain felt like it was wrapped in cotton, thoughts moving sluggishly through the haze.
He could feel the team's eyes on him, could sense their growing concern, and it made his skin crawl. He didn't want their pity. He didn't want their worry. He just wanted to be normal, to feel normal, to understand what the hell was happening to his body.
His last toss hit the floor far too quickly, bouncing away uselessly, and Shoyo stared at him, wide-eyed, as if he had lost his mind.
And honestly? It felt like he was.
He didn't feel right; it was as if he were trapped in a fog, unable to find clarity. His body felt too hot, sweat beading on his forehead despite the fact that they'd barely been practicing for twenty minutes. There was a strange ache building low in his abdomen, a pressure that made him want to double over, and his skin felt hypersensitive, every brush of fabric against it almost painful.
Was he sick? Or was it something deeper? The uncertainty gnawed at him, teeth sinking into his consciousness and refusing to let go.
He was promptly snapped out of his spiraling thoughts by a certain redhead.
"Kageyama...what...the hell was that!?"
He froze, feeling far too many eyes on him. The weight of their stares felt physical, pressing down on his shoulders, making him want to sink into the floor and disappear.
"I dunno...an accident?" His voice came out weaker than he intended, almost pleading.
Shoyo tilted his head, almost seeming offended by such an excuse.
"Maybe you are sick; you're acting weird!"
And that's when it happened.
Tobio's lip began to quiver. The sensation was foreign and terrifying—he didn't cry. He hardly cried. Shoyo had yelled at him before, countless times, and he'd felt nothing but mild annoyance. But now? Now it felt like his entire world was crumbling, like Shoyo's words were the final straw breaking the camel's back.
It was only when the rest of his body began to tremble that true fear set in. His hands were shaking uncontrollably, his legs felt like they were made of jelly, and that ache in his abdomen suddenly intensified into something sharp and demanding.
No. No, no, no, no, no.
His knees gave out, and he hit the floor hard, the impact jarring but barely registering through the panic flooding his system. Shoyo jumped back in shock.
"Tobi—I mean—Kageyama...?"
Tobio shivered, wrapping his arms around himself, trying to hold himself together even as he felt like he was shattering into a million pieces. The realization hit him like a freight train, sudden and devastating and absolutely horrifying.
He was going into heat.
Right here.
Right now.
In front of all his teammates.
The horror of it crashed over him in waves. This couldn't be happening. His heats were always regular, always predictable, and always manageable in the privacy of his own home, where no one had to know and where no one had to see him like this—weak and vulnerable and everything he hated about being an omega.
Why did this have to happen? Why now? Why here?
Shame burned through him, hot and acidic, mixing with the heat of his body until he couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. He wanted to disappear, to cease existing, to be anywhere but here on the gymnasium floor with his entire team watching him fall apart.
This was his worst nightmare made real.
He felt arms encircle him tightly, and he tensed, every instinct screaming at him to pull away, to hide, to not let anyone see him like this. He didn't dare look up, too anxious about the reactions he might face. Pity? Disgust? Judgment? He couldn't bear to see any of it.
He relaxed slightly when he recognized the voice.
Sugawara.
"It's okay, Kageyama; it's just me." Suga's voice was soft and soothing, and Tobio wanted to believe him even though nothing about this was okay. Suga shot Tanaka a look. "Get everyone out of here."
Tanaka sprang into action without hesitation, focusing on the alphas in the gym and ushering them outside. Noya, Asahi, Kiyoko, Ennoshita, and Daichi were all quickly escorted out of the gym.
Daichi.
Oh god, Daichi had seen him like this. The captain—the person Tobio respected most, the person he'd harbored an embarrassing, secret crush on for months—had just witnessed him collapse on the gymnasium floor, trembling and pathetic and so obviously going into heat.
The humiliation was almost worse than the physical discomfort.
"What the hell, man!?" Noya protested.
Before any explanation could be given, Tanaka threw all the betas out of the gym as well, angering Shoyo.
"Hey! Tanaka-senpai, what gives? How come Suga gets to stay!?"
"Stay here for a minute!" was all they got before the doors to the gym were promptly closed in their faces.
A good majority of the team was now outside, confused and slightly irritated. The only ones that remained in the gym were fellow omegas: Yachi, Yamaguchi, and Tanaka, with Suga being the one beta allowed inside.
Tobio could hardly even register the voices around him; every thought that danced through his head felt heavy and sluggish, like trying to think through molasses. He tried to take deep breaths, tried to steady himself, and tried to regain some semblance of control, all to no avail.
Every nerve was on fire, hypersensitive and screaming. His skin felt like it was burning from the inside out, and there was a desperate, clawing need building in his core that he'd never felt this intensely before. He felt like he was moments from passing out, the edges of his vision going dark and fuzzy.
This had to have been his worst heat yet; he'd never felt like this before. Usually they were manageable—uncomfortable and annoying, but manageable. This was something else entirely. This was overwhelming and terrifying and completely out of his control.
He didn't even realize he'd started to drift off until his body was jerked upwards, Sugawara directly in front of him, hands gripping his shoulders firmly.
"Kageyama! I'm going to need you to stay awake for just a little bit longer, ok? We're taking you to the club room so you can lie down."
It took a few seconds for the words to penetrate the fog in his brain, to make sense of the sounds coming out of Suga's mouth.
"Oh...ok."
He sounded so sad, so weak, so pathetic. The sound of his own voice made him want to cry. He's always hated the fact he presented as an omega—hated the weakness it implied, hated the vulnerability it forced on him, hated the way society looked at omegas like they were fragile things that needed protecting.
And this? This was only fueling his hatred. This was confirming every terrible thing he'd ever thought about his presentation.
Tanaka and Suga helped Tobio stand, his legs barely supporting his weight, and they began slowly making their way to the club room. Each step felt monumental, like climbing a mountain. Yachi and Yamaguchi trailed behind frantically with water, their worried whispers barely registering in his consciousness.
He heard faint noises of concern as they passed by the team—they must have been waiting in the hallway—probably because of his sorry state. The sounds felt distant and muffled, like he was underwater.
And then he heard shock. Sharp intakes of breath. A muttered curse.
"God, that smell…"
Tobio wanted to die.
That god-awful scent—his scent—was permeating the air, announcing to everyone exactly what was happening to him. It was the scent of an omega in heat, sweet and cloying and impossible to ignore, and it attracted unwanted attention like a beacon.
This was yet another reason he hated being an omega. The complete lack of control over his own body, the way it betrayed him, the way it advertised his vulnerability to anyone with a working nose.
Not that he had to worry about his teammates doing anything—they were good people, they knew how to control themselves—but it was still embarrassing. Mortifying. He wanted to crawl out of his own skin, to escape the prison of his omega biology.
He heard a low growl come from one of their throats—probably one of the alphas who hadn't been ushered far enough away yet—and the sound affected his body more than he'd like it to. His omega instincts responded immediately, a shiver running down his spine, that ache in his abdomen intensifying into something almost painful.
He hated it. Hated his body for responding. Hated that he had no control over these reactions.
After an annoying amount of struggle—his legs kept trying to give out, and he had to lean heavily on Tanaka and Suga—they finally made it to the club room. Tanaka locked the door for good measure before sitting over by the rest of Tobio's little support group.
Tobio chugged a water bottle Yamaguchi handed him, the cool liquid doing nothing to quench the fire burning through his veins. Suga rubbed his back in a soothing motion, and Tobio wanted to lean into the comfort but also wanted to pull away, conflicted between his need for support and his desire to handle this alone like he always did.
"So…" Tanaka started, breaking the silence. "Is this the first time it's happened at school? Well, I guess technically practice, but you know what I mean."
Tobio pulled away from his water, trying to catch his breath. His lungs felt tight, like there wasn't enough air in the room. "Uh…yeah, I guess so."
His voice sounded hollow, defeated. He hated it.
"And I'm assuming you handle them alone?" Yamaguchi asked cautiously, his tone gentle, knowing it was a delicate topic for the setter.
Tobio frowned at the question, his jaw clenching. He simply nodded, not trusting himself to speak without his voice breaking. No way was he talking about the stuff he did during his heats with these guys, even if they were omegas. That was private, personal, and humiliating.
Part of him felt jealous of people like Tanaka and Yamaguchi—a bitter, ugly jealousy that twisted in his gut alongside the heat. They had alphas at their beck and call for the rare chance their heat came early. They had partners who cared about them, who wanted to help them through it, who didn't see them as weak or pathetic.
It wasn't fair.
Tobio always came off too threatening for alphas. Too intense, too focused, too aggressive. He didn't have the soft, docile demeanor that alphas seemed to want in omegas. He couldn't giggle and bat his eyelashes and play the part of the sweet, submissive omega who needed taking care of.
Why couldn't he be soft and docile like other omegas? Why did he have to be himself—sharp edges and harsh words and a personality that drove people away instead of drawing them in?
If he looked even slightly different, if he acted even slightly different, he wouldn't have to go through this alone. He could have what Tanaka and Yamaguchi had. He could have someone who cared, someone who wanted to help, someone who didn't see his omega status as a weakness to be exploited or a burden to be tolerated.
But he didn't. He was alone. Always alone.
The self-hatred spiraled through him, mixing with the physical sensations of his heat until he couldn't separate them anymore. He hated his body. Hated his presentation. Hated himself for being weak enough to need help, for not being strong enough to handle this on his own like he always had before.
He was snapped out of his self-deprecating thoughts by a sharp pain that he swore went straight to his womb—a stabbing, twisting agony that made him gasp and double over. He heard a panicked shriek from Yachi.
"Kageyama! Oh my god, are you ok!?"
That sounded like Yamaguchi; at least he thought it did. He couldn't tell anymore; his brain was so foggy, thoughts slipping away before he could fully grasp them. His vision began to cloud, darkness creeping in at the edges, and heat coursed through his body violently—not the pleasant warmth of a summer day but the searing, overwhelming heat of a fever, of something burning him alive from the inside out.
He shivered softly under the blanket Sugawara had given him, his body wracked with tremors he couldn't control.
This was unbearable. This was torture. He couldn't do this alone, not this time, not when it felt like his body was tearing itself apart.
"Kageyama, do you want some water—"
"Alpha."
The word fell from his lips before he could stop it, before he could think about what he was saying, before he could consider the implications.
"What?"
"I need an alpha."
The room went quiet. The silence was deafening and oppressive, and Tobio wanted to take the words back, to swallow them down and pretend he'd never said them. But he couldn't. They were out there now, hanging in the air, and there was no taking them back.
Not surprising that nobody expected Tobio to say that of all things. He'd always been so adamant about handling his heats alone, so insistent that he didn't need help, so determined to prove that he wasn't like other omegas who needed alphas to get through their heats.
But right now, in this moment, with pain tearing through his abdomen and his body screaming for relief he couldn't provide himself, his pride didn't matter. His determination didn't matter. Nothing mattered except making this stop.
The silence was broken by Tanaka.
"Uh, look man, I get you're in a lot of pain, but I don't know if that's a good idea—"
"I don't care!" Tobio snapped, his voice breaking on the last word. Desperation clawed at his throat, making it hard to breathe. "I don't care if it's a good idea or not, I just—I need—"
He couldn't finish the sentence. Couldn't articulate the desperate, clawing need that was consuming him from the inside out.
"Okay, okay! We'll find you one! Suga, w-what options do we have?"
"Uhm," Suga started, his voice careful, measured. "Well, three are off the table because of you and Yamaguchi." Because they had their own alphas, their own partners, and it would be wrong to ask them. "That leaves… Noya, Asahi, and Daichi."
Daichi.
Tobio's heart stuttered in his chest at the name, a different kind of heat flooding through him—embarrassment, longing, and fear all tangled together into a knot he couldn't untangle.
Suga looked down at Tobio, his voice soft and gentle. "Who do you trust to take care of you?"
"Daichi."
The name left his lips too quickly, without thought, without consideration, driven by instinct and desire and the stupid, pathetic crush he'd been harboring for months.
Fuck.
"B—Because he's responsible…or whatever."
The excuse was weak and transparent, and Tobio knew it. He could feel the eyes on him, could sense the knowing looks being exchanged, and he wanted to sink into the floor and disappear.
His crush on Daichi was supposed to be a secret. Something he kept locked away in the deepest parts of his mind, something he never acknowledged even to himself. But now? Now he'd just exposed it to his entire support group and had basically announced that he wanted Daichi specifically, that it wasn't just about needing any alpha but about wanting that alpha.
The humiliation was almost worse than the physical pain.
He couldn't look at any of them, couldn't bear to see their reactions. Did they know? Could they tell? Were they judging him for it?
His hands clenched in the blanket, knuckles white with tension. This was a nightmare. This entire day was a nightmare, and he just wanted it to be over.
"Alright, I'll be back." Sugawara stood up, leaving the club room.
And Tobio was left alone with his omega support group, with his shame and his pain and his desperate, pathetic need for an alpha—for Daichi specifically—and the knowledge that in a few minutes, the captain would walk through that door and see him like this.
Weak. Vulnerable. Needy.
Everything Tobio had spent years trying not to be.
This had to have been the worst day of Tobio's life.