Chapter Text
The whistle blows with ringing finality. A sentence has been passed, and a heavy blade drops on Kageyama’s head.
As he falls, he stares at backs turned against him. Upon his teammates’ return to the court, applause begins, and Kageyama feels their claps like taunts throwing him off the playing court.
He played a tyrant, and in his fall from grace, cheers erupt.
“Kageyama,” a stern voice calls near the bleachers.
Growing up, Tobio rarely met anyone’s eyes. Seeing people looking his way made him feel naked, a dissection of his being.
The same discomfort burrows itself further in his chest, and Kageyama’s unable to face his coach’s crushing disappointment.
The play resumes behind him as he trudges towards the bench, shame curling at his heels. He sits with his head lowered between knees, staring hard at the linoleum.
No one offers him anything—not even a towel, a water bottle, or a consoling pat on the back.
“Let this be a lesson for you, Kageyama,” his coach says, instead.
Tobio wills the tremors to slow and stop. He doesn’t notice that the beads of sweat pooling at his chin are now mixed with tears.
—– -- —– -- —– -- —– -- —– -- —–
There’s a foul smell in the air. Kageyama sees the usual night-shift nurse cross gaps between the privacy curtains. The nurse is carrying wipes and a nappy, and Tobio hears the soft rustle of sheets opening and closing from the bed diagonal to Kazuyo’s.
He spots his sleeping grandfather’s wrinkled hand itching to touch the breathing tube. Before he could reach it, Kageyama gently held it down on the mattress, his thumb caressing each crease and bump. It feels cold and fragile in his grasp.
“Your grandpa likes it if you comb his hair this way," his mother had said, her voice muffled but even through the mask. He marvels at her composure, how she gently swept back grey wisps from Kazuyo’s head without breaking.
Perhaps she drew strength from it. Now, alone in his grandfather’s cubicle, Tobio does the same.
He spends his nights in the unit, drowning in the rhythmic hiss of the ventilator and the steady beeps of the heart monitor. Kageyama wonders if the sounds will haunt him, so he turns his attention to Kazuyo’s breathing. His eyes strained on the screen, willing his grandfather’s heart rate to climb.
—– -- —– -- —– -- —– -- —– -- —–
From the covers of his futon, Kageyama’s scrolling past the posts on his timeline when he sees them and pauses.
Several photos of Kunimi and Kindaichi were uploaded days ago, in a rustic cafe they used to frequent together after practice. They had crumbs on their shirts and foam on their lips, grinning ear to ear.
They were indulging in a sugary drink topped with vanilla ice cream and whipped cream. The same one they constantly swore would give them a heart attack or get chewed out at by their coach if they were ever caught. Yet, they still ordered the same tooth-rotting thing, time and time again.
Now, Oikawa and Iwaizumi joined them, pinching their cheeks and throwing hand signs while sitting shoulder to shoulder.
Underneath, the caption simply reads 'celebratory dinner'.
Tobio stares at it for a moment. He goes to his profile, clicks on settings, and deletes his account.
He leaves his phone beneath the duvet and rises from his bedding on the floor. Crossing the room, Kageyama goes to where the switch is and spots his volleyball sitting against the bin. His gaze catches on it for a few seconds.
He then flips the lights off, bathing his room in darkness. Sleep finds him not too long after.
—– -- —– -- —– -- —– -- —– -- —–
In the stark white corridor of the hospital, the doctor delivers the news. Under the harsh light of the flourescents, Kageyama watches his family crumble.
“We have to respect the patient’s wishes." The physician's eyes were kind, but it did not erase the pain his words inflicted and swept the family’s feet from right under them. “His heart might give out on the ambulance on the way home.”
Kageyama’s fingers still latch onto the sleeves of his older sister’s cardigan as she leans against the freezing wall and cries.
“Please,” Tobio’s mother gasps between hiccups while her husband holds her up from collapsing on the floor. “I’m not ready.”
At the narrow opening of the ICU doors, Kageyama catches his grandfather lying quietly on his bed after throwing a harsh fit at his mother. Finally worn off the sedatives, his aged eyes were fixed on the glass window, staring at the direction of their home beyond the hills. Kazuyo probably heard the tearful exchange outside, and Tobio aches.
Tobio aches, but he understands. He too has wanted to go home with his grandfather.
He just never thought they would return this way.
—– -- —– -- —– -- —– -- —– -- —–
One of Tobio’s teachers, who survived a terminal disease, once said that being happy can boost someone’s health.
That’s why he took the entrance exams and stepped in the same halls his grandpa once walked in during his youth.
Weeks later, Kageyama’s standing in front of a bulletin board in Shiratorizawa. He scans the posting for a third time, hoping to see his name among the others.
He found nothing.
That day, he went home on his bike with his heart on his stomach.
—– -- —– -- —– -- —– -- —– -- —–
Tobio is washing the dishes while a rerun of a rally plays on the television. The anchor announces that the libero had failed to save the ball, costing the team its victory, when he hears footsteps in the dining room.
“The leftovers are on the table, Miwa-nee,” Tobio says with practiced ease.
Kageyama did not receive a response. Maybe his sister could not hear him. He wipes off the moisture from his hands with the kitchen towel and steps away from the counter and into the dining space.
His sister is standing beside the table, bony fingers gripping on the chair Kageyama left open for his grandpa. Her eyes were rimmed red, her bottom lip trembling as she looks at her younger brother.
“Tobio,” she sniffles. "...Dad called.”
Kageyama cannot comprehend anything besides the dread creeping in.
“He says Grandad's gone.”
Tears now fall freely from Miwa’s eyes.
“He’s gone, Tobio.”
.
“Tobio?”
“Hey, Tobio?”
“Tobi?”
“-did you hear me, bud?”
For the past five minutes, Kageyama’s been staring at the rearview mirror, absorbed by a lulling ache. He did not register his father’s calls until just this second.
There’s a dip in the middle of his father’s eyebrows. Tobio blinks and his cheeks flush at the realization.
He snaps back fully in a sudden, but rapt attention.
“I’m sorry, Dad." Tobio sinks further in his seat. “I didn’t hear you.”
Identical dark-blue eyes soften before his dad’s gaze is directed back to the road before him, driving towards the canvas of a setting sun. He tugs down the sun visor, prompting his son to do the same.
“You had me worried there, Tobio," he says, hands now both resting on the steering wheel.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, lips covered by the collar of his jacket. He stares out at the houses that dotted the foot of the mountain.
His father lived in a village just at the edge of the busy metropolis. They had just left the crowded streets with their bright billboards and towering buildings, having fetched Tobio from the Amagasaki train station. At the trunk of his dad’s car – a slick white Honda – lay Kageyama’s trolley and a single box of his belongings that Miwa packed for him.
Oddly, he remembers his mother pressing a kiss against the crown of his head before he stepped onto the train.
“It’s alright,” his father smiled calmly, now turning down a narrower road. “I was just saying that we’re close. I was planning to give you a tour earlier, but the trip must have been tiring.”
Kageyama nods in agreement. He wasn’t used to sitting still for long periods of time, and the train cars have been packed. Strangers are coming home from vacation, as classes will begin by next week. He’s overstimulated from the rush and the close proximity to people he had to endure for hours.
His father takes another short turn, passing a convenience store that Tobio notes absentmindedly.
“I think you can finally see the house from here,” his father points out with his finger. "Right there."
The path to his new home is lined with a sparse number of mikan trees. A two-storey modern house nestled in the middle of a rice field. Though, it didn’t stand alone, and Tobio could see a few farmers and their cows working under the last few minutes of light the sun had cast.
His father, ever the social butterfly, honks at them as he passes, and they wave back.
“You can still have your old room, by the way," his dad shares, slowing the car as they reach the front yard. The hum of the car ends as the key is turned and yanked out of the ignition. “It’s on the second floor, and you get to have the balcony all to yourself overlooking the paddies.”
They both exit the car, and Tobio gets a better glimpse of his childhood home—one he barely remembers—as his father opens the trunk. He goes to take his stuff.
The lid rises with a soft clunk.
“There’s a perfectly large enough yard at the back for you to play volleyball. You’re going to love it.”
His dad sounds so excited, a bit pleased at himself, as he takes Tobio’s trolley in his hold.
Lips pursed, Kageyama gingerly lifts his box. Carries the storage on one hand against his hip before he closes the trunk with a resounding thump.
He winces inwardly, not expecting the force.
“I don’t play anymore.”
His father looks at him, incredulous. As though he’d just heard a poorly made joke.
Once, his wife teased that she gave birth to twins: a pudgy Tobio and an equally round volleyball.
“What?”
Kageyama heaves out a deep sigh, shoes digging into the dirt.
“I don’t play volleyball anymore,” he says, his voice empty—a concerning husk of what it once was.
Crickets chirp loudly around them. The shadows stretch further, and night finally descends across the place Kageyama calls his new home.