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Why, of all times, did it have to happen at match point?
Though, if Hinata thought about it, the practice game had been a bumpy ride from the start. They were facing a team from a nearby prefecture - good enough to go to Nationals every single year! as Takeda-sensei had emphasised with excitement on the journey over. Their school was remote, and the uneven patches of road had made Hinata clutch his stomach - he’d hurled for less, but he’s pretty sure Kageyama wouldn’t be as nice as Tanaka if he threw up on his lap, and the fear helped him keep it in for once.
When they finally arrived, the bus doors hissing open, he’d shook violently, equally from the nausea and the mind-numbing excitement of getting to play against new, strong opponents. He’d babbled to Kageyama, wondering aloud if the team is better at attack or defence or do you think they’re experts at both, how cool would that be, which eventually earned him a smack on the back of the head, like Kageyama was desperately trying to find his off-switch.
When they’d reached the gym, the descriptors from before died on his tongue, and all he could think is that they look really, really mean. A whole team of Tanakas, all pulling a game-face, with no Daichi to smack some sense into them. Hinata practically growled when the team captain asked if he was in middle school. Stupid dumb tall jerk.
The smallest player on their team had at least ten centimetres on Hinata - Liberos didn’t even have to be tall! That’s like, the whole point! They looked down on Karasuno in more ways than one, and when Hinata had slapped Kageyama’s back with a “Let’s do this!”, he’d agreed, not even punching him back - this was clearly serious.
Karasuno lost the first set, but that only lit the fire that spurred them into winning the second. Hinata had been zipping back and forth across the court for the past thirty minutes, raw determination to spike, to block, to win.
They were at twenty-four points on set three before the tall team could even break twenty. Still, Hinata knew he couldn’t get ahead of himself (it’s happened before, he thought, I’ve got too excited too early before and blew it for everyone, stay focused, stay focused).
His eyes flickered between the setter and captain jerk-face, who was leaping into the air. Tsukishima and Kageyama were in front of him in an instant; but Hinata could sense it wouldn’t be enough. He’s moving before he even sees the ball bouncing off of Kageyama’s hand, spiralling to the left - it’s pure instinct, and definitely not his head, that dives him into a flying receive, making contact with the ball and sending it backwards just as he goes careening into the volleyball cart, feeling something in his wrist twinge under him as he rolls, balls scattering wildly. Ow.
“I’m okay!” he yells instinctively, scrambling to his feet. Okay, wow, pushing himself up really made his wrist feel weird.
A whistle is blown and the team crowd around him, looking concerned. Tanaka’s eyes are mournful. “Sorry, Hinata! I couldn’t recover it.”
Nishinoya groans from his place on the sidelines. “After such a cool receive, too,” he cries, throwing his arms up, as if challenging the gods of volleyball for the injustice. Hinata wouldn’t exactly call his receive “cool”, but Nishinoya invented rolling thunder, so he trusts his expert judgement in that area.
Daichi shoulders past the group to place a heavy hand on Hinata’s shoulder, eyeing him warily. “Are you hurt?”
Hinata hesitates. His wrist is really starting to burn, heated pain crawling upwards, licking over his skin like flames. He really probably should say something. But.
He glances at the scoreboard. His flubbed receive had cost them the win.
If he couldn’t even power through a little pain during a practice match, then he didn’t deserve to be first-string for a real game.
One more.
“I’m fine.” He clenches his teeth, turning a grimace into what he hopes is a convincing smile. “I’ll get the next one!”
After a quick once-over from both Daichi and Ukai, the coach nods, signalling everyone to get back in position. Hinata goes to move, but is stopped by a hand around his arm, gently yanking him back. Turning, he sees Kageyama leering down at him, brow furrowed. “Did you lie?”
Hinata scoffs, tilting his head and hoping he looks nonchalant. “‘Course not, stupid! I’m fine!”
When Kageyama looks less than convinced, he decides to take a different approach. Smirking deliberately, he teases, “Getting tired, Bakageyama? Don’t say you can’t keep up with me! If we play in the finals at Spring High, you’ll have to last allll five sets. Are you really ready to sit out after three?”
That does the trick. Kageyama is glowering at him, telling him to shut up and get back on the court, you better be fine, dumbass-Hinata, and stalks off. Hinata grins. Kageyama’s like a cat, hissing and clawing to cover up how much he cares. He thinks it’s kind of... cute, in a weird way - and the fact that he thinks so makes him stop short. Did he hit his head on the cart too?
Welp, not enough time to unpack all that - by the time the whistle blows, Hinata’s gritting his teeth against the throbs of pain, harsh breaths puffing out of his nose. He's so focused on playing through the pain that he forgets to actually play, getting a grip on reality back a second too late - a jump serve from the team’s setter hurtles the ball like a comet, crashing to Earth a few inches from Hinata’s frozen feet.
Too quickly, Hinata feels the win slipping through their fingers. The opposing team jump up to match point, and Karasuno have to claw together with all they have to steal it back. Hinata twitches from his place in front of the net - one more point, just one more point.
Asahi’s up to serve. Hinata hears the boom as his hand hits home - but the tall Libero receives it, sending it up high and over to the setter. Hinata’s eyes flicker between Captain jerk-face and the wing-spider on the opposite side. Half on impulse, and half on spite, he jumps to block the captain - who grins at him mid-air as the toss goes in the opposite direction. Hinata scowls, bad play after bad play stacking on his shoulders, making him feel heavy.
But before his feet can even touch the ground, he hears cries of “-up, it’s up, nice receive!” and grins right back. Nice one, Nishinoya.
Determination to do something runs through his veins. He forgets his aching wrist, forgets his fatigue, forgets everything as he darts and leaps again into the air - and the ball is right there waiting for him. He smashes it down before the blockers can even blink.
For one single second, all he feels is the soaring swoop of victory. For the next, blinding pain. And before he knows it, dark spots are seeping into his vision, crawling over him until everything is dark.
—
Blearily, he’s aware of voices, sounding strong one minute before slipping away the next - “what happened?”; “-think he hit his head, should we-“; “don’t move him!” When he can’t pick up on words, he listens to the rise and fall of the speech, clouded with distress. Another breaks through the fog, fragile and afraid - “such a shitty liar, why did I let you go back out there?”
Eventually, the voices filter off into silence.
—
When Hinata wakes, it’s to blinding light, and for a second he worries he’s dead. When he fully opens his eyes, however, he immediately wishes he was - his head is pounding, thumping in time to his heart. He lets out a whimper and only feels a little ashamed.
As his surroundings come into focus, his heart stops. Why is he in a hospital bed? Nevermind that, why is he in a hospital? He scans the white floor and matching sterile walls with narrowed eyes. It smells like when his mom makes him clean the bathroom, but times twenty, and it stings his nostrils. His throat tightens.
He swallows with difficulty, dizzying confusion making him want to cry. Before he can spiral too far, however, the door to his left slides open, making him start upright.
Ukai and Takeda step in, conversing in low voices before abruptly cutting off at the sight of Hinata, wide-awake and terrified. “What’s going on?” he struggles out, voice small and scratchy.
Takeda glances at Ukai, squeaking out an “I’ll get the doctor,” before making a hasty exit. Ukai signs heavily into his hands. His hair is down from its usual band, falling into his face, distressed. The coach pushes it back as he marches over to sit at the foot of Hinata’s bed, face grim. They stare at each other for a few beats. Hinata resists the urge to wave.
“What you did today was really, really stupid,” he starts, leaving Hinata immediately lost.
“What... did I do today?”
Ukai stops short. “Right,” he says, sounding drained, leaning forward so he can properly meet Hinata’s eyes. “They said your memory might be off. What’s the last thing you remember?”
Hinata thinks back, physically feeling a gaping hole where information should be, like the gummy imprint of a missing tooth. “I remember... I remember wanting to puke really bad on the bus,” he settles on. “But nothing after that.”
Ukai snorts, his mouth tugging upwards slightly. “Right. Well, after that, you did a flying receive straight into a volleyball cart.”
Hinata feels a tug at his brain, but it’s fuzzy, his memories a sunken dead-weight in the crowded pool of his mind. “Sounds like me.”
“Yeah, well you sprained your wrist. I don’t know how I didn’t see it - maybe I just didn’t want to see it, I don’t know - but you kept playing. And when you finally hit the winning spike, you passed out in mid-air and smacked your head on the floor. Gave everyone a good scare.”
His voice is patient, but laced with palpable frustration. Hinata swallows thickly. “I’m sorry.”
Ukai sighs. “I should ban you for a stunt like that. I know your brain is wired for volleyball-or-die, but god, even you should know how stupid that was.” He sits up slightly, fixing Hinata with a pained look. “Playing with an injury is bad enough, but when it’s your wrist? You’re lucky that final hit didn’t break it - even luckier it was just a concussion you got when you fell.”
Ah, a concussion. That tracks.
He feels his eyes start to water, shame looming over him. He remembers more clearly now, the pool draining away to reveal a heavy ball of piling stress - the hunger to win, the panic at letting his team down, the desperation to hang in there for just one more point.
“I just wanted to help,” he chokes out. “I don’t want to get left behind.”
A surprisingly gentle grip on his shoulder shakes him out of his misery. “I know. You’re gonna be benched for at least the next two weeks anyways, with your head and your wrist and all. That’s punishment enough for someone like you.” Ukai regards his mournful look with steady eyes. “Just promise me you’ll never do anything that stupid again and we'll call it even.”
“I promise,” he rushes out, nodding his head frantically - before stopping and groaning in pain. This is gonna be a long two weeks.
—
The two weeks, as the doctor unhelpfully clarified, was actually three weeks. Three whole weeks with his arm strapped in an ugly bulky brace, three whole weeks without spiking a single toss, three whole weeks of nothing nothing nothing.
He isn’t even allowed to go back to school for the first week. It’s so boring. His mom stayed with him for the first two days, like the doctor asked. She'd cried and scolded him and then cried again at the hospital, and shook him awake every hour when they finally got home, rattling his brain around in his skull like a maraca. He hated it - why couldn't she just risk him slipping into a coma and dying like all the bad moms?
But then she had to go back to work, leaving him to his peaceful death after that. Natsu, as much as she begged to stay home - it’s not fair that he gets a vacation and I don’t! Wow, thanks Natsu - has school. And so, he’s alone.
His head thrums in a near-constant ache, as does his wrist, but he powers through the pain to scroll through his phone, fuelled by a cocktail of boredom and spite. His mom hadn’t let him near it - the piercing pain behind his eyelids as he looks at the screen is probably why, he thinks - so he only now sees the stack of messages waiting for him.
There are a few from his classmates, but he scrolls past them, locking onto the barrage from his teammates. His thumb twitches as he tries to decide which to read first.
Captain! - 7:34pm
Hinata, Coach just called to let us know you’re okay. What you did today was really stupid. You’re doing 50 flying laps when you’re better. Get some rest.
Sugawara-san! :) - 7:36pm
Hinata!!
I can’t believe you played on a SPRAINED WRIST, I know you’re dedicated but that’s wayyy too far, even for you
Who’ll be the ultimate decoy when you’re gone?
Don’t strain yourself while you’re off! If you do, I’ll know, and I’ll slap you straight back to the hospital :)
Get lots of sleep - we’ll come visit on Friday
Ace (but not for long >:D) - 7:39pm
Hope you feel better soon Hinata!! I looked it up and it says you should be back in a few weeks - you should get plenty of sleep and avoid screens for the first while too!!
Which means you probably won’t see this
Uh
Oops
Feel better!!
ROOOOLLING THUNDERRRRRR!! - 7:51pm
SHOUYOUUUUUU
THAT WAS SO SCARY
NEVER DO THAT TO YOUR SENPAI AGAIN
ASAHI-SAN NEARLY FAINTED
PRETTY SURE SUGA-SAN AND KAGEYAMA WERE CRYING
AND KAGEYAMA IS ALWAYS RLY ANGRY AT YOU SO THATS HOW YOU KNOW IT WAS BAD
WE THOUGHT YOU DIED
YOU BETTER COME BACK SOON!!
Tanaka-senpai! :D - 7:53pm
Hinata!!!
As your friend, that was awesome
BUT AS YOUR SENPAI, THAT WAS SO STUPID
Hurt yourself like that again and I’ll beat your ass
Heal up soon!!! The team won’t be the same without you
Ennoshita-san! - 7:55pm
Can’t believe you played with an injury like that! Who are you, Tanaka and Nishinoya??
Take better care of yourself, Hinata
Kinoshita-san! - 7:57pm
Ahhhh get well soon Hinata!! The team won’t be the same till you’re back
Narita-san! - 7:58pm
Hope you feel better soon dude, get some sleep
Yamaguchi! :) - 7:59pm
Hope you feel better soon Hinata :(
I thought you were dead, we were all freaking out - I swear I’m still shaking
Btw Tsukki hopes you’re okay too - not that he’ll tell you that haha
Tall Jerk >:( - 8:03pm
If you never play again then it’ll finally prove to everyone that I’m the better middle-blocker.
Shimizu-senpai! :) <3 - 8:04pm
Get well soon, Hinata. The team needs you.
Best Villager B :) - 8:08pm
Ahhh Hinata that was sososo scary!! Your head made a big BANG on the ground and I thought my heart was gonna beat out my chest!!
Take good care of yourself while you’re off!! I’d offer to get your your notes but, well
Ah, I guess you’ll see
Come back soon!!
Hinata frowns in confusion at the last message. He moves to type a response, but finds himself whining in frustration at the awkward angle of the wrist-brace. He opts to leave it.
Scrolling up, he refreshes the page once, twice, three times, not really thinking about why until he catches himself at the fourth. There were messages from the whole team - even Tsukishima, and he’s pretty sure his message was meant to be nice in his own weird way.
Messages from almost the whole team.
He feels... well, he doesn’t know how he feels. Hurt is too strong a word, right?
But, if he’s being honest, he does feel a little hurt.
Because although the flurry of messages - even the scary one from the Captain - help soothe the aching in his body, patching it up, there’s still a setter-shaped hole no patch can cover.
It’s stupid. It's so stupid. They’re friends! Or, well, Hinata thinks they are. Kageyama can be a real jerk sometimes, so it’s hard to tell - like when he insulted him at the net right after they met in middle school, or when he fought him over the new quick, or when he yells at Hinata for breathing.
Or when he didn’t text Hinata to make sure he was alright.
It’s stupid. It’s so incredible stupid, and yet it makes his skin crawl with unease. Did he really mean that little that he couldn’t even get a text? C’mon, It’s not like he’s asking for a grand gesture!
The doorbell rings.
Hinata startles. He pushes himself off the couch, slowly, spiking hand braced carefully against his chest. Surely not.
The brief silence is interrupted by loud, ceaseless banging, the bell chiming intermittently between harsh knocks. It feels like an ice pick driving through his skull, and he resists the urge to curl his ears into his shoulders.
It’s the muffled yelling that provokes him to move, taking uncertain steps forward until he reaches the door. Past the barrage of sound, he can make out cries of “dumbass!” and “moron!” amongst more colourful insults. Thank god his mom's not home. He turns the handle and braces for impact.
Sure enough, there Kageyama stands, both hands still raised from his assault on the door. Hinata gets one second to blink before Kageyama’s shouldering past him, continuing his ongoing monologue as he shoves off his shoes.
“-stupidity, it’s next-level stupidity,” - he pushes into the living room - “to think that you knew, you knew hitting that quick would be bad,” - he gently shoves Hinata onto the couch - “and yet you did it anyways, god, is there any brain left inside your skull?” - he throws himself onto an armchair, inhaling to continue on-
“The doctor said loud noises are bad for my head,” he blurts out.
Kageyama stills abruptly, looking thoroughly annoyed - whether that was because of the injuries, because he was interrupted, or because that’s just his face is anyone’s guess. Whatever the case, he closes his eyes and breathes, and Hinata can see him mentally counting to ten. He resists the urge to comment on how it’s a miracle he can go that high with how badly he bombed the math exam.
Kageyama’s still in his school uniform, shirt creased and messy where it hangs off his shoulders. Eventually, he reaches for his bag, pulling out a distressingly large and disastrously unorganised pile of paper and dropping in on the table with a thunk. “Here’s everything you missed.”
“I’ve only been gone for one school day!"
Kageyama glares him down. “Well, that’s what happens when you decide to slam your head on the floor, dumbass. You get the whole class' notes in one."
Rather than respond to the comment, he takes the opportunity to voice a question building in the back of his brain: “why aren’t you at practice?”
Unless the hit had altered Hinata’s ability to tell time, he’s certain that it should be going strong by now. Kageyama would rather die than miss it - he would know, they have that in common. So why is he here?
Kageyama crosses his arms, scowling at nothing. “I kept hitting jump serves out, and all my sets were too high. Coach said I should just go home till I cool off, which is stupid, cause how am I meant to fix it if I can’t practice?”
Okay, a lot of info to process there. Kageyama - solid, stable Kageyama, who he’d only seen mess up that badly a handful of times, who never wavers on the court, who always gets him the ball no matter what - couldn’t even hit a set at the right height? He feels like Kageyama’ll hit him if he voices any of that, so instead he turns to problem number two. “If he told you to go home, then why are you here?”
Kageyama’s scowl deepens, and Hinata swears the tips of his ears redden. “Someone had to get all this shit over the mountain to you,” he grumbles. It’s strangely endearing, the way he tries to dismiss his own kindness. “Yachi-san offered, but her legs would fall off halfway up.”
Hinata groans, longing to smack his head on the table without the fear of brain damage. “I wish you sent Yachi-san,” he whines miserably, hands digging into his face, palms pressed over his eyes. The thumping in his head is growing, pulses of pain stabbing through the dull ache. “At least she’s smart. How am I supposed to study on my own with my head like this?”
Kageyama sits up, shifting closer. For half a second, he thinks he’s going to smack him, but instead he quietly asks, “do you need anything?”
It’s so different from Kageyama’s normal tone that it almost scares him. He feels himself flushing and grits his teeth, internal monologue telling his stupid heart to shut-up-shut-up-shut-up in time to its rapid thumping. Stupid Kageyama, being nice and making him feel all weird. Since when was this a concussion symptom? “I think I’m dying,” he moans, fingers digging deeper into his skin.
And Kageyama’s hands are circling around his wrists, prying them away before gently tilting Hinata’s head up, ever-so slightly, so their eyes meet. “Dumbass,” he mutters softly, surveying his head. Hinata swallows hard.
“Did they give you any painkillers?”
“Yeah, but they make me sleepy - I keep passing out and waking up at like 4am.”
Kageyama snorts, pushing himself up, eyes full of purpose. “Well, it’s either that or I help you with your homework.”
“The pills are on the kitchen counter, bright blue, can’t miss 'em.”
“Yeah, thought so.”
As he watches Kageyama slink away into the next room, he can’t fight the smile warming its way onto his face. Kageyama may have a grumpy exterior, but his core is soft - it shows, shining through, even as he shouts through the door about the unwashed dishes Hinata’s been avoiding. It’s in the way he brings back two glasses of water and demands he drink both, in the way he declares that he’s going to wash everything anyways because someone has to, in the way he comes back in a few minutes later and lets Hinata lay his thumping head on his shoulder without complaint.
In the way he’s here at all, just for him.
“You really do care deep down, don’t you, Bakageyama?” His words are slurred by the clutches of sleep, but Kageyama makes them out all the same, cheeks growing red, grumbling something Hinata can’t make out but still, still not pushing Hinata off.
Hinata smiles wide, and he swears he feels Kageyama smile back. He really is loopy, huh?
And then he’s off, sleep deep and dreamless, but with the overwhelming sense of comfort he knows can only come from one person.
-
When he wakes, it's dark. His phone is on charge, his head is propped up by pillows, and there's a blue post-it note stuck to his forehead. Peeling it off, he squints to read:
There's curry buns in the fridge - don't worry, I went and caught coach after practice, I didn't try to cook them. Your mom says you'll wake up after she goes to sleep, Natsu says I look like the Tokyo Skytree, I say call me when you wake up.
-T
He feels himself grinning wide, pushing up to stretch his aching arms. Reaching for his phone, he scrolls and presses the call button, getting to his feet as it rings once, then clicks. Maybe he should hit his head more often.