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Chapter Text

Maybe it was the dull pain that started it all. The dull pain that carried him to a cold and bundled up apartment in the east side of Miyagi, where the light shone into the second story window and the warmth of his grandfather’s hands resting peacefully on his own subsided over him.

The waterfowls that had braced the edge of the stream, had all migrated south as the ravine dried up in the summer months and left behind dry mud for the little kids to play with. And down the bank of the ravine, the little boy chased the ants and cockroaches, running not too far from his grandfather, but just enough to envelop himself in his own childlike freedom.

In the afternoon, he enjoyed shogi with his grandfather, and gorged himself on pork curry and gyoza in the evening. The red radio in the kitchen was always blaring with the newest volleyball matches, as Kageyama, as young as he was, watched his grandfather fill up with youthful excitement and eyes rushing with adrenaline. His grandfather's hands twitched to sync up the vision in his mind, the air of the court, the sound of the announcer, the rushing to the ball--everything seemed to be in slow motion as he watched his grandfather jump above the net and spike the volleyball to the other side.

Even then, Kageyama knew that volleyball was more than just the quiet hum in the background. It was something important. He didn't understand the rules yet—not really—but he watched the way his grandfather leaned forward in his seat, the way his voice lifted at every rally, and the way his hands twitched like they wanted to be part of the play.

Even sixty years after leaving the court for the last time, Kageyama’s grandfather remembered every set, the way his fingers gripped the ball, the way his feet squeaked against the gym tiles, the way time stopped when his face reached over the net. The light that never left him, sank deeply into little Kageyama, who desperately held onto his grandfather’s volleyball and poured his soul into each serve.

“Kageyama,” his grandfather spoke as he ruffled his hair, “you’re going to learn a lot when you get older that life is unpredictable. There are going to be good times and bad times, but even if everything seems really hard, just know that volleyball is always going to be there for you.”

It sank into him slowly at first, like steam coming off of the pork curry at dinner, like the dull hum of cicadas in late July. Maybe it started with the sound of the ball against the court—sharp, clean, final—or the commentators’ voices dancing above the static of the kitchen radio. Or maybe it started with the red radio in the kitchen and the way his grandfather’s hands would instinctually move as he envisioned the overhead of a court.

“But you know Tobio, if you get reeallly good, and I mean, really, really good,” he emphasized, “you’ll get to play a lot of games with a lot of different people, and one day, I promise you,” Kageyama looked onward at the shallow ravine that had begun to fill with water, “somebody who’s even better will come along and find you.”

Kageyama looked back at his grandfather, whose eyes seemed distant, and felt the warm embrace of his large hand. But his own gaze had already wandered—past the rope dividing the court, past the dust curling off the surface, to the opposite side where no one stood yet. He didn’t blink. His fingers flexed once at his side, the faint twitch of someone who’d already started imagining the serve, the return, the perfect set. There was no one there, but in his mind, the game had begun.

Chapter Text

Kageyama woke on the basement floor, still wearing the hoodie he fell asleep in. The lingering smell of a cigarettes on his clothes became a unremitting reminder of the night prior.

Usually, Kageyama lay still and watched the wood creak as his mother rustled before going back to deep slumber. However, upstairs, he heard the TV blaring and the loud snores of him mom passed out on the couch.

He sat up slowly, careful not to knock anything over. The sting from last night was still fresh—his arm burned where the cigarette had touched it. He didn’t bother looking. He already knew what it looked like.

Kageyama got up and changed into his school uniform that consisted of dark blue slacks and a white top and black blazer. His uniform was old and worn out, but he had begged his older friend to let him have it after he graduated, so it was the only one he had. Nonetheless, Kageyama was extremely grateful for the long sleeves to hide his recent beatings as he turned on the small overhead light carefully, scared to make too much noise.

The stairs were old and frankly worn in as hell, and squeaked under his light weight, so Kageyama so very gently made sure he didn't put too much weight on one side and leaned on to the ramp for dear life. When he reached the top, Kageyama saw his mom passed out on the couch, arm hanging off the side, empty beer cans scattered across the floor as a reminder to Kageyama of last night.

The smell of beer and crumpled up cigarettes made Kageyama nauseous.

In the bathroom, he flicked the light on. His eyes were darker than usual. He dabbed on some of mom's concealer, just enough to blur the tiredness. He didn't want to make his friends at school and his volleyball captains worried. Because if they saw him right now, Kageyama knew they would not let him play. And besides that, Kageyama didn't want the questions, the concern, the "you look sick, I'm worried about you"---he didn't want someone else to get in the way of his volleyball. That was the only thing Kageyama still had.

Kageyama looked down at his wrists, littered with small white cuts that he hid under his jacket sleeves. He looked at them for a second, tracing the more recent cuts that were still red and sensitive to the touch. Until he couldn't bare to look at himself anymore and grabbed his bag before heading out.

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Outside, Kageyama breathed a deep sigh of relief before making his way to Kitigawa Daiichi. Before long, Kageyama found himself in the crowd of students, desperately looking for two familiar faces before setting his eyes on two figures waving in the distance.

“Morning,” Kunimi said, leaning on the school gate and barely holding in a yawn. He had messy mouse-brown hair and matching brown eyes. He slumped over a bit like he'd spent all night playing video games, and stood about a foot shorter than the figure on his right.

"What's up Kageyama!" Kindaichi called out as Kageyama bridged the gap. He styled his hair like some Dragon Ball Z character, something both Kunimi and Kageyama always found a way to make fun of.

“Yo!” Kageyama said, too loud, like usual. He grinned, making sure his smile reached his eyes. “I watched the Tokonami game last night. Their setter’s trash.”

Kindaichi laughed. “You’re in a mood.”

Kageyama huffed. “I’m just right! His receives were all off and he never lined up the ball to the spiker right. Oikawa-Senpai would never!"

"You love to compare everybody to Oikawa-San," Kunimi added.

"Well yeah, you gotta compare the best to the best!" Kageyama beamed, eyes sparkling and both Kunimi and Kindaichi knew they were in for it, as Kageyama started listing all of the reasons Oikawa's serve was 100 times better than the front setter at Nokomi.

Kageyama really did like Oikawa. He admired how strong he was as a captain, and wanted to soak up all of the knowledge he could from his favorite player. They kept walking. Kageyama forcing Kunimi to weigh in on the different serves in the match and have them listen to his rants and idolization to keep the conversation off of himself.

It was easy, being around them. At least easier than being home.

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During lunch, ageyama opened his bag and pulled out an empty bento box. He stared at it for a second, like it might suddenly fill itself.

Kunimi noticed. “You forgot again?”

“Yeah,” Kageyama said quickly. “Left it on the counter. I’ll eat later.”

Kunimi didn’t say anything. Just broke his sandwich in half and handed Kageyama the bigger piece.

“…You sure?” Kageyama asked.

“Just take it.”

Kageyama didn’t argue. He took a bite. It was the first thing he’d eaten all day.

“Thanks,” he said, voice quieter as he blushed.

Kunimi just nodded.

Volleyball after school felt normal. Good, even. He liked the sound the ball made as it hit the gym floor. The echo of the volleyball as he spiked it over the net. To Kageyama, the court was his home.

Kunimi sighed as everybody in the gym stopped to watch the front door open and a hoard of what looked like 1 million teenage girls surrounded two players coming inside.

"Sorry ladies, I really need to practice! I love you all though, 'kay?" Oikawa sweetly spoke to his fan girls before being pinched in the ear by Iwaizumi.

"C'mon, Trashykawa." Iwaizumi huffed, obviously annoyed by the militia of fangirls that had been bugged them all day.

"IWA-CHAN!! That hurt. What a meanie!!" He squeaked but waved his fan base one more wave before fully stepping inside.

"Nice of you to show up!" Kunimi muttered, but Oikawa heard it.

"Nuh-Uh, looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of bed this morning, huh, Kunimi-Chan?"

"What an idiot." Kunimi deadpanned.

"Hey!! I heard that!!" Oikawa tried to go after Kunimi but Iwaizumi stopped him.

Kageyama met Kindaichi's eyes and they both laughed histarically.

"You guys are laughing too!! What jerks. I can't believe my poor little old Tobio-Chan is making fun of me Iwa-Chan!!"

"Maybe it's because you call him 'poor little old Tobio-chan,'" Iwaizumi added.

"Oof, you're no fun!" Oikawa raced to Tobio and hid behind him. Tobio blushed as he was now the center of attention. Now, behind him, Oikawa asked Tobio, "you'd never hate me, right Tobio-chan?"

Kageyama freezed up at those words, unable to register an appropriate response before Kunimi spiked a volleyball into Oikawa's backside.

"Knock it off, you weirdo!"

Oikawa squaked and started chasing Kunimi and Kindaichi around the court before everything started to die down and practice continued on as normal.

Yes, it was fun being here, instead of home. Hiding his bruises under his sleeves, Kageyama felt at peace in the comfort of the Kitagawa gym, with the rustle and bustle of the team and the coach and his best friends at his side.

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After practice, Kageyama started to pack up and leave with Kunimi and Kindaichi when Oikawa walked up to him.

"Hey! Tobio-chan!!" He waved.

Startled and surprised, Kageyama replied, "Yes...? Oikawa-Senpai?"

"Could I talk to you for one second before you go? Just two of us."

Kageyama looked back at his two best friends who were staring down Oikawa like he was an abomination.

"Heyy!! I see you looking at me like that, Kunimi-Chan!! How rudee!!"

"It was intentional, Oikawa-San."

"You call Iwa-Chan, 'senpai,' call me senpai too!!" He squeaked.

"That's because Iwaizumi-Senpai isn't an idiot like you are."

Kindaichi laughed at Oikawa but as Oikawa played it off, he watched Kageyama intently.

"I'll be just two minutes with Tobio-chan, Kunimi-chan! You guys can start packing up."

Kunimi and Kindaichi looked at Kageyama, who nodded at them as confirmation that he was good.

"Okay, we'll see you in a sec, Kageyama!" Kindaiichi replied for the both of them.

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Now, in the back of the gym, Oikawa watched Kageyama closely. He looked at his big blue eyes and fluffy black hair and cute rosy cheeks. He watched his eyes that had trailed down to the ground and remained firmly planted at his feet.

"Hey, Kageyama, will you look up for me?" Oikawa sounded different. He wasn't teasing him like usual.

Kageyama slowly looked up and Oikawa nodded like he was confirming something Kageyama didn't even know what.

"When I was messing around earlier in the gym with Iwa-Chan, I went up behind you, right? Well when I was next to you, I noticed you smelled a lot like cigarettes. I guess Kunimi and Kindaichi didn't really notice because you had taken off your jacket, but I just was wanting to know what was up with that."

Kageyama was not prepared for that. No one said anything about the bruises under his sleeves. No one asked why he didn’t eat much. No one bothered to even notice the cigarette smoke on his shirt before, not teachers, not parents, no one. So why was Oikawa-Senpai bringing this up now?

"Oh! It's nothing Oikawa-Senpai!! I swear, I'm just borrowing my older brother's clothes for the day, and he hangs out with a lot of people that smoke."

Yeah, Kageyama lied out of his ass. He doesn't even have a brother, he has an older sister he hasn't even seen in years. But Kageyama was a perfectionist, if you will, at his own craft. Curating his own identity and building up his bubbly, innocent character was his specialty. After all, it had been almost a decade since Kageyama had been his true self.

Oikawa looked at him and took a second to register the information. Kageyama watched as Oikawa processed what he had just heard and waited for his response.

"Well, that's very interesting. Sorry for pressing you about this!! I was just concerned about my Kouhai, you understand, right Tobio-chan?" Oikawa seemed to have let the issue go, but his tight smile and candid expression said differently.

Yet, Oikawa, at the same time, didn't really care. I mean, he noticed the issue, thought it was within his means as his volleyball Captain to address the issue, and now, it was within his power to let the problem go. Kageyama Tobio at the end of the day was just his silly underclassman. Someone who looked up to him no matter what, which, in hindset was cute, but was starting to almost irritate him.

Nonetheless, Oikawa settled with himself that his work here was done. He had done his job as his Senpai, and he didn't want to get involved.

At least, that's what Oikawa kept telling himself, but for some reason, something just kept pulling him to his Tobio-Chan. Damn, those big blue eyes were starting to get to him.

Chapter Text

Kageyama came home to the smell of cheep beer and cigarettes.

As he carefully walked in, tightly holding on to his book bag, lifting the door handle ever so gently to not make a sound--the door slammed open. A gruff, white-trash looking man with a beer belly poking out of his wife beater, took one good look at Kageyama before yelling obscenities across the house.

"Suzuko! Your kid's back, you bitch." He yelled along with a bunch of other incoherent slurs and a furry of dry coughs.

Kageyama stood at the door way, freezing as his mother's troubled boyfriend looked him up and down before feeling up his ass. He had grown used to standing entirely still, completely frozen almost like he was playing dead when this happened. If Kageyama looked at him a certain way, moved even an inch, even breathed too heavily, Akio took that as an indication of acting out.

Being anything more than lifeless never ended well for Kageyama.

Just then, his mother thumped down to the front of the house. The drunkenness and aggressive fluidity in her voice tingled in Kageyama's ears and exacerbated his fear. He tried to remain quiet and lifeless in the hands of Akio, who had now pulled him further into his grasp and began to tug at his neck with his dirty lips. His beard scratched his pale skin and the wet sloppy kisses became a haven for utmost disgust and revulsion.

Shrunken with fear, Kageyama tried to zone out as Akio's body started to rub against his, until he was met with a harsh blow. He felt the sting immediately, feeling up his forehead where a pool of blood had started to stream down his face, and the glass shards of a shattered modelo bottle had fallen beneath him.

"WHy AreE YoU TAKiNG Aki-Akio AWAY FrroM ME," she slurred under her breath that smelled of bile.

Akio at this point had let go of Kageyama, focused on Suzuko now, who had trouble balancing and had let her jealousy of Kageyama get to her.

"Hey baby, I'm not going anywhere!" He shuffled quickly, to which Kageyama was almost thankful for, as this put an temporary end to the dry humping and sloppy kisses.

"It's not fair! He takes everyone away from me!" Kageyama's mother yelled as she struggled to let Akio hold her down.

This gave Kageyama the chance he needed, as he ran quickly to the basement with his backpack and never stopped for a second to look at the atrocity behind him.

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Kageyama dreamed to have blue sheets and a big blue quilted blanket with a big bed and a window that reached out into the open city. He dreamed of volleyball posters on his wall like the ones Kunimi and Kindaiichi had, and blueberry pancakes every morning with a huge heaping of whipped cream and maple syrup.

Yeah, that was the dream.

He carefully brought out the new edition of Volleyball! Monthly, that he had managed to steal under his hoodie a few days ago. Slowly turning open the page, Kageyama traced every letter and remembered every player's face. He felt a sense of satisfaction to brush through the pages, reading about the attacks and strategies of each Libero, Spiker, Ace, and finally Setter.

One day, he dreamed to be on the cover of Volleyball! Monthly. A silly, childish dream, of course, something he cursed himself for even imagining, but still, he couldn't help but smile at the thought.

Kazuyo's voice rang in the back of his head, as Kageyama quietly wondered if he would ever have a chance to compete against one of these players. The answer was probably "no way," but for some reason, Kageyama couldn't back down. For volleyball was the only light that would never leave him, the court would always be his home.

The heavy steps heading down the stars took Kageyama out of his initial trance. He froze, trying to hide his Volleyball! Monthly magazine under a pile of worn out, unwashed clothes.

"Hey, you little shitt," the sound of Akio's voice slurring mixed with his heavy steps heading down into the basement halted him in his tracks.

Kageyama's mother was still upstairs and too incoherent to even notice Akio's absence.

"C'mon, you fucker." He called out as he saw Kageyama pressed up against the wall on of his laid out futon.

Kageyama's body was frozen, unable to respond to his command as his eyes darted across the room in a desperate struggle to escape. Kageyama couldn't move, as Akio crept closer, swept up on drunken rage and Kageyama's inability to hear his calls.

Immediately, Akio pushed Kageyama's head down on the mattress, tangling his dark black hair that invaded his blue eyes. The weight of Akio's hand pushing him down came to Kageyama at full force, as he smelled Akio's breath that stunk of beer and bile. In spite of all of this, Kageyama managed to stay entirely still. He knew that fighting back only made matters worse.

"You little slut," Akio slurred, laying at hand at Kageyama's chest and pulling down his pants in the process.

Above him, his drunken mother was thumping around upstairs by the tv, either completely oblivious or intentionally paying no mind to where Akio had been for the past ten minutes.

Kageyama shivered as Akio felt up his naked body. His vulnerable self exposed to his shitty mom's boyfriend. Akio continued to rub his boner on Kageyamas thighs. "You're so dirty, yourr--soul-soulmate..will never..want you.."

It wasn't Kageyama's 14th birthday yet, where he would develop his soul mark somewhere on his pale skin. But Kageyama knew that Akio was right. He was sullied, and no matter how much he tour at his skin and scrubbed his arms, Akio's mark would never leave him.

Kageyama recalled bitterly his mother's torn up soulmark, the once bright lit moon and sky that had now become a shitty reminder of what once was. Kageyama reminisced a time when his dad ruffled his hair and played catch with him outside. A time when his mother cheered him on as he practiced volleyball with Kazuyo outside. The cuddles on long rainy days and his mother gently hand that ran through his hair and protected him from the piercing sky.

Now Kageyama desperately tried to zone out as Akio felt up his ass. He tried to zone out and stare at the torn up wooden flooring a few feet away from him. The Volleyball! Monthly magazine safely hidden on the side.

"Look at me, you dirty slut," Akio called out, as he slapped Kageyama for fading into his own unconsciousness. His cheek reddened as he forced himself to look at Akio, who had now managed to spill out onto Kageyama's bare body. There was always a second before the hit and the sting.

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Hours later, when the night was still and the echo from the TV had left a dull hum in the back of Kageyama's mind, Kageyama welled up with tears in his eyes as his body lay against the cold basement floor.

He clung to his raggedy blanket in desperation, silently mourning the loss of himself as he succumb to silence.

Chapter Text

"Hey, Kageyama, are you free this weekend? Kunimi and I were planning on going to the mall to buy the new switch!" 

Kageyama looked up from his practice serve, catching his volleyball mid-air as he turned to look at the taller boy.

It had been a few days now, and Kageyama was still sore. He had covered his body carefully and made sure to use more concealer than before to cover up his dark circles and the hickeys that Akio had left him.

Although Kunimi had bothered Kageyama for wearing long sleeves to practice for the ten millionth time, Kageyama had laughed it off as feeling colder than usual and desperately hoped they'd leave it at that.

"I'm sorry, Kindaichi!! I'm visiting my grandpa this weekend!" Kageyama called out, smiling cheek to cheek yet a little peevish.

"Oh you're fine!! I completely forgot about that. How's Kazuyo-San doing?"

"He's doing really well! We moved him to the old folk's residence in Miyagi next to his old house. He still asks me to go over there time to time though to feed the stray cats." Kunimi had now joined the conversation, looking at the two talk and following Kageyama's expressions closely.

"You were saying those cats never liked you before.." When Kunimi noticed a red scar on Kageyama's arm one day, he had blamed the incident on the stray cats.

Kageyama had felt guilty for lying and since then, he's taken extra precautions to hide his torn up body. "Yeah, cats hate me!! It's really sad too because they're just so cute I want to pet them so much!!" Kageyama squealed, recalling the chubby cheeks and adorable grey coat on one of the older cats.

Behind them, Oikawa-San briefly listened in as Kageyama mentioned his grandfather, but otherwise paid no mind to the three underclassman except to tell them to stop slacking off.

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Throughout the practice, Oikawa felt agitated and unnerved as he couldn't help but feel the stare of a blue-eyed underclassman follow him.

"OOWW!" Oikawa shrieked as he felt Iwaizumi's serve landed directly into his head.

"That's what you get for tuning out!"

He wasn’t zoning out—he was just annoyed. Kageyama got under his skin more than he wanted to admit. Oikawa had seen him play before—tight, clean serves, flawless receives. The kind of skill that never came naturally to the older setter. And for a first-year? Everyone on the team was impressed. It was the type of innate talent that Oikawa could only dream of.

He watched out of the corner of his eye as his coach fondly looked at Kageyama. It just wasn't fair. It was like Oikawa had ran three marathons to get to where he was now, but all Kageyama had to do was simply exist.

As his captain, Oikawa knew he should be proud. Kageyama was talented, no doubt. He played like it was second nature, like nothing fazed him. But the worst part? He had learned it all just from watching Oikawa. It felt like Kageyama was peeling off the best parts of him—what made Oikawa, well, Oikawa—and using them like they were his own.

As the conversation turned, he noticed Kageyama look at him with adoration in his eyes, as he ran up, volleyball in hand to the older setter. "Will you please teach me to serve, Oikawa-Senpai?" His large blue eyes looked up at the setter as a small pout forming on his lips.

“Not now, Tobio-kun,” Oikawa said, a little too quickly. “I’m not feeling great today. Go run some receive drills with Kunimi-chan, alright?”

Kageyama’s face dropped, but he nodded without pushing. Iwaizumi shot Oikawa a strange look, but said nothing as Kageyama turned and walked off. Oikawa let the silence hang for a second before tightening his grip on the volleyball and stepping back to serve. His form was sharp—perfect, even—but his chest still felt heavy. 

And for some reason, unsure why, his soulmark that lay etched on his chest had begun to burn brightly. 

Chapter Text

The train rattled steadily along the tracks as a low hum filled the quiet car.

Outside, the world passed slowly. Dry fields stretched wide, tall grass bending with the wind. Weathered houses appeared here and there, framed by clusters of dark trees and white picket fences.

Kageyama rested his forehead on the dusty windowsill, where patches of grime caught the afternoon light in uneven streaks and blinded Kageyama with overwhelming light. A cool breeze slipped through the cracked window as his head swayed gently left to right.

Anxiety filled in his chest as he tightened his grip on the wrapped box of daifuku he brought as a gift. He was glad—so glad—to be going to see his grandfather, yet the restlessness inside him grew with each passing second.

As he got out of the train and made his way to the Sendan nursing facility that Kazuyo-San was in, he couldn't help but feel excited. It had been a few weeks since he had been allowed to see his grandfather again and he was ecstatic.

Kageyama recalled bringing up the visit a few weeks ago. His mom's lips tightened into a thin line whenever Kageyama brought up Kazuyo.

“Why do you waste time on that old man?” Her voice was sharp, but her eyes washed over him.

Kageyama caught the way she stared at the framed photograph on the wall, the one with those dark blue eyes that matched his own.

Kazuyo’s face was too familiar, a reflection she refused to look at, like a shadow she couldn’t escape. Every mention of his grandfather seemed to pull something raw beneath her skin, a quiet ache disguised as frustration that she washed down with alcohol and crappy tv.

Making his way up the ramp and into the facility now, Kageyama greeted the middle-aged receptionist with a small smile.

"Hello, Kageyama-Kun, it's been awhile. How's it going?" She was sweet in the grandma type of way. She had a medium blunt bob and kept a side of crosswords and murder mystery's under her desk.

"Kobayashi-San," he greeted as he unwrapped the box of daifuku carefully and opened the lid. "I'm well, thank you. Would you like a daifuku?"

"Oh! You know I'm a sucker for sweets. Thank you, Kageyama-Kun!" She blushed as she bowed and reached for a strawberry mochi.

He looked around at the other patients in the greeting room as he continued the delightful conversation with Kobayashi.

"Kazuyo-San is in his room right now, would you like me to let him know you're here? Or do you want to just go up and surprise him."

"Is it okay if I go up and see him? I'll bring him down to the garden later."

"Of course, dear. Here's a guest name tag and a room key," she replied, handing him his guest pass and then wishing him well on the way up.

The staff at the Sendan housing facility had known Kageyama since he was a young boy. When he would walk in hand-in-hand with his father and mother after Kazuyo fell sick. Now he had gotten used to coming alone.

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He knocked quietly on the door to room 414 and opened the door slowly when he heard a voice on the other side.

"Grandpa!" Kageyama squealed as he took in the scene in front of him.

Kazuyo was bundled up in a blanket on the chair next to the window, taking in the afternoon breeze with a mug of tea right beside him. His grandfather immediately smiled with delight, surprised by the sudden visit.

"Oh my goodness!! Tobio, my dear Tobio, how have you been?" He tried to rise but his knees gave out and Kageyama rushed to quickly grab his arm and set him back down.

Kazuyo grabbed Tobio's hand and looked up at his grandson, who had somehow grown even taller in just the few weeks apart.

"I'm good grandpa, how are you? I told Kobayashi-San to not say anything about me being here," he chuckled before noticing the hot tea next to his grandpa, and carefully moved it away in case of spillage.

"I've been okay, son. More importantly, how's school? I know you've recently won some matches."

Kageyama noticed the small tv in the corner and recalled how he'd taught Kazuyo to find the local student volleyball matches on channel 9.

"School's good, I've been hanging out with Kunimi and Kindaichi a lot. They're the blocker and the spiker that I told you about." He looked at Kazuyo-San fully now. He had rosy cheeks and a gentle smile, but his dark blue eyes carried a quiet tiredness to them. "How's here treating you, Grandpa?"

"Oh, it's well, dear. It's quiet." It was always quiet. The room held no visitors besides Kageyama, when he was able to come, and besides a few caretakers, Kazuyo was alone. "I like the peace, though. I don't like people that much." He chuckled, but Kageyama knew this to be true. He'd watched his grandpa pay more attention to the street cats and wild crows than his neighbors and loved ones. That's just the type of guy Kazuyo was, and he was okay with that.

Still, even if his grandfather preferred being alone, being holed up every day would drive anybody mad.

"Want to go outside, grandpa? I brought a volleyball." Kageyama tilted his head to his backpack, which carried his volleyball shoes and gear.

Kazuyo's eyes lit up and he carefully got up and braced themselves for the ride down.

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The Sendan facility provided a large courtyard with an open field, perfect to get in a few receives.

As Kageyama walked with his grandfather, the summer from long ago in the bitter end of late July came back to him. Holding Kazuyo's large and warm hands as he guided little Tobio to the volleyball courts. The ravine down by the end of the field that flowed with water and the insects he loved to chase.

Now, Kazuyo's grip felt weaker and Kageyama kept his pace slow to match his grandfather’s, even though his legs twitched with the instinct to move faster.

They passed a patch of grass where the ground dipped just slightly, and Kazuyo hesitated—one foot pausing midair like he was calculating the risk. Kageyama squeezed his hand gently, steadying him without saying anything.

When he was eight, his grandfather never once waited for him to catch up. Kageyama remembered the firm call of his name slicing through the humid air, Kazuyo’s silhouette already halfway down the hill, volleyball bag slung over one shoulder.

He used to think nothing could shake the old man. That Kazuyo was carved from something harder than the rest of the world.

Now Kageyama was the one with the thick skin.

When a gust of wind kicked up, Kazuyo’s shoulders flinched. The ball Kageyama brought—Kazuyo's old volleyball—rolled a few feet away. Kazuyo didn’t chase after it like he would've a few years prior. Just stood there blinking, like he wasn’t sure where it had gone.

Kageyama jogged over to grab it. When he returned, Kazuyo smiled at him, soft and tired.

“Still remember the drills?” Kageyama asked, trying to keep it light.

Kazuyo’s eyes crinkled. “I remember enough to still beat you.”

It was a lie. They both knew it.

But Kageyama nodded anyway and bounced the ball once.

He didn’t say anything, but his chest felt tight—like when his grandfather first put a ball in his hands and lit something up inside him. Only now, it felt like that same light was fading out of Kazuyo, bit by bit.

He didn’t try to name the feeling. Didn’t want to.

He just stepped back, got into position, and passed the ball gently.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________

As Kageyama was heading toward the front doors of the facility, Kobayashi called out to him from behind the desk.

“Hey, Kageyama-kun! Your birthday’s coming up soon, right?”

He turned, caught off guard. “Yeah… December 22nd. About a month away.”

She smiled, warm and a little sheepish. “I thought so. I know it’s early, but I wasn’t sure if I’d see you again before then.”

Kobayashi stepped out from behind the counter, bending down to grab something tucked near her bag. When she stood back up, she held a medium-sized box wrapped in matte blue paper, tied neatly with a thick white bow.

“I asked your grandfather what type of things you liked,” she said, holding it out to him with both hands.

Kageyama stared at the box for a second before reaching out. He felt the weight of the box in the palms of his hands, unable to register what had just happened.

Kageyama didn't remember the last time he'd received a birthday present.

He ran his calloused fingers carefully along the satin bow, worried the ribbon might come undone if he wasn’t careful.

“…Thanks,” he said, his voice quiet, trying to hold back tears that were welting up in his eyes.

The wrapping was neat, the edges sharp, like whoever did it had taken their time. He didn't know if he deserved something so pretty.

Kobayashi smiled in understanding. “I hope you like it, Kazuyo-San said you would.”

He nodded once, eyes still on the gift.

“Tell him thanks,” he said after a moment, barely above a whisper.

“I will.”

He stepped out into the cold. Tightly pressing his gift against his warm body.

As he walked down the sloping path toward the train station, he cradled the box in both arms. He could feel its weight in his arms. It didn’t matter what was inside. Just the fact that it existed at all—that someone had remembered, had wrapped something just for him—made his chest tighten in a way he couldn’t explain.

He didn’t stop walking, but his pace slowed. The wind rushed around him, but the box stayed warm against his chest.

One month until his soulmark. Just one month.

Chapter Text

Bright white and red volleyball shoes, brand new. Kageyama felt stiff and out of place as he stretched and prepared for practice.

"Wow! Are those new volleyball shoes, Kageyama? Those are neat!!" One of the other underclassman noticed.

It was the Kobayashi's gift.

"T-thank you!" He bowed quickly, blushing from head to toe as he looked down at his brand new sneakers.

He wasn't used to expensive things like this. It didn't feel right. He almost didn't wear them, instead opting for his worn out sneakers that were barely holding up as it was. Such nice shoes felt like a waste for someone like Kageyama. Yet, in spite of this, he realized that it would be an even bigger waste if he didn't use them. So he decided to bring them to practice.

From across the gym, Kageyama heard the older setter.

Oikawa was laughing, his hand resting casually on Iwaizumi’s shoulder as they leaned close, heads almost touching. Iwaizumi shook his head with a smirk, elbowing Oikawa lightly in the ribs.

It was moments like these—quiet, effortless, and full of unspoken understanding—that made the rest of the team realize just how deep and unbreakable the bond between Iwaizumi and Oikawa really was.

Even Oikawa's fangirls knew not to overstep when they saw the duo like that. Kageyama watched from the side, the familiar warmth in his chest tightening. He didn't even know why, but Kageyama's stomach churned as he watched the happy couple battle it on on the court.

It was always Oikawa and Iwaizumi against the world, always.

Kunimi, standing nearby, yelled, "Oi, get a room you two!!"

Oikawa blushed immediately, squawking as he was held back by Iwaizumi before he could lay a hit on his underclassman.

Kageyama blinked, his lips twitching into a brief, reluctant smile.

"Oikawa's an idiot, but they match each other really well, don't they?"

Kageyama flinched as he didn't even process who was behind him.

"Oh, shit, did I scare you Kageyama?"

"I didn't even notice you were there, Kindaichi!! Way to sneak up on somebody like that!" He fake knelt down like he was catching his breath.

Kindaichi was right though, Oikawa-Senpai and Iwaizumi-Senpai were inseparable.

"I can't believe they've known they were soulmates since day 1! They're just so lucky, you know? I mean, what are the odds?"

Kageyama half-heartedly nodded before continuing to practice his receives in the corner.

_________________________________________________________________________________________

"Kageyama-kun! Come here."

The coach’s voice cut through the gym as everyone immediately stopped playing.

Kageyama turned his head toward the coach’s voice—just in time to miss the spike flying his way. The ball slammed straight into his face, then bounced off with a loud thud.

A few of the older players snickered. He didn’t look at them. Just turned, jaw tight, and jogged over to the sideline.

Across the court, Oikawa’s head lifted. He wasn’t laughing.

“Kageyama-kun,” the coach said, resting a firm hand on his shoulder. His tone had that quiet seriousness Kageyama had learned to brace for. “You’ve been working hard these past few months. Sharp instincts, smart reads. With regionals coming up... I wanted to ask how you’d feel about being our first sub for the starting lineup against Kohoku.”

Kageyama didn’t answer right away. The words hung there.

First sub. For the starting lineup. As a first-year.

He could feel the shift around him before he even looked up.

A pause in the drills. A few players side-glancing. The air had changed—suddenly thicker, heavier. Jealousy moved through the gym like a low hum, subtle but pulsing.

Kageyama swallowed.

He wanted to say yes. Of course he did. He’d earned it, after all.

But he also felt the heat of eyes on his back—upperclassmen, his teammates, people who’d put in years of hard work and dedication only to be passed over by a good-for-nothing first-year.

And then there was Oikawa—watching from the far end of the court, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

Kageyama was stepping into his shadow before the light had even faded.

He felt it. Oikawa definitely did.

The coach gave his shoulder a quick squeeze, like he already knew what was coming. “Think about it. Let me know by the end of practice.”

Kageyama nodded once, then turned back to the court.

Every step felt different now. Not heavier—but sharper. Like walking into something he couldn’t yet see, but couldn’t avoid either.

______________________________________________________________________________________________

"Oikawa-senpai!"

Kageyama jogged up to him after the second match, still catching his breath, his dark blue eyes washing over the court. "Can you show me your serve? Please—I’ve been watching, but I can’t figure out how you time it."

Maybe if he learned from him directly, it’d ease the tension. Maybe Oikawa would see he wasn’t trying to steal anything—just earn it.

Oikawa turned slowly, wiping sweat from the back of his neck with a towel. His smile came a second too late—tight at the corners, too polished to be real.

"Not now, Tobio-chan," he said, voice light but clipped. "Maybe some other time, 'kay?"

Then he turned back toward Iwaizumi without waiting for a response.

Kageyama stood there for a second, heart still racing, though the match was long over.

That was the third time he'd asked.

He lowered his gaze and walked back to the bench, trying not to let the sting settle too deep.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________

At home, Kageyama faced a different type of rejection.

The door hadn’t even shut behind him when it hit.

Something cracked against the side of his head—heavy, fast. He didn’t see what it was until it shattered on the floor. Glass. An ashtray.

His head rang. Heat spread above his eye.

“You think you can come and go like that?”

Her voice came from the kitchen, slurred but sharp. She wasn’t even looking at him. She didn’t need to.

He stood there for a second, frozen. He hadn’t said a word. Hadn’t even stepped all the way in.

The blunt sting from the ashtray came a second later, as Kageyama rocked back in forth, trying to stay upright as he held on to his forehead to keep the blood from flowing out.

He reached down for his bag.

Too late.

She was already there, stumbling into him, grabbing his arm so hard he felt her nails dig into the skin.

“You think you’re better than me now?” she snapped. “Just ‘cause you play a sport? You think you’re too good for this?”

The first slap hit him in the jaw. The second caught his temple. Then came a shove. Then more. He didn’t count.

He didn’t fight. Didn’t ask her to stop. Didn’t flinch.

He just hit the ground.

Knees first. Then elbow. Then face.

Cold tile. Blurry ceiling. The sting behind his eyes was sharp, but he didn’t cry.

He just laid there for a while. Let the silence fall. Let his body ache. Let his mind leave. That's all he could do. He watched as the light left him as he succumb to darkness.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________

He didn’t know how long he stayed on the floor.

Long enough for the front door to creak open again from the wind. Long enough for her to disappear down the hall, muttering to herself, bottle in hand.

His head throbbed. There was something sticky in his eyebrow, maybe blood, maybe not. He didn’t check.

Eventually, he moved. Slowly. Like his limbs weren’t his. Like the ground was trying to keep him there.

He crawled to the basement stairs. Pulled himself down one step at a time, hand on the rail, cheek brushing the wall. It smelled like mold and detergent and cold metal.

The basement was always dark.

He didn’t turn on the light.

His backpack was still slung over one shoulder. He dropped it beside the old boiler and slumped down with it. Sat there for a while, not really thinking. Just breathing.

Then, he unzipped the front pocket. Dug around past torn worksheets and an old roll of tape.

Found it.

A crumpled plastic bag, twisted shut.

The bright green and purple wrapping of salted caramel chews, the same ones that Kunimi handed to him a few days ago. Kageyama recalled the interaction as Kunimi grumbled, “you look like you haven’t eaten in a week,” before forcing five caramels into his front pockets.

He hadn’t said thank you. Just nodded and stuffed it in his bag.

Now, in the dark, he popped one in his mouth. The sweet taste of caramel leaving a residue on the bridge of his mouth.

He chewed slowly, letting the sugar sit on his tongue before opening a second one.

That was dinner.

As his vision blurred, Kageyama pressed his head against the cold cement and fought so hard not to cry.

Chapter Text

The ball spun off Kageyama’s fingertips and hit the net.

Again.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, jaw tight. From across the court, Oikawa didn’t say anything—didn’t have to. The silence was louder.

Kageyama reset. Toss. Snap. Miss.

This time, the ball landed at Oikawa’s feet.

“You’re too stiff,” Oikawa said, not looking at him as he kicked the ball toward the basket. “Your toss is a fraction too far left. Fix it.”

Kageyama swallowed his frustration. “Yes, Oikawa-senpai.”

He picked up the ball and started again. He could feel the eyes. The second and third-years whispering. The way Kunimi and Kindaichi avoided meeting his gaze lately.

He didn’t blame them. He hated himself more than they ever could.

Kageyama looked down at his brand new white and red sneakers. Did he even deserve these right now? He didn't know.
___________________________________________________

At water break, Kageyama sat alone. He didn’t mind. At least when he was alone, no one was asking if he was trying to “replace” Oikawa-Senpai.

Kageyama admired everything about Oikawa—the way he carried a team without saying a word, the way he could make players believe in themselves or completely crush them, all with the same smile. The way he moved on court, sharp and precise, adjusting everything like he could see the whole game before it even happened.

He watched the way Oikawa and Iwaizumi leaned into each other, like the rest of the world didn’t exist. Iwaizumi said something low, and Oikawa laughed—soft, real. A smile Kageyama had never seen on him before. Not once.

Kunimi passed behind him and muttered, “God, PDA, much?”

Kageyama didn’t laugh. He just kept watching.

It was like they lived on their own side of the world, Oikawa and Iwaizumi. Volleyball captain and vice captain. Soulmate and soulmate. Kageyama watched from across the court, the light that he could never reach.

Kageyama's chest felt heavy, his adoration for Oikawa and want to live up to him as a setter consumed him. If he could just get better—sharper, faster, smarter—maybe then Oikawa would finally approve of him. See him.

Not as a kid. Not as a replacement. But as someone worthy of stepping into that world.

____________________________________________________

When practice ended, Kageyama stayed behind.

He made himself small, waiting until most of the others were gone.

“Oikawa-senpai,” Kageyama said, quiet but steady. “Can you show me your serve sometime? I’ve been trying to—”

Oikawa didn’t look up. His voice was flat. “Not now, Tobio-chan.”

The words hit harder than they should’ve. Not cruel. Just... cold. Enough to freeze him in place.

Kageyama stood there too long. Oikawa finally glanced up, and whatever softness might’ve been there disappeared the second their eyes met.

“Maybe some other time,” he added, smiling thinly. “I’m busy.”

He didn't know how many times he'd asked now. I mean, he'd asked every single chance he had. Kageyama just nodded and walked away.

That night, Kageyama replayed the serve in his mind. Over and over. Ball. Snap. Land. Ball. Snap. Land.

He envisioned the light coming off Oikawa's back as he jumped off of the floor and over the net. His fingers twitched as he imagined the snap of Oikawa’s wrist, the sudden release of the ball striking in on other side.

Kageyama sat up, trying to replay the moment, practicing in the cold, dark basement Oikawa's serve. He readied his hands, jumping slightly, listening to the echos of the court wash over him. There was always a split second before the hit and the sting.

Kageyama clenched his fists, feeling the weight of that moment settle deep inside, like something just out of reach.

Chapter Text

For the next couple of weeks, Kageyama found himself in the gym before anyone else.

He'd borrowed the keys from his coach, making sure no one else on the team even knew he was there.

The cold floor pressed against his white and red sneakers, the silence broken only by the distant buzz of the fluorescent lights.

For the past month now, Kageyama had been practicing Oikawa's serve before school, reciting Oikawa’s movements again and again in his head—the toss, the snap, the follow-through.

Now, standing at the baseline, he tried to remember every detail.

The ball went up—a little too high this time.

Kageyama jumped again, narrowing his aim. His wrist snapped forward, but the ball floated weakly, lacking enough spin.

The timing was all off. Kageyama calmed down, closing his eyes and imaging Oikawa standing right beside him. He looked up, the older setter's figure flowing next to him in slow motion. The way he waits for the moment where the ball is in mid-motion, where the spin is just right--before he lets go.

Kageyama looked at the court again.

"Slower, this time. Let it wait a second," he muttered to himself, almost demonically.

The ball cut through the air, spinning tighter.

"Again."

He looked at his hands and then narrowed in again at the other side.

But it wasn’t right.

Oikawa doesn’t just hit the ball. He commands it.

He threw the ball up again.

This time, the snap of his wrist felt cleaner.

The ball soared—fast, sharp.

It landed with a solid smack on the other side of the net.

Kageyama exhaled, heart pounding.

He'd done it.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________

The bus was packed tight. Kageyama sat squeezed between Kunimi and Kindaichi in the back right corner, sandwiched between them as he eagerly watched Kunimi play Super Smash Bros on his switch.

Kageyama didn't really understand much about the game, but he tried his best to catch up.

"Kageyama, you're shit at this." Kunimi said, deadpanned.

"He doesn't understand anything but volleyball," a second-year joked next to them.

"I just don't understand the controls!! It's way too complicated, and why does every character have different powers and stuff? I can't keep track of it all at all!!" He moaned, losing for the 13th time in a row.

"You're such an idiot!" Kunimi replied, before deciding to play something else.

"You're not exactly make it easy for him, Kunimi," Kindaichi replied from the other side.

"Well it doesn't matter how much I try, Kageyama just sucks no matter what."

"HEYY!!" Kageyama blushed with embarrassment. His fingers tapped the buttons but his mind continued to stray somewhere else.

Up front, Oikawa was goofing around with Iwaizumi and the rest of the third years, loud and confident, the center of attention, like always.

Kageyama swallowed.

A few weeks ago, he’d forged his mother’s signature just to get permission to come here. Obviously, he hadn’t told anyone.

He had risked it all for this moment. He had to make it count.

When the bus pulled up, the team filed out, Kunimi and Kindaichi buddying up next to him as per usual.

Oikawa and Iwaizumi led the way at the front, moving with natural authority. This game meant the most to them, and the rest of the third years. After all, this was it. Regional finals. The last match of the year.

Again, Kageyama thought to himself, he had to make it count.

Kageyama stretched alongside Kunimi and Kindaichi before warming up. Not paying any mind to some of the upperclassmen behind him.

“Does he even need to warm up? Oikawa’s got this in the bag,” someone whispered. “Pretty rude, acting like he matters.”

“Ignore them,” Kunimi said quietly. “They're just jealous.”

Kageyama nodded.

The group continued to warm up, practicing a few spikes and serves before making their way to the line up.

Kohuko wore red and black uniforms, contrasting to their blue and white.

The crowd was huge, with Oikawa's fanbase circling the arena with homemade cardboard cut outs of his head.

"So creepy," Kunimi muttered, seeing all of the Oikawa heads in the crowd.

"Wow! Oikawa has so many fans," Kindaichi said with amazement. Kageyama couldn't help but feel intimidated by everything.

Oikawa on the other hand, paid no mind to the adoration he was receiving from the crowd. He was focused on the court right in front of him, the heat of the game, the referee calling the first serve. This was the moment where everything had to count.

Kageyama watched intensely as Oikawa started off the match from the back of the court, focusing in on the edge of the opposite side. Over the last few weeks, Kageyama had fully mastered Oikawa's very movements, everything from his breathing down to the spin on his serve.

There was always a second before the hit and the blow.

The ball rolled off of the side of Kohuko's court, flying past their libero as if in slow motion.

Kageyama felt his heart race as Oikawa integrated himself into the rest of his team. He moved effortlessly, receiving with utmost grace and sending the ball exactly where it needed to go.

Kageyama felt Oikawa’s eyes flicker toward him once or twice. Calculated. Cold.

The first set ended in a clean win.

Maybe Kageyama was really just a side piece after all. First sub meant no merit if he was going to be benched the entire time. The restlessness that had been eating away at him had started to subside as he watched Oikawa lead their team to victory.

But in the second, something broke.

Oikawa had put too much into the first set, either overly confident or overly scared of losing the first match. The first match set a precedent for the overall game, after all, and Oikawa had put his all into every blow.

That meant if one thing went wrong, the team would lose its initial confidence and everything would quickly fall apart.

Oikawa’s jump serve was received by their libero. A few weak tosses. A missed receive. Iwaizumi's spike was intercepted.

The game halted as the referee called a substitution.

Kageyama’s number lit up on the board. But it was the number above it that silenced the arena.

"1"

Oikawa’s number.

The sideline went quiet. A few jaws clenched. A few mixed glances were sent Kageyama's way.

Kageyama stepped forward.

Oikawa turned.

For a split second, he didn’t move.

The slate stayed raised between them, frozen in the air like it didn’t belong.

Oikawa’s eyes washed over him.

He didn’t argue. Didn’t fight it.

But every inch of his body screamed otherwise.

He stepped off the court, slow and controlled, and slapped the substitution plate against Kageyama’s chest just a little too hard.

Oikawa walked past without a word, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles were white. Iwaizumi tried to reach for him, but he shrugged him off and sat hard on the bench, elbows on knees, eyes locked to the floor.

Kageyama stepped onto the court as the weight of Oikawa’s eyes followed him.

_______________________________________________________________________________

Kageyama’s heart froze.

The rest of the team looked desperate and worn out.

It was his turn to serve.

He took a deep breath and forced himself to remember the snap, the toss, the rhythm he’d practiced alone in the basement. Every day for hours in the early mornings of Kitagawa Prep. He envisioned Oikawa's figure reaching out for the ball, the jump, the spin, the silence, the serve.

He jumped. The ball cut through the air, spinning fast, landing perfect.

The team erupted—cheers and claps.

Oikawa’s gaze didn’t waver. He watched the ball like it was the end of something.

Kageyama felt it too—like he was the darkness before the light even left him.

But he kept moving, syncing with the team, finding his rhythm.

Set after set, he played harder, sharper.

Kohuko lost their edge that second round.

Kageyama had received their spiker's jump serve, and had managed to send it to a third year. Gaining his momentum, Kageyama raced to the opposite end of the court, where a second year passed him the ball.

Iwaizumi was up in the air on his side, middle blockers were blocking the spikers on his right.

In the heat of the moment, Kageyama decided to flick his wrists, letting the ball drop on the other side as his opponents tried their best to dive for the ball.

A setter dump, at match point.

Kageyama came back down to the ground, waiting in silence as the referee called the point. The stillness in the air as his team waited in desperation for the call.

The referee swiped his arm over to Kageyama's side, blowing the whistle.

His teammates surged toward him, running onto the court and shouting his name, pulling him into the crowd. Hands clapped his back. Someone nearly knocked him over. The coach was grinning. Kunimi ruffled his hair.

They had won.

For a second, Kageyama let himself feel it—the weight slipping off his shoulders, just enough to breathe. Just enough to believe he belonged here.

But then he looked up.

Iwaizumi was tugging gently at Oikawa’s sleeve, saying something Kageyama couldn’t hear.

And Oikawa—he wasn’t watching the team. He wasn’t smiling.

His eyes were locked on Kageyama.

Chapter Text

Kageyama woke up to his 14th birthday to a dull pain in his lower backside.

The dull ache in his body was sharper today, as his arms were still sore from yesterday's victory.

The basement felt cold, the same as last night, but he flinched as he felt a hand rub his head.

He didn’t move. Couldn’t move. Just waited for it to end.

Akio reached down his lower backside and fondled his private parts before touching his own. He spit into his hand and got himself off to Kageyama's still body.

It was sickening. Kageyama tried desperately to stay silent and unnerved as Akio's slimy fingers started to make his way inside him.

His muscles were sore from yesterday’s win and every touch made it worse.

He swallowed the pain, biting down on the lump rising in his throat.

Akio got on top of Kageyama now, pulling his hair back so Kageyama had no choice but to arch his back forward and take Akio's dick inside him.

He felt disgusted.

When Akio finally pulled away, Kageyama stayed frozen, heart pounding in the thick, heavy air.

Akio’s eyes flicked to his arm, scanning, searching.

“Today’s your birthday, right?” His voice was heavy and distinct.

Kageyama nodded, barely.

Akio’s voice was low, almost curious, as if this mark—his soulmate mark—was some prize to be found.

He ran a finger over Kageyama’s skin, searching down his naked body for some indication--yet there was nothing.

Kageyama tried not to panic, knowing it could show up anytime as it was random and unpredictable.

The young setter waited before Akio had gone bored of him. His mom's boyfriend slowly making his way up the basement steps, leaving Kageyama to wallow in his self pity.

The world was just so fucking cruel.

__________________________________________________________________________________

"Kageyama!!!" Kindaichi waved after him as the duo waited patiently at the school gates for his arrival. "Happy birthday!!!"

Kunimi smiled gently, "happy birthday, Kageyama. Congrats."

Kageyama smiled sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck.

"Hey!!" Kindaichi realized, "take off your sleeves now! We need to see your soulmark."

Kunimi immediately punted Kindaichi in the head. "You goddamn idiot."

"HEY!! What was that for?!"

"Obviously it's private. We can't force Kageyama to show us his mark, you moron." Kunimi rolled his eyes as they all started to depart to class.

"Oops, I didn't even realize! My bad Kageyama, I was just so excited." He said quickly but both Kunimi and Kageyama could tell Kindaichi still wanted to see Kageyama's mark.

"Actually, it hasn't turned up yet. It'll happen anytime today though, right..?"

It was a big taboo for the less than 0.1% of people who never received a soulmark. However, Tobio hoped so badly that he wasn't one of them.

"You're worrying over nothing, Tobio. You're going to be fine." Kunimi said firmly, taking in Kageyama's concerns whole-heartedly.

"Yeah! It's only 7 am right now, you have like 20 hours left."

"You fucking idiot, can't even do math right," Kunimi dead-panned at Kindaichi as Kageyama burst out laughing.

Kageyama felt a lot more relieved by his two best friends, as they carrie on to their first period and started the day.

_________________________________________________

He pulled on his long sleeves in class, hiding the bruises that felt like they screamed beneath his school blazer.

The jacket rubbed against his skin and gnawed at his raw cigarette burn marks that had not yet begun to heal.

Kageyama paid attention to every ache on his body, making sure he'd know when and where his soulmark would start to take shape.

As it neared lunch, Kageyama walked up to the rooftop with Kunimi and Kindaichi along with a few other first-years. Kageyama bought a meat bun and a milk carton from the vending machine, and as a gift, Kunimi gave Kageyama some strawberry mochi.

"Wooww, look at you being all sweet, Kunimi!" Kindaichi teased as he poked Kunimi's cheeks.

"Shut up Kindaichi! It's his birthday, I'm not normally this nice."

Although that couldn't be the farthest from the truth. Kunimi was always there for Kageyama, and for that, he was internally grateful.

_________________________________________________________

By 3 pm, the trio had made their way down to the gym.

Technically, they’d beaten Kohuko. They were regional champions. But spring nationals were weeks away, and the weight of that win only made things heavier.

Every drill, every lap, every serve felt like it had something to prove.

Oikawa was had started to let the stress get to him, at one point yelling at a second-year for a foul play.

Practice wasn’t just hard—it was brutal.

Kageyama pushed through the sets like a machine. Ball. Set. Ball. Dive. Ball. Again. Again.

His chest ached, however, as he tried to hide the fact that his body was falling apart.

Under the long sleeves of his volleyball uniform, bruises scoured his arms and neck, cigarette burns seared along his ribs. His wrists were etched with white fine lines that stung every time he dug for a ball. On top of all of this, Akio's earlier assault left him sore from the bottom down.

But he kept going. He had to.

Kitagawa had a reputation. Powerhouse school. Elite. Perfect.

They needed to win their first match at nationals. There wasn’t another option.

So he ran. Set. Ran again.

He didn’t speak much during practice. He couldn’t.

Every time he opened his mouth, it felt like his chest would crack open and spill everything out. The pain. The fear. The waiting.

Kageyama hadn’t told anyone besides Kindaichi and Kunimi that it was his birthday. A part of him thought that his team wouldn't care, and the other half of him was scared of the possibility of not having a soulmark at all.

____________________________________________________________________

It was almost night now, and nothing. Nothing burning under his sleeves besides his mother and Akio's inflictions.

He told himself it was fine. That some people’s marks came late. That it didn’t mean anything. That he wasn’t broken.

The gym started to empty out around 6:30.

Kunimi and Kindaichi headed for the lockers, Kageyama had told the duo to go on without him.

Kageyama stayed behind, dragging his knees through one last round of jump floats.

Oikawa was wiping down the ball cart when Kageyama finally walked up to him.

“Oikawa-senpai.”

Oikawa didn’t look at him.

Kageyama took another step forward. “Can you please teach me your serve?”

His voice cracked. Too soft. Too tired. He wasn’t sure what he wanted anymore—approval, affection, something more.

Just something.

Oikawa’s hands froze on the metal. He turned, slow.

“You never stop, do you?”

Kageyama flinched.

Oikawa’s expression didn’t change. It didn’t soften.

“You want my serve now?”

Kageyama swallowed. “I—I just want to learn—”

The slap came hard and fast.

His cheek lit up, hot and burning, as the force knocked him to the floor.

Kageyama gasped, stunned, eyes wide.

He didn’t get up.

He stayed there, breathing hard, chest tightening like it might collapse.

Oikawa towered over him, chest heaving.

“Tōru—” Iwaizumi’s voice cut in, grabbing his arm. He wasn't there to stop the blow--it was too late.

Oikawa didn’t budge.

Kageyama’s vision blurred. It wasn’t from the slap. It was something else.

His leg.

A sharp, searing pain spread down his thigh like a match lit from the inside.

He screamed.

His hands shot to his leg as black ink etched itself into his skin in real time—burning, glowing, alive.

A cat, staring up at the moon. A crow, perched in the sky behind it.

It wasn’t just any mark.

It was theirs.

Oikawa stepped back like he’d seen a ghost.

“No,” he said, breathless. “No. No. No.”

Iwaizumi stared at the mark, frozen. “Tōru.”

“Don’t,” Oikawa snapped. “Don’t say anything.”

His hands were shaking now. “You knew this could happen. You knew.”

Iwaizumi said nothing.

Oikawa turned to him, eyes wide, desperate. “You have to pick. Me or him.”

Iwaizumi’s jaw clenched, "Toru, he's our soulmate, let's think about this for a second.."

"NO! See? You're already picking him. He's going to tear us apart. You said I was your everything. You know I can't do this, Haijime."

He looked at Kageyama, still shaking on the floor. Then back at Oikawa.

“I pick you,” he whispered, "you know I'll always pick you."

Kageyama didn’t breathe.

Oikawa nodded, almost robotic. He turned.

“Then, let’s go.”

And just like that, they left.

The gym doors echoed shut behind them.

And just like that, Kageyama was alone.

Chapter Text

He didn’t remember getting home.

Just that one second he was in the gym, still sweating, still shaking. The next—back in the basement.

Lights off. Door locked. Floor cold.

He didn’t hesitate.

Kageyama sat down against the wall, rolled up his sleeve, and pulled the blade across his wrist.

It didn’t hurt enough.

Kageyama drove his knife deeper into his wrists.

He pressed harder. Dragged again.

Deeper. Slower.

The blood came faster now. His hand shook.

He didn’t stop.

He just wanted to feel something. Anything that was his.

His body wasn’t his.

His life wasn't his.

He kept going.

He dragged deeper into his wrists until the stinging sensation washed over him.

But then he thought of Kazuyo.

How he used to carry him inside after practice. No words. Just the soft weight of strong arms and the creak of the floorboards as they moved through the apartment.

The air that smelled like tatami and sweat and pork curry.

If Kageyama died here, Kazuyo would be the one to find out.

That thought hit harder than the pain.

He dropped the blade. Pressed his hand to the bleeding and stayed still.

The blood came slow, then steady.

He leaned back, eyes slipping shut.

He didn’t want to stay.

But he couldn’t leave yet.

Not while Kazuyo was still here.

Chapter Text

Spring Nationals came and went in a blur.

Kageyama didn’t talk much. Not to the team. Not to anyone.

He avoided Oikawa and Iwaizumi like it was second nature. Never made eye contact. Kept his head down. Let the season end.

He didn’t show up to graduation.

Didn’t text. Didn’t say goodbye.

Didn’t even open the group chat when it blew up with photos.

He figured it was better that way. Oikawa made it clear he wasn’t wanted.

Still—it hurt. The distance in his heart had settled just above his throat. His soulmark had started to fade ever so slightly.

Soulmate rejection was rare.

Kageyama remembered learning about it in health class, maybe a year or two ago now. It was near the end of a unit. He’d been sitting near the window that day, half-zoning out, drawing volleyball plays in the margins of his papers.

“Most soulbonds are mutual,” the teacher said, clicking to the next slide. “But in rare cases, one person rejects the connection.”

A few kids laughed under their breath. One muttered something about dodging a bullet. The teacher didn’t flinch—she just kept going.

“When that happens,” she said, “the bond starts to break down. The mark fades. And the effects show up from the inside out. The rejected soulmate begins to emotionally shut down—numbness, dissociation, that kind of thing.”

She turned to the board and wrote in clean block letters: Stage Two.

“Stage two is physical. The mark burns. Taste dulls. Some people stop sleeping. Obsessive behavior becomes common—rituals, compulsions. Anxiety, depression. It’s the body’s way of coping with a soul that’s being severed.”

Then she paused, marker still in hand. She didn’t turn around for a long moment.

“And if it keeps progressing—if the bond isn’t repaired…”

She set the marker down.

“Stage three… is death.” She didn’t say it. Just paused. Let the word hang in the air unspoken.

Nobody laughed after that.

And Kageyama, sitting by the window, had just stared outside. It sounded like the kind of sadness that happened to other people—heavy, but far away. Like a light that would never reach him.

Rejection was something that happened to other people.

Not him.

That’s what he told himself.

Suddenly, coming back now, he was on the court.

The cold bit through his sleeves, but he shoved it aside. Couldn’t let himself think—not now.

He clenched the ball like a lifeline, forcing his mind away from heaviness in his chest as he situated himself in the front line.

Focus. Just focus.

He pushed the ball up, the light hitting his eyes as he set towards the spiker on his right.

His breath caught as his feet found the rough surface of the court, grounding him. The slight breeze drifted through the gym, brushing against his skin, carrying away some of the weight pressing on his chest. For a moment—just a flicker—he felt lighter. Almost like he could breathe.

The ball hit the floor with a hollow thud.

Kageyama froze.

There was no one there.

No footsteps. No shouts. No hands reaching out.

Just him.

His chest tightened, a slow burn grew on to his thigh as he was enveloped in complete silence.

He swallowed hard, fingers trembling as he grabbed the ball again.

Set it once more.

Because moving—anything—was better than sinking into that quiet.

________________________________________________________

He got home late that night.

Shoes off. Door barely shut behind him.

His mom was already yelling—slurred words, heavy stomps rattling the floor.

He didn’t flinch. Just kept moving.

But she followed.

“Where’s your mark, Kageyama?” She was drunk.

He froze, the weight of the question sinking deep.

“I have two,” he whispered, the words raw and barely there. “Both of them...rejected me.”

Her face twisted—anger, disappointment, something colder—like disgust mixed with something almost like hurt.

“Two?” she yelled. “You're such a fuck-up, no wonder your soulmates rejected you."

Kageyama didn’t fight back.

He swallowed hard, that emptiness growing inside him like a hollow ache.

His mom turned the corner and left him standing there, alone.

For a second, he wished she’d do something—hit him, yell at him—anything but leave him with this silence that felt heavier than any pain.

___________________________________________________________

As Kageyama made his way downstairs, he felt his phone buzz in his pockets.

To: Kageyama
From: Kunimi

Hey, Kages, r u ok? U didn't show up to the senior graduation. We're worried abt u

To: Kageyama
From: Kindaichi

HEY TOBS! U've seemed kind of off recently. Just wanted to make sure u were good!! Also Kunimi is SUPER worried about u.

Kageyama didn't know how to respond. A part of him wanted to confess--tell his best friends about the rejection. He wanted so badly to just let everything go.

But another part of him, a larger part, felt scared. Would they side with Iwaizumi and Oikawa too? That he was the fuck-up. That he didn't deserve to be loved.

He felt numb.

To: Kindaichi and Kunimi
From: Kageyama

I'm okay guys!! 🌷🌷 Sorry for worrying u both :)) Just wasn't feeling that well

To: Kageyama
From: Kunimi

U idiot Kageyama. If ur sick u should've said something. Make sure to take care of urself, u moron.

Kageyama looked at the reply and just sent a heart.

Then he put his phone face down on the floor and didn’t pick it up again.

He unrolled the futon in the basement, same as every night. The corners were frayed. The fabric was thin where it had soaked through before—old blood, newer stains, things that didn’t come out in the wash. Not that he tried anymore.

The walls felt colder than usual. The kind of cold that slipped into your skin and settled in your bones. He didn’t bother turning on the heater.

He lay down flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling, letting the silence press in.

He could still hear their voices—Kunimi’s quiet concern, Kindaichi’s stupid exclamation points. It made something twist in his chest, but it passed quickly.

Everything passed quickly now.

He didn’t cry. He hadn’t in days. Maybe longer. The tears just didn’t come. Not anymore.

His fingers curled loosely at his sides, the bandages pulling slightly when he shifted. He stared at the rafters until his eyes burned.

No dreams. No nightmares. Just that heavy, sinking feeling.

Like he was vanishing slowly. And no one noticed.

Chapter Text

Kazuyo had been coughing more lately. Quiet at first, and then not.

Kageyama stopped asking if he was okay. Every time he did, Kazuyo just smiled like the kind of man who’d already made peace with death.

It made Kageyama feel sick.

Drills started earlier. Breaks were shorter. His sets became harder, faster, sharper. The air in the gym got tighter whenever he was on the court. It was like everyone was afraid to breathe wrong around him.

He didn’t notice it at first. The space that used to feel like a team was starting to fracture. Or maybe he did, and just didn’t care. Not when he needed control over something.

“Again,” he barked at a first-year who’d just missed a dig. “Footwork was late. Do it again.”

Nobody spoke.

Kunimi and Kindaichi used to back him up. Now they barely met his eye. They stretched on the other side of the court, whispering to each other when they thought he wasn’t looking.

He was always looking.

“You’re not even listening,” Kageyama snapped during one practice. “If you don’t want to win, just say so.”

The second-year he was yelling at didn’t answer. Just picked up the ball and nodded.

Even that felt like a slight.

The ball bounced once. Rolled away.

Kageyama stood still, skin hot, chest tight.

It had been two years now.

Two years since Kageyama had faced rejection by his older soulmates. His soulmark had become more frayed now.

What used to sting had gone quiet. Not healed—just... dulled. Like a scab picked raw too many times, until there was nothing left to feel.

He rolled the ball between his hands.

In the beginning, he'd prayed the mark would fade completely. That if he wished hard enough, tore himself down enough, maybe the universe would take the hint.

But it didn’t. It lingered—half-there, half-dead. Just like everything else he couldn’t fix.

He tossed the ball up, just a little. Let it fall. Caught it again. His legs felt heavy. His shoulders screamed from days of overuse, from nights of barely sleeping, from the weight of trying to be more than he was.

All Kageyama had to do was win spring nationals. If he could jump high enough, run faster, receive better, maybe everything he'd been through so far would be worth it.
Maybe Oikawa would finally see him—for the setter he was.

Kageyama clenched his jaw and forced the thought away as he stepped back.

He held the ball steady. Waited a beat.

Then jumped.

And in that single second above the court—he wasn’t thinking about the serve. Or the match. Or the noise around him.

Only how badly he wanted all the pain he felt to be worth it.

As Kageyama finished his practice sets, he watched Kunimi and Kindaichi walk by—shoulders brushing, whispering something too quiet for him to hear. "King of the court," he heard Kindaichi mutter under his breath.

They didn’t look at him.

Kageyama had slowly started to drift apart from his two best friends.

It wasn’t all at once. It happened in glances. Missed jokes. Kunimi’s voice growing flat whenever Kageyama spoke. Kindaichi stopping mid-laugh the second Kageyama walked by.

Kageyama barked a few orders at a pair of underclassmen. “Move left, faster!” Kageyama's reflection staring back at him in their eyes.

No one argued. Not out loud, anyway. But the shift was obvious. The underclassmen would flinch. Backtrack. Avoid him altogether.

Kageyama stopped trying.

“Get it together,” he’d snap during receive drills.

Sometimes, he caught Kunimi watching Kindaichi instead of the ball. And sometimes, it looked like they were waiting for him to say something. To lighten up. To apologize for whatever thing he'd done.

But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

He got quieter. They stopped asking why.

He stayed later after practice. They stopped waiting.

And the silence stretched—thin at first, then sharp.

Kindaichi would still text sometimes. Kunimi might glance over during water breaks. But it wasn’t the same. Not like before—before the mark, before the rejection, before he turned bitter trying to keep everything from falling apart.

They had each other.

He had volleyball.

And maybe that was enough.

______________________________________________________________________________________________

Spring nationals came like a blur.

The net stretched across the court, its white strands catching the sunlight spilling in through the windows.

The gym smelled like sweat and old wood, thick and heavy, settling on Kageyama’s skin.

The volleyball felt rough and solid in his hands, slick with sweat, heavy like it was holding all his weight.

Everything around him slowed---his white and red sneakers on the floor, the soft thump of the ball, the quick catch of his own breath.

His chest tightened, heat burning low while cold prickled under his skin.

He raised his arms swiftly, eyes locked on the other side of the net.

It was the second set, and Kitagawa was hanging on by a thread.

They’d won the first, but now the momentum was slipping away.

His spiker hesitated, muscles tensing too long on the receive.

The ball slipped, bouncing unevenly on the floor.

Kageyama’s jaw clenched tight, breath catching as the weight of everything pressed down harder.

“What are you waiting for? Run faster! Jump higher! You could’ve saved that!” he snapped, voice raw and sharp.

Heads turned.

Eyes widened.

His teammates flinched.

But Kageyama didn’t stop.

He pushed harder, yelled louder.

Every missed pass, every faltered set was a crack in the wall he had built around himself.

The weight of all their eyes pressed down, heavy and cold.

His coach’s sharp gaze cut through the noise, but Kageyama didn’t notice.

He was caught in the moment, his frustration had bubbled over.

As the set wore on, his body grew heavier.

The tension in his shoulders became a weight dragging him down.

And then—he stopped. The ball hit the ground with a dull thud and rolled away.

“Why didn’t you make that?” Kageyama snapped, his voice breaking without meaning to. The court went quiet as his teammates had stopped playing.

One by one, they stepped back, leaving him standing there—completely alone.

Kunimi didn't look him in the eye.

Then the whistle blew.

Kageyama watched as a young and scrappy underclassman held up the white plate with the number “1” on it.

He was being taken out.

His breath caught in his throat, tight and painful.

They pulled him off the court.

Kageyama sat on the sidelines, empty and invisible under the noise of the crowd.

Kitagawa lost that set.

Lost nationals.

Kageyama didn’t care anymore.

He just sat down on the bench, staring at the worn-out floor, feeling the heavy weight of failure press down on him.

Chapter Text

The hall outside the gym was cold and narrow. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead.

Kageyama felt the weight of the world crash over him. Their team had lost, and it was all his fault.

From under his long sleeves, Kageyama's cuts burned. His mom had added more scars to his ever bruised body, and Kageyama struggled to remain conscious.

Kageyama fought to stay awake, fighting every fiber of his being to keep going, when he heard a familiar voice behind him.

"Yoohoo! Tobio-chan!"

Kageyama froze.

Before he could even think, Oikawa shoved him back so hard Kageyama’s shoulder hit the wall.

“You always have to be the center of attention, don’t you?” Oikawa tensed.

Kageyama couldn't move. He kept so incredibly still. It was the only thing he knew how to do.

“You don’t get to ruin another team,” Oikawa hissed, chest heaving, face too close. “Don’t come to Seijoh. Stay away.”

Kageyama blinked at him, stunned. His back stung from the impact.

His soulmark had begun to burn again.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

The house was too quiet when he got home.

The TV wasn't on like normal but empty beer cans still littered the floor.

Suzuko sat at the kitchen table, clearly drunk but not yet wasted out of her mind.

Kageyama knew something was off. He carefully set his bag down before almost setting off downstairs.

“He’s dead.”

She didn’t look at him when she said it.

Kageyama froze mid-step. “What?”

“Kazuyo.” She took a drink. “Some nurse called while you were out playing your stupid game.”

He didn’t respond. Couldn’t. His throat closed.

“Left you his condo. Paid off, apparently. Guess he still thought you were worth something.”

Her voice was bitter. She laughed like it was all some stupid joke.

It was the first time in months that he and his mother were having a genuine conversation, and yet Kageyama wished she'd just hit him instead.

Maybe then he wouldn't have to deal with the pain.

Kageyama didn’t stay to hear the rest. He went downstairs.

His hands trembled as he opened the drawer.

The blade felt colder than usual. He sat down against the basement wall, drawing in a shallow breath.

The air felt heavy. Like something pressing down on him.

He wanted to feel anything else.

He pressed the edge to his skin and shut his eyes.

But something—something stopped him.

Kazuyo.

He remembered the old man’s warm hands carrying him through the condo that summer. The way he laughed when Kageyama missed his first volleyball toss. The smell of miso and floor polish. The red radio that blared in the kitchen. The photo of them still stuck to the side of the fridge.

He couldn’t do it.

He dropped the blade.

Shaking, he stood up, grabbed his coat, and ran.

The cold hit him like a wall when he burst outside. The snow was thick on the ground, wind biting his cheeks, his lungs burning.

He ran with no idea where his legs were carrying him.

Until he saw the faint, glowing windows of the Sendan community center.

He pushed through the doors, barely registering the warmth.

“Kageyama?”

It was Kobayashi.

Her voice cracked the air like a crack of thunder, and something inside him gave out.

He collapsed into her arms, sobbing. Shaking. Broken.

She didn’t ask questions. Just held him. Tight. Like someone who knew.

“You’re staying here tonight,” she whispered, rubbing his back. “I’ve got you. You’re not going back there.”

And for the first time in weeks, Kageyama let himself fall apart.