#i included it b/c that scene (where tobio sees the selfie of hinata & oikawa in brazil) is central to this fic

[lys-9-10]

New KGHN post-timeskip fic

Read on AO3 (preview below image)

Preview:

Four. That was how many texts Tobio had received from Hinata since he’d left for Brazil. 

Four texts, all clustered within the first few weeks of Hinata’s arrival . . . An arrival that had taken place almost two years ago.

Tobio doesn’t know what he had been expecting. 

Daily Facetimes? Good morning and good night texts? “How’s your day going?” check-ins every afternoon? 

Whatever he’d been expecting though, it wasn’t this. This: sitting on his bed, staring at their scant message thread on his phone, tapping his screen every time it threatened to go dark, waiting, waiting . . . for something. 

When Tobio had said “See you later,” to Hinata after their grad ceremony, he knew it would be a while before they did indeed see each other later. Tobio didn’t know how long Hinata was planning on training in Brazil—even Hinata didn’t know that—but it was sure to be at least a year, possibly several. 

And yet even then—even with the prospect of almost 20,000 km separating them for an indefinite period—it honestly never occurred to Tobio that there would be a time when his days wouldn’t be filled with Hinata.

They were the infamous 9/10 duo, after all. One of those names that you only ever hear in conjunction with the other—“Hinata and Kageyama.” “Kageyama and Hinata.” They simply didn’t exist without each other. . . 

Except now they do. 

Now Tobio wakes every day—trims and files his nails—eats breakfast—packs his bento—leaves for practice—practises… and comes home. 

And at no point in his day is there Hinata. 

Tobio knows it’s natural. People going abroad and eventually forgetting about their friends from back home. But . . . somehow he’d thought . . . 

Tobio squeezes his eyes shut and presses the heel of his palm to the splitting ache in his head. 

Hinata and Kageyama. Kageyama and Hinata. 

They simply don’t exist without each other. 

Except now they do. 

----- Hoshiumi is quick. 

Too quick. 

The first time Coach Suzaku asks them to do it—“Try that quick attack you used to do with your ginger in high school”—Tobio just smirks. Because there’s no way Hoshiumi will be able to connect, he’s sure. 

But when the ball slams into the ground on the opposite side of the net rather than dropping listlessly at Hoshiumi’s feet . . . Tobio feels something inside his chest shrivel up. 

“No,” he says instantly, and his voice feels like it’s squeezing out of his compressed lungs. “That wasn’t right.” 

It absolutely was right—the timing, the technique, the power—it was exactly right. 

But it was also wrong. Incredibly, horribly wrong. 

“Huh?!?” Hoshiumi sputters, indignant. “What are you talking about, that was perfect!” 

“No,” Tobio says again, sharper than before. “It was—”

Wrong, a betrayal, a hole being ripped through his core . . .

“—It didn’t feel the same.” 

And at least Tobio isn’t lying. Because it didn’t feel the same. It never could, no matter how technically flawless. 

“You’re full of bull!” Hoshiumi shouts, really riled up now. “That was better than with your second-stringer Little Giant and you know it!” 

Tobio’s eyes narrow. And when he speaks, his voice is low and dangerous. “Second-stringer?” 

Hoshiumi glares back. “Yeah, second-stringer! As I recall, I came out on top in the Little Giant showdown in high school!” 

“Hinata got a fever.” 

“Because he wasn’t strong enough! And because he’s an idiot who doesn’t know how to take care of himself!” 

Tobio steps toward Hoshiumi—one short, heavy step. He feels the fingers in his right hand clench and release. His nostrils flare as he tries to remind himself to breathe, breathe, don’t do anything stupid that will get him suspended from the team . . . 

“Don’t call Hinata an idiot,” he rasps at last. And it’s hypocritical—outrageously hypocritical—but right now Tobio can’t see past the angry red haze in his eyes to care. 

Hoshiumi is silent for a moment, gaze scraping slowly over Tobio’s face. Then, he scoffs. A low, disbelieving scoff.

“That’s what this is about. This is some asinine loyalty stunt for your subpar shortie.” 

Tobio has never left practice early before. He’s never even left practice on time before. He’s always the last one in the gym, well after the others are gone. (The very last one. Because on this team, no one stays behind with him, begging for “one more toss”.) 

But right now—only fifteen minutes into the Schneider Adlers’ practice—Tobio turns on his heels and quickly strides away, off the court. 

He has to move quickly. Because no one is allowed to see the tears that are forming in his eyes. 

Hoshiumi yells after him, just before he pushes his way through the doors. “PUT THAT SHIT AWAY KAGEYAMA! YOU’RE IN PROS, THIS IS YOUR JOB! DON’T BRING YOUR EMOTIONAL CRAP ONTO THE COURT!” Read more on AO3