Chapter 2
“Seriously, when did you even have time to cause trouble?” Iwaizumi hisses at Oikawa, mind racing. He’s been glued to the idiot’s side ever since their ship docked. Realization dawns on him. “You didn’t go take a shit just now did you?”
“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa lowers his gaze in fake modesty, “it’s vulgar to speak of other people’s bathroom habits”
“I don’t want to start anything, just give it back,” the guy growls from behind Iwaizumi.
“Fucking hell Oikawa, whatever you did just fix it,” Iwaizumi orders.
Oikawa gives him a lazy grin. “Iwa-chan why do you assume it’s my fault when angry young men with baby faces confront me in fast food restaurants?”
“Because everything is always your fault.”
“Fair point. The world does seem to revolve around me whether I want it to or not.”
Suddenly, the guy appears next to Oikawa. He grabs onto the front of Oikawa’s expensive kimono and jerks him to the side, “You think this is a joke?” There’s venom in his voice. Oikawa looks up at him innocently.
Iwaizumi instantly reaches over, grabbing onto the pressure point in the guy’s wrist that he knows will make him break his hold. “Sorry, I know he’s a complete asshole, but I can’t let you do that.”
The guy blinks at Iwaizumi as though Iwaizumi’s grip is nothing more than surprising, then he lets go willingly. “Look. It’s against code to fight, so I don’t want to. I just want my knife back.”
“You stole something from him?” Iwaizumi looks at Oikawa in disbelief. That’s low even for Oikawa. Oikawa must feel the judgment in Iwaizumi’s gaze because he instantly pouts like a spoiled toddler caught trying to sneak a cookie.
“I was going to give it back!” Oikawa protests, as though he’s stating sound logic. Iwaizumi knows he probably believes that it is.
Iwaizumi turns towards the angry youth standing next to their table, “Look, I’m sorry this asshat has caused you trouble. He’s going to return what he took from you right away.”
There’s anger in the blue eyes that look back at him, but also confusion at how quickly the confrontation’s apparently being settled; he’d obviously been expecting a fight.
“I’m not giving it back!”
The expression in the blue eyes goes sour. Iwaizumi resists the urge to send his fist flying across the table.
“Yes you are shithead.”
“No, I’m not! Unless,” Oikawa’s eyes narrow calculatingly, the look in them challenging, “he fights me for it.”
The kid’s mouth sets in a hard, grim line. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“Yes I do, Tobio-chan.”
He’s Kageyama Tobio, Iwaizumi realizes. Iwaizumi turns and really looks at the youth standing in front of him for the first time. He’s maybe a bit taller than Iwaizumi’s own height, though it’s difficult for Iwaizumi to gauge accurately since he’s sitting down. Even under the loose fit of his yukata Iwaizumi can tell Kageyama’s build is a lot leaner than his own, though he’s still composed of a good amount of muscle. His blue eyes are as dark as the water is in the deepest depths of the ocean and just as unreadable.
“So you do know who I am.” Kageyma’s eyes darken. Iwaizumi sees his body tense up even more.
Oikawa just smiles at his obvious discomfort. “Of course I do, Tobio-chan. But it’s obvious you don’t know who I am, do you?”
“Thiefs aren’t important to me.”
“I’m not a thief!”
“Uh, you kinda are,” Iwaizumi interjects.
“Iwa-chan whose side you are on?”
“Look just give me my knife back, I’m starting to get angry.”
“I will if you fight me,” Oikawa repeats.
“I’m not going to fight you. I’m a trained warrior. I can’t engage in any fighting with the public, even if it’s just sparring.”
“But I’m not just anyone.” Oikawa’s chin tilts up, spine straightening as he throws his shoulders back. Iwaizumi’s seen this pose more times than he can recall. “I’m Oikawa Tooru.”
Theres a pause as Oikawa stares at Kageyama proudly. Kageyama stares back, then his brow scrunches like he’s tasted sour milk.
“Who?”
Iwaizumi’s snort is so loud it’s undignified.
“Iwa-chan what was that ugly noise just now?!” Oikawa looks at him in disbelief, then shifts the incredulous look to Kageyama. “And you, how the hell do you not know who I am? I’m Oikawa Tooru! Crown prince of the Northern Water Tribe. I’m next in line to rule the very land you’re standing on!”
Iwaizumi can’t stop smirking. He’s seen people not recognize Oikawa by sight, sure, but he’s never witnessed someone who hadn’t even heard of him. It’s such an anomaly in Oikawa’s world that under the fake layers of indignation Oikawa’s currently brandishing, Iwaizumi can see real shock on his face.
“How the hell can you not recognize the name of royalty? Does our sister tribe not provide proper schooling or something?”
“The Southern Water Tribe’s education is outstanding!” The look on Kageyama’s face is prideful as his voice slips into a rehearsed dignity. His eyes almost take on a distant, novel look. “Our nation is great, one of the greatest of the world.”
His gaze turns back to Oikawa, switching to a glare. Then it flicks away and suddenly his whole body seems to droop. His voice drops into a monotone as he stares down at the table, not looking at either of them. “But it was my mistake. I did not mean to offend you, your majesty. You may keep the knife as a symbol of my apology.”
“Stop your groveling, it’s weird.” Oikawa instantly waves a dismissive hand at Kageyama. He pulls the knife out of his sleeve and places it on the table. Iwaizumi sees that it’s a gorgeous piece of work: delicate scrolls and patterns adorn the flat edge and just from the shape Iwaizumi can tell it has good balance. Kageyama doesn’t move to take it. “I don’t want your knife. I want a fight.”
“I can’t fight you.”
“Why not?” Oikawa’s impatience is starting to show.
“Because you’re the crown prince.”
“So?”
“So if I win, I could be beheaded or something.”
This time Oikawa snorts. His tone is derisive. “Beheaded? What year is this, 100 BG?”
Kageyama turns, movements stoic. “I’m sorry to have disturbed your meal, your royal highness.”
“How about you fight me instead?” Iwaizumi doesn’t realize he’s spoken until the words have already fallen from his mouth. Kagayama turns back around. It’s not that Iwaizumi’s trying to cater to Oikawa’s whims, Fire Lord knows he definitely needs to face rejection more than he does, but Iwaizumi himself can’t help but want to see if Kageyama Tobio is all he’s rumored to be.
Oikawa’s quick to agree.
“Yes, yes, fight Iwa-chan. He’s as good as I am.”
For a second Kageyama looks like he’s considering it.
“No, like I said it’s against code—”
“I’m Iwaizumi Hajime,” Iwaizumi begins, “head of—“
“Head of the Royal Guard. You were the youngest General of the Northern Tribe’s land forces in history before your appointment,” Kageyama finishes, something like respect or awe in his tone.
“Oh. Uh, yeah. That’s right.” Iwaizumi sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. They way Kageyama says it makes it sound so impressive.
“How come you know who Iwa-chan is?!” Oikawa’s tone is scandalized. “This is just insulting! I—”
“I accept your challenge.” Kageyama’s gaze on Iwaizumi is intense.
Iwaizumi picks the knife up from the table and hands it to Kageyama, the beginnings of a grin prickling at his lips. “Let’s go then.”
“Iwa-chan I don’t think you should have pissed him off so much at first,” Oikawa calls gloatingly from the observation deck as Iwaizumi struggles to catch his breath.
Mountains of ice tower around him. They’re in the largest training arena they have and every inch of it is frozen over. Jagged tufts of ice line the walls and sharp icicles hang from the ceiling. The entire floor is a battle ground of broken, dangerously sharp, ragged chunks of cold crystal. Iwaizumi’s skin is clammy with a layer of chilled sweat. He takes a step back and hailstones crunch under his feet.
“Shut up shittykawa!” Iwaizumi roars. “You’re the one who stole from him! Why the fuck couldn’t you have just acted like a decent human being for once and went through the proper networks to challenge him?”
Iwaizumi throws up a solid wall of ice just as thousands of crytalline spears shoot across the arena at him. They crash into the surface behind him and sprinkles of ice rain down into his hair.
“I did try to be nice! But Iwa-chan I swear he’s even grumpier than you are!”
“If you have time to talk you’re obviously not taking his seriously enough,” Kageyama shouts, the first words he’s said in the last fifteen minutes. He shoots up on a water spout then sends a volley of waves at Iwaizumi.
Iwaizumi rises on a spout of his own, higher even than Kageyama’s, narrowly avoiding the waves. He sends a flurry of extended water whips at Kageyama, which Kageyama easily deflects to the walls aside of him.
Iwaizumi eyes the other boy. There’s sweat beading at him temples but he doesn’t look half as exhausted as Iwaizumi’s feels. A large wall of water pulls up behind Kageyama, reaching from floor to ceiling. No, not just a wall of water, a tsunami. The tsunami shifts color, lightening, and Iwaizumi realizes it’s a roiling tsunami of volatile ice. Iwaizumi’s never seen anything like it.
“Iwaizumi-san! Are you sparring?” an excited voice shouts. Iwaizumi turns to see Takeru, Oikawa’s nephew, emerging from the doors of the side bleachers. The bleachers are a mess of ice and water—they hadn’t bothered to be careful since no one was there.
Kageyama releases his wave half a second after Iwaizumi lays eyes on Takeru.
“Shit!” Iwaizumi swears. He sees pillars of ice rise up, high and solid, covering the bleachers—Oikawa, he registers—as he sends his own towers of ice rushing to block Takeru as well. He doesn’t have time to block himself.
The tsunami hits.
“Iwa-chan! Iwa-chan!” Iwaizumi’s eyes open to see Oikawa and Takeru looking down at him. There’s tears in Takeru’s hickory eyes and relief in Oikawa’s chocolate ones. A familiar warmth floods his side.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Takeru wails, as Iwaizumi remembers the moments prior to blacking out.
“How long was I out?” he croaks. There’s the taste of blood in his mouth.
“Half an hour,” Oikawa answers, his tone light for Takeru’s sake though Iwaizumi can hear the underlying tension. Half an hour despite Oikawa’s healing means he’d been hurt badly; very, very badly.
“I’m sorry!” Takeru repeats, rubbing a fist across his eyes.
“Hey it’s not your fault.” Iwaizumi realizes his own voice sounds a little faint. He clears his throat and tries to sound more awake, more alive. “We were being reckless. The bleachers are always supposed to be off limits during matches. We’re the ones who broke the rules.”
Takeru nods, even though fat tears begin to well up and spill down his cheeks. “I know, I know, I wasn’t trying to be bad. I’m sorry.”
“Hey buddy. It’s not your fault. Not at all.” Iwaizumi manages to lift a hand and hold it up for Takeru. “Stop crying ok?”
Takeru grips onto Iwaizumi’s hands with both of his own. He nods, eyes screwed tight, but the tears keep falling. Iwaizumi gives his small hands a reassuring squeeze.
“Where’s Kageyama?” he asks Oikawa. Oikawa’s eyes shift to the side and Iwaizumi turns his head to see Kageyama standing maybe a dozen yards away. His head is down, hands balled into fists at his side. His entire body is rigid with tension and defeat.
“Hey.” Kageyama doesn’t move. “Hey Kageyama.” Kageyama’s head jerks up, stormy eye’s widening when he sees Iwaizumi looking at him as though he hadn’t registered Iwaizumi waking up. “That was an impressive move.”
Kageyama ignores the compliment and strides over. He bows deeply in a perfect ninety degree angle. “I apologize for my actions,” Kageyama states, solemnly. “They were reckless and uncontrolled. Unbefitting of a warrior.” There’s a pause. Then Kageyama continues and Iwaizumi thinks he can hear a slight tremor in his voice. “I will resign from my position immediately and head back to the Soutern Water Tribe as soon as the next boat leaves.”
Iwaizumi gives Oikawa a bewildered look. Oikawa’s expression is annoyed and tense, but he shrugs at Iwaizumi as though to say, So what? he deserves it. Which he really doesn’t, but Iwaizumi knows Oikawa’s probably been spooked by his injury and is in an even more unreasonable state than he usually is.
“That’s… a little extreme.” Iwaizumi begins hesitantly and honestly as he stares at the ceiling above him. Obviously Kageyama has a lot of pride and honor, traits that Iwaizumi admires, but something else must be in play here that influences such severe self-discipline. Iwaizumi can’t even begin to guess what it is though.
“No. My actions we’re completely unacceptable,” Kageyama contests to the ground, still bowing. His yukata’s rumpled though nowhere as messy as it should have been after such an intense fight.
“Kageyama it could have been my attack that was let loose at that moment. It was just bad luck that it was yours,” Iwaizumi points out.
There’s a bit of silence as though Kageyama’s contemplating his words. “No. No, you’re wrong. You would have never launched an attack you couldn’t have controlled if you’d needed to.”
“You think too highly of me.” Iwaizumi grunts. “Everyone has attacks that get away from them.” But not of the that maginitude, a tiny voice reminds Iwaizumi. That amount of power had been synonymous to five advanced waterbenders working together.
“No, it’s—”
“For Avatar’s sake stop being so self-pitying,” Oikawa inturrupts, sneering though Kageyama can’t see, “it’s annoying and unattractive.”
Kageyama falls silent, still bowing.
Iwaizumi examines a chunk of ice on the wall that looks like the outline of a turtle duck. “Tell you what. I know a better way you can make it right, if you’re going to insist that it’s your fault.” Iwaizumi’s eyes lock onto Oikawa’s face. His eyes are as irrationally pretty as always, even when they’re upset. “Join our pro-bending team.”
There’s movement as Kageyama’s head snaps up, looking at Iwaizumi in surprise.
“That’s what this whole thing was about in the first place,” Iwaizumi continues. Oikawa stares determinedly at his glowing hands, refusing to look at Iwaizumi or acknowledge if his words are correct. Iwaizumi knows they are. He looks back at Kageyama, who’s standing normally now. The look in his eyes is hesitant and unsure. “If you want to make it up to us, join our team and fight for us.”
He glances at Oikawa, who’s still refusing to look at him
They’re both so stubborn, Iwaizumi realizes. A feeling wells up in his chest, some mixture of amusement and fondness that somehow extends to Kageyama even though they’ve just met.
He looks Kageyama straight in the eye.
“Fight with us. Be on our side.”
Kageyama stares back at him.
He nods.
“Ohhh! Pink crystal and fire lily bath!” Natsu squeals as she and Yachi peruse a small booklet. Hinata sits nexts to them feeling content just from being around their contentment like a plant soaking up the afternoon sun. They’re at the city’s largest spa and bath house.
“Want to try that one Natsu?” Yachi questions.
“Yeah, yeah! Let’s get that one!”
“Ok!” They put their order in at the front desk.
“We’ll meet you here after, right Hinata?”
“Yup!” He watches the girls head into the women’s side before he walks to the men’s. He’s getting the pro-bender special, something his teammates had recommended for taking care of his body. It consists of a shower and massage, then a salt bath and moisturization, whatever those were. The male attendant instructs Hinata on where he can leave his clothes.
“First shower then head over to Room 15,” The attendant tells him. Hinata obeys. The shower stall is fancy and large and has some floral smelling soap that produces lather so rich Hinata fools around for a few minutes creating fake bubble beards. He gives his scalp a good scrub with the equally fancy shampoo, then tries out the hair conditioner—something he’s never used before. It leaves his hair feeling oddly soft and sleek and he can’t stop touching it as he waits in the massage room. He can’t help taking a peek at it in the mirror on the wall either.
“Sorry for the wait!” a deep voice says.
Hinata turns to greet his masseur then gives a squeak as his eyes fall on a familiar set of umber eyes that are just as beautiful in regular light as they were under neon ones. His hands inadvertantly fly to cover his crotch even though he has a towel knotted around his waist
The guy pauses and gives Hinata a questioning look.
“Uh, are you ok sir?” He asks politely and professionally. His brown hair is styled and he wears a spa uniform, but he’s not fooling Hinata, even if he is fully clothed this time. So Hinata tells him so:
“You’re not fooling me!”
“I’m sorry sir? I don’t quite understand.”
Understand? How does he not understand?! “Keep your nipples to yourself!” Hinata explains shrilly.
There’s a beat or two of silence before realization dawns on the other guy’s face.
“Oh, right. You were at the club a while ago,” he says, as though he’s forgotten all about Hinata. Which can’t be true since Hinata has definitely not forgotten about him, not for one single day since the club incident. “I remember your orange hair. Unusual color.” He busies himself arranging the rows of glass bottles sitting on one of the side tables.
Hinata’s jaw drops; he had forgotten. “You didn’t remember me? How—how do you just do that to a person then forget about it?!” Hinata feels a bit hysterical.
“Don’t take it personally. I can get dozens of customers in one night.”
“But how can you just…” Hinata waves at his own bare chest, “it’s so…” Hinata’s eyes screw up and he throws his hands in the air, “like argh!”
The guy laughs. “Look, you’re a pro-bender, don’t you have to do things for your job you don’t want to? Ham it up for the cameras and reporters even now and then? Millions of people are watching you right?”
“I—” Hinata freezes as the guy’s words sink in. Millions of people are watching you.
“Hey, I just want to give you your massage.” He indicates the table in front of him. “I promise to keep my nipples to myself.” His smirk makes Hinata blush. “Please lay down.” Hinata inches to the table wearily, then settles down onto it when the guy doesn’t make any moves to suddenly strip his uniform off.
“I’m Kouji Sekimukai by the way,” he informs Hinata, adjusting the placement of Hinata’s limbs on the table. “I’ll be gentle,”—Hinata’s blush deepens at the amusement in his voice—“but if something hurts just let me know.”
“Whoa Hinata!” Tanaka shouts, as a large boulder flies way off course and smashes into a wall next to one of the windows that line the ceiling, dangerously close to shattering it. “That’s like, your tenth mistake today!”
“Hinata I think you should call it a day,” Suga suggests amicably.
“What, no, I have to practice!” Hinata waves his hands in protest. At his movements chunks of rock break off from the wall and narrowly miss crushing Ennoshita.
“Ok Hinata, that’s enough.” Daichi commands, using his captain voice. Hinata hangs his head. Suga and Daichi exchange a look.
“Hinata, is there something on your mind?” Suga prods, gentle.
“N— no! Why would you say that?” Hinata feably protests. Suga’s look is soothing and probing at the same time. Worst of all it’s also understanding and makes Hinata feel bad for sort of lying.
Hinata looks down and stares guiltying at the rock floor, then back up at Suga. The patience in Suga’s gaze is endless.
“Millions of people are watching us!” Hinata blurts out, as though that makes any sense.
Suga and Daichi both glance around the room. “There’s no one here besides the team right now,” Suga responds, worry in his voice.
“No, I mean, on TV! When we’re on TV!” Hinata is desperate to explain now that he’s said it.
“Oh! Right.” Suga gives him a contemplative look. Then he trades a look with Daichi. It’s a loaded look that Hinata doesn’t understand, though he knows it’s about him; it makes him feel small.
“Getting a case of stage fright Shouyou?” Nishinoya’s boisterous voice cuts in. He beams at Hinata like it’s no big deal.
“Um,” Hinata’s hands twist into the hem of his training jersey, “maybe.”
“Not a problem, not a problem. Luckily you have the best teacher for that there is!” He walks over and slaps Asahi on the back so hard the larger man stumbles forward a few steps. “Give him some advice Asa-chan!”
“Uh, well…” Asahi fidgets under the sudden expectations placed on him. “You can try meditation. Self-reflection. Maybe walks in nature—”
“Asa-chan he wants advice on how to calm his nerves not on how to become a monk,” Nishinoya inturrupts.
“Ah! Um, ok, this is what works best for me,” Asahi smiles nervously at Hinata, “when I get nervous, I try to imagine the scariest thing I’ve ever experienced.” He pauses as though trying to gauge Hinata’s reaction to his words. “That way, whatever I’m about to do can never seem as scary as whatever it is I’ve already been through.”
Scariest thing?
Hinata thinks. His pro-bending tryouts? Yeah, that had been pretty scary, especially the fear of getting punched in the face again. Maybe not as scary as millions of eyes watching his every movement though.
That time he’d lost Natsu while shopping for food when they were younger? He’d been sure she’d been snatched by some human traffickers when he still couldn’t find her after an hour. He’d discovered her small form standing in front of a bakery, staring at the display of cakes through the window. That’d definitely been one of the most terrifying hours of his life though.
He’s about to settle on that memory when he thinks of something else:
The day he’d found out his parents weren’t going to ever return from the war.
Yeah.
That was it.
Hinata feels his anxiety evaporating. There’s no way that any match, no matter how important, can ever compare to that day.
“Huh, I think that worked,” Hinata states quietly. He misses the others looking at him even more worried at his suddenly subdued tone. Instead of sounding happy or even relieved, he just sounds sad.
“Maybe we should all clean up and have the meeting already,” Kiyoko suggests to Daichi. “We have a lot to discuss about our annual fundraiser next week.”
“Yeah, ok. Everyone gather round.”
They sit in a huddle as Kiyoko and Daichi direct the talk.
“So, we’re going for our first away matches soon, to Zaofu…” Hinata tunes them out. He feels sad. This is why he tries not to think about his parents. It always gets him so down. He just wants to get home to Natsu and Yacchan and maybe buy some pork buns to eat with them. He picks at his fingernails as the others discuss things around him.
“Hinata meetings over.” Hinata’s looks up to see Suga standing over him, waiting. The look in the older man’s eyes is so kind that it hurts. “I know you’re probably tired and want to head home but come over to my place for a moment first, there’s something I want to give you.”
“Me?”
“Yup. Let’s go clean up.”
They shower and change quickly in the locker room. Hinata finds himself following Suga through the streets as they walk towards the part of the city where the rich people live.
“Suga you’re rich?!” Hinata questions untactfully. He quickly realizes his mistake, “I, uh— You don’t have to answer, sorry. That was rude.”
Suga laughs. “No it’s alright. My family does do well.” They stop in front of a gigantic, large, stupidly huge mansion that’s bigger than their training gym, indicating that Suga’s family does a whole lot better than just well.
As Suga opens the ornate gilded gates Hinata has enough sense to keep his mouth shut, but his energy has to go somewhere so his head ends up swiveling around like a bobblehead as his eyes drink in the sights. They’re walking through a giganic front lawn filled with colorful flowers and topiaries cut into shapes—Hinata sees one fashioned like a fire ferret—and there’s even a three-tiered water fountain complete with birds chirping and bathing themselves in the water.
There’s a “woof”, then a large animal comes bounding across the grass towards them.
“You own a polar bear dog?!” Hinata’s only ever seen them on TV.
“Yeah, this is Taro. Say hello to Hinata, Taro.” Taro sniffs the hand Hinata holds out for him, then nudges it away and licks Hinata full on the face.
“Ack!”
“Wow, he really likes you!” Hinata wipes the spit off his face with the back of a hand then gives Taro a good scratch behind the ears.
“I like you too Taro!”
Taro woofs in his face.
Taro follows after Suga and Hinata as they walk inside, nose constantly nudging Hinata as he sniffs around his body. The inside of the house is even more grandiose than the outside. The entire entrance hall is huge. Painted portraits in ornate frames line the walls. A grand staircase winds around the room and the floors are made of polished marble. The large crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling looks as big as Hinata’s house.
It’s just like the mansions Hinata’s seen on TV. In fact…
“Wait. Hasn’t this house been on TV?”
“Hmm, maybe. Sometimes my dad will get interviewed here.”
“What’s your dad do?”
“Politics,” Suga answers vaguely, starting up the staircase. Hinata and Taro follow after him. They walk down a long hallway, then past so many doors Hinata loses count.
“This is my room.”
Suga’s room is ten times the size of any room Hinata’s ever lived in. His bed alone could probably fill Hinata’s entire living room. There’s a desk and chairs and two flat screen televisions—one on a wall along the bed and another in front of a cluster of couches and armchairs.
“Wait here while I go get it,” Suga instructs, though he doesn’t elaborate on what ‘it’ is.
“Ok.” Hinata walks around the room, examining Suga’s things and absentmindly scratching behind Taro’s ear when the polar bear dog noses his hand. Suga has all sorts of interesting things tacked to his wall: maps and papers and pictures.
There’s several team pictures of Karasuno. Images of his teammates during matches and practice and everyday life, in uniform and in casual clothing. He sees a picture of Kiyoko in a kimono eating cotton candy. There’s Tanaka shirtless and about to jump into a lake with a waiting Nishinoya and Asahi below. In one photo Ennoshita, Kinoshita, and Narita pose with sparklers against a dark sky.
Most of all, there’s Daichi. Daichi eating a snow cone. Daichi bending a mountain of rock. Daichi posing in front of a temple. Daichi staring staight at the camera, face caught in a laugh. Not just Daichi alone, but dozens of him and Suga doing various activities as well.
Hinata feels something thrum in his chest as he stares at the images.
They aren’t just friends, he realizes.
They’re best friends.
Hinata wonders what it’s like having a best friend. It isn’t like he’s friendless, he still has people he keeps in touch with from his school days and from his old job at the brick factory. They don’t contact each other very often though, since everyone’s always busy working. He has Yacchan, though she’s definitely more like a sister. There’s also his new teammates he sees everyday, who are quickly becoming friends, so he’s never really lonely.
But to have a best friend… he stares at a picture of Suga and Daichi smiling happily at one another, noses so close they're almost touching. It must be something entirely different; they look so happy… it must be something wonderful.
He’s still standing in front of the wall when Suga comes back.
“Suga-san,” Hinata’s voice is curious, “how long have you and Daichi been best friends?”
Suga looks at him in surprise. “Best friends?”
“Yeah,” Hinata waves a hand at the wall of pictures, “you’re best friends right? You have so many pictures together.”
Suga looks at him a moment longer, then hides a smile behind his hand for some reason. “Yeah, we’re really close,” he states, which isn’t really an answer but Hinata doesn’t seem to notice. “Here’s your present.”
Hinata’s eyes break away from the photos to see what Suga holds in his hand.
“A telephone?!”
Suga nods. “Yeah. I know you got into some trouble with your little sister the other week because you forgot to call her. This way, you can always call home, especially when we’re away on long trips.”
Hinata looks at Suga like he’s a god. “Suga-san, you’re the best senpai ever!”
Suga laughs. “Better not let Nishinoya or Tanaka hear you say that.”
“Are you sure you want to give this to me? Isn’t it really expensive?” Hinata asks worriedly.
“Oh, no. No, don’t worry about that, it’s one of our old ones. You’re doing me a favor by taking it. It frees up some storage space actually.” Suga says, even though it’s obvious to Hinata that this house lacks nothing, especially not space. Sugawara is so unfailing kind.
Suga walks over to one of the dressers lining the wall and rummages around in a drawer. Hinata watches as he puts the telephone in a pretty canvas bag. “Here.”
He hands the bag to the Hinata.
“Now you’ll have to get someone from the phone company to install it and—”
Hinata interrupts him. “I know I’ve been looking at how to get a telephone actually.” Hinata’s insides feel weird. Tight and happy all at the same time. “Thanks, Suga-san. Really thank you.”
Suga waves it away like it’s nothing. “Teammates should look out for one another right?”
Hinata nods vigorously, “Yeah. Yeah, definitely.”
“You should probably get going, since you didn’t tell the girls you’ll be late,” Suga reminds him gently.
“Eek! You’re right.”
Suga walks him out. “There was another reason for asking you to come here though.”
“Hmm?” Hinata asks distractedly as he examines a large painting he'd missed on the way in. It depicts a baby that strongly resembles Suga, except the baby is really fat. Suga sees him looking at it and laughs.
“That’s not me, if you’re thinking it is. That’s my brother.”
“Oh. He was chubby.”
Suga laughs harder. “Yes he was. Anyway, it’s because the gala’s going to be here next week. I wanted to let you see the environment instead of just throwing you into it.”
“Gala? What gala?”
Suga gives Hinata a rueful grin.
“You didn’t listen at all during the meeting did you?”
“Ah! Hah. No I was. I just… missed that part. Or something. Yeah.”
“Hinata,” there’s amusement in Suga’s voice, “our fundraising gala is next week and it’s going to be held here.”
Karasuno’s fundraising gala.
“Wait!” Hinata stops on the stairs as though thunderstruck. “You’re a Sugawara!”
“Well, yeah.” Suga’s smile is amused.
“No I mean, I don’t know why I didn’t realize it before, but you’re from that Sugawara family. Your father’s on the city council. Your mother is like, water tribe royalty or something. Your older brothers have both been on the Karasuno pro-bending team too!” Hinata recites like a fanboy.
Suga looks to the side modestly. “Yeah, that’s us. It’s not as big a deal as it sounds though.”
“It’s the biggest deal! It’s so cool!”
“No, no it isn’t.” Suga waves a hand frantically in front of his face. “Don’t even think about it anymore. I’m just Suga. Just Suga! None of that matters.”
“Ok, that’s true,” Hinata easily acquiesces, “but you still have the coolest polar bear dog ever!”
Suga grins. “I’ll admit to that.”
Taro nuzzles his snout appreciately against the back of Hinata’s neck.
They continue down the stairs.
“So anyway since this is your first gala, I’m not sure if you know this but you’ll need to get a tux and dress shoes. Though if you want, you can wear traditional formal wear, though usually only the elders come dressed like that.” As they walk out the door and through the lawn Suga continues to instruct Hinata on different attire and etiquette points. Hinata’s head feels like it spins with all of the different guidelines as Suga opens the gate.
“Oh dear. Was that too much? I’ve worried you, haven’t I?”
“No! No! Thanks for helping me with everything really!” Hinata hugs the telephone to his chest tightly as he stands with his back to the street. “You’re so helpful and kind… you’re like a mom Suga-san!” Hinata can’t help but say it.
Suga chuckles, “If I had a dime for every time someone’s said that I’d be richer than my dad.”
Hinata grins and turns to go, “Bye Suga-san.”
“Bye Hinata.”
Hinata carefully cradles the phone to his chest as he walks down the street. Suga said he could rent a tux so he wouldn’t have to buy one, but he’s probably going to have to purchase his own dress shoes. He’d also said something about dancing...
Hinata stops so suddenly, a man behind him bumps into him.
“Watch where you’re going moron!” The man grumbles angrily, but Hinata pays him no attention because he’s just remembered something very important.
He doesn’t know how to dance.
But it will be expected of him, won’t it? Since he’s part of Karasuno and it’s their team’s gala after all.
No. He’ll refuse. He can’t. It’s better than humiliating himself in front of a roomful of important people and television cameras and by extension, hundreds of other rooms full of people watching the event on TV. Even if it’s impolite, there are some things that even he can’t do.
He’ll refuse.
“I refuse!” Kageyama shouts again, as Iwaizumi and Oikawa and Kindaichi, the traitor, box him into the corner. The light overhead bounces off the muscles of their bare chests and limbs.
“It’s really not such a big deal Kageyama,” Iwaizumi tries soothingly.
“Stop being such a baby, it’s so unattractive,” Oikawa sniffs, even though he was tittering manically behind his hand a few moments prior.
“Kageyama we all have to suffer through it,” Kindaichi points out.
“No fucking way!” Kageyama’s eyes dart around, searching desperately for a way to escape. “I put up with all the other shit, but this is indecent!”
His eyes light wildly around the room, landing on other members of the Seijoh team as they sit and be bathed by almost naked women.
“Tobio-chan, don’t you want to look good for the cameras?”
“I don’t care!”
“Well, as team captain I do! I don’t want any member of Seijoh looking gross and scruffy, it’ll reflect badly on me.”
“No everythings about you Oikawa-san,” Kageyama spits, fingers grappling uselessly against the slick tiles behind him.
“Kageyama, the quicker you do it, the quicker it’s over,” Iwaizumi tries.
“You can just sit there and shut your eyes,” Kindaichi suggests.
“That’s not the point!”
“Look, Mad Dog-chan’s doing it, and he’s even more disagreeable than you.” Kageyama sees Kyoutani sitting in the oversized bath, leaning back almost contentedly as a women scratches his scalp like a dog.
Traitor, Kageyma’s mind hisses desperately, even though they’re not friends.
“Look, Kageyama, I didn’t want to play this card,” Iwaizumi’s heaves a large sigh, “but you’ve left me no choice.”
Oikawa and Kindaichi stop trying to guard Kageyama and turn to look at Iwaizumi with interest.
Iwaizumi crosses his arms and looks to the side as though pained. “You’re really disappointing me.”
Oikawa bursts out laughing. “Hahaha, Iwa-chan, that was so dramatically lame—”
“I’m sorry,” Kageyama hangs his head, “I’ll behave.”
Kindaichi and Oikawa look at him in speechless wonder.
“Ok, go get cleaned up,” Iwaizumi instructs.
Kageyama obeys but shuffles his feet as he goes. As he leaves he hears Oikawa whining. “Why do they always only listen to you when I’m the captain?!”
Kageyama grits his teeth as the women rub soap and some kind of mixture across his body that feels like little grains of sharp sand. He endures when they shampoo his hair and dump buckets of water over his head without warning.
“That area’s off limits!” he growls savagely at one of the woman when, in his opinion, she sticks her hands where they definitely shouldn’t be. Instead of being scared the women around him dissolve into giggles.
“I’m never, ever doing this again,” Kageyama informs Iwaizumi, who sits across from him and puts up with the treatment as though it’s as normal as getting his hair trimmed. Oikawa sits on a stool to the side actually getting his hair trimmed and his nails painted simultaneously.
“This happens before every television appearance,” Iwaizumi tells him.
“But you said all our matches are televised,” Kageyama reminds him.
Iwaizumi grins with his eyes closed. “Yup.”
Kageyama sinks into the water until it covers his chin. He doesn’t care if it makes the women’s job more difficult. They can just deal—
“Not there either!” Kageyama practically screeches, whipping around to grab the woman’s arms behind him.
Iwaizumi chuckles.
Afterwards, after another set of women dress Kageyama, he begrudingly admits that he does look a lot more put together than when he gets ready on his own. Not that he cares for such vanities, but his skin and hair are both shining in a way he’s never seen before. Though it’s definitely not worth the trouble of being surrounded by women who lack modesty and touch him in places even he gets uncomfortable handling on occasion. At least he gets to wear the team uniform and not something uncomfortable and stuffy.
All this preparation isn’t for a match. It’s for the public announcement of the new member’s of Seijoh. Kageyama doesn’t care about being on television or anything like that, but he knows their public image is important because Oikawa’s reiterated it to them them all a few hundred times or so, so he has to just bare with it all
The ceremony is long and boring and Kageyama has to stifle a yawn several times. What’s most annoying is that when the formal introduction is over they’re instructed to mingle with the crowd. Everyone wants to shake hands and take photos with him. Several girls even ask for his autograph, which he refuses until Oikawa glides over and subtly pinches the back of his neck until he complies. This leaves him feeling extra grumpy as he peruses the table of hors d’oeuvres—the one good thing about the party.
When he finally sinks into bed hours later, he’s so tired that as soon as his head hits the pillow he falls asleep. He has one of his weird dreams: he’s scratching behind the ear of a polar bear dog. That’s literally the entire dream, it’s brief and instanteous and when he wakes up he remembers it perfectly. He’s been having dreams that solely consist of random everyday moments since he was young. He knows it’s bizarre. One time a dream had been composed of him eating a small bowl of rice and nothing else. He’d woken up hungry, then. Even though the dreams are always short they leave him feeling more tired than usual, sometimes even absurdly emotional.
“I have good news for you rookies,” Oikawa announces at the end of practice the next day. He pauses for dramatic effect. “We’ll be attending a gala in a few weeks!”
Silence.
Iwaizumi continues the explanation as Oikawa gives them a pointed look that's supposed to inform them how much they all fail at life.
“It’s an annual fundraising gala held in the Southern Earth Kingdom that several top performing pro-bending teams are invited to,” Iwaizumi explains, which perks up some interest among the team. “Usually only senior members attend, but since we have such an impressive lineup of rookies this year, we’re all going.”
Kageyama can feel the weight of several pairs of eyes on him. He ignores them.
“While we definitely want you to enjoy yourselves, there’s also the fact that many important officials in the probending circuit attend as well, not to mention various company heads and possible future sponsers for the team.”
“Which means that if any of you embarass us in the name of Seijoh you’ll be stuck doing vortex runs up and down the estuary for the rest of the year,” Oikawa’s tone is meant to intimidate and it does. “There’s also the fact that I have familial ties to the host, so I’m only going to say this once: If any of you so much as step out of line or cause trouble during the event I will end you, then and there.”
Several of the team members flinch back at Oikawa’s steely tone.
“Now that we’re made that clear. We’re going to have mandatory tux fittings scheduled for after practices in the next few days. Any volunteers on who wants to go first?” Oikawa’s asks brightly. “Anyone? Anyone?”
No one raises their hand.
“What’s wrong with you all? None of you have any appreciation for the finer things in life.” Oikawa tsks and gives an overly dramatic sigh. “I guess I’ll just have to hope my good taste rubs off on you guys so that you all become more like me in the future.”
Yahaba’s look is one of absolute horror when he speaks. “Why in the world would we want that?”
Oikawa purses his lips. “Laps Shigeru. Go do laps.”
“But why? I was just being honest.” Yahaba gets up anyway and walks off.
“You’re getting a lecture after as well,” Oikawa calls after him.
Kageyama keeps his mouth shut, but he wholeheartedly agrees with Yahaba’s sentiment. It’s not that he minds laps, it’s just that he doesn’t want to sit through a lecture consisting of Oikawa going over the finer points on why he’s really as fabulous as he thinks he is.
He still gets chills when he thinks about the last one.
Talk to me on tumblr about these dorks. Because I can never talk about them enough :D