It is far too late by the time he feels regret. It resonates within him, stretches out like a coarse, worn blanket over every inch of his body. When Kageyama feels regret, it's after he's spent too long staring at the backs of people he once thought to call his friends.
It's a little different now. His mother asks how school his and he purses his lips resolutely and says little, says nothing, communicates with muted grunts and faint bobs of his head. His father asks how volleyball is and he doesn't go out of his way to explain that he doesn't know when it happened, but change swept through the entirety of Kitagawa Daiichi's gymnasium and left him responsible for sweeping away the aftermath.
In a sense, he knows it's his fault. He counts the steps that it takes for Kunimi to close the door to the locker room without saying a word of farewell to him. Ten. At the beginning of the season, it was twenty, interjected with conversation sprinkled between messy footsteps as they headed to the arcade jointly. He counts the number of times Kindaichi scowls in his direction. Six, in one practice alone. It used to be zero, and this might be what Kageyama hates the most.
There are times when he considers reaching out, curling his fingertips around the fabric of Kindaichi's jersey, to reel him back, to look him in the eye and say everyone else I can deal with but not you. It's selfish, and this, Kageyama knows too well; it's foolish, and Kageyama thinks he'd be much better off if he couldn't tell. Mother asks why he comes home from school so early these days, whether he has exams—if that's why he hasn't been seeing his friends as often. Kageyama goes to his room and trips over hand weights, fumbles onto his bed and stares blankly at the ceiling, like the chipped white paint might give him a semblance of purpose, of meaning.
He would ask out loud if it meant he might get an answer. He might ask whether this is worth it, if it's okay to get caught up with people who don't understand that he's not just improving—he's evolving. He might ask whether this is worth it, if he's going to regret it in the end if he pushes away people he thinks he might miss—if he pushes away someone he knows will haunt him.
When Kageyama Tobio joins the Kitagawa Daiichi volleyball team, the first friend he makes is Kindaichi Yuutarou. He's tall, taller than Kageyama, and though he looks fiercely disinterested in the majority of what others have to say, Kageyama learns better than anyone else (better than Oikawa, Iwaizumi, or even Kunimi) that no one clings onto every word uttered like Kindaichi does. And maybe, in the intimacy of it all, in the thrill of finding solace in someone who Kageyama thinks might dream of, might wish for the same things as him, he forgets not to take things for granted.
By the time Kindaichi turns his back on him, the last to push back, the last to bar Kageyama off from the rest of the team, Kageyama is too late. He's too late to reach out, to clench his fist around the fabric of Kindaichi's jersey—he's too late to feel regret, to realize he will look back and wish he said something differently.
When Kageyama Tobio joins the Kitagawa Daiichi volleyball team, the first friend he makes is Kindaichi Yuutarou. It is foolish, how he calls Kindaichi his ace in his mind. It is foolish, how amidst stolen kisses in empty locker rooms, amidst fingers tangling messily on the secluded path to school, that Kageyama gets caught up in wanting to make himself better, wanting to make his ace better that he forgets this might not be what Kindaichi wanted in the first place, at all.
They call him the King of the Court. They taunt him for a crown he made himself, metal forged by flames that have licked his skin. They taunt him for the way he scowls at people beneath him, like they're undeserving, like they'll never come near him—where he stands on his pedestal. It takes some time before he lets it sink in, the realization that some mistakes are irreversible.
When he thinks about Kindaichi's back, about the panic he felt when he knew things would never be the same, Kageyama Tobio lets his crown clatter to the ground and decides he is hardly suited to rule an empire, let alone himself.
FILL: TEAM IWAIZUMI HAJIME/OIKAWA TOORU, G
It is far too late by the time he feels regret. It resonates within him, stretches out like a coarse, worn blanket over every inch of his body. When Kageyama feels regret, it's after he's spent too long staring at the backs of people he once thought to call his friends.
It's a little different now. His mother asks how school his and he purses his lips resolutely and says little, says nothing, communicates with muted grunts and faint bobs of his head. His father asks how volleyball is and he doesn't go out of his way to explain that he doesn't know when it happened, but change swept through the entirety of Kitagawa Daiichi's gymnasium and left him responsible for sweeping away the aftermath.
In a sense, he knows it's his fault. He counts the steps that it takes for Kunimi to close the door to the locker room without saying a word of farewell to him. Ten. At the beginning of the season, it was twenty, interjected with conversation sprinkled between messy footsteps as they headed to the arcade jointly. He counts the number of times Kindaichi scowls in his direction. Six, in one practice alone. It used to be zero, and this might be what Kageyama hates the most.
There are times when he considers reaching out, curling his fingertips around the fabric of Kindaichi's jersey, to reel him back, to look him in the eye and say everyone else I can deal with but not you. It's selfish, and this, Kageyama knows too well; it's foolish, and Kageyama thinks he'd be much better off if he couldn't tell. Mother asks why he comes home from school so early these days, whether he has exams—if that's why he hasn't been seeing his friends as often. Kageyama goes to his room and trips over hand weights, fumbles onto his bed and stares blankly at the ceiling, like the chipped white paint might give him a semblance of purpose, of meaning.
He would ask out loud if it meant he might get an answer. He might ask whether this is worth it, if it's okay to get caught up with people who don't understand that he's not just improving—he's evolving. He might ask whether this is worth it, if he's going to regret it in the end if he pushes away people he thinks he might miss—if he pushes away someone he knows will haunt him.
When Kageyama Tobio joins the Kitagawa Daiichi volleyball team, the first friend he makes is Kindaichi Yuutarou. He's tall, taller than Kageyama, and though he looks fiercely disinterested in the majority of what others have to say, Kageyama learns better than anyone else (better than Oikawa, Iwaizumi, or even Kunimi) that no one clings onto every word uttered like Kindaichi does. And maybe, in the intimacy of it all, in the thrill of finding solace in someone who Kageyama thinks might dream of, might wish for the same things as him, he forgets not to take things for granted.
By the time Kindaichi turns his back on him, the last to push back, the last to bar Kageyama off from the rest of the team, Kageyama is too late. He's too late to reach out, to clench his fist around the fabric of Kindaichi's jersey—he's too late to feel regret, to realize he will look back and wish he said something differently.
When Kageyama Tobio joins the Kitagawa Daiichi volleyball team, the first friend he makes is Kindaichi Yuutarou. It is foolish, how he calls Kindaichi his ace in his mind. It is foolish, how amidst stolen kisses in empty locker rooms, amidst fingers tangling messily on the secluded path to school, that Kageyama gets caught up in wanting to make himself better, wanting to make his ace better that he forgets this might not be what Kindaichi wanted in the first place, at all.
They call him the King of the Court. They taunt him for a crown he made himself, metal forged by flames that have licked his skin. They taunt him for the way he scowls at people beneath him, like they're undeserving, like they'll never come near him—where he stands on his pedestal. It takes some time before he lets it sink in, the realization that some mistakes are irreversible.
When he thinks about Kindaichi's back, about the panic he felt when he knew things would never be the same, Kageyama Tobio lets his crown clatter to the ground and decides he is hardly suited to rule an empire, let alone himself.