Hinata's POV
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If there was one thing Hinata Shoyo was ever certain of, it was that anything past high school absolutely sucked.
Ever since his high school graduation, his life had been in a slow but certain downwards spiral. Deciding to pursue beach volleyball after a successful
high school run, he booked an almost immediate plane flight to Brazil. The sudden move made him more homesick than he would've liked. Additionally, his lack of skill and performance in language arts did little to help him learn the foreign language spoken there.
He was an outsider the minute he got there.
Sure, he had made a few friends, but none of their kind smiles or sympathy towards his illiteracy did anything to make him feel more welcome. Even the sun, beating down relentlessly on his neck and blinding his golden brown eyes, seemed to laugh at him.
On top of all of his misfortune and bad luck, he hadn't gotten the chance to say goodbye to any of his friends back home.
Well, he had said goodbye to one person.
His name was Kageyama Tobio.
It had been a short goodbye. An awkward hug and a few muttered "see you laters". It couldn't be helped; They had known each other for some four odd years. Just how, exactly, were you supposed to say goodbye after that long?
Not extraordinary. Not tear-jerking. And certainly not what either of them had wanted. But, it was a goodbye, nonetheless.
He missed Kageyama the most out of anyone (except maybe his mom). The boy had been his best friend, his safe haven, and his partner in crime. The person who could bring out the best in Hinata. Now, they didn't talk, message, or call. Even though they'd promised each other they would.
It was agonizing. But no matter how hard he willed himself to, he couldn't bear to reach out to him. He feared he would find a completely different person rather than the Kageyama he knew and trusted.
Instead, he'd watched his volleyball matches. He watched him set to the spikers on his team, feeling his sadness grow a little more each time the camera caught his smug, victorious smile. Sometimes he watched until he himself was smiling. Sometimes he watched until he simply couldn't take it anymore. One time, on a particularly bad day for him, Hinata watched until he cried.
It was a strange habit to have, he knew. It always seemed to help him, though, in some way.
He missed Kageyama. That was a fact.
Those Brazil years had come and gone, and Hinata had finally gone back to Japan in search of a team. He only had to tryout once to get in the team he wanted. They were called the Black Jackals.
Hinata was beyond thrilled to be back in action. Old friends like Bokuto, Miya Atsumu, and Sauksa were there to greet him. They played exceptionally well together. Hinata's debut match was even against Kageyama. It was a long awaited, bittersweet reunion.
These, for some reason, were the things Hinata reminisced about as he lay in his bed, alarm clock blaring, shielding his eyes from the morning sun.
A gentle voice met Hinata's ears. "Come on, Shoyo, you'll be late."
"Miya-kun, I told you not to call me that," Hinata mumbled quietly, meeting his roommate's eyes from across the room with a half-glare.
Atsumu faked a pout, pulling on a pair of socks. "I still don't see what the big deal is. First names are a sign if closeness, right? I mean, we do live together."
"I know..." Hinata sat up in his bed, running a hand through his mess of orange hair. "It's just that no one else calls me that. It's weird."
"Are you calling me weird?" Atsumu threw a pillow at the red-head, obviously joking around. Hinata swatted it away with a half-spike.
"No," he grinned, finding the thought of spiking a pillow funny. "But I might if you keep setting pillows to me."
Atsumu smiled, then sighed, his shoulders slumping. "But yeah, I guess I get it. No calling you by your first name. Well, whatever." He straightened, now searching for his shoes. "You seriously better get up soon, or you'll make Coach mad."
"Yeah, yeah."
Hinata flung his legs over the side of the bed and half-bounced to his clothing drawer. He yawned once or twice as he got dressed for the day, the remains of sleep still bogging him down like wet clothes. He "brushed" his hair (he had given up trying to tame it in elementary school) and his teeth. Despite waking late, he was ready and out the door before Atsumu.
"Practice, practice, gotta get to practice!
Can't be late. Gonna spike some balls."
Hinata continued to sing silly, made up songs to himself all the way down to the bus stop.
Because, despite having grown up, Hinata was still an absolute dork.
That was a fact.
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