Chapter Text
The day it all boiled over was a mild, average one. No tournaments, no practice matches – just the cloudy grey sky and the scent of ozone sharp in the air as they gathered within the gym for practice. It was to be expected, honestly, that the only time fitting for this conflict seemed to be on a day in which they had plenty of time to address it and no way for Shouyou to run away from the conversation.
Or, at least not for long.
Shouyou sat on the floor of the gym, rocking back and forth as he listened to coach Ukai point out strategies on a whiteboard. He felt like he was vibrating with excitement and Yamaguchi snickered at him softly – not cruelly, just happily amused in the way Yamaguchi always seemed to be when he wasn't shaking from anxiety.
Shouyou liked Yamaguchi. He was nice, but not too nice. Just the right kind of nice in that way Shouyou could tell was genuine. Anything nicer was always up for debate.
He put his hands under the sole of his shoes to hold onto while he rocked. The tension of it was soothing as he listened to Ukai describe the plans for their Tokyo training camp. He couldn't wait to see Kenma again.
“Hinata, pay attention!” Daichi whisper-yelled, a fierce glare on his face. Tsukishima snickered at him and Shouyou blushed in response, sinking into himself.
“I am!” he yelled back, trying to contain his overwhelming shame at being called out. Everyone was looking at him with annoyance or judgment and it felt like a thousand flames burned at him from every side. His skin prickled and his eyes watered, averting them down to the floor. He swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat. It felt like he was choking.
He dug his fingernails into the dirty soles of his shoes, almost able to see the tips of his fingers turn white from the action. He wished he could claw into the skin of his arms instead, like some sort of punishment for making everyone hate him, god, why was he so stupid and annoying and loud –
Kageyama growled beside him, hitting him on his head. “Stop moving, dumbass, and maybe I'll believe you.”
Shouyou swallowed, tensing his entire body to stop his rocking. His muscles coiled like snakes under his skin, burning and aching. If he ignored the twisting feeling in his gut, he thought that the sensation was actually rather nice.
“Fine,” he snapped, face red hot, “There!” He clamped his mouth shut, a sour taste on his tongue.
Shouyou hated talking to people, sometimes. It was a strong desire of his, but whenever he did it always seemed to turn into an exhausting gymnastics routine of him bending over backward to explain himself for things he knew he wasn't doing wrong.
His sensitivity made him eager to please, but his short temper made his behavior volatile. The combination made for a dizzying mixture of people-pleasing and screaming matches.
But then, in moments like this, talking to people felt like climbing a mountain. It was like his teeth were glued together. Or like his jaw was too heavy to lift and form words with. A nauseating hollow feeling that made him silent and numb while the world moved technicolor (too bright, too much) around him.
Coach Ukai continued talking with a roll of his eyes, but Shouyou found he couldn't retain a word he said.
It was ironic, he supposed, that sitting still and quiet in his despair like this was when he began to truly lose focus for the first time that night. He wondered if he could ever hope to explain that to the rest of the team.
He wondered if they'd believe him.
-----
Practice went terribly, of course. Shouyou always fumbled with the ball and made too many mistakes when he was in moods like these. The more mistakes he made, the worse it seemed to get until he felt as though the slightest thing could make him meltdown in that way children do, not 15-year-olds. The way that always made him cringe for days afterward; as though he wasn't his own independent person but just a conduit for emotions too unstable and raw to sort through on his own. Ones that erupted from him in a physical explosion that he could never hope to process.
And then he rammed into Nishinoya trying to save a ball. He'd been desperate for it, wanting some sort of proof that he could improve. That he could receive and spike.
But all he'd done was snap the thin layer of protection over the tension in the gym; steadily rising since the pre-practice meeting.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Kageyama asked, voice breaking Shouyou's fragile bubble of security. Everyone had stopped at the crash, circling around the scene like enraptured spectators. A wave of emotions rushed through him. Anger, frustration, panic, embarrassment – all making him clench his fist and his entire body shake in distress.
The bright lights of the gym outlined Kageyama's form, making Shouyou turn his face to the ground. It reminded him of when sunlight would gleam like brilliant jewels across the surface of ponds on a summer day – sparkling beautifully but burning too bright to see. But this wasn't beautiful, he supposed. It was starker, the beams of light fluorescent and artificial with Kageyama an angry figure shadowing Shouyou.
He felt like an ant. Small and insignificant as he burned beneath a microscope. Everyone was watching and all of their eyes were just more rays of scorching sun piercing his skin.
“Nothing!” Shouyo insisted, voice shaking, “I'm doing everything I can!”
“What?! You think you can just not give a shit and that'll be enough?” Kageyama asked with a scoff, leaning forward as he glared at Shouyou, “Newsflash, dumbass, not everything is about you! You can't just live in your fantasies all the time and expect to get better!”
“It might have something to do with my ADHD causing attention issues, but what do I know?” he shouted, tears blurring his vision as he stood up, fists clenched at his sides, “I'm just stupid, airheaded Hinata!”
“What does it matter if you have ADHD?” Kageyama yelled back, “who cares?! You're still being a selfish idiot!”
Shouyou reeled back, feeling unreasonably hurt by the words. 'Who cares?' No one. No one ever gave a damn about it. They all just pretended he was a bad mixture of character flaws and hyperactivity and god, couldn't someone give a shit for once?
“Fine!” he yelled back, “Maybe you're right! I don't care anyway!”
He turned, squeezing his eyes closed as a flimsy barrier between the tears threatening to spill out. Grabbing his bag and swinging it over his shoulder, he didn't even bother to change out of his gym shoes as he fled in an angry huff. Like a toddler, his thoughts reminded him, which only made him run faster to his bike.
“Hinata, wait!” Suga's voice called after him, but Shouyou was already cycling away, paying no mind to the rumbling of thunder in the distance.
Hinata was never very good at waiting.
-----
The rain hadn't started slowly but had come as a downpour. A wall of water suddenly moving towards him in the distance. He'd had time to notice it before it hit, but it wasn't a gradual drizzle. It was more like running at full speed into a shower with almost painfully high water pressure.
The greatest thing about living so far out in the country was how beautiful the nature was. Sometimes that came with downfalls. One of these downfalls was how far away everything was from civilization.
He didn't slow as he hit the wall of rain nor did he slow as he felt the bike skidding underneath him, trying in vain to gain a grip on the wet pavement.
He didn't slow even as he sped down a hill, the wind whipping his soaked hair and chilling him to his bone. He wasn't wearing a jacket, so his bare arms prickled in the open air. He could already feel his backpack becoming heavy with rainwater. His t-shirt clung tightly to his skin, making him feel like a drowned cat.
Speeding down a mountain rapidly beginning to flood led to some consequences, of course. Mainly that his bike was flying at speeds faster than he'd ever traveled. If Shouyou were less emotionally taxed, he would have had the foresight to at least stop peddling. As it was, the speed he was traveling over the wet pavement would probably cause even more issues if he'd tried to stop.
All he had to do was hit one pebble, one variant in the slick surface of the road, before he was flying over the handlebars and straight into the grassy patch on the side of the road. His landing was braced by his elbows, which dug painfully into the soft, muddy ground. His bike skidded across the pavement, tumbling with large crashing noises as he groaned and fell to his side, muscles aching from the jolt of his rough landing.
“Ow, ow, ow,” he whined, slowly rolling onto his back with a wince. Looking up to the sky hurt his eyes so he squinted them closed, curling onto his side to peer at his mangled bike. Even with the low visibility from the rain, it was easy to see that he wouldn't be able to use it – especially in such horrible weather.
“Dangit,” he yelled, slamming his fist into the muddy ground and incoherently growling in rage when all it served to do was splash water back into his face.
He needed to call someone – Suga or Daichi or someone. With the service in the mountains and the storm though...
His heart dropped with dread, plopping into his stomach rather like a raindrop in a puddle. He scrambled to get to his backpack, cold fear making his hands shake as he fumbled for the zipper
“Please don't be broken, please don't be broken,” he chanted under his breath, barely processing the bleeding ink of his crumbling, waterlogged notes as he shoved them aside to reach his –
His –
Jesus, he forgot what it was called. It was a simple, everyday thing. The word was on the tip of his tongue, too.
Black box – tablet – phone.
Wow. He forgot what a phone was called. A bubble of self-hatred boiled in his chest as he numbly grasped at his phone.
It was stupid. He was stupid.
Dangit, now he was crying.
Shouyou curled over it, eyes blurring as he tried in vain to protect it from the water pounding like fists upon his back.
He hiccuped with sobs, almost heaving as he released every bit of emotion into the world. God, he didn't even know if he could talk through his tears.
His screen glowed on at his touch and he felt relief rush through him, one bar of service blinking up at him. The sight was blurry through the water clinging to his eyelids, but it still looked like salvation.
Not wanting to talk to Daichi – the older student's glare stuck at the front of his mind – Shouyou's shaking fingers navigated to Suga's contact.
Suga picked up almost on the first ring, panicked voice ringing like bells through the phone, “Hinata! Are you okay?”
“Suga, I need help,” he said, snot and tears choking his words, “My bike broke and I'm stuck. Near Mr. Koboyashi's rice farm.”
A pause, static breaking through the phone making Shouyou tense.
“I'll be there,” Suga's voice crackled after a pause, “Just give me twenty minutes.”
“Thank you,” he whispered, hugging himself with his left arm.
“Anytime, Hinata,” he said back, before hanging up.
Shouyou coughed through his tears, trying to find a semi-dry place for his phone as he helplessly cried. Twenty minutes felt so long like this. But, for some reason, it felt nice to be alone with his suffering for a little bit. Like he was allowed to just wallow without judgment for once.
He gave in to the urge to scream into his fist. God, why was he so stupid?
He couldn’t tell if his sniffles were from the cold rain or his shuddering sobs. He took a great, heaving breath and flopped onto his back, laughing bitterly at the mud coating his hair and seeping into his white t-shirt. He was already dirty, so what was the point of avoiding the shivering puddles around him?
He closed his eyes and hoped Suga wouldn't mind how soaked and muddy he was. The rain sounded like an earthquake; it puttered in his ears soothingly, and his breathing slowed.
Something in the moment felt lonely in the best kind of way. Like he was but a speck floating in an endless world.
Inexplicably, the largeness of the moment made him feel as though he could be something more. Something bigger than he was. There was so much space to grow into, so much room for greatness.
Maybe, in a world so grand, he could accomplish his fantasies after all.