aroceu's ficempathy
by aroceu
Summary:
If Kunimi thinks about it, his chest aches. If Kunimi thinks about it, it’s like being him. Being Kageyama. Being the center of the court, poised and loud, the audiences’ eyes on the players and the players’ eyes on him. Kageyama says things with force, like he expects the spikers to trust him, because they […]
If Kunimi thinks about it, his chest aches.
If Kunimi thinks about it, it’s like being him. Being Kageyama. Being the center of the court, poised and loud, the audiences’ eyes on the players and the players’ eyes on him. Kageyama says things with force, like he expects the spikers to trust him, because they should, because that’s what they do. There’s never any hesitation in his tone, in his pose, and a lot of the time it feels more like he’s the captain and the coach of the team. Because he’s the setter.
Their coach certainly doesn’t dispute the idea, at least not right away. And when he does – and he does – it’s like. It’s opening a wound that Kageyama had never known was there.
Kunimi picks at his fingernails. He knows all the wounds there, doesn’t need Kindaichi slapping his hand away, asking him if he’s aware of what he’s doing. He knows. He’s not like Kageyama, who blinks and everything falls away, in front of him, between them, like he’s just realizing the last three years weren’t what he thought. That this – this isn’t his team. (It’s their team.)
If Kunimi thinks about it, he can hear the call for the toss, see the curve of his shoulder as he looks over. He can watch the ball fall. And it crushes, crushes hard in his chest, the emptiness, the retreat of his teammates as they turn back to the bench, the very first lost point of the set – because of him. It had been deliberate. Because of him.
Vision tunneling, resolve crumbling, until he can’t even feel his fingers clenching, his sore red palms, the buzzing heat between his ears. It’s all foreign to him when his mind is displaced, and he’s not playing volleyball right now, why had he ever played before, he’s been on this team for three years and he’s feeling like this now at almost the end of the season, what was – what was the point? His hands are trembling. He thinks of everything he knows about setting, serving, each of his teammates spikes – they weren’t any faster. They must’ve not been on purpose. They – They left him on his side of the court on purpose. Like there was one more net, in between them.
It hurts. And – And, Kunimi understands.
If he thinks about it.
But he doesn’t.