The Ghost of Yesterday
The rain showed no sign of stopping.
It poured relentlessly over the cemetery, drenching the earth and turning the narrow paths between the graves into muddy streams. Dark clouds covered the sky, swallowing what little daylight remained until the entire place was shrouded in a gloomy darkness. The trees swayed violently in the wind, their branches groaning beneath the force of the storm, while raindrops struck the stone monuments with a relentless rhythm.
Kageyama Tobio stood before a grave with a black umbrella in his hand.
He wore a black suit that had become damp around the shoulders, and his black hair clung to his forehead as the wind drove the rain beneath the umbrella. He seemed oblivious to the cold water running down his neck and soaking through the fabric of his clothes. His fingers curled tightly around the umbrella handle, but he made no effort to adjust it when the wind tilted the canopy to one side.
His gaze remained fixed on the tombstone before him.
Lucia Morelli
15 February 1998 - 2 April 2023
He stared at her name for so long that the letters began to blur before his eyes. He blinked several times, trying to bring them back into focus, but the tears gathering along his lower eyelids made it impossible. His lips parted slightly, yet no sound came out. He had imagined countless things he might say if he ever had another chance to stand before her, but now that he was here, the words remained trapped somewhere inside his chest.
Lucia.
Even after all this time, seeing her name carved into a slab of cold stone felt impossible to comprehend.
He could still remember the way she used to pronounce his name, stretching the final syllable whenever she wanted his attention. He remembered the warmth of her hand slipping into his, the way she would lean against his shoulder when they sat together, and how she used to complain that he spent more time thinking about volleyball than anything else in his life.
Four years.
He had loved her for four years.
They had built a life together in Italy, filling their days with small routines and conversations about the future. They had talked about where they would live, how often they would visit Japan, and whether they would eventually settle somewhere neither of them had ever imagined calling home. Lucia had been there through his demanding training schedules, his victories, his disappointments, and the countless evenings when he returned to their apartment too exhausted to do anything except collapse onto the couch.
She had never complained about being part of a life that revolved around volleyball. If anything, she had been the one who encouraged him whenever he doubted himself.
And he had believed they had years ahead of them.
He had believed there would be time.
A tremor travelled through his body, beginning in his hands before spreading to his shoulders. His grip on the umbrella tightened until his knuckles turned pale. The muscles in his jaw contracted as he fought to hold himself together, but the effort only made his breathing more uneven.
A tear slipped down his cheek.
Then another.
The rain washed them away almost immediately, making it impossible to tell where his tears ended and the water from the storm began. His shoulders shook as he lowered his head, his eyes closing against the sight of her name. For one brief moment, he pressed his lips together as though doing so could keep the pain from escaping him.
It didn't work.
A broken breath escaped his throat.
He wanted to call her name. He wanted to hear her answer him, even if all she did was ask why he was standing in the rain like an idiot. He wanted her to appear in front of him with that familiar expression of exasperation, take the umbrella from his hand, and scold him for neglecting his health.
He would have listened to every word.
He would have let her complain for hours if it meant he could hear her voice again.
Instead, the storm answered him with another violent gust of wind.
Kageyama opened his eyes and stared at the date carved beneath her name. The numbers seemed cruelly permanent. No matter how many times he returned to this place, no matter how desperately he wished the world would turn back to the day before the accident, those numbers would remain unchanged.
His knees felt weak. His chest tightened until drawing a full breath became an effort, and he pressed his free hand against his sternum as though he could physically hold himself together.
He could still see her face.
He could still hear her voice.
And he could still remember the last time he had looked at her.
The cemetery dissolved around him.
The rain grew louder, blending into another sound, one that came from somewhere far away and yet felt terribly close. The ground beneath his feet seemed to shift. His fingers went numb around the umbrella handle, and the darkness before his eyes thickened until the tombstone was no longer there.
Then came the shouting.
---
The inside of the car was dim, illuminated only by the dashboard lights and the blurred glow of streetlamps passing beyond the windows. Rain struck the windshield, and the wipers swept frantically from side to side, struggling to clear the water faster than it gathered.
The sound of the engine mingled with the distorted noise of Lucia's voice.
Everything seemed distant, as though Kageyama were watching the scene from somewhere outside his own body. The edges of his vision were blurred, and the words reaching his ears came in broken pieces, interrupted by the roar of the rain and the harsh sound of his own breathing.
Lucia was sitting beside him, her face twisted with anger and anguish.
She seized the front of his shirt and pulled him towards her, forcing him to turn his head away from the road. Her fingers clutched the fabric near his collar, twisting it tightly as she screamed at him. Her other hand struck his shoulder, once, then again, while tears streamed down her face.
"You never really loved me!"
Her voice cracked through the car, loud enough to drown out everything else.
Kageyama's eyes widened. He tried to keep his attention on the road, but Lucia's grip on his shirt pulled him sideways. He lifted one hand from the steering wheel and caught her wrist, attempting to stop her from hitting him again without hurting her.
"Hey, Lucia, wait! I'm driving."
He barely recognised his own voice. It sounded strained and frightened, nothing like the firm, controlled tone he used on the volleyball court. He tried to push her hand away while keeping his other hand on the steering wheel, but she refused to release him.
"Look at me when I'm talking to you!"
"Luci, stop!"
She shook her head violently, her hair falling across her tear-streaked face. Her mouth continued moving, but the words became distorted, slipping in and out of his hearing. He could see the fury in her expression, the desperation in her eyes, and the way her lips trembled as she struggled to get the words out.
He wanted her to calm down.
He wanted to pull the car over.
He wanted to tell her that whatever she believed, whatever she thought he had done, they could talk about it when they were no longer moving through the rain-soaked streets.
But he couldn't make her listen.
The car continued forward, its tyres hissing against the wet road. Headlights approached through the rain, growing brighter as they came around a bend. Kageyama glanced towards them, then back at Lucia, who was still gripping his shirt.
"Luci, please!"
For a fraction of a second, their eyes met.
He saw something in hers that he could never forget.
Fear.
Her expression changed so suddenly that he barely had time to understand what was happening. Her fingers tightened against his shirt, and her mouth opened as she turned towards the windshield.
Kageyama looked ahead.
Two headlights flooded the car with blinding white light.
His stomach dropped.
He wrenched the steering wheel, but the tyres lost their grip on the slick road. The car skidded sideways. A horn blared, sharp and deafening, and metal screamed against metal as the world lurched violently around them.
Kageyama heard the impact before he understood it.
The force threw him against his seat belt. Glass shattered somewhere beside him, scattering bright fragments through the darkness. His shoulder slammed into the door, and a burst of pain shot through his body.
Then he heard Lucia scream.
It was a terrible sound, raw with terror, and it cut through every other noise around him.
He turned towards her.
"Luci!"
Her scream continued, rising above the rain, the grinding metal, and the frantic pounding of his heart.
He reached for her.
His fingers stretched towards her hand, but the distance between them seemed to grow longer with every passing second. He could see her face, pale and frightened, her mouth open as she called out something he couldn't understand.
He tried to say her name again.
No sound came out.
The world tilted. The headlights blurred into long streaks of white, and the shattered windshield seemed to dissolve into a thousand pieces of glass suspended in the air.
Lucia's scream followed him into the darkness.
---
Kageyama jolted awake with a strangled gasp.
His body lurched forward, and he caught himself against the edge of the mattress before he could fall to the floor. His chest heaved as he dragged air into his lungs, each breath coming too quickly, too shallowly. For several seconds, he could do nothing but sit there, gripping the bedsheet in both hands while his heart hammered against his ribs.
"Lucia..."
Her name escaped his lips in a hoarse whisper.
He looked around wildly, his eyes struggling to adjust to the darkness. The room seemed unfamiliar for a moment, and the lingering sound of her scream made it difficult to distinguish where the dream ended and reality began.
He could still feel the steering wheel beneath his fingers.
He could still see the headlights rushing towards them.
Most painfully, he could still remember the look on Lucia's face just before the collision.
Kageyama pressed both hands against his face and tried to steady his breathing. Sweat covered his forehead and temples, dampening his hair and running down the sides of his neck. His shirt clung to his back, and the bedsheets beneath him were twisted into a tangled mess from his restless movements during the night.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
For a moment, he was back in the car, reaching desperately towards her.
Then he opened them again.
There was no Lucia beside him.
There was no car, no rain-soaked road, and no blinding light approaching through the windshield.
He was alone in his bedroom.
Again.
Kageyama lowered his hands and stared at the floor, his breathing gradually slowing even though his heart continued to pound. He swallowed against the dryness in his throat, then dragged a trembling hand through his damp hair.
The dream had returned.
It always returned.
Sometimes he saw the accident from the passenger seat, watching helplessly as everything unfolded. Other nights, he stood outside the wreckage, calling Lucia's name while emergency lights flashed across the broken glass. There were even nights when he dreamed that he had managed to stop the car in time, only to wake before he could reach her.
But the worst dreams were the ones in which he heard her accusing him of never loving her.
Those words followed him long after he woke, burrowing into his thoughts until he began questioning memories he had once treasured without hesitation.
Had she really believed that?
Had he failed to notice how unhappy she was?
Could he have done something differently that night?
He had asked himself those questions so many times that he could no longer remember what it felt like to go an entire day without thinking about them.
Kageyama looked towards the window.
Thin strips of sunlight slipped through the curtains, casting narrow golden lines across the darkened bedroom. Morning had arrived, indifferent to the fact that he had spent another night fighting the same memories. The light illuminated a small portion of the room, revealing discarded clothes scattered across the floor and an empty glass lying on its side near the bed.
The rest remained swallowed by shadow.
His bedroom had once been kept meticulously tidy. Even during the busiest parts of his season, Kageyama had always made time to organise his training clothes, put away his belongings, and keep his living space in order. He had never liked unnecessary clutter, and he had always believed that a disciplined life began with taking responsibility for the smallest things.
That habit had disappeared along with almost everything else that had once mattered to him.
Now, clothes lay in untidy piles beside the wardrobe. An open suitcase sat near the wall, its contents spilling onto the floor as though he had started unpacking and abandoned the task halfway through. Several takeaway containers had accumulated on the desk, some still holding scraps of uneaten food. Empty water bottles stood beside crumpled receipts, and a towel had been thrown over the back of a chair, where it had remained for days.
The curtains had been drawn for so long that the room carried a stale, enclosed smell. Dust had gathered along the furniture, and the sheets on his bed were badly creased.
Kageyama barely noticed any of it anymore.
He had stopped caring whether his clothes were clean or whether he ate at regular times. Some days, he forced himself to finish a meal simply because he knew he needed food. On others, he forgot to eat until the discomfort in his stomach became too distracting to ignore.
Sleep had become just as difficult.
He was either unable to fall asleep until the early hours of the morning or so exhausted that he passed out without changing out of his clothes. Even then, rest offered little relief. His dreams dragged him back to the worst night of his life, and waking up only meant having to face the reality he had spent the night trying to escape.
He remained seated on the edge of the bed for several minutes, staring at nothing in particular.
Then, with a weary exhale, he pushed himself to his feet.
His legs felt heavy, and his head throbbed faintly as he straightened. He had not bothered shaving for several days, and dark stubble covered his jaw. His eyes were bloodshot, with pronounced shadows beneath them that made him look even more exhausted than he felt.
He walked towards the window, stepping around the clothes scattered across the floor.
When he reached the curtains, he hesitated.
For reasons he couldn't explain, he had grown accustomed to keeping them closed. The darkness suited him better. It allowed him to avoid the brightness of the outside world, where people continued to wake up, go to work, meet their friends, and pursue the things they wanted from life.
He no longer understood how they managed to do it so effortlessly.
Nevertheless, he reached for the curtains and pulled them apart.
Sunlight flooded the room.
Kageyama narrowed his eyes against the sudden brightness. Beyond the glass, Tokyo stretched beneath a clear morning sky, its buildings illuminated by the golden light of the rising sun. Traffic moved steadily along the roads below, and people hurried along the pavements, their lives already in motion.
In the distance, Tokyo Tower stood against the sky, its familiar silhouette rising above the surrounding buildings.
It was a beautiful morning.
Kageyama felt nothing.
He rested one hand against the window frame and stared outside, watching the city wake up. Somewhere beyond the buildings, volleyball courts were opening for morning training. Players were tying their shoes, stretching their muscles, and preparing for another day of practice. Somewhere, a setter was sending a perfect ball towards a waiting hitter, and the sound of a volleyball striking the floor was echoing through a gymnasium.
He knew what that sound should have meant to him.
For most of his life, volleyball had been the one thing he never questioned. No matter how difficult a match became, no matter how frustrated he felt after a mistake, he could always return to the court and find something worth working towards. There was always another set to perfect, another opponent to study, another weakness to overcome.
He had built his entire future around the game.
Now, the thought of stepping onto a court felt like being asked to return to a place that no longer belonged to him.
His gaze drifted down towards the drawer beside the window.
A bottle of whisky stood on its surface, accompanied by a single glass. The bottle was no longer full, and the amber liquid inside caught the sunlight when he picked it up.
Kageyama looked at it for a moment before removing the cap.
He had begun drinking more often after Lucia's death. At first, it had been an attempt to quiet his thoughts long enough to sleep. He would pour himself a glass late at night, sit on the couch, and wait for exhaustion to overcome him. Sometimes it worked for a few hours. Other times, the memories remained just as vivid, waiting for him whenever he closed his eyes.
Eventually, drinking became another habit he followed without thinking.
He poured the whisky into the glass.
The liquid struck the bottom with a soft, hollow sound. He watched it settle, his expression unreadable, before lifting the glass to his lips.
He swallowed without hesitation.
The whisky burned its way down his throat, leaving a bitter warmth in its wake. He barely reacted. He took another drink, then lowered the glass and looked back towards the city.
The sun continued to rise.
Kageyama stood before the window with the whisky in his hand, his shoulders slightly hunched and his unshaven face reflected faintly in the glass. Behind him, the bedroom remained dark and disordered, its neglected corners hidden from the morning light.
He could see his own reflection, but he hardly recognised the man staring back at him.
Five years in Italy had taught him how to compete against some of the best volleyball players in the world. Four years with Lucia had taught him what it meant to build a life with someone. And one terrible night had left him questioning whether he deserved to have that life at all.
He closed his eyes briefly, but the image of Lucia's face returned at once.
Her smile.
Her tears.
Her final scream.
His fingers tightened around the glass.
He opened his eyes and looked out at Tokyo Tower again, allowing the whisky to burn away the silence that had settled inside him.
Outside, the city continued to move.
Kageyama remained where he was, watching it all unfold from behind the glass, unable to imagine what he was supposed to do with another day.
______________________________________________
The evening sun casts a golden glow over the Brazilian coastline, painting the ocean in shades of orange and pink. From the restaurant's wide windows, the beach looked almost picturesque, with gentle waves washing over the sand and the sea breeze stirring the palm trees along the promenade.
Despite the approaching dusk, several people were still enjoying their time by the water. A couple walked barefoot along the shoreline, while a group of young men played volleyball near a net they had set up on the sand. Their laughter occasionally carried into the restaurant whenever the wind blew in their direction.
Inside, the atmosphere was warm and inviting. The smell of grilled seafood filled the air, mingling with the aroma of freshly baked bread. Soft music played from the speakers above the counter, and the clinking of cutlery accompanied the conversations of diners enjoying their evening meals.
At a table beside the window, Hinata Shoyo sat across from Oikawa Tooru. Their dinner had arrived some time ago, but neither seemed particularly interested in eating anymore.
Oikawa had been talking about their former teammate, Kageyama Tobio, for the past several minutes. What had begun as a casual conversation had gradually turned serious, and the news he shared had left Hinata struggling to process what he was hearing.
With a weary sigh, Oikawa placed his glass on the table and leaned forward.
"So basically, that's how Tobio is living his life right now, according to Iwa-chan."
Hinata raised his head from his plate.
"Everyone knew that after the accident that took away his girlfriend's life, Tobio lost interest not only in volleyball but in life itself," Oikawa continued. "His management advised him to take a season away from competition and returned to Japan so he could focus on recovering. Physically, he didn't suffer any major injuries, but mentally..." He paused, his brows drawing together. "He's completely broken after losing her."
Hinata's fork stopped moving.
He had been stirring the food on his plate without realizing it, pushing the rice from one side to the other while Oikawa spoke. Now, he set his fork down, his appetite gone.
Kageyama Tobio.
Even after all these years, hearing that name could capture Hinata's attention faster than anything else. But he had never expected to hear such devastating news about the person he remembered as one of the most driven athletes he had ever known.
"So his injuries weren't serious, but his girlfriend died?" Hinata asked quietly.
Oikawa nodded.
"From what I heard, another car collided with them. The driver tried to turn the steering wheel at the last moment to avoid the crash, but it was too late. Their car hit Tobio's vehicle directly on the passenger side, where his girlfriend was sitting." He lowered his eyes briefly. "She suffered severe injuries and died at the scene."
Hinata stared at him, unable to find an immediate response.
He knew Kageyama had a girlfriend. He had heard about her occasionally during their years apart, mostly through news about Kageyama's life in Italy. He had never asked for details, and he had no reason to. Kageyama's personal life was his own, and Hinata had long accepted that the person he loved might find happiness with someone else.
Knowing that Kageyama had loved her for four years made her death all the more heart-breaking.
Four years was a long time to build a life with someone. They would have shared countless memories, made plans for the future, and grown accustomed to having each other around. Then, in a single moment, everything they had imagined together had been taken away.
Hinata couldn't begin to imagine the pain of waking up every morning knowing that the person who had once been part of every plan was never coming back.
"That must be really hard for him to accept," he murmured.
"Yeah." Oikawa leaned back in his chair. "And apparently, he's not doing anything to help himself. He's locked himself inside his apartment, drinking instead of taking care of his health. His management keeps reminding him about his therapy appointments, but he refuses to attend."
Hinata's fingers tightened around the edge of his napkin.
"He's not going to therapy?"
"No. He won't listen to anyone." Oikawa shook his head in frustration. "His management has tried contacting him repeatedly, but he ignores them. Even people who care about him can't get through. Iwa-chan told me that Sugawara tried visiting him, but Tobio wouldn't even let him inside. He simply closes the door whenever someone comes to see him."
"Even Suga-san?"
"Even Suga-san."
Hinata lowered his gaze.
He knew Kageyama could be stubborn. The setter had always been difficult to reason with whenever he believed he was right, and his blunt manner had never made things easier. However, this was different from their usual arguments. Kageyama wasn't refusing to listen because he wanted to prove a point or win a disagreement. He was shutting out the people who wanted to help him, leaving himself alone with a pain that no one could expect him to overcome overnight.
Oikawa took another sip of water before continuing.
"He's been away from volleyball for almost four months now. Four months without training or competing. I know his management wants him to recover before making any decisions about his future, but I'm not sure how long he'll keep going like this if he refuses to cooperate."
Hinata turned towards the window.
The volleyball players on the beach had started another rally. One of them jumped high above the sand and struck the ball towards the opposite side of the net. His teammate rushed forward to receive it, barely managing to keep the ball from hitting the ground. The others shouted encouragement as the game continued.
Watching them brought Hinata back to his high school days.
He remembered the old Karasuno gymnasium, the sound of shoes squeaking across the wooden floor, and the familiar arguments that seemed to follow him and Kageyama wherever they went. Even after exhausting practice sessions, the two of them could rarely resist playing a little longer. If Kageyama wanted to improve a set, he would insist on repeating it until he was satisfied. If Hinata failed to reach the ball, he would demand another attempt.
They had spent so much of their youth chasing the same goal that Hinata could hardly remember a time when volleyball hadn't connected them.
Kageyama had always been relentless. His competitive nature sometimes drove Hinata to the brink of frustration, but it was also what made playing beside him so exciting. Every successful attack felt like proof that their hard work had meant something, and every mistake gave them another reason to practise.
Even after they went their separate ways to pursue professional careers, Hinata never forgot the setter who had challenged him to become better.
It was strange to think that Kageyama had now abandoned the very sport that had once consumed so much of his life.
Hinata's chest tightened.
He had seen Kageyama lose matches before. He had watched him become frustrated after a poor performance and push himself through difficult training sessions until he found a solution. But losing a match was something Kageyama could work to overcome. He could study his mistakes, return to the court, and fight for another victory.
This loss was different.
There was no next match that could undo what had happened. No amount of training could bring his girlfriend back, and no victory would change the fact that Kageyama had lost someone he had expected to spend his future with.
Perhaps that was why he had stopped playing. Perhaps volleyball, once his greatest passion, had become another painful reminder of everything he could no longer share with her.
Hinata pressed his lips together, trying to ease the ache building inside his chest.
He wished he could tell Kageyama that he didn't need to rush his recovery. He wished he could make him understand that grieving did not mean he was weak, and that he didn't have to pretend to be fine just because everyone was waiting for him to return to the court.
Most of all, he wished Kageyama would stop shutting everyone out.
The thought lingered as Hinata watched the players on the beach. Their game had ended, and they were now gathering their belongings while exchanging jokes about the last rally.
For a brief moment, Hinata imagined Kageyama standing among them, complaining about their technique and demanding another game.
The image was so familiar that it hurt.
He lowered his head, staring at the food he had barely touched.
There was something he had never told Oikawa, or anyone else who knew him.
Hinata had been in love with Kageyama for years.
His feelings had grown quietly through their shared experiences, from their time at Karasuno to the time they spent competing against one another after graduation. At first, he had mistaken his attachment for admiration. Kageyama was the setter who understood his movements, the rival who pushed him harder than anyone else, and the person who could bring out the best in him on the court.
But the feelings had remained long after their lives took different paths.
Even when Hinata moved to Brazil and began building his own career, he still paid attention whenever news about Kageyama appeared. He followed his achievements in Italy with a mixture of pride and longing, always happy to see him succeed, even when he had to remind himself that Kageyama's happiness did not depend on him.
He had never expected his feelings to be returned. He had never even considered confessing them. Kageyama had his own life, his own relationships, and his own future, and Hinata had no intention of interfering with any of it.
He had learned to keep his love to himself.
Yet knowing that Kageyama was suffering so badly made it impossible for him to remain indifferent.
Hinata wasn't foolish enough to believe that he could take away the pain of losing Lucia. He couldn't replace her, nor would he ever ask Kageyama to forget the woman he had loved. That part of Kageyama's life belonged to him, and Hinata respected it.
But he couldn't stand the thought of Kageyama allowing his grief to consume the rest of his life.
He wanted him to eat properly again. He wanted him to find a reason to get out of bed, to speak to the people who cared about him, and eventually to return to the court when he was ready. He wanted Kageyama to remember that there was still a future waiting for him, even if it was different from the one he had once imagined.
He didn't know whether he could make any difference.
Still, the thought of doing nothing troubled him more than the possibility of being rejected.
Hinata drew a slow breath and lowered his eyes, gathering his thoughts before he spoke.
"I need to help you, Kageyama," he whispered to himself.
The words were so soft that Oikawa, who was checking something on his phone, didn't notice.
Hinata remained still for a moment, allowing the decision to settle in his mind. He didn't need to announce it to anyone, and he certainly didn't need to make promises he might struggle to keep. He simply knew that he couldn't continue with his life in Brazil as though he hadn't heard what was happening to someone who mattered so much to him.
He would have to think carefully about his next steps. If he was going to help Kageyama, he needed to find a way to reach him without making him feel cornered or pressured. Showing up and demanding that he recover would only make things worse. Kageyama needed time, patience, and perhaps someone willing to remain beside him even when he had nothing to say.
Hinata knew that wouldn't be easy.
Knowing Kageyama, he would probably reject any attempt to help him. He might get angry, refuse to open the door, or tell Hinata to stop interfering in his life. There was no guarantee that he would listen, and Hinata understood that he couldn't force him to accept support.
But he could try.
For now, that was enough.
Across the table, Oikawa put his phone away and glanced at Hinata.
"You're awfully quiet, Shoyo. Did I ruin your appetite?"
Hinata looked up, then glanced at his plate.
"A little," he admitted with a small, uneasy smile.
Oikawa sighed. "I wish I had better news to tell you. I just thought you should know what was happening, especially since you and Tobio have known each other for so long."
"I'm glad you told me."
Oikawa studied him briefly before reaching for his glass.
"I hope he gets better soon. Whatever people think of him, he doesn't deserve to suffer like this."
Hinata nodded, keeping his thoughts to himself.
"Yeah. I hope so, too."
Their conversation gradually moved on, though Hinata found it difficult to concentrate on anything else. He answered Oikawa when spoken to and made an effort to finish some of his dinner, but his thoughts kept returning to Japan.
He had no idea how long Kageyama's recovery would take, or whether the setter would ever regain the passion that had once defined him. He couldn't promise that his presence would make things better.
But he could make sure Kageyama wasn't left to face everything alone.
As the evening sky darkened beyond the restaurant windows, Hinata made a silent promise to himself.
He would find a way to be there for Kageyama.
He would not demand anything in return, and he would never use this difficult time to pursue the feelings he had kept hidden for so many years. If all he could do was help Kageyama rediscover his love for volleyball, then he would be satisfied with that.
The person he loved was hurting, and Hinata couldn't bring himself to look away.
For now, he kept his decision to himself, letting Oikawa believe that their conversation had ended with nothing more than concern for an old teammate.
Without Oikawa suspecting it, Hinata had already begun to consider a future that would take him back to Japan.
And Hinata intended to keep it that way until he was ready to act.
