𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐊𝐘𝐔𝐔 | oneshots

WHAT IF | H. SHOYO

SHOYO HINATA X READER | ANGST - HURT/COMFORT
a/n: contains massive manga spoilers !!!!
i decided to make it up that hinata was never subbed out, it just makes it more dramatic. i also decided to pretend that itachiyama suddenly does not exist (sorry kiyoomi), and that this match wasn't the quarter finals, it was the finals. just bare with me.

"and there we have it! japan's 2012 junior champions! our three time consecutive winners, give it up for kamomedai high-"

shoyo zones out. completely. he feels light headed, his whole body shakes and quivers as he falls to his knees, staring at kageyama in defeat. his body burns, and the fever in his head makes him nauseous. 

everything feels like a fever dream. there's no way he actually lost, right?

he loses complete sense of human control. his vision is blurry, his breath uneven and ragged, his hearing, completely gone. what went wrong? what the hell could he have done differently and why didn't he do it?

he feels a sense of denial. the kind that makes you think so hard it might just make you pass out. no. he didn't lose. he's asleep, still anticipating this match to come. this is a dream. a figure of his imagination. surely. surely, he didn't-

"kid." 

a large, calloused hand on his shoulder snaps him out of it. he looks up at his captain. "let's line up." he speaks softly. it's with such genuine generosity, shoyo finds it hard to believe that his captain cares at all. but at the same time he knows. he knows all too well. that's not the case. 

"thank you for the game."

tears are shed, hugs are exchanged, apologies and regretful speeches are shared. but none of it changes anything. 

it doesn't change the fact that karasuno lost to kamomedai with a two point difference defining success and failure. 

his team takes turns thanking their supporters. and while he should feel guilty about his school, and his teammates' relatives that came to cheer them on all the way in tokyo, he doesn't. because his eyes are fixated on you. and the look you unintentionally give him makes him want to scream and yell and fall to the ground. 

it's the look of disappointment that you give him, which makes him realise everything. the denial is gone, and he knows, he lost. he didn't make it. 

he doesn't exchange any words with his coach, or his captain, or kageyama. instead he slips away when takeda is preparing to give a supporting lecture to his boys. 

he doesn't bother changing to his casual clothes. he can't when he feels the eyes of hundreds of players he beat in the past, watching his every move as he rushes to the exit.

he sees so many of them. kenma. kuroo. oikawa. iwaizumi. bokuto. akaashi. marumaya. ushijima. tendou. terushima. atsumu. osamu. kita. the sight makes his head hurt. 

he doesn't wait for you outside like he had agreed to do. 

"wait for me outside when you win, yeah?" he remembers you telling him just two hours ago.  

instead he makes his way back to the house. well, your house. he can't face going back to the rental airbnb yet. he picks the keys from the mat, inserting the key and letting himself in. your parents aren't home, he doesn't need to make the effort to greet them. his nose runs, and his head feels light. he's lucky he didn't pass out on the way home.

he kicks off his shoes, and takes a shower. it takes him a while to decide wether to make the water hot or cold. but instead he picks the temperature you like. the temperature you ask him to set it to for you when you're finishing up your homework. 

he uses your shampoo, your conditioner, your body wash. and god he'd be lying if the scent of you didn't make him let out the tears he'd desperately been clinging to. he cried softly, hiding his head in his hands as the bubbles in his hair slip down into his ears, and the rest down the drain. 

by the time he makes it out of the shower, slips on new clothing and makes his way to your room to take a nap, he pauses when he sees you sat at your desk, arms crossed. you're not happy. that much is obvious. 

"hey y/n.." he mumbles, deciding anything other than your eyes should be more interesting. "shoyo." you speak softly yet firmly, but there's a hint of.. not anger.. not sorrow.. damn. he doesn't know. 

"would you like to tell me why you decided to go home instead of meeting me where you promised you would?" 

"m.. felt like it." he shrugs his shoulders. 

"don't be childish shoyo." you scoff, raising your voice just slightly to get your point across. "your phone was off! i waited for an hour, i was so scared something had happened to you!" his heart drops. it feels like kageyama, coach and daichi lecturing him at the same time, and all he can do is just let the tears well in the corners of his eyes. 

"i.." he finally looks up to meet your eyes, but what he sees isn't the outrage he had expected, it was concern. you're worried for him. "i didn't want you to be disappointed." he whispers.

you sigh and stand to pull him in. he instinctively wraps his arms around you and buries his head in your neck. "i'm not disappointed, sho. far from it. but the least you could have done is tell me you went home. i embarrassed the fuck out of myself running around like mad asking everyone if they had seen you. that's all i wanted you to understand."

"but.. i lost?" he sighs, holding you even tighter to the point that breathing became difficult. "so what?" you scoff, pulling him to your bed and sitting him down, nestled into your pillows. "i failed!" he whines, throwing his head back into the headboard and exhaling. "i failed.."

"what if i hadn't been sick!" he sits up straight and grips your sweater. 

"what if i had trained harder!" he begins to wallow in self doubt.

"what if i had sat out the second set to rejuvenate my energy for the third!"

"what if-" the feeling of your lips on his makes his shoulders relax. he melts into you, kissing back slowly. you keep this going until you finally feel the rest of the tension in his body dissipate, until he's just limp in your arms. you pull him into you, and lay the both of you down, his head resting just above your heart. "no one cares about your shitty 'wHaT iF's." 

"mean!" he whines, and you place a finger on his lips. "i would like to clear up the misunderstandings," you clear your throat. 

"you only started playing volleyball properly, about eight months ago. you learned to make a quick attack of your own, one which some professionals could even dream of doing. you won the prefectural qualifiers- you beat ushiwaka- one of the best aces in japan! you made it to nationals, won against some of the best powerhouse teams in the nation, and made it all the way to the finals. yes?"

"uhm.. yeah?"

"then a silly little loss," you flick his forehead, he mumbles a little 'ouch'. "does not compare. i want you to remember that yes, you may have had a fever, but you played a good game. you gave it your best. so what if, you had trained harder, or hadn't been sick, or had been a year older to compare to hoshiumi's experience. it's in the past, pondering over questions which will never be answered is a waste. who the fuck cares." 

he hums in consideration, and snuggles closer to you. "thank you, y/n." you hold him close, you don't let him speak further. you just hope that the fatigue of his illness and the long day, will naturally lull him to sleep. and five minutes later, you finally speak up. "you hungry, sho?"

...

"suit yourself." you shrug, reaching over to your desk where the bag of now cold takeaway sat. you pull out your food and plastic fork, and-

"hey i want some!"

"go back to sleep!"