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Chapter Text

“come on! come on!” nishinoya’s practically dragging azumane through the mall to get to the mcdonald’s by the other entrance.

“hey what’s the big hurry anyways?”

nishinoya had shown up unannounced at his door that morning with a big smile on his face and a convincing speech fill with reasons why they should go to the mall. however, none of those reasons had detailed nishinoya’s fixation with getting to the mcdonald’s as fast as possible.

the pulling stops as they near the entrance to the fast food restaurant, but before azumane can even breathe a sigh of relief, nishinoya’s pulling him down by the collar so he can glare directly into his eyes.

“what do you mean ‘what’s the big hurry?’ you know what today is right?”

azumane searches his brain for clues but comes up blank, “uh… no?”

“today’s the day they release the naruto toys for kid’s meals!” nishinoya rolls his eyes and jabs a finger at the toy display aggressively, “and obviously all the naruto ones will go first so hurry up! i’ll go order you find us some seats!”

by the time azumane processes his little speech, nishinoya’s already in one of the long lines for the cashiers.

“kids and naruto, huh?” azumane turns to see a middle aged woman beside him, “your nephew there is just like my son, can’t shut up about that damn anime.”

“huh?” he’s not quite sure who the woman is talking to.

“your nephew?” she gestures to where nishinoya is waving at him from inside the restaurant.

azumane buries his face in his hands, “sorry ma’am you’ve got it all wrong.”

Chapter Text

hinata shines brighter than any star.

brighter than the sun, brighter even than the screen of kenma's phone in a dark room. he knows from playing katamari damacy that even the smallest katamari can pull people into its orbit until the whole planet is just an extension of one bright little decoy.

that's fine, he thinks, if it's hinata then he doesn't mind.

Chapter Text

His grandmother was the one who taught him how to make gyoza as a child. Back then, he had wiggled impatiently in his chair and ripped the gyoza skins with his careless fingers. He would stare outside at his grandmother's dogs playing in the yard and why didn't his younger sisters have to learn how to make gyoza? Someday, his grandmother would reply, you'll be glad you can make a half-decent meal.

It turned out that she was right. It wasn't anything fancy, but his small shop near the local high school kept the bills paid and his dogs fed. He lived a content life with his two dogs and if the handsome teacher with the beauty mark dropped by to eat his gyoza and play with his dogs after club activities, well far be it from him to complain.

Chapter Text

You squeeze my hand and I squeeze back. Your hand in mine feels solid but soft, like something precious and real, reminding me that we did this together. On stage they read out “Hinata Shouyou” and I struggle not to get too emotional. Beside me you are sniffling quietly, but there’s a smile on your face. This is a feeling that I understand right now.

These are our boys, the last of them.

There have been other boys, of course, and those boys are our boys too. But these boys are our children, the youngest of the ones who brought us together.These boys were of the first that I’d ever coached. These boys were the boys you fought so hard for, that first hard year on the team when you barely knew a volley from a spike.

It’s been three years and we’ve watched them grow together, learn together. They are not really boys anymore, at least not the same individual snot nosed brats who fought over every single thing from what position they wanted to play to the last porkbun in the bag. Now they are the leaders of a team of snot nosed brats who fought over every single thing they could possibly think of. A team that has become renowned nationwide and treasured within their prefecture.

I watch Yamaguchi cross the stage, head high, shoulders back, proud and looking so very handsome in his gakuran. Even he, our fearless vice-captain, is no longer unsure of himself or insecure about his volleyball. After all, our boys were never fallen crows, they were just chicks waiting for someone to teach them how to use their wings.