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Existence

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Kageyama lives in his own bubble. Every one lives in a bubble to a certain extent. But, now, his bubble is becoming confusing. An unusual sense of reality is threatening to pop his bubble. This is something he does not wish for because he feels safe in his own closed off space.

His mother tells him he’s socially awkward and should try harder to make friends. He thinks that’s total bullshit and that people just aren’t like him. It’s okay. He’s the one and only Kageyama Tobio. But, who is Kageyama Tobio? This random thought plagues Tobio at random moments, it’s a predator stalking its prey and it suddenly attacks.


 

Kageyama sighs, walking to the gym for practice.

I need to get more sleep at night, he thought.

He’s sure there are dark circles starting to form under his eyes. Not a good look for him, especially since the appearance he already has scares people away. He’s used to it. He grew up without many friends. He reassures himself that true friends would spend time with you no matter what you’re like.

Tsukishima is the way he is and he always has Yamaguchi at his side, so surely I can make a lifelong friend like that.

He steps foot into the gym, eyes resting upon Hinata Shouyou. That is the boy Kageyama thinks will be his friend for a lengthy amount of time despite calling him dumbass so much. He hopes so, secretly. Still, he is kept at a distance as Kageyama stays safe in his bubble. He wonders if Hinata even has a bubble.


Setting. It’s what Kageyama is best at. He experiences a small moment of happiness whenever one of his sets is successful. He feels useful in volleyball, like it’s somewhere he belongs. He is surrounded by people who appreciate him and his talent.

But, as he sets a ball and Hinata spikes it, he is lost in thought.

Kageyama is lost. His surroundings have slowed down and grayed out, like something you’d see in a movie. He’s unable to explain it.

Everything suddenly feels unreal as he stands still, looking around at his teammates.

What makes them go? He stares at Hinata, watching his small physique jump high in the air and he can hear him shout something, but he doesn’t process it.

Why are they here? Why do they do what they do? Why do they exist? Why do I exist?

Tilting his head downwards, he stares at his hands. He wiggles his fingers, but they don’t feel like his own.

Who is Kageyama Tobio? Is it just a name? Is it this physical form? Is it my consciousness? My thoughts?

His notices the sudden weight of his body, his relationship with gravity, and it feels heavier than usual.

“Kageyama!” The shouting snaps him out of his thought.

“Kageyama, send me another toss!” Hinata says and the excitement in his voice is evitable. Kageyama is unsure of why he's so happy today.

Kageyama feels a twinge of irritation because he had lost that feeling before he was able to identify what it was.

“Tsk,” he huffs under his breath, walking off to get a drink of water. Daichi is eyeing him and he looks back at him, raising an eyebrow. He walks over to him, waiting to hear what the 3rd year has to say.

“You’ve been off today. I can see it. Are you feeling well?” Daichi states, his hands resting on his hips.

“I didn’t sleep well last night.” Kageyama responds plainly, and technically it’s not a lie. It’s just not the reason he’s off today.

Daichi nods apprehensively and Kageyama thinks he’s like having another parental figure.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“Yes.” Kageyama replies bluntly then walks off after a moment. Even if he wasn’t okay, he wouldn’t say it.

It’s annoying when people ask the same thing twice. Kageyama knows they mean well and are just concerned. It just happens to be one of his pet peeves.

The rest of practice was spent setting volleyballs to the ever persistent Hinata Shouyou.


 

Hot water runs against his skin.

Skin.

Kageyama runs his fingers over his arm, observing it. He does it again, this time digging his nails in so that he leaves bright red marks.

Pain.

He feels it. The sting that is left behind from his nails. The sensation of too hot water on the verge of burning him.

Sound.

He hears the music that is blasting throughout the bathroom. He hears the water coming out the shower head. It all sounds dull, though. Hearing is an uncontrolled force. You can’t stop it unless damage occurs. Sound just seeps into you.

Sight.

Kageyama closes his eyes, easily engulfed in darkness. This is also a mostly uncontrolled force,other than the fact that you can choose to close your eyelids. He opens his eyes and stares at the shower wall and everything is slow once again.

Are these the functions that make someone a person?

No.

Plenty of impaired individuals are still here. Still living life to the best ability.

Kageyama raises his hand and observes it. He moves his fingers around.

Is this really me?

He balls his hand into a fist.

No. Maybe. In a way.

He releases his fingers from the fist then runs them through his wet hair, tugging on it slightly.

This is Kageyama Tobio, physically. But, my thoughts aren’t physical. This voice in my head isn’t physical. The real me exists within my head with no physical form.

Questioning reality and sense of self isn’t what a teenager normally does. But, reality has really been testing Kageyama lately.

“Ugh!” He punches the shower wall to try to snap back to that regular sense of reality, but he’s just left with an aching fist.

Are humans just some weird consciousness piloting some intricately designed meat form?

He doesn’t feel like his body is his own. His thoughts are too separated to feel connected to it. He is two entities combined together. He doesn’t feel real.

He switches the hot water to cold, letting out a gasp from the change. Is this an existential crisis? He’s not sure what this is. It’s not pleasant.

He sits at the bottom of the shower until he snaps back to reality, feeling a connection again. He stands, turning off the shower and stepping out. Drying off, he stares at himself in the fogged up mirror, but not long enough to start questioning his existence again.


 

Long legs stride into his room and he pulls on a pair of briefs before sitting down on his bed with his laptop.

“There has to be a word for this. There’s no way only I have experienced this.” He mumbles under his breath as he bites at his fingernails. A bad, nervous habit.

He’s spent hours now typing in phrase after phrase into google search, trying to find something that would make him feel less crazy.

Eventually, he types in “feeling unreal, disconnected from self and reality” and he finds what he’s been looking for. He reads the definition of his condition, letting out a sigh of relief.

I’m not crazy. I’m not fucking crazy. Oh god. I’m so relieved.

“Dissociation,” he whispers “describes a wide array of experiences from mild detachment from immediate surroundings to more severe detachment from physical and emotional experience.”