The one who showed up
Pairing: kageyama tobio x reader
Genre: slight angst to fluff
Summary: kageyama, who is used to no one showing up for his games, gets a complete shock to see you up in the crowds, and completely whiffs his serve(loser)
Wc: 1085
A/n: hate it. Thats all :) im still not sure if i like the new divider.also i found it on pin so thats why i haven’t credited anyone. Theres still so much stuff in my notes app it’s so annoying omd.
Enjoy!
The roar of the crowd in the packed arena pressed in on Tobio Kageyama like a familiar weight—sharp, focused, demanding. Timeskip or not, some things never changed. He stood at the service line, volleyball tucked under his arm, eyes narrowed on the court ahead. The score was tight, the third set hanging by a thread. One good serve could shift everything.
He bounced the ball once. Twice. The ritual grounded him, the same way it had since middle school. But today, something felt… off. A hollow ache flickered in his chest as his mind drifted, unbidden, to memories he usually shoved deep down.
“Tobio, you have a match this weekend?” His mother’s voice, distant even back then. “We’ll try, okay?” They never came. Not to the youth tournaments, not to the Interhighs, not even when he made it to nationals. His sister had her own life. His father was always “busy.” Every time he scanned the stands as a kid, hoping—just once—to see a familiar face cheering for him, the seats stayed empty. It taught him early: rely on no one but yourself. Volleyball was enough. It had to be.
Kageyama exhaled sharply, pushing the thoughts away. He tossed the ball up, arm swinging back for that signature king’s serve—
And then he saw you.
There, in the stands just behind the referee’s chair, wearing the team colors like you’d planned it all along. You weren’t supposed to be here. You’d said work was brutal this week, that the travel might not work out. He hadn’t pushed. He never pushed. But there you were, hands cupped around your mouth, eyes locked on him with that bright, unwavering smile that always made his chest feel too tight.
You came.
The ball slipped from his fingers mid-swing. It thudded uselessly against the court, rolling out of bounds. A missed serve. The crowd groaned. His teammates glanced over, surprised—Kageyama didn’t miss serves. Not like this.
He stood frozen, heart hammering against his ribs. You actually came. The words looped in his head, louder than the announcer’s voice calling a timeout. For a split second, the arena blurred. All those empty seats from his past flashed behind his eyes, replaced by you. The one person who showed up without being asked twice. Who texted him good luck even when he forgot to reply. Who understood the quiet, obsessive parts of him that volleyball had carved out.
“Oi, Kageyama!” Someone called—probably Hoshiumi—but he barely heard it. His cheeks burned. He shook his head once, hard, and forced himself back into the game. They still won. Of course they did. His team was stacked: Ushijima’s brutal spikes, Hoshiumi’s relentless energy, the others feeding off their rhythm. Kageyama poured everything into the remaining points, setting like his life depended on it. But his mind kept drifting to the stands.
When the final whistle blew and the victory cheers erupted, Kageyama didn’t join the usual huddle right away. His eyes scanned the sidelines, searching. There—you were waiting off to the side, out of the main bleacher flow, looking a little shy amid the chaos but so unmistakably there.
He didn’t think. He just ran.
His shoes squeaked against the polished floor as he broke into a full sprint, ignoring the sweat dripping down his back and the way his teammates paused mid-celebration. You turned at the sound of his approach, eyes widening.
“Kageyama—?”
He crashed into you without slowing, arms wrapping around your waist like you might vanish if he didn’t hold on tight enough. The hug was fierce, almost desperate—his face buried in the crook of your neck, inhaling the familiar scent of you that cut through the arena smells of rubber and sweat. Then he pulled back just enough to cup your face with both hands, thumbs brushing your cheeks, and kissed you. Hard. Right there, in front of everyone. No hesitation, no cool detachment. Just raw, overwhelming relief.
“You— you came,” he blurted as soon as he broke the kiss, words tumbling out faster than he could control. His voice cracked, just a little, the emotion he usually buried spilling over. “I didn’t think— I mean, you said work, and the train, and I told myself it was fine, like always, but you’re here. You actually showed up. For me. I saw you right before the serve and I just— I couldn’t even think straight. All those times before, no one ever… but you did. You’re here.”
His forehead pressed against yours, breaths coming quick and uneven. Up close, you could see the shine in his eyes—not tears, exactly, but something close. The great King of the Court, reduced to a boy who’d carried too much loneliness for too long.
“I’m so glad,” he whispered, the words fierce and soft all at once. “Thank you. I… I don’t say it enough, but having you here… it means everything.”
You hugged him back just as tightly, murmuring reassurances into his shoulder. The noise of the arena faded into background static.
A few feet away, Wakatoshi Ushijima stood with his arms crossed, watching the scene with his usual stoic expression—though one eyebrow had risen slightly. Beside him, Korai Hoshiumi bounced on his heels, mouth agape.
“Is that… Kageyama?” Hoshiumi muttered, half-laughing in disbelief. “Running? Hugging? Kissing? In public? I thought his face was permanently set to ‘annoyed setter mode.’”
Ushijima nodded slowly. “It is unusual. He rarely displays emotion so openly. Even after big wins, he is… reserved.”
“Reserved? The guy looks like he just won the lottery and might cry about it.” Hoshiumi elbowed his teammate lightly. “Think his girlfriend’s got some kind of magic? Or did we all enter an alternate universe during that timeout?”
A faint, rare smile tugged at Ushijima’s lips. “Perhaps both. It is… good to see. Emotions make a player human. Even Kageyama.”
Hoshiumi snorted. “Weird as hell, but yeah. Kinda nice. Don’t tell him I said that.”
Kageyama didn’t notice their conversation. He was too busy holding you, murmuring more quiet thank-yous against your hair, the missed serve long forgotten. The past aches felt smaller now, softened by the warmth of your arms around him. For the first time in a long while, the stands weren’t empty. You were here, and that changed everything.
Later, as the team filtered out, he kept your hand in his—fingers laced tight, a small, private smile on his face that he didn’t even try to hide. The king had finally found someone who made showing up feel like winning.
Meow
