Chapter Text
Shoyo has a seatmate.
Well, technically, everyone in class has a seatmate, it’s not like the desks float in empty space. But Shoyo’s seatmate isn’t just a seatmate. Oh no. His seatmate is... Kenma Kozume.
Kenma, the boy perpetually hunched over his phone, might as well be a rare artifact in a museum: fragile, untouchable, and surrounded by invisible "do not disturb" signs. He doesn’t talk, doesn’t engage, and rarely acknowledges Shoyo’s existence unless absolutely necessary—like a cat that tolerates you only when it’s hungry.
At first, Shoyo thought, This’ll be easy. He’s quiet. Shy, maybe. I’ll break through. I’m friendly. I’m persistent. I’m a guy with a mission. But that was months ago, and if anything, Shoyo was now convinced Kenma hated him.
It wasn’t just the lack of conversation, it was the way Kenma sighed whenever Shoyo tried to chat. The way he gave curt, one-word answers, or just straight-up ignored him. It was like trying to make friends with a brick wall that was, for some reason, wearing a hoodie.
And the worst part? Shoyo couldn’t stop trying. It was like poking a bear and hoping it would hug him instead of maul him.
"Good morning!" Shoyo chirped as he slid into his seat, dropping his bag to the floor with a thud.
Kenma didn’t even look up. He just gave a single, nonchalant grunt, which might have meant “hello” or “please stop existing.” It was hard to tell.
“Did you finish the history homework?” Shoyo asked, leaning into Kenma’s personal space like a friendly, slightly irritating mosquito.
Kenma’s eyes flicked to Shoyo for half a second. “Yeah.”
"Cool, cool,” Shoyo said, nodding. “What game is that? Looks intense.”
“...It’s a farming sim.”
Shoyo blinked. “Oh. Cool! Like… carrots and cows and stuff?”
Kenma didn’t bother replying.
Yep, he definitely hates me, Shoyo thought, slumping back in his chair. His eyes wandered to his other classmates. Kageyama was furiously scribbling on a worksheet. Tsukishima and Yamaguchi were bickering over a textbook, and Yachi was nervously arranging her pencils at the speed of light.
Before Shoyo could spiral further into his existential crisis, the door slammed open, and Kuroo strode in with the confidence of someone who thought he was the main character
"Good morning!” Kuroo called, dropping his bag onto Tsukishima’s desk. “Did you guys hear the big news?”
Tsukishima looked up, unimpressed. “What now? Did they finally revoke your library card for being obnoxious?”
“Nope.” Kuroo grinned, unfazed. “We’re getting international exchange students tomorrow. From Canada.”
The room collectively perked up at that, including Shoyo.
“Canada?” Yamaguchi asked. “Why Canada?”
"Why not?" Kuroo replied, shrugging. “They’re coming here to, like, learn about Japanese culture or something. Pretty cool, huh?”
"Wait, so… do they speak English?” Shoyo asked, his eyes widening.
Kuroo snorted. “Of course. They’re Canadian.”
Kageyama frowned, his brows furrowing in confusion. “But… don’t Canadians also speak French?”
Tsukishima rolled his eyes so hard it was almost impressive. “Wow, Kageyama. It’s a miracle you made it out of elementary school.”
“Shut up, four eyes!”
As the two launched into their usual squabble, Shoyo turned back to Kuroo. “What do you think they’re like? Do you think they’ll join the volleyball club?”
“Why don’t you ask Kenma?” Kuroo suggested, smirking as he nudged his friend.
Kenma, who had been quietly minding his own business, finally looked up from his phone. “...What?”
“Hinata’s got questions about the Canadians.”
“I don’t care.”
Shoyo’s face fell. He fiddled with the edge of his desk, trying to hide his disappointment, but it was like Kenma’s indifference had slapped him in the face. It didn’t even make sense, why did it bother him so much? They were classmates, sure, but not friends. Yet, the coldness always left him feeling like he’d done something wrong, even if he hadn’t.
"Kenma, don’t be rude,” Kuroo chided, though he didn’t seem too serious about it.
Kenma shrugged, clearly unbothered.
Shoyo huffed and leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. Why does he have to be so mean all the time? He glanced sideways at Kenma, who was completely absorbed in his game again. A part of him wanted to poke Kenma’s shoulder, just to get a reaction. But he held back.
Later that day, Shoyo found himself walking home with Yamaguchi, Tsukishima, Kageyama, and Yachi. They stopped at a small convenience store, the kind with a faded awning and a creaky door, to grab snacks.
As they stood outside, munching on bread rolls and sipping canned coffee, Shoyo sighed dramatically.
“What now?” Kageyama asked, already annoyed.
“I think Kenma hates me.” Shoyo said, staring at his half-eaten melon bread.
Tsukishima snorted. “Well, yeah. Have you met you?”
“Tsukki!” Yamaguchi scolded, though he couldn’t hide his smile.
“I’m serious!” Shoyo insisted. “He never talks to me unless I force him to, and even then, it’s like pulling teeth. I don’t think he even knows my name.”
“Maybe if you shut your mouth for five minutes, he’d actually like you.” Tsukishima said, smirking.
Shoyo gasped. “You take that back!”
“Tsukki, be nice.” Yachi said, frowning.
“Thank you, Yachi,” Shoyo said, lips pouting. “See? Someone gets it.”
Yachi smiled kindly. “I’m sure Kenma doesn’t hate you, Hinata. He’s just… quiet.”
“Yeah,” Yamaguchi agreed. “It’s not personal. He’s like that with everyone.”
“Maybe,” Shoyo said, though he didn’t sound convinced. He stuffed the rest of the melon bread into his mouth and mumbled, “I just hope one of the exchange students is nice.”
“Oh great,” Kageyama said. “Another person to add to the ‘I hate Hinata’ club.”
“HEY!”
The group dissolved into laughter as they continued down the street, the warm glow of the setting sun making everything feel a little less serious.
The next morning, Shoyo walked down the hall toward the classroom, spotting Kenma with his hands in his pockets. He was about to say hi when he noticed Kenma’s eyes flicking toward him, followed by a deep sigh. Kenma picked up the pace and darted into the classroom.
Shoyo stopped in his tracks. Is he really that annoying?
Shoyo didn’t know what Kenma’s problem was, but nothing was going to ruin his day. He followed him inside and took his seat, glancing at Kenma, who was now slouched in his chair, once again absorbed in his game.
Shoyo rolled his eyes. Whatever Kenma’s deal is, I’ve got to stop caring.
The door slid open, and the principal walked in, followed by four unfamiliar faces.
“Good morning, everyone,” the principal said, addressing the class with his usual formal tone. “I’d like to introduce some new students who will be joining us.”
The newcomers stood in a line at the front of the room, each of them carrying an air of confidence that made the room go quiet.
“This is Atsumu Miya, Osamu Miya, Aran Ojiro, and Suna Rintarou,” the principal continued, gesturing to each of them. “They’re exchange students from Canada and will be joining you for the semester. Please make them feel welcome.”
Aran, the boy with dark skin, gave a polite bow. The twins stood out the most—Atsumu, practically glowing with energy, and Osamu, who was a bit more laid-back but still friendly. Suna had a sharp gaze and a half-smirk, like he knew a joke no one else got. They looked like they’d stepped out of a teen drama—confident, cool, and annoyingly attractive.
The class erupted into hushed whispers, everyone craning their necks to get a better look.
Shoyo’s eyes lit up. “Whoa,” he murmured, barely able to contain his excitement. “They look so... cool.”
“Shut up,” Kageyama muttered from beside him.
Shoyo didn’t hear him, too absorbed in the new faces. When Atsumu stepped forward and introduced himself with a loud, enthusiastic “Nice to meet you!” Shoyo heard Tsukishima murmur, “They’re Canadians and they speak Japanese. Wow.”
Shoyo just shrugged. At least they’ll be easy to talk to.
“Please pick your seats,” the principal announced, “There are a few empty spots in the back row.”
Atsumu scanned the room, then locked eyes with Shoyo’s desk. “How ‘bout next to the orange-haired guy?” he asked, flashing a mischievous grin.
Wait, what? Shoyo froze, blinking in disbelief.
Kenma, who had been absorbed in his phone, tensed up, almost in sync with Shoyo’s reaction.
The principal, about to suggest it, stopped himself. “But the two seats beside him are occupied.”
Atsumu grinned wider as he walked to Kenma with a playful look. “You don’t mind swapping seats, do ya? Looks like you’re not too interested in your seatmate.”
Shoyo barely had time to process the words before Kenma’s voice cut through the air, flat and final. “Don’t wanna.”
Shoyo couldn’t believe his ears. Kenma Kozume—king of indifference, ruler of the “I don’t care” kingdom—had just flat-out refused to swap seats.
Shoyo glanced at him, expecting some sort of explanation, but Kenma was already back to his game, his thumbs moving across the screen like nothing had happened. Okay, so he doesn’t want to talk to me. But he also doesn’t want someone else sitting here? What am I, a desk decoration?
Meanwhile, Atsumu shrugged, unfazed. “Guess we’ll just take the back row then.”
As the exchange students found their seats, Atsumu made a point to nudge Shoyo’s desk. “Hey, I’m Atsumu,” he said, extending a hand with a grin that practically sparkled.
Shoyo stared at him, momentarily blinded by the sheer coolness of it all. “Oh! Uh, hi! I’m Hinata Shoyo!” he said, grabbing Atsumu’s hand with a little too much enthusiasm.
“Nice to meet ya, Shoyo-kun!” Atsumu said, giving him a wink. “This is Osamu, my twin. That’s Aran, and Suna.”
Shoyo barely registered the introductions. Twins? Cool! Aran looks like a superhero. And Suna… kinda looks like a cat that knows too much.
Beside him, Kenma shifted slightly in his chair, the movement so small it was almost imperceptible. Shoyo didn’t notice. He was too busy grinning like an idiot as Atsumu took his seat.
The cafeteria was alive with the kind of organized chaos that only high schoolers could create. The smell of curry rice and fried chicken hung in the air, mingling with the clatter of trays and the occasional shout of “Move it!” from the lunch line. Shoyo sat in the middle of it all, his tray a battlefield of rice ball crumbs and a half-eaten sandwich.
Shoyo loved lunchtime. The energy, the noise—it all felt like an extension of the volleyball court.
He was halfway through a rice ball when a now familiar voice broke through the noise.
“Can we sit here?”
Shoyo turned so fast he nearly choked on his rice ball. Atsumu Miya, with his blonde hair and fox-like grin, stood there like he owned the place, one hand on his hip. Behind him, three other boys hovered, each one more intimidating than the last.
“Uh, sure?” Shoyo managed, his voice slightly muffled by the rice ball he hadn’t finished chewing.
Before the words were fully out of his mouth, Atsumu slid into the seat beside him, his tray landing on the table with a thud. The rest of them, Osamu, Suna and Aran, followed.
The shift in energy was immediate. It was like the air itself adjusted to make room for Atsumu’s overwhelming presence. Shoyo blinked at him, then at the others, then back again. “Uh... hi?”
Atsumu grinned wider. “Hi, Shoyo-kun! You don’t mind, do ya? Thought we’d come say hi, y’know, make friends.”
“Friends,” Tsukishima muttered, barely glancing up from his food. “Right. Sure. That’s what this is.”
“Aw, don’t be like that, Glasses-kun,” Atsumu said, flashing him a grin. “You look like you could use some new friends.”
Tsukishima’s deadpan expression didn’t waver. “And you look like you could use some better pick-up lines.”
Suna chuckled, his smirk widening as he leaned forward. “I like this guy,” he said, pointing a lazy finger at Tsukishima. “What’s your name?”
“Tsukishima,” he replied, sighing. “Not that you’ll remember it.”
“Don’t worry,” Suna said, resting his chin on his hand. “I’ll remember. You’re too fun to forget.”
The conversation buzzed around Shoyo, but his focus kept drifting. He couldn’t ignore the magnetic energy Atsumu brought to the table. The way he smiled, the way he spoke, it was like he’d already decided he belonged there, and no one could argue otherwise.
“So,” Kageyama asked, his tone unusually blunt, “you’re the exchange students, right? From Canada?”
“Bingo!” Atsumu said, leaning back in his chair.
“But your Japanese is perfect,” Yamaguchi added, tilting his head in curiosity.
“Well, funny story,” Atsumu began, launching into an explanation about their Japanese roots and Canadian upbringing. Shoyo tried to follow, but his attention kept drifting again—to a spot across the cafeteria where Kenma sat with Kuroo.
Kenma wasn’t eating. He was staring.
Shoyo’s stomach did a weird flip. It wasn’t like Kenma to stare at him. Actually, it wasn’t like Kenma to stare at anyone, except maybe his phone. But there he was, his golden eyes fixed on Shoyo like he was trying to solve a particularly difficult puzzle.
“...so yeah, we’re basically Canadian, but not really.” Atsumu finished, laughing at his own explanation.
“Like the international Avengers,” Suna added with a smirk, his voice pulling Shoyo back to the present.
“Right,” Shoyo said, forcing a laugh. “That’s... cool.”
“Cooler than you think,” Atsumu said, clapping him on the back. “And now you’re part of the team, Shoyo-kun!”
Shoyo smiled, but it felt half-hearted. He couldn’t stop glancing back at Kenma, who was still watching him. There was something different about the way he looked today. It wasn’t anger exactly, but it wasn’t nothing, either.
And then, suddenly, Kenma stood.
The sound of his chair scraping against the floor cut through the cafeteria noise. Kuroo stood too, trailing after him as Kenma left the room without so much as a glance back.
“Oi, Shoyo!” Atsumu’s voice snapped him back to reality. “What’s up with your friend? He looks like someone stepped on his tail.”
Shoyo hesitated, his gaze lingering on the cafeteria doors. “He’s not my friend,” he said eventually. “We’re just seatmates.”
Atsumu raised an eyebrow. “Really? Doesn’t look that way to me.”
“Shut up,” Shoyo muttered, though his heart wasn’t in it.
Tsukishima smirked. “Maybe he’s jealous.”
“Jealous?” Shoyo repeated, blinking. “Of what?”
“You, obviously,” Tsukishima said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Because you’re so popular now.”
“That’s stupid,” Shoyo shot back, frowning. “Kenma doesn’t care about me. If anything, he’d probably throw a party if I left him alone forever.”
But even as he said it, the words felt hollow. The image of Kenma’s stare was burned into his mind, along with the strange, tight feeling it left in his chest.
Days passed, and the arrival of the exchange students felt less like a bizarre interruption and more like they’d always been there, blending seamlessly into the chaos of school life. It was almost suspicious how quickly they fit in, like that one song you hated at first but somehow ended up on every playlist because everyone else loved it.
The Miya twins, Suna, and Aran became fixtures at Shoyo’s lunch table, effortlessly sliding into the roles they were born to play: Atsumu, the chaotic ringleader; Osamu, the enabler; Suna, the sarcastic observer; and Aran, the unwilling parent trying to keep the peace. Together, they formed an unstoppable force of noise and energy, leaving Shoyo starry-eyed and delighted.
Atsumu, in particular, seemed to have made it his personal mission to claim Shoyo’s attention at every opportunity. Whether it was poking fun at Shoyo’s messy handwriting or trying to teach him Canadian slang (most of which sounded suspiciously made-up), he was always hovering, always grinning.
Shoyo, for his part, loved it. The way everyone bounced off each other like a perfectly chaotic sitcom ensemble, it was everything he’d ever wanted. He barely noticed the way his focus had shifted away from his seatmate, Kenma, who now seemed like a distant thought in the back of his mind.
Not that Kenma seemed to care.
If anything, Kenma’s attitude had taken a nosedive from “mildly irritated by Shoyo’s existence” to “actively hostile.” Shoyo wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve the upgrade. Every time he tried to talk to Kenma in class, the boy would either ignore him or respond with a level of sarcasm so cutting it left Shoyo wondering if he should apologize for breathing too loudly.
But it wasn’t just the sarcasm. It was the looks. The side-eye. The way Kenma’s golden eyes followed him during lunch, narrowing every time Atsumu clapped him on the back or leaned in a little too close.
“Oi, Shoyo-kun, what’s this?” Atsumu asked one afternoon, pointing at Shoyo’s notebook during what was supposed to be a study session. The exchange students had taken to “tutoring” Shoyo and his friends in return for crash courses on Japanese slang and culture, though most of their sessions devolved into Atsumu distracting Shoyo with random questions.
“It’s my kanji practice,” Shoyo replied, holding up his notebook proudly.
Atsumu squinted at the messy characters. “Looks like you’re summoning demons, not learning kanji.”
“I worked hard on that!” Shoyo protested, snatching the notebook back.
“Don’t listen to him,” Yachi said with a nervous smile. “It’s… artistic?”
“Yeah, abstract art.” Tsukishima deadpanned.
From his side, Kenma snorted. Shoyo whipped his head around, glaring at his seatmate. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing,” Kenma said without looking up from his phone. “It’s just impressive how someone can be loud and bad at everything simultaneously.”
Shoyo’s jaw dropped. “That’s uncalled for!”
Kenma shrugged, his thumbs tapping lazily at his screen. “Just calling it like I see it.”
Shoyo fumed, but before he could retaliate, Atsumu leaned in, grinning. “Don’t let him get to you, Shoyo-kun. Some people just don’t appreciate your... enthusiasm.”
The way Atsumu said it—low and teasing, with a wink for good measure—made Shoyo’s ears burn. He laughed it off, shoving Atsumu lightly, but he didn’t notice the way Kenma’s hands tightened around his phone.
The days blurred into a routine of study sessions, lunches, and constant chatter. Atsumu’s flirting grew bolder, though Shoyo, in his infinite obliviousness, treated it as nothing more than Atsumu being Atsumu.
But Kenma’s irritability also grew.
“You’re sitting too close to me,” Kenma muttered one morning as Shoyo scooted into his seat.
Shoyo blinked, confused. “But this is my desk—”
“Then your desk is sitting too close to me.” Kenma muttered, pulling out his phone and slouching even further down in his seat.
Even during gym class, Kenma managed to find new ways to be exasperated with him.
“I don’t know how he’s so loud all the time,” Shoyo overheard Kenma telling Kuroo and Yaku on the sidelines. “It’s like he runs on a secret fuel source made of bad decisions and unnecessary enthusiasm.”
Shoyo whipped around. “I heard that!”
Kenma didn’t even look up. “Good. I wasn’t whispering.”
But the breaking point came during lunch.
“Shoyo-kun, you’ve got rice stuck to your cheek,” Atsumu pointed out one afternoon, reaching over to flick it off with a grin.
Kenma didn’t look up from his bento but still managed to deliver a verbal sniper shot. “Wow. Now he’s messy and embarrassing. At least he’s consistent.”
Shoyo fumed, glaring at him. “Do you ever say anything nice?”
Kenma glanced up. “Why bother? It’s not like you’d notice.”
It all boiled over later that day when Shoyo ducked into the bathroom to escape a particularly brutal round of teasing from Suna about his height. He leaned against the sink, splashing water on his face and taking a deep breath.
The door creaked open, and there he was: Kenma Kozume, walking in with the kind of nonchalance that made Shoyo want to scream.
Shoyo stiffened. Great. Just what I need.
Kenma didn’t acknowledge him at first, walking over to the sink and washing his hands with the same slow movements that always made Shoyo feel like he was being judged. The silence stretched uncomfortably, until Shoyo couldn’t take it anymore.
“Okay, what is your problem?” he blurted out, turning to face Kenma.
Kenma’s hands stilled under the stream of water. “What are you talking about?”
“You! You’ve been acting weird ever since Atsumu and the others showed up” Shoyo said, his voice rising. “You’re rude all the time now, well, ruder than usual! Did I do something to you?”
Kenma turned off the tap, grabbing a paper towel and drying his hands with agonizing slowness. When he finally looked at Shoyo, his expression was unreadable, his golden eyes cold.
“You’re overthinking it” Kenma said flatly. “I just don’t like you.”
Shoyo flinched, the words hitting harder than he expected. “What?”
Kenma shrugged. “You’re annoying, Shoyo. Loud, clingy, and always trying to make everything about you. Maybe I was just too polite to say it before.”
“Polite? You call this polite?”
“Just stating facts” Kenma replied, his tone maddeningly calm. “Look at you. You’ve got this little fan club now, hanging on your every word. You don’t even notice how exhausting you are.”
“I—” Shoyo started, but the lump in his throat made it hard to finish. He clenched his fists, his voice trembling. “If I’m so annoying, why don’t you just ignore me completely? Why do you care so much about what I do?”
Kenma froze, his composure slipping for just a moment before he regained it. “I don’t care” he said coolly. “I just can’t escape you. You’re like a bad song stuck on repeat.”
Shoyo felt something crack inside him, anger and hurt bubbling up in equal measure. “You’re such a jerk, you know that? I’ve tried so hard to be nice to you, to make you feel included, and this is how you treat me?”
Kenma didn’t respond, his gaze dropping to the floor.
“Fine” Shoyo said, stepping past him toward the door. “If you hate me so much, I’ll make it easy for you. Don’t talk to me. Don’t even look at me. I’m done.”
And with that, he was gone, leaving Kenma standing alone in the bathroom.