to avenge the sun (haikyuu)

to be mine

The brewing emotions of discontent, of incompleteness mainly came from the very fact that Hinata is functioning normally. Mingling happily with his friends and other teammates that doted on his enthusiasm and craved his high energy. The genuine smiles and laughter that made Fujiwara grit his teeth every time— he was sure he had stress-induced cavities by now.

It was undeniable.

Hinata was doing better than he thought he would be. But he still tried to push him to the edge. Giving him side glances throughout practice, brushing past him during lunch, congratulating him with a firm pat when he performs a spectacular spike. But-

it. Just wasn't enough.

Fujiwara wanted more.

And when he had him practically alone and all ready to strike. Hinata had rebounded and caught him off guard. He looked confident, practically fearless as he pushed him away. Denying him. As if he was a complete loser who got rejected by a long-time crush.

Needless to say, Fujiwara felt utterly pathetic.

On a night when he decided he was close to a screaming mess, he left the dorms and drove in his sleek car, seeking a way to relieve his mounting frustrations. He found the perfect target as he parked and walked down the dim streets— puffs of icy air visible from the icy weather.

It was a young fan of his who was bundled up in a thick jacket and scarf who had just finished working overtime. Completely naive. Innocent. Much like how Hinata had been the first time Fujiwara met him.

The poor young man was just what he needed.

It was just an unfortunate encounter for the fan, who was barely out of college, to have met Fujiwara Kenji on a bad night.

His enthusiasm seemed fruitless as he breathlessly exclaimed, "are you really Fujiwara? Fujiwara Kenji?"

"Yes," he mustered up a smile that evokes warmth and trust, "would you like an autograph?"

The fan's eyes widened so widely, Fujiwara briefly wondered if it would pop out of his own skull.

"A-are you sure? May I really have one?"

"Of course!" He assured him. "Do you have a pen and paper?"

While the fan fumbled around his bag, digging for said items, Fujiwara glanced to make sure that there weren't any unwanted peeping individuals. He found a relatively empty street, understandable considering the late hour.

"I'm so sorry," the fan's face was crestfallen, "I don't have any paper or pen. Out of all days when I actually need it," he grumbled the last sentence to himself.

Time to strike.

Fujiwara smiled, this time it was genuine. "My apartment is nearby here, how about we quickly pop up and I can get that autograph for you?"

There was no need for him to convince the gullible man any further. His eyes were trusting and hopeful as if he was witnessing a wishing star that graced the night skies.

His trust was misplaced.

He led him to his car parked just around the corner and headed towards the apartment building that his Father owned. For situations just like this. Although it was usually work-related pesky problems.

The fan was vibrating with jitters and excitement— non-stop chatter spilled from his lips as he recalled Fujiwara's own volleyball career. Fujiwara only nodded and smiled when called for it. But that didn't deter the fan in any way, he was just happy to be in his presence.