Archive of Our Own ^beta

POV : Hinata Shōyō

Hinata hadn’t really known what it was most of his life. It was just… well, sort of unexplainable most of the time. When he’d been younger, most of the flutterings of voices or images had been blurry, unreadable and unintelligible. Like trying to read through murky water.

It wasn’t even something that he worried about for ages. It was something left alone in the back of his head that he never bothered to pay much attention to. He’d slip up occasionally, answering a question before it had been spoken aloud, responding to comments in a silent room, but over time he picked up on what he referred to as ‘inside voices’ and ‘outside voices.’

The dialogue that was spoken aloud, and the dialogue that was spoken only in the mind.

Shōyō, a hyperactive kid who was more focused on playing volleyball and having fun, didn’t really worry about it. Not until he was older. When the thoughts that he was surrounded by started to clear, becoming more distinct, more understandable. There was a difference between the thoughts of a young mind and the thoughts of a developed one, and as Hinata had grown himself, his own knack for overhearing what he shouldn’t grew stronger.

Young minds spoke most often in pictures. Blurry words and bright colors that were more vivid than real life. A chattering, warbling hum that was undeveloped but nostalgic. They didn’t have the vocabulary, the understanding, or the brain development to translate what they were thinking into something that could be heard, both in their outside and inside voices. Usually it was just a chirping sort of noise, to Hinata, now that he could understand it better. Like baby birds always calling for their mothers.

Hinata had only asked about the ‘inside voices’ once when he was ten or so. His mother had given him a very odd look and then checked him for a fever. Shōyō had decided that people must not talk about inside voices amongst each other, and just moved along.

Truly, he hadn’t realized what he was doing until he was halfway through high school, and Yamaguchi had gotten his fellow third years in on a current interest of his: superheroes. And that had introduced Hinata to the idea of superpowers, which of course, included mind reading.

Shōyō, seventeen and bored and fuzzy with soft drinks and sweets, had just tilted his head and asked why it was a superpower if everyone could do it. His friends had snickered at him like it was a great joke, and only then did Hinata really put two and two together.

People only heard outside voices.

After a little spiral and some worries about going insane, Shōyō had managed to think logically—which was still new for him at the time—and simply tested his theory. He asked a question, and if he got the same answer with the person’s inside voice as he got with their outside voice, then it was real. Though Tsukishima nearly made him second-guess himself.

The blond’s inside voice was always quite different from his outside one.

After coming to terms with it, again, Shōyō really didn’t think much of it. He only really heard what people were focusing on, anyway, and usually it wasn’t that interesting. Typical daydreams, grumblings of being hungry or tired or uncomfortable or needing to use the restroom. Worries and memories and friendship drama. And all of that got boring and became background noise after a while.

Inside voices weren’t all that loud, anyway. Soft and whispery and with a little echo to it.

Of course, things wouldn’t stay so boring once he and his teammates went through puberty. That had been interesting, but Hinata grew passive to that, too. In high school, it was usually just—fantasies. Most of his peers weren’t thinking about sex seriously yet, only just starting to explore the idea and what it meant. And while it was there, it was still bordering on innocence.

Even Tanaka, with all his claims of reading dirty magazines and putting on the air of toughness that didn’t quite match his inside voice, was more likely to think about holding Kiyoko’s hand and kissing her sweetly on a date, or imagining marrying her one day than anything more intense.

When Hinata turned eighteen, it was like his extra sense tripled nearly overnight. It got overwhelming, and meditating had to be implemented into his routine to filter out the noise and find some damn quiet.

And of course, things didn’t stay innocent.

Shōyō’s first real taste of overhearing sexual fantasies about him was in Rio. He hadn’t gotten much of that kind in his teenage years, but he started to get looks—and the thoughts that came with it—when he’d moved overseas. Before, most thoughts projected at him had been calling him cute and short and excitable, which was nice sometimes, but sometimes it was annoying. It didn’t help that he overheard not-nice thoughts about himself too, and in retaliation, Hinata aggressively befriended others so that those close to him would hopefully not think such things about him.

In Rio, something shifted. He’d grown into himself more, he’d grown up. And others were taking notice. Sometimes it was passers-by internally complimenting his bright hair and his freckles. Sometimes it was someone taking note of his hard-earned athleticism, sometimes someone took notice of his thighs, his arms, his tan. Some found his height appealing in other ways, which he found a bit interesting, if not also sometimes insulting depending on the tone.

It was almost better to hear the inside voices of strangers. It wasn’t as close. Though he’d learned that people spoke with their inside voices in their native language more often than not, so it took some time to actually understand them. That had been a lovely breath of fresh air when he’d gotten off the plane, though had left him feeling wrong-footed.

And then he ran into Oikawa.

‘Is that chibi-chan? God, he’s gotten hot,’ had been Oikawa’s first thought upon seeing him, the thought so loud and so startlingly in Japanese that it had made Shōyō whirl around to look at him before he’d been able to call out. ‘Oh—he’s looking at me. It is chibi-chan! Can I even call him that anymore? He’s not a stringy little crow anymore,’ the man had thought, though his expression showed only a cheerful grin and a wave after he’d gotten over his surprise. ‘That haircut really suits him—damn, maybe I should learn beach, those thighs are delicious.’

Shōyō’s mouth had admittedly dropped open a bit. He’d learned quickly that thoughts about him carried the easiest, probably subconsciously being projected his way, though he didn’t really understand the mechanics.

Despite Oikawa’s inner thoughts, he’d been utterly friendly. Sometimes his inside voice turned more to homesickness, which had made Hinata’s heart tug in understanding. But Shōyō also felt his eyes as well as he heard his little notes.

‘I wonder if Shōyō likes guys. It would be a shame if he didn’t. He’s so cute,’ Tooru thought more than a few times as they’d eaten dinner—and Hinata had overheard Oikawa cheering like he’d scored some kind of point when Hinata had admitted to losing his wallet earlier in the day, way too excited to treat him.

When Shōyō had gulped down some water in the restaurant, Oikawa outwardly looked normal, but internally he—

‘His mouth would look great around my cock,’ he thought to himself. Hinata choked on his drink, and Oikawa’s thoughts had fluttered to concern for an instant as he handed him a napkin before immediately imagining—in rather vivid technicolor—Shōyō choking on his dick.

Eventually, the thoughts tapered, an odd, jittery blend of delight running into someone from home, a tentative hope in finding a friend, but there was still that lingering desire that left Hinata feeling dizzy.

Still, Shōyō didn’t do much to try to distract the setter from his fantasies. Was it a bit personal? Yes. But Hinata didn’t have a way of turning the inside voices heard off, and he’d heard just about everything by then.

This was the first time that someone that he knew was imagining how he’d look stretched out and bent over, and he was curious. Sue him. Maybe it was flattering, and maybe it made him a little hot under the collar when Tooru imagined different positions and making him cry.

All while keeping that cocky little grin on his face. Now that was curious too. Oikawa was vividly wondering if the curtains matched the drapes and if he could make Shōyō beg for it all while chattering about something to do with his training with being on a national-level team in Argentina.

Hinata had leaned back in his seat that night, and indulged in his own inner voice.

Shōyō had done little… experiments with his little ability over the years. Finding the right questions to ask to get his teacher to think about what would be on the test (really, the only way he managed to graduate,) shuffling along the court to get his opponents to focus on him, shifting just so when he learned what caught their attention the best.

It wasn’t cheating if he couldn’t help it.

So… if he could guess what to do based on their inner voices, in admittedly innocuous situations, then… maybe that could work in bed, too? He was sure that if he could hear the inner voice of his partner in the sheets, he could pick up on cues before they could be voiced…

Hinata, latching onto this new way to learn and improve in something with the same intensity that he did anything else he’d picked up, decided to give it a try.

And god, was it fun.

Oikawa imagined Shōyō tracing his finger down his wrist? Hinata casually leaned over and brushed his pointer over Oikawa’s knuckles, making an off-hand comment that made the setter’s inner voice stutter and go silent with surprise for a moment.

When Tooru was looking for more specific signals that Shōyō was interested in him, Hinata played out each one like it was a script: glancing at the setter’s mouth, licking his lips, initiating the expression that he was wearing in Oikawa’s mind’s eye.

It was more effective than Shōyō had been expecting. More fun, too. He had Oikawa, a man who was not only a bit older than him, but more experienced given his thoughts, turning pink and red and hot to the touch, adjusting his collar in the restaurant.

Shōyō learned how to pick up on more subtle cues, too. As Tooru’s thoughts became jumbled, he latched onto things that he was able to focus on. He shifted as they walked to show off his thighs, he brushed his hand against Oikawa’s when the setter couldn’t stop replaying Shōyō running his finger over his knuckles over and over in his head.

It didn’t really feel like coercion. He was just doing what Tooru wanted him to do. Though Hinata did not opt to grab him by his collar and start making out with him in the sand like Oikawa kept wishing that he would, that was a bit too much for a public space.

And when Tooru suggested that Shōyō follow him to his hotel room, Hinata recited the setter’s wished response word for word.

“Please take care of me, Oikawa-san!”

And did he.

Hinata sucked just as Tooru imagined he would. He cried just as Oikawa had wished, but when the sensations overshadowed his mind, he found that for once, he didn’t know what thoughts were his own and what were Oikawa’s. They were too similar. Both desperate for hands and familiarity and a breath of home and skin-to-skin contact.

Shōyō learned that coming hard enough to make his toes curl and his eyes roll back made his head go blissfully quiet.

Returning to Japan after two years in Brazil was like stepping back into home both in body and mind. The inner voices were more familiar, easier to read and in some ways anxiety-inducing, in others comforting.

Honestly, Hinata had thought that Oikawa was a once-off. It had been fun, and Tooru only really thought well of him, but he didn’t expect it to happen again. Tooru clearly had a type, and Shōyō had known from the beginning that the setter had been just as lonely as he was, so maybe he wouldn’t have fallen so quickly into those fantasies if they’d run into each other sometime and somewhere else.

Walking into MSBY try outs very quickly changed that train of thought.

Atsumu’s inside voice was loud. And very interested in Shōyō’s tan lines from the moment that he’d walked in through the door. Hinata had barely had enough time to keep up enough before he heard the blond’s thoughts rush through elated delight of his return and then immediately reveal a crush that had sparked in high school and had apparently never gone away.

It had been a little hard to concentrate on volleyball when Atsumu had been staring at his thighs and his inside-voice very loudly describing how much he wanted to bite them. And lick them. And suffocate between them. And ‘god, I want him ter ruin me.’

Flattering, Hinata supposed. Though he felt a little bad about knowing about how Atsumu apparently felt about him when he clearly didn’t want him to know.

Shōyō thought he was safe with Bokuto. The first day or two—especially the day that Shōyō had moved in—the once-captian had been bursting with his usual excitement and joy, inner voice bubbling over into his outside one about being reunited with his old friend. Kōtarō had always thought he was adorable, it had been his first thought upon their meeting in high school. That hadn’t changed, Bokuto sometimes chanted things like: ‘Cute, cute, Shōyō’s so cute I want to bite his freckly little cheeks,’ which was similar enough to before.

Then the thoughts started to upgrade into little daydreams about biting Hinata’s other cheeks. But Kōtarō was always so sweet in his mind’s eye. His fantasies weren’t rough, and the guy was just as likely to imagining playful roughhousing as he was to kiss him down his neck and squeeze him tightly.

Kōtarō had a little cuteness aggression, apparently, and was constantly torn between wanting to squeeze him and bite him till he bruised and then immediately chastise himself for his own imagination, replacing the ideas with wrapping Hinata up in a blanket and carrying him around and hand-feeding him. Bokuto was just as ridiculous on the inside as he was outwardly, and despite the distracting shift in thought process, it was inoffensive to Hinata and he thought it was sort of cute himself.

Sakusa’s inner voice was shockingly different from his outside one. Hinata hadn’t really known him before joining the team. Kiyoomi was silly, though he was a little more reserved externally unless he was around people that he trusted. Hinata was elated when he became one of those people.

Sakusa was often snickering to himself internally when he was trying to scowl or frown in disappointment because Atsumu or Bokuto—or Hinata, he was self-aware—said something stupid. Kiyoomi also liked to recite and replay songs in his head when he was bored, and he had a pretty imagination. Sometimes Shōyō found himself more easily able to relax near him, overhearing and letting himself get lost in Sakusa’s mind replaying the books that he liked to read.

Kiyoomi had a lot of books. Hinata learned quite quickly that the guy swapped out the sleeves of some to cover up what he was actually reading. Shōyō had coughed around his breakfast smoothie when he entered the main living space one morning, only to overhear Kiyoomi reading some rather intense sex scene in a dark fantasy book he had propped up on his lap, though the cover claimed that it was poetry.

Sneaky. And sort of adorable. But Shōyō really wished that one of the leads in the book was not a redhead, as Sakusa kept swapping out the character’s face with Hinata’s, even if it seemed like he didn’t mean to at first. At first. He grew content to let it continue over time.

Not many people could say that they overheard their friend imagining him having sex with a werewolf in the not-quite-privacy of his own mind, but Shōyō could, if he ever dared say it aloud.

Usually, like with most of the murmurings of the inner voices around him, Shōyō was able to somewhat ignore them. He couldn’t turn them off, of course, though he did start to consider it when he overheard Hajime think something about understanding why Oikawa had pounced on him in Brazil when Shōyō had been doing his leg stretches.

Really, Iwaizumi. He’d been doing so well.

But unable to curb his curiosity, Shōyō found himself listening to Hajime during their training. The man was always respectful—similar to Boktuo in that sense—sometimes internally scolding himself. Sometimes letting his mind wander a little. Hajime’s ideas were very sweet, generally rather vanilla. He did imagine using muscle-vibrators for something other than their intended purpose, but Shōyō kind of thought that was funny and had to keep himself from laughing on occasion.

And even when Hajime sort of wished that he could ask Shōyō to bend or stretch in certain ways, his outside voice was always professional and always just as caring as his thoughts. So, he got a pass from the mind-reading redhead.

And then, of course, it had to go to shit.

Hinata got migraines. He’d even been diagnosed with chronic ones, though his doctors had always been bemused about the cause, and frustrated with Shōyō when the redhead refused brain scans. He didn’t know what would come up and was worried he’d somehow get caught. Like the wrinkles on his brain would spell out that he could hear thoughts. An irrational fear, but one that still gave him the shudders.

He didn’t really want the ability, though he couldn’t imagine life without it. It had always been there, and probably always would be. But there was a side effect that started to bother him when he’d turned eighteen and could hear thoughts clearly. Every now and then his brain would decide it was too much and punish him for it. Medication didn’t really help either. The doctors that offered them understood that, but offered them anyway, calling his migraines psychosomatic, though immediately after would push for a CT or an MRI.

Shōyō would rather have migraines than get experimented on. Did that even happen outside of movies? He wasn’t sure, but didn’t care to find out.

One such morning had him waking to the groaning early-morning grumbles of his dormmates and a splitting headache. Hinata groaned and pressed a pillow over his head in the hopes that it would somehow block out Bokuto’s morning song and Atsumu imagining him as he got rid of his morning wood and Sakusa wondering about a weird dream. All equally loud and painful.

Ugh. This was going to be a painful day.

Hinata dutifully put a sumatriptan under his tongue so that he didn’t have to lie to Iwaizumi about it later and wearily went about getting ready for the day, trying to calm his mind and slow his breathing so that the inner voices he overheard wouldn’t overwhelm him so early in the day.

If it got bad enough then Shōyō would beg off practice and lay in his apartment. Thankfully, his inner-thought range wasn’t so bad that it wouldn’t be mostly-quiet if he was in the dorm by himself. But Atsumu was on one that morning, cheerfully replaying his wanking material over and over in his head as he ate a power bar for breakfast. Sakusa was already re-reading one of his dark fantasies before they left, and Hinata knew that the moment that Bokuto spotted him looking sick—he always got pale and shaky when his head hurt like this—he would be loudly—if internally—wanting to scoop him up and cuddle and squeeze and maybe nibble him better.

They were so lucky that Shōyō adored them. Hinata was hurting enough to have his own thoughts imagining shutting them up rather permanently.

The redhead grunted quietly in greeting, opting not to turn on the blender, which would surely kill him instantly, and went for a peach instead. Even an apple or a power bar wrapper would be too loud.

“Morning, Shōyō!” Bokuto greeted with his usual cheer, and Hinata dropped his fruit onto the counter, pressing his hands over his ears with a hiss of displeasure. As he’d expected, Kōtarō’s thoughts exploded with concerns and worries and wants to cuddle him close and keep him safe—

“Migrane,” Hinata whispered. Bokuto outwardly, politely, went very quiet and even reached over to turn the lights off so that the living space was only lit by the morning sun, but his inside voice was a whole other story.

‘Oh no, Shōyō looks so pale. Iwa-san mentioned migraines, they must be really bad. Should I get him medicine? I should bundle him up so he doesn’t get sick. Can you get sick from a migraine? I should put him in my room, my bed is softer. I could put a quilt around him, maybe I can borrow Omi’s headphones for him, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind—oh, he looks even worse now—!’

“Please shh,” Shōyō pleaded, pressing the heels of his palms into his squeezed-shut eyes to try to offset the pounding and now dizziness forming.

‘But I am being quiet—!’

“Shh,” Hinata whispered.

“What’s goin’ on?” Atsumu asked, poking his head out from the bathroom, steam following him. He frowned at Hinata’s state, head already jumping between his usual appreciation for him and concern. Loud.

“Shōyō’s got a migraine,” Bokuto explained, barely audibly, putting his hands over Hinata’s ears for him. Which was adorably sweet but did nothing to dampen the worried yelling between Kōtarō’s ears.

“Yikes, those suck,” Sakusa said gently from the couch, putting away his book—outwardly claiming that it was on sports medicine, though Hinata knew the interior involved a fairy character that was entangled in something they shouldn’t be, and despite the character looking nothing like Shōyō, Kiyoomi’s thoughts seemed to disagree.

“Please, shh,” Shōyō pleaded again, everything feeling like it was a million times louder.

“Shit man, maybe ya should stay home from practice,” Atsumu said softly, though while his care was real, he was also imagining playing nursemaid and staying home with him. Hinata would be mad if Bokuto wasn’t thinking the exact same thing.

“No, I—I’ll be fine, they… usually go pretty quick,” Hinata mumbled, though this one was worse than usual. God, he wished the meds worked. “I’ll just… follow you guys in a bit. Could one of you tell Iwa-san that I’m going to be late?”

“Texting him now,” Kiyoomi said, pulling out his phone. Hinata nodded, leaving the peach on the counter—he was too nauseous for that anyway—and went back to his room to lay down in the dark. He couldn’t escape the jumble of worried thoughts from his friends, but eventually they retreated too.

After an hour of some lovely quiet that was only broken by the soft echoes of the thoughts of the guy that lived upstairs who was grumbling about being left to do the dishes by his own roommates again, Shōyō felt a bit more human. His head was still not back to normal, but he didn’t feel like he was going to pass out or throw up if someone so much as thought his name.

When Hinata was able to eat the whole peach and look at his phone to respond to Iwaizumi’s kind message about taking it easy if he needed to today, and that he was welcome to just focus on some gentle stretches if he did want to come in, all without feeling like his head was going to pop without a balloon, Shōyō decided that he’d had enough wallowing and went out to practice, choosing to walk so that he didn’t have to overhear all the thoughts from others on the train.

Hinata immediately regretted going to practice. True to Hajime’s word, the group split into senior and junior members after his arrival and was low-key. But Shōyō honestly would have preferred having volleyballs thrown at his head instead, because stretching and strength training gave the others’ time for their minds to wander.

Sure, most of their inside voices murmured genuine concerns and worries for his health and condition, so sweet that Hinata teared up a bit, but it had to be a full moon or the planets were aligned weirdly or there was something in the damn water because his dormmates were driving him nuts.

Atsumu kept bouncing between wishful thinking that some really good head would cure Shōyō’s migraine, and was very enthusiastically running through the idea as he pushed the weights Iwaizumi told him to.

Bokuto wanted to snuggle Hinata under ten blankets and sit him between his legs and kiss him better over and over until he was teary and sleepy and pliant as he worked the leg press.

Sakusa was re-rolling the damn werewolf story over again as he did push ups nearby. Hinata wasn’t sure what about that one specifically made him feel so damn embarrassed.

Hajime, Hinata’s one saving grace, had betrayed him. Sure, training had started off with Iwaizumi worrying over him and scrolling through the research he’d done into stress migraines and how to help Shōyō out. Which incidentally turned into helping him out another way, which—for whatever reason—turned into considering him and Oikawa helping relieve some of Shōyō’s stress.

At least it was better than Atsumu’s idea of migraine-curing blowjobs (though maybe if it was so good that it made Shōyō’s own brain turn off it would give him a momentary lapse of peace). Iwaizumi at least had a little science to back up his theory, his threesome ideas superimposed over neck, head, and shoulder massages that were supposed to relieve tension and soothe scar tissue that could lead to migraines.

All of it was not only driving him nuts today—usually he didn’t mind that much, honestly, it was a great ego boost—but with his head hurting and the thoughts prickly and the way that they kept paying too much attention to the winces that went along with his stretching, he was so over it.

Who knew that being fantasized about like he was some kind of unattainable dream guy would get so damn old.

Hinata wasn’t sure what exactly set him off. Bokuto’s gentle imagery of reaching into his mind’s-eye version of Shōyō and sweetly jerking him off as he stroked his hair? Sakusa’s storybook werewolf licking into the crook of his version of Hinata’s neck? Atsumu really damn focused on Shōyō’s thighs again? Hajime wondering if he should ask Tooru when he was next coming by and seeing if he could organically set up a situation that might just lead to a massage and maybe more?

Something snapped, and Hinata rolled from where he’d been on his back doing some leg stretches, semi-aware that he probably looked like a mess with his eyes bloodshot and his face gray.

“Will you guys stop thinking about having sex with me for five minutes?!” he hissed.

Atsumu choked on his spit and nearly dropped a dumbbell on his foot. Bokuto’s legs went limp on the weights, prompting a crash that did not help Shōyō’s head, and Sakusa face-planted onto the floor mid push-up.

At least Iwaizumi managed to keep himself somewhat composed, though his mouth had dropped open and he’d nearly dropped his clipboard.

For a moment, their thoughts were wonderfully, delightfully silent. Maybe Shōyō should have tried this earlier. Shock really was a great way of turning off the inside voices.

“Look, I don’t really mind most of the time, it’s cute or whatever, but my head is killing me and you’re only making it worse,” Hinata mumbled, dropping his face into his hands.

There was still quiet. This was nice.

And then Shōyō caught up with his words and mumbled a curse into his palms. Twenty-four—nearly twenty-five years of never telling anyone, and he’d gone and mucked it up because someone couldn’t stop wanting to bite his thighs.

“I—excuse me?” Hajime choked, finally kicking back into gear. All four of them were staring at him. Hinata considered playing it off, but he did sort of want to keep up the shock so that he could get some more quiet. Clearly, he should have stayed in his dark room today.

“If you want to get Tooru to agree to a threesome, you’re going to have to be more direct than just setting up a ‘oh, wow, look! We ran into Shōyō, exactly where he goes for lunch on weekends! Isn’t this a surprise!’ He’s a little too oblivious to pick up on something subtle,” Hinata muttered. Hey, it worked! Iwaizumi was so shocked his brain might as well have turned off!

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Sakusa coughed, having sat up. Uh oh, Kiyoomi’s thoughts were starting to whirl, and Atsumu—who was reeling at Shōyō’s words—was getting inside-voice loud. Bokuto was still rebooting at least.

Shōyō lifted his head and made eye contact with Kiyoomi.

“I liked it more when you swapped me out with that knight character. At least he wasn’t getting his brains fucked out by a werewolf,” he announced. Hajime’s wide eyes turned to Sakusa, who turned bright red, his mouth opening—then closing—but his head wonderfully quiet again.

Damn, Shōyō could do this all day.

“Were—what the hell? Shōyō-kun, did yer migraine make ya go nuts?!” Atsumu yelped, looking at Iwaizumi like he wanted him to call him an ambulance. He did. Shōyō could hear his thoughts.

“Iwa-san, please tell Atsumu that blowjobs do not cure migraines. I don’t think threesomes do either while we’re on that note,” Hinata said. Double-kill. Iwaizumi and Atsumu were quiet again. And then Shōyō tilted his head. “I might take you up on that head massage though, that sounds nice.”

“Wha—how could you—Hinata what are you saying?” Hajime sputtered, his thoughts so blurry that it was white noise, which Hinata could tolerate.

Shōyō looked at Bokuto, who was bright red and his head was humming with a blend of confusion and steadily-growing embarrassment. Huh. It seemed like the guy believed him off the bat, which he hadn’t expected.

“You can… hear me when I think… about…” Kōtarō was trailing off, eyes huge in his head.

“You’re cute about it Bokuto-san,” Hinata admitted with a shrug, the buzzing better than outright inner voices. “The blankets might be nice right now—and I won’t say no to you petting my hair.”

“Wh—okay, who told you about my books? Atsumu, did you go through my stuff?!” Sakusa suddenly snapped, turning on the blond, who jumped.

“Ya actually read werewolf romance—?!”

“Wait—that’s—I haven’t told—Hinata,” Iwaizumi was practically pleading, blinking hard and trying to keep up.

“How long have you been able to read minds?!” Kōtarō exclaimed, caught between shock, embarrassment, and a bit of excitement. “That’s so cool!”

“It’s not when I have a migraine,” Hinata whined, dragging his hands down his face.

“No one can read minds, Shōyō-kun,” Atsumu hissed, red faced and with a lot to worry about. Hinata blinked slowly.

“You jacked off to me this morning, and I’m still your friend. I’m not going to get pissy because you ate my ice cream from the freezer,” Shōyō informed him upon overhearing his inside voice mumbling about it. Technically, he’d overheard Atsumu’s plan and decided to simply not stop him.

Atsumu’s mouth dropped, and then closed with a click, and then he turned pink.

“No, there’s no way Hinata can read minds, this isn’t—” Sakusa started, and Shōyō was already tilting his head his way.

“—isn’t one of your stories? ‘Yoomi, you put the image of me into a situation with a certain fairy character this morning, and honestly, I’m really impressed with how vivid you made that—”

Kiyoomi shrieked. Just—screamed at the top of his lungs—and buried his face in his hands. The noise made the senior team members look over, and Meian was rushing over in an instant, Tomas on his heels.

“Is someone injured?!” Meian shouted. Then blinked at the situation.

“Shōyō can read minds!” Bokuto announced, pointing at Hinata. The worry and upset—and images of someone broken or bleeding—vanished from the pair’s minds and was replaced with deadpan annoyance.

“No, he can’t,” Meian sighed.

“Do you do it on purpose?!” Bokuto asked next. Shōyō groaned and dragged his hands down his face.

“My head hurts too much for this,” he complained.

“What number am I thinking of?” Tomas asked cheekily, making Meian shoot him a glare. “What, it’s fun!”

Shōyō considered the situation. He was already in this deep, and he’d sort of maybe secretly always really, really wanted to play this game.

“Eight, four, twenty, zero-eight,” he announced. Everyone—including Meian—looked at him. Shōyō shrugged. “It’s your niece’s birthday and also your phone passcode, it was the first number you could think of.”

“What the shit?!” Tomas shouted, his mouth dropping open.

“Lucky guess,” Meian claimed, folding his arms.

“You’re about to ask me to guess what color you’re thinking of, but you’re thinking of two colors, green and orange,” Hinata said. Meian nearly jumped out of his skin, his whole body going tense. “And you said that you didn’t want to play,” Shōyō snorted.

The pair of seniors looked at each other, then back at him.

“That’s… right…” Meian said slowly.

“Twenty-four, thirty-eight, eight thousand, six hundred and seventy—Meian, you can’t just think of the infinity sign, I don’t think that’s a number,” Hinata complained.

“Oh, that’s freaky,” Shūgo said, taking a little step back.

“That’s cool, since when could you read people so well?” Tomas asked, probably deciding that this was more of a body-language and guesswork thing. He was, Shōyō could hear him come to the conclusion.

“Okay, think of something that I’d have no way of guessing,” Hinata suggested, having a surprising amount of fun with this. His head was still hurting, but despite the fear starting to squirm in his gut, he trusted his team. At least trusted them not to sell him to scientists.

Shōyō raised his eyebrows when he heard Tomas’s choice.

“Are you sure that you want me to say that out loud?” he checked. Tomas narrowed his eyes, but didn’t say no. “Okay. You and Meian made out in the locker room after your first game won together.” Both of them flushed, their mouths dropping open, and Hinata heard a surprised sound from behind him—as well as the inside voices of his dormmates as they absorbed the information. “And then you had sex again in the storage closet…” Shōyō’s eyes narrowed. “Right before Meian got engaged—Meian, c’mon,” he sighed.

Hinata’s captain stared at him, looked at Tomas.

“No, he didn’t tell me,” Shōyō answered Shūgo’s thoughts. “And he didn’t tell me that you’re planning to leave your wife for him, but I don’t think you told him that, either.”

Now that made both of them jump. And glance between Hinata and each other. Shōyō sighed.

“Go on. The locker rooms will be empty for another hour and both of you want to have some make up sex. Have fun, wear protection or whatever,” Hinata mumbled.

Meian, redder than Hinata had ever seen him, jabbed a finger in his direction.

“We will be talking about this later,” he hissed, before grabbing Tomas by the wrist and dragging him out of the gym.

“And break up with your wife kindly! She’s very nice!” he shouted after them, before curling up and rubbing at his ears after the noise.

Hinata glanced back at his peers, offering them a helpless shrug.

“At least I won’t have to hear about them pining over each other anymore,” Shōyō decided. “They won’t be mad once they make up. Meian’s secretly a big softie.”

“Oh God, ya can read minds,” Atsumu whimpered, hiding his face in his hands. And then he looked up—teary with embarrassment. “How long have ya been doin’ that?!”

“I can’t control it! I just overhear!” Hinata yelped, offended. “And—always.”

Quiet.

“Always…?” Kiyoomi echoed.

“Y’know, hearing the inside voices,” Shōyō mumbled, growing half-distracted with Iwaizumi’s panicking over the situation and the fact that he’d been caught thinking some very un-professional thoughts.

“Wait—and ya—we—ya said all of us!” Atsumu realized, pointing between them. Hinata picked up on his train of thought—literally.

“Oh. Yeah. I hear all of that, too,” Shōyō shrugged. When there was a bit of panic, he shrugged again. “I’m not offended, it’s just a lot when my head hurts.”

“But—but—Omi, ya want ter—ya little—” Atsumu was practically seething. Sakusa was turning pink.

“Omi just replaced a redhead in his book with me and it just kinda went from there,” Hinata explained, overhearing Sakusa mentally speed-running through all of his recent books—and fantasies—and buried his face back into his hands. “Bo mostly wants to snuggle, but sometimes he really wants to bite me. Iwa-san is very professional despite wanting to bend me in half over his massage table—”

“Hinata!” Hajime yelped, actually dropping his clipboard that time.

“It’s sweet! You think of me very nicely,” Shōyō amended quickly. He wasn’t used to talking about what he overheard, and wasn’t sure where the line was. “I did like the one with the massage gun—”

“The what?!” Atsumu squealed, thinking—and acting—as if his life was over.

“What does Tsum-Tsum think about?” Bokuto asked, taking the opportunity to both satisfy his curiosity and get the attention off of him.

“Hey—!”

“He really likes my thighs,” Shōyō said simply. Kiyoomi snorted as the blond squawked.

“Okay—okay, just… let me get this straight…” Iwaizumi was pinching the bridge of his nose. “You can read minds,” he said, though his tone and his inside voice suggested that he was more so taking note rather than this being his conclusion.

“I don’t do it on purpose,” Shōyō reminded him. Hajime nodded.

“Okay. How does that… work?” he asked.

“Uh…?” Hinata had never had to explain it out loud before. “It’s an inside voice and an outside voice. I couldn’t really differentiate them by the time they were full-on voices rather than just… colors and sounds. Sometimes it’s images, depending on how vivid a person’s imagination is. I can’t really turn it off. Even quiet rooms are always filled with voices.”

“No wonder you get migraines,” Iwaizumi realized, putting two and two together. “And… so you’ve been…”

“Overhearing all of your fantasies? Yeah, but I just kind of hear everything. I don’t really get embarrassed by it, people think about a lot of things, seriously or not seriously,” Shōyō murmured, wincing when the pain burst like sparklers behind his eyes when their inside voices rumbled into a roar of questions. “I was a little embarrassed about the werewolf,” he mumbled, rubbing his forehead and feeling Sakusa’s thoughts crumple and cringe with his own embarrassment.

“So you’re constantly hearing voices. All day? Every day?” Hajiime asked, now sounding worried. And he was. His head was turning with concerns, the man pushing away his own embarrassment to wonder about what it was like, wonder if Shōyō was okay, if this was the result of an experiment or an accident—

“I think I’d remember getting experimented on,” Hinata told him, making the trainer jump, and then sigh.

“It’s… gonna take a bit to get used to that,” he decided.

“But—oh, I’m so sorry, Shōyō,” Bokuto sniffed, suddenly bursting into tears. “I must have made you feel so icky—you’re my friend, I shouldn’t have been thinking about you like that, I—”

“It’s fine,” Hinata said, patting the weepy man on the arm. “Really, it’s sweet how much you like to think about taking good care of me. I don’t mind, it’s just when it’s… too loud that I can’t handle it.”

“Is there anything that helps?” Iwaizumi pressed. Shōyō scrunched his nose.

“Not really. I can’t turn it off, or make it quieter. Meditation keeps it from getting too overwhelming, but it doesn’t make it go away… The only thing that works is if my brain turns off for a second. That’s how it works with everyone’s inside voices, too, though…” Hinata explained, trailing off. “And that doesn't last all that long.”

“Wait—” Iwaizumi’s eyes flickered, and Shōyō heard a literal, audible click as he figured it out. Shōyō was honestly impressed, but Hajime really was a smart guy. Even if he was a teeny bit predictable, as half of his mind went in one direction, one that was scolding himself, and the other took a nice trip back to visualizing Hinata bent over his massage table.

‘Can you hear me?’ Iwaizumi thought pointedly, refocusing. Shōyō offered a nod as Atsumu started grilling Kiyoomi about his books while avoiding any rebuffs about his own thoughts, Bokuto glancing between them like it was a volleyball match.

‘And… you’re really not offended? It must be weird to always overhear people,’ Hajime pressed next. Hinata shivered. He’d never had someone talk to him with their inside voice before. Not on purpose. It was sort of nice, sort of strange. Weirdly vulnerable.

Shōyō gently shook his head, offering the trainer a smile. He pressed his lips together, his head twirling between genuinely wanting to help his aching head and some slightly more selfish desires.

Everyone was selfish in their own heads. Hinata didn’t mind.

‘Do you want to…?’ Iwaizumi managed to trail off in actual inside-voice words, but replaced them with images. Shōyō decided that he liked them. Even inside his own mind, Hajime only wanted to be gentle with him… beyond offering a really good orgasm.

So, looking forward to some damn quiet, and a nice bit of Iwa-san to go with it, Hinata managed to wobble to his feet, wincing when it made his head spin. And that only got his head bursting with an amalgamation of confusion, second-guessing and half-scrubbed thoughts and worries and questions—

From everyone but Iwaizumi, who managed to stay calm within his own head as he stepped forward.

“I’m going to find a room where Hinata can get some quiet. You three, return to your sets,” Hajime ordered, his professionalism turned on to the max.

“Hey, Shōyō-kun said that ya had some thoughts ‘bout him too—” Atsumu accused, narrowing his eyes.

“I am going to throw up, you’re all yelling,” Hinata whimpered, covering his ears in a futile attempt for quiet. And they were. God, maybe he shouldn’t have said anything—he really shouldn’t have said anything—

Hajime was already pulling him out of the gym, taking deep breaths and apparently focusing hard on a gentle pool of clear water. And—holy shit that was so nice. Hinata latched onto Iwaizumi’s careful focus of something gentle and meditative as he pulled him out of the gym and into his office. While his inside voice occasionally broke through the calm, Hajime was able to keep up the crystal clear water in his head well enough to bring the pain in Shōyō’s down a notch.

‘Okay? Is he alright?’ Iwaizumi thought so quietly to himself. Hinata, eyes squeezed shut, nodded. ‘Would sex really help? He looks sick, maybe I should just set him up in here. How far away does he need to be for it to be quiet? Maybe I should go—’

“You’re taking this really well,” Hinata mumbled, allowing Hajime to help him stand upright. “You don’t have to go, you’re good at being quiet with your inside voice,” he added, resting his forehead against the trainer’s chest, who offered the quietest of hums as he rubbed at the back of Shōyō’s neck and shoulders, offering both comfort and a release of tension.

‘I see why Bo’s always calling him cute. Is he really okay with me? Really? I’m worried I’m too loud. Didn’t I gross him out with what I think of him? How can he not avoid me—?’

“You’re good,” Shōyō soothed, relaxing more. Even the little questions were quiet. Soft. Careful. Tentative as they swirled around the lake Hajime had formed in his mind’s eye that was soothing the pain in his head. “I like your inside voice. Even when you were thinking of me you’re always so sweet. Big softie under all the gruff,” he half-slurred, never having felt this relaxed while listening into someone else’s thoughts.

‘Oh,’ was Hajime’s only internally spoken word. But then there was soft, and affection, and something so big that there were no words for it, the trainer’s chest swelling as he squeezed Shōyō between gentle arms. Hinata sensed that Iwaizumi’s eyes were prickling with tears. Huh. Maybe admitting that you listened to all of someone’s thoughts and thought every one was kind was more meaningful than he’d anticipated.

‘Do you want me to help? Am I helping now? I hope I’m helping. I want to be what he thinks of me.’

Shōyō spent so much time overloaded with what other people thought of him he didn’t spend time focusing on what he thought of others. But Iwaizumi was so sweet about it.

“If you let me sit in that pretty lake in your head for a when I ask, I’ll let you bend me over your massage table whenever you want,” Shōyō admitted, because he’d never felt so happily quiet before.

Hajime let out a shocked laugh, quieting himself quickly, and while his mind swam with both the lake and his imagination, Shōyō let himself steep in it, looking forward to everything that Iwaizumi was coming up with.