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The first time they kiss, it's dry, confused, and laced with anger. Anger at what? The confusion of the situation, probably, Oikawa decides later, determined to not analyse it too much, whether or not his guess is correct. Angry and still frustrated with how he deliberately put himself in that situation to begin with. He'd been struggling with his own muddled feelings for a few weeks, now—maybe even longer—and in a late-night moment of lowered inhibitions and tensions running high, Oikawa sent a quick text to Ushijima Wakatoshi using a number he'd saved from a time when the prefecture's super ace called him three years previous. For all he knew, the number wasn't even good anymore, and if it was, his long-time rival was likely asleep, but a minute later he had a response.
'Who is this?'
The words displayed on the bright screen obscured the rest of his darkened room when he'd looked away from it, sights falling blindly on his surroundings. Irritation already began to bubble in his stomach. Either he had a wrong number, or Ushijima hadn't even bothered to keep his contact information after going through the obvious trouble of obtaining it without Oikawa's permission and leaving an obnoxious voicemail about attending Shiratorizawa for high school. Yeah. Sure. Okay.
So they went back and forth for a few messages, Oikawa venting his disdain about the other athlete not even bothering to keep his number after the stunt he pulled, until realisation finally dawned on the mind of the person on the other end.
'Oh. Oikawa.'
Did he always have to be so blunt? This wasn't easy, and the least he could do was act surprised, or grateful, or....something. Whatever. It's not like that was Ushijima's style, anyway.
The conversation had been surprisingly long, Oikawa up far too late into the night and Ushijima having only just woken up to apparently attend to chores around the family farm and his morning run. The setter didn't know why, but even that small tidbit of information about his rival's personal life irked him. Maybe it was that Ushijima was up and active even earlier than he, who never began his own morning routine any later than 4:30. Always one-upping him. Always doing more, more, more—
They talked the next night, too. It was mid-August and Oikawa blamed being awake on the warm, stagnant air that night. Not his own restlessness, of course. Never that. He had discovered the night before that Ushijima was actually pretty okay to have a conversation with once he got past the other's inherent knack for irritating him. It wasn't as though they hadn't held a discussion or two before, but there was something different about not talking face-to-face and in the late hours of the night (and those of the very early morning). There's also something different when you add into the equation his own growing attraction for the one person who served to make his life both more difficult and more fulfilling every year.
Even still, Oikawa surprised himself with the particular amount of concern he felt and partially displayed when Ushijima informed him that he came down with some nasty cold or flu and that his mother had made him stay home and in bed. The text on the screen explained that the last time he got sick, he was eleven years old. It talks about how frustrated he is. It's probably one of the more personal glimpses into the other captain's life that Oikawa had seen even with hearing things about farm life and the intermittent and terse comments about one another's habits, both on and off the court. A lot of surface talk, a lot of barriers on Oikawa's part, but that wasn't unexpected. What was unexpected was his blunt offer to come over the next day and help Ushijima out. How? The details eluded him for the moment, but he reassured the sick captain that he would take precautions and wouldn't get sick. His own immune system was strong, anyway, even if whatever Ushijima had was enough to slip by the ace's natural defenses. It was a Sunday, too, and he didn't really have any schedule conflictions.
Oikawa Tooru finds himself in Ushijima Wakatoshi's room the next day. His teeth are gritted and he's half-decided that this was a mistake and that he should turn around and go home. The words I don't know whether to punch you or kiss you hang in the air between them, and Oikawa thinks that the red on his face can and will be easily confused for anger. He'd texted the statement the night before, and the first thing Ushijima did when the setter walked into the small unit separated from the main house was ask him if he'd decided on punching or kissing him. The nerve. The self-confident, utter nerve.
But a while later, a half-finished cup of tea sits on the bedside table, a damp and now-cold rag in a bowl next to it, and Oikawa can taste the ginger from the tea on Ushijima's tongue. He's trying not to think too much, to just go with what comes naturally, but as their limbs begin to tangle ungracefully and their kiss becomes heated part of his mind tries to work out how this situation even came to be. Not the part about their conversations, not even necessarily about his continually more apparent attraction to his rival, though the latter was close to what he was searching for. Oikawa had rarely experienced an attraction of any romantic or sexual sort to anyone, and even then it was fleeting and only towards—. . .
A fumbling hand pushes up his shirt, and with brows tightly knit he pulls away from the kiss, his body still pressed close to the warmer one beneath him on the currently messy bed. "Wait," Oikawa breathes sharply, eyes still shut. He's enjoying this more than he wants to admit, but that's going a little fast, isn't it? Fast and unrefined and– oh. He also has his own hand against the skin of one of Ushijima's shoulder blades, his short fingernails pressing into heated flesh. When did he do that?
Wakatoshi complies, eyes still sharp though slightly glazed from the effects of being sick as he watches his Seijou counterpart lift himself up, long, slender fingers pushing back and half-heartedly trying to smooth out brunet waves. "Oikawa?"
The sound of his name is cause for a sideways and downward glance, though it lingers on Ushijima's form. The setter's heart is pounding, and he's wondering when it got so damn hot in here, or when Ushijima Wakatoshi got so attractive.
It was the heat. It was the heat and maybe Oikawa was getting sick, too. Forget that there was no way he'd display symptoms of whatever the boy beneath him had for days more even if he'd caught it. That was out of the question.
His watchful gaze breaks away and he pulls off his shirt, maneuvering to sit at the edge of the bed. They sit in silence for a minute before light brown eyes cast a look over his shoulder, words demanding but tone soft. "Finish your tea. If it's cold by now, that's your fault."
∽＊~
Two days and a few conversations with Ushijima later, Tooru is trapped in bed, feverish texts ranging from requesting that Iwaizumi pick up his work for him and to please, please, please bring over some more ginger tea and honey after school (living just a few houses apart was convenient for the both of them), to complaining to his snarky, bed-headed friend in Tokyo about the growing realisation that dammit, he feels something for Ushijima. Something beyond their competitive rivalry, beyond his frustrations and the pain he's put himself through to reach Shiratorizawa's level; beyond the losses, the happiness of the single-set win; the idea that if he weren't so focused on beating their rival school into the ground, he and Wakatoshi might actually have some chemistry as friends. Something other than friends, at this point. Maybe.
It's 11:00 and his messages are getting harder and harder to discern as the fever reaches a peak and sleep begins to take him, as well. Why was it presenting itself so much worse in him than in the person he'd caught it from? The idea of sleep was okay, though. If he could rest through this, then it wouldn't seem like as long of a wait before school was out and Iwa-chan was here.
An incoming message threatens to contact Ushijima and send him over to see if Oikawa needs to be sent to the hospital. A comforter is pulled around his shoulders as he scowls. You don't even have his number, Oikawa thinks to text with a sniffle, but he doesn't have the will or the energy to fight it much. Instead, he considers that it would serve Ushijima right to have to pay for this somehow. He agreed to let Tooru come over, after all, and he depended on his naturally superb immune system too much and wasn't careful, most likely. How irresponsible, unlike Oikawa, who had at least taken precautions before coming over. Not like kissing probably didn't do the job. A lot of kissing, as a matter of fact.
Another text alert rouses the sick setter from his half-asleep state. It's Ushijima. A handful of messages are sent back and forth before it's more than apparent that the wavy-haired captain is deliriously sick, and it's convenient, Oikawa thinks, that Wakatoshi is apparently out of school for the day. Something about an interview, though at least one of the two parties grumbles silently that those shouldn't interfere with school to such an extent.
They talk for a while as the taller athlete makes his way to the station to take the first train he can over, and Oikawa promises to stay awake long enough to call and guide him to his home. Ushijima seems nervous, but not for any obvious reason until he asserts that he definitely needs directions.
Ah. He gets lost easily, then. Is that it? How strangely endearing. Not even the super ace could escape a commoner's flaws.
Tooru's pretty sure that he dozes off while guiding the other and giving him directions to get in—stairs are not something he's willing to attempt right now—because the next thing he knows, Wakatoshi is in his room with a warm cup of tea, deep tones gently waking him. His head and stomach nearly threaten revolt at being woken so soon on top of everything else, but there's a comfort in having someone there. Something solid to rely on while the rest of the world feels fuzzy at best and akin to molasses oozing down a drain most of the rest of the time.
He sits up, the thin, long-sleeved shirt he's wearing practically soaked and his unbrushed and slightly damp hair messy. The cup of tea is accepted as steadily as he can manage with a word of gratitude. It rests between his hands on the blanket, legs outstretched beneath him as he waits for the drink to cool a little.
"You got me sick." The statement is lacking cutting or even teasing undertones, sounding more like a mild observation than anything else. Oikawa had started feeling a bit off the night before, and by the time he'd woken up, whatever he had caught was running rampant in his system.
"You came over when you knew I was ill."
"You left the door unlocked for me. You didn't send me away after I'd done what I came there to do." He takes a sip of hot tea, the temperature of it reminding him that his tongue isn't as numb as it feels. Oikawa's mind, however, feels incredibly numb, and that's an even more agitating experience than being stuck in bed. "Not to mention, you kissed me."
There's a pause, and with a quick glance Tooru sees that his peer's expression is fairly thoughtful. "I'm not sure who kissed who first. It seemed somewhat simultaneous."
Oikawa wants to roll his eyes, and he's planning on making a teasing remark, but the words that end up in the air between them are more surprising for him than he thinks they are for Ushijima. "Why not kiss me again? Or is it different when you aren't the one who's sick?" The other captain had recovered quickly after their meeting, and when he'd told Oikawa the night before, he couldn't help replying with, So I raised your temperature and helped you break your fever, then~? If Wakatoshi had any unwanted comments to make to that last question, then Tooru would simply cite his text message as being the reason for requesting a kiss in the first place. Ushijima had agreed, after all. No mention of the particularly distracting way his heart is beating in his chest, despite a calm, tea-sipping exterior and a watchful gaze.
Ushijima doesn't seem to give it a second thought when he replies, "After I pat you down with a wet cloth and get you into a new shirt. Then a kiss, then back under the blankets with you. If your fever doesn't break in a little bit and if nobody is home yet, I'll ask for permission to take you to the hospital." How can he say that with such a straight face and be so to-the-point? Oikawa thinks that he sees something else in his rival's expression, but he finds himself too tired to place a name to it. No matter what he may or may not have seen, though, he's fairly certain that Ushijima Wakatoshi is not the type to kiss someone just because they ask. In fact, when all of this first came up, he'd admitted to have never given it a moment's thought before.
When he's finished his drink and Ushijima has done what was suggested, that slightly nervous, slightly anticipatory heart rate is back. He says nothing, however, when instead of leaning in for their lips to meet, the other captain begins to pull up his blankets. It makes sense. I probably wouldn't kiss me, either, until I was a little better.
But then they're there, Wakatoshi's lips against Tooru's, though through the effects of the fever they feel much cooler than before. It doesn't bother him, however, and the action grants him a small bit of energy to return it. It's different from the other day. There's no hint of competition, no budding frustration. No desire to prove any points or to figure out why they're kissing at all. It's warm, simple, and inviting. Giving, even. Supportive, especially when Wakatoshi presses into it just enough to guide Tooru's head back down to his pillow, the hand on the comforter pulling it up to his collarbone. When he pulls back, Oikawa is certain that he sees that look again, stronger this time, and it's easier to recognise it: fondness. Caring. Something that until a few days ago, he wouldn't have expected directed at himself coming from Ushijima.
"Get some sleep. I'll remain here for a while longer."
Oikawa wants to fight staying awake for a while longer, wants another kiss, but he's falling asleep almost as soon as his head hits the pillow, mumbling something about making sure Ushijima leaves before Iwaizumi gets there, because the last thing he wants to deal with while feeling like crap is the tensions that would fill his room before 'what the hell are you doing here' can even leave Iwa-chan's mouth.
He falls asleep thinking about his first uninhibited kiss with Ushijima. That he's the first person Ushijima has kissed. He lingers on the memory of the sensation, Wakatoshi's lips already warmer in memory than they felt against his heated ones in reality.
∽＊~
Ushijima doesn't leave on time. Though normally a light sleeper, Oikawa doesn't wake when Iwaizumi walks in with the things he promised to bring, stopping in the doorway to find the last person he expected to see there slowly waking up at his best friend's desk. "What the hell do you think you're doing here?" is a uttered in a low demand that doesn't reach the sleeping setter's ears, though nothing else is said aloud as the Seijou ace drops off Oikawa's things and demands answers outside. He doesn't really get them beyond an explanation that the other captain received garbled texts and a request for assistance before Ushijima excuses himself, which still leaves a lot of questions unanswered. Iwaizumi decides to leave it alone for now, but he plans to grill Oikawa until he gets at least a little more clarification once his troublesome friend has recovered a little more. Normally he wouldn't care who Oikawa had over or why, but Ushijima? It was baffling, to say the least. As far as he knew, the two had never really spoken outside of the inter-high competitions or the rare practice matches in their first and second years.