Archive of Our Own ^beta

“You know, I had never pegged you to be one for pop, much less Taylor Swift,” Oikawa speaks from behind Ushijima, sounding more breathless than he would have liked. The Sendai dialect sits on his tongue like a stranger after years of living in Argentina, even after the solid practice he had gotten when he had run into Hinata Shoyou just a few months ago. 

Oikawa tries to pretend that is the reason why Ushijima Wakatoshi looks startled, a bit alarmed if you will, as he turns his head and squints at Oikawa.

If they were still in highschool, Oikawa knows he would have turned the other way the moment his brain recognized Ushijima Wakatoshi and called Iwaizumi to whine: forget taylor swift and forget the concert that placed them in the same row.

But they aren’t in highschool anymore. Ushijima should know that. He should know that and not look so unsettled—although if Oikawa is being fair, the slight downward tug of thick eyebrows and tightened lip isn't really the look of a man who's unsure and surprised. Oikawa realizes he has spent far too long dissecting that face and the emotions that smooth tan skin would try their best to minimize. He knows the weary surprise they convey—and he doesn't like it.

Before Oikawa can chide him, Ushijima composes himself, leaving the setter slightly annoyed. Ushiwaka is not putting a damper on my night.

“We haven’t been the kind of acquaintances that shared music tastes with each other,” Ushiwaka replies, looking like it had only just occurred to him that he’s supposed to respond.

Oikawa huffs, he’d almost expected a bland ‘She started out as a country singer’ as a response. He can accept this. “Better late than never,” he tries to smile. He eyes their seating arrangement and does his best to stifle a groan. “Ushiwaka, I will literally haunt your dreams if you put a dent on this experience. So try to be a little less robotic okay?”

“I will try my best.”  

That seems to be the end of their conversation, and Oikawa isn’t keen on testing the waters any further. Ushijima Wakatoshi has been a lot of things to Oikawa throughout the years. Stranger. Opponent. Rival. A thorn he has pried out of his side. A man who didn’t matter anymore. He knows he doesn’t want to add friendly acquaintances to a list he was convinced he had closed. It would stick out like a sore thumb anyway.

Except he cannot stop himself, not when he can hear Ushijima belt out the wrong lyrics — since when does Ushiwaka sing anyway…? — to ‘I Did Something Bad’. 

“If a man talks shit, then I owe him nothing!” Oikawa as much as screams in Ushijima’s ear, tugging at his shoulder that seemed to have filled out more over the years and the spiker stares at him in confusion.

“It’s the lyrics,” Oikawa clarifies. “You were singing it wrong. Here.” He hands him his phone with a tab opened to the lyrics. 

It goes easy from there—Oikawa welcomes the surprise of a Ushijima, who himself seems confused about being happier in his own skin, more comfortable—as they sing the words to songs Oikawa remembered perfectly and Ushijima stumbled over.

There’s never a dull moment, it’s Taylor Swift on stage after all and yet there are moments when he’s distracted. Oikawa can't help but take in when the entire stadium is awash in the white blinking wristband lights that were provided and Ushijima is bobbing his head a little, bumping his shoulders to the rhythm. He's dancing, Oikawa’s brain supplies, he's enjoying this, a little lost within himself. 

And I get to watch him.

Oikawa remembers seeing Ushijima at a convenience store near Sendai train station, right before graduation week. It was the last he had seen the spiker before he left Japan. The store was far from the district Shiratorizawa Academy was in, so Oikawa hadn’t expected to see Ushijima. Yet, there he was, like clockwork—as if he reveled in being at places Oikawa least expected him to be—going through magazines idly and helping an old woman help with which informative book about chickens to buy.

That was Oikawa's first exposure to an Ushijima that didn't look like he had a stick up his ass, like he wasn't a stiff figure just standing in the middle of things happening around him, things he usually caused to happen. All of a sudden, he seemed like a person. The sight was fascinating, and Oikawa was reluctant to look away. He had watched Ushijima that day, lost in his own world, just like tonight. 

Questions bubbled up in Oikawa's throat, begging to be asked and demanding an answer for. What are coincidences if not a natural progression towards a bigger picture? Is tonight’s coincidence one more of the many pieces to come?

“That was so cool!” he says excitedly. It was insane, he thinks before letting out another excited, “that was a fucking experience.” Oikawa hums contentedly and runs a hand through his fringe where it’s stuck to the front of his forehead with sweat, his ears still buzzing. Ushijima simply nods in response, tugging at Oikawa’s jacket sleeve as they exit the venue through the thinning crowd. His heart is beating loudly enough that he thinks he could probably hear it if it weren’t for the ruckus around them. This felt as good as watching volleyball at an ungodly hour knowing Iwa-chan has asked him to get more sleep instead, he decides.

“It was,” Ushijima affirms again once they are out in the open.

“That’s all you have to say?” Oikawa crosses his arm, indignant.

“You only said three more words than I did. Here,” Ushijima counts his fingers to six. “That was a very enjoyable concert.”

“I still don’t like you.” 

Instead of responding, Ushijima stretches out his hand to Oikawa’s face. Oikawa watches, frozen and breathless as Ushijima’s deft fingers pick out pieces of confetti stuck in Oikawa’s hair.

Oikawa steps back once Ushijma removes his hand, his cheeks rose-tinted under the low yellow streetlight. 

-----

“Wanna check out the after-party at the bar?” The street they are walking down is loud and packed with people, small yellow lights glittering all around. Oikawa feels satisfied in a way he hasn't for a while. “I have a few hours to kill before I head back to the airport,” he adds.

Oikawa is surprised he made such an offer to Ushijima. Nervous too. This had been a great night, even if he shared it with Ushiwaka, of all people. In fact, if he's willing to wander into the dangerous territory of being honest with himself, Ushijima’s presence might have even elevated it.

He knows he shouldn't push his luck. 

Yet, Oikawa is giddy enough to not want the night to end.

“You’re still playing for CA San Juan?” Ushiwaka asks instead. Oikawa's shoulders sag before he shakes it off. 

“You still got opinions on who I should be playing for? Schweiden Adlers perhaps?” For once, there’s hardly any bite to it punctuated with a curl of his lip that does not hold any contention.

“It is a great team, we have been this season’s best.” It's endearing, Oikawa notes, the way Ushijima tells him that, the dignified appreciation starkly different from the obnoxious matter-of-factly, ‘my team is simply the best’ tone he remembers from high school. 

“You should know rankings do not sway me.” His smile is cautious.

Ushiwaka returns it. “No, they do not.”

-----

The flower shop they are walking past has reached its closing time. The florist is busy, picking up the flowers that would spoil within the night. Oikawa tugs at his sleeves inside the pockets of his jacket.

“If you had to pick a flower for me, what would you pick?” The question is so sudden and so unlike Ushijima, Oikawa can’t help whipping his head towards the spiker beside him, naturally taken aback. He looks at Ushijima who meets him with a look of complete seriousness, waiting, expecting an answer. Oikawa cringes.

He ponders not responding for a moment, he doesn’t want to ruin the night and Ushijima is ever so patient through it all. But the answer is at the tip of his tongue. So he gives. 

“Poison Ivies.”

“They aren't flowers,” Ushijima deflates. Whether at Oikawa’s choice itself or the inaccuracy of the pick, he couldn’t tell.

“I know.”

“Why would you pick them then?”

“Dunno.” He says. It’s a lie. If all of Oikawa's terrible thoughts and insecurities were a house, Ushijima was the poison ivy decorating the fences.

But again, that was high school and Oikawa has long since left home. 

So he doesn’t elaborate. He walks on, hoping he didn’t taint the only good memory he is sure he is ever going to share with Ushijima Wakatoshi. 

-----

Ushijima Wakatoshi, in Oikawa’s opinion, is actually quite an endearing sight at the moment. They are at the bar—to Oikawa's surprise, they did end up walking the short distance here, even after their peculiar conversation in front of the flower shop—and Ushijima is trying his best to lean against the counter casually, eyeing the bottles of alcohol on display. He definitely only does night outs like this at the behest of other people, Oikawa smiles and decides to pay for it tonight. 

“Oikawa, might I ask something?” 

“Hmm?”

“Why are you hanging out with me tonight?” 

Oikawa sits up straight on the stool, stopping abruptly in the middle of the story he was trying to tell. He mentally hits himself for not counting on the scenario he should have seen coming the moment he asked for it.

“Ushiwaka-chan, no one’s complained about my company before.” Oikawa puts his finger on his chin in mock thought, “Hmm except maybe Iwa-chan, but that’s just because he enjoys being a tsundere. You, however—must you keep hurting my feelings?” Oikawa Knows exactly what Ushiwaka is trying to ask here, but he's not in the habit of making things easy. He isn't sure he's planning to do anything about it in the near future, either. 

“I wasn’t—”

“High School was a while ago,” Oikawa waves his hand in front of Ushijima’s face. “I have forgiven you and I have forgiven myself. Let’s stick to the part where this was a great night alright?”

“I don’t understand. You’ve forgiven me for what exactly?” Ushijima tilts his head slightly, he looks so genuinely confused. It almost infuriates Oikawa, threatening to awaken old feelings he is convinced he’s buried. 

“You can’t be this obtuse.”

“Yet, I would appreciate it if you spelled it out for me.”

Oikawa scowls, crossing his arms and turning away from the spiker... The bastard really can’t leave things well enough alone, can he, Oikawa thinks, irritated.

“Simply put, you were a gigantic, unfeeling asshole to me,” Oikawa sighs, turning back and finding Ushijima watching him impassively, like he’s waiting for him to finish before he inevitably objects to the brunette’s accusations. “And honestly, I never understood why. As far as I have you figured, you’re as straightforward a person can be. What you were trying to achieve by insulting my choices, I have yet to find out.”

Ushijima just watches Oikawa for a moment and Oikawa lets him. After years of their old, exhausting dance, he’s got all night if it means they finally get to settle on better choreography.

 “I just wanted to matter,” comes Ushijima’s quiet, tired reply.

Oh.

Oikawa laughs, the sound of it lost in the noise of the crowd because he doesn’t know how else to react. Because what the fuck? He isn’t just startled that Ushijima didn’t revert back to their old, drained routine of accusations and stubborn defenses. He’s frankly fucking dumbstruck at Ushijima’s honest admission.

Dumb, moronic, Ushijima Wakatoshi. 

Oikawa exhales and decides it’s easier to ignore the gravity of the revelation and what it entails. It’s easier to resent Ushijima — for his unwanted offers, coupled with his aggravating warnings, and laughable confidence — than it is to digest such a human emotion. Especially when, for most of his life, Oikawa has only ever regarded Ushijima as a thorn in his side. 

Oikawa decides it’s easier to shift the focus onto his own feelings rather than trying to understand Ushijima’s.

“What you were doing was giving me unsolicited advice that did nothing but make me feel like shit.” 

“I am sorry. I never meant to do that.” Ushijima is watching him carefully, his olive eyes the most earnest he’s ever seen. It makes Oikawa want to look away, to hide.

He won’t.

“Like I said, I am over it.”

“That doesn’t negate the need for an apology.” Ushijima is still stubborn, still resolute, that at least hasn’t changed. It brings back the smile Oikawa was sure he had lost for the rest of the duration of the night.

“Aw. All these years later and you finally care about my feelings,” he reaches out and pats Ushijima’s cheek lightly. It’s warm to the touch. But not warmer than the hand Ushijima lifts to remove his hand away, the muscles in his face twitching.

“Come on, I am just teasing,” the setter coos, pushing into Ushijima’s personal space.

“And what did you forgive yourself for?” 

Oikawa blinks. 

“Huh?”

“You said you have forgiven me and yourself, ” Ushijima clarifies.

Oikawa settles himself on his stool more comfortably. He stirs his drink with his finger before he takes a deep breath and looks at Ushijima pointedly. 

Let’s get it over with . 

“I guess I could have called you out on your arrogance instead of waiting until that last match, been less passive aggressive every time you approached,” He admits, after a moment’s deliberation. “Although the chances of you not messing with me were still very low. You’re awfully stubborn, you know.” He looks away this time.

“You’re taking on too much responsibility,” Ushijima tells him, conveniently ignoring Oikawa’s last comment. I dislike him so much . “I apologize for that too.”

Under Ushijima’s intense gaze, Oikawa wants to call it a night. It’s very tempting and probably the smarter choice to bid Ushijima Wakatoshi goodbye before the muscles in Oikawa’s jaws go slack and he spills things he doesn’t want to. He could go and find some café he can sit at and call Iwaizumi who had to be out of the city for work. Tell him what an absolutely well adjusted adult Oikawa has been for the night. Spend the rest of his time hearing his best friend groan in response, followed by an insulting quip. He might even openly accept that Iwaizumi was right. That Ushijima has grown and moved forward and evolved from his stiff, and downright detestable highschool persona. 

He braces himself for the plan he’s agreed on in his head, opening his mouth to make good on it when Ushijima reaches forward and places his hand over Oikawa’s. In the quiet intensity of the moment, it rattles him.

After his time in South America, Oikawa is no stranger to touch. He knows so many of them now, he welcomes them. So why is he so unnerved by the fluttering hope in his chest? In the steady grip of Ushijima’s hand that tells him all about staying?

Oikawa pulls his hand from under Ushijima’s, and chooses to occupy his fingers with his tumbler of whiskey, still untouched and begging for his attention. 

He decides to stay, if only to finish his drink and listen to the stories Ushijima has started to tell him of a little giant that’s not Hinata Shoyou, and the air he jumps up against. Of the way Kageyama Tobio shares in his idiotic thoughts, and the advertisements he likes reading in magazines before anything else. Ushijima also tells him about how he spent an hour listening to his friend Tendou talk about C3PO and Chewbecca being in love and Oikawa laughs, loud and careless.

He wants to meet Ushijima anew. 

-----

“So you have never done this?” Oikawa yells over the loud music in the bar. Various colored lights flash over them, but it’s still too dark. He can barely make out Ushijima’s stony face as he stands at a corner of the dance floor, hesitant to join strangers dry humping to some Ariana Grande song around them.

“You have to know I haven’t,” comes the reply, just as Oikawa knew it would. He grins.

“Tendou set me up with the tickets. He would blast Taylor Swift in our dorm room at odd hours and soon enough I started to appreciate the artist she is,” Ushijima starts once they are back to their previous spot at the counter.

“Hmm.” 

Oikawa is staring at the dancing crowd, his vision a little blurry.

“I love her song Delicate the best,” Ushijima tries again.

“Uh huh.”

“Should I stop talking?”

“No,” Oikawa says, holding his cheek in his palm. “Your low, baritone voice is the only steady thing right now.”

“Oh, you’re drunk.”

“They seem to be having fun dancing.”

Oikawa wants to dance. He just isn't sure if he can. If it's the right time.

“I think you should drink some water.”

It’s two a.m. when Oikawa stumbles inside Ushijima’s California apartment. Five when he sets off in an Uber with only three hours of sleep in Ushijima’s bathtub—the spiker did offer him his bed while he took the couch but Oikawa wasn't drunk enough to accept such graciousness—and sporting a terrible headache. Six when he leaves Ushijima Wakatoshi with his phone number at the airport.

A couple weeks later, Oikawa almost forgets about Ushijima and the number he left him with. Ushijima doesn’t let him. 

On a gloomy Saturday morning, Oikawa—grumpy from the lack of hot tea—finds a picture of an animal from an unknown number. He doesn’t have to rack his brain to figure out who it could be from.

Unknown:

Good morning. This is a fine horse don’t you think?

 

Classic Ushijima Wakatoshi. 

i havent the slightest idea about horses.

He really doesn’t.

What about this dolphin succulent then?

plants arent something i have a lot of clues about either.

Thoughts on Tachikara balls?

Well, some things truly never do change, and the chances of an Ushijima who won't try very hard are always low.

u want to talk to me so bad its making u look stupid right now.

I apologize. Have a good day.

Even though the conversation ends there, Oikawa still has Ushijima intruding his thoughts every third hour all day. It’s not exactly an unfamiliar sensation. He just hasn’t experienced it since high school. 

He didn't miss it.

However, constants stick—and when it comes to Ushijima, Oikawa not being able to help himself has unfortunately been a constant. He picks up his phone.  

dolphin succulents are so weird. they look like sharks.

Ushiwaka ʕ·ᴥ·ʔ:

I thought you didn’t care for plants.

i googled it.

Why do you think they look like sharks?

Oikawa fluffs up some pillows and settles against them, making himself comfortable as he brings up his fingers to type in his silly little response. He doesn’t have practice next morning and Ushijima seems like he would be all too happy to kill his seemingly free time with Oikawa.

In hindsight, Oikawa probably should have gone to bed early.

Oikawa isn't sure how it happens. He just knows that for some reason it does. He's started to regularly talk to Ushijima Wakatoshi. Be it text messages (they surprisingly aren’t as bad as Oikawa had expected), or FaceTime (yeah they've started to do that too—the first time, both of them had trouble hanging up, until Ushijima just cut off the call leaving Oikawa staring at the camera like he's on the Office.)

Oikawa, albeit reluctantly, comes to the staggering conclusion that when it comes to Ushijima, the first time is the only time anything’s ever difficult. Talking, texting, bordering dangerously on the edges of a friendship.

Iwaizumi, though, has formed this nasty new habit of insisting that Oikawa and Ushijima are fully friends. Oikawa is worried about the state of his eyes from how much he’s rolling them.

“Ushiwaka-chan is not a friend!” He tries to convince Iwaizumi again, 7 months after the concert. “He is just someone I know and rightfully antagonized throughout my teenage years, and now talk to on a regular basis after he managed to weasel his way into my daily schedule.”

“I don't want you to be alarmed, but that’s a friend, Oikawa.”

Oikawa wants to take Iwaizumi's insistences into consideration—he does! Except he is satisfied with the way things are. Really. He's working harder than ever at CA San Juan, and he’s focused on making his naturalization into being an Argentinian citizen as smooth as possible. Oikawa doesn't need or have the time for complicated questions such as: is the obnoxious Ushiwaka-chan finally my friend? Was that Taylor Swift concert our own brand of a Get Along shirt? He has the Olympics to qualify for next year. Honestly, he feels Iwaizumi should give him a break.

And if Iwaizumi won't give him a break, he has to take it himself. Which he does; he takes a break every single time Iwaizumi teases him about Ushijima and spends it watching whatever Adlers' games he had yet to catch up on. He's not embarrassed by it at all. It's still productive. There's so much to learn from watching an opponent’s volleyball games. He gets to keep his eye on Tobio-chan too. Honestly, the benefits are endless. 

-----

“Your wrist movement is too restricted. Did you know that? You need to work on it for the times you can't power through a 3 man block,” Oikawa tells Ushijima sagely, on a Monday night as he prepares to go to bed.

“Did you watch one of my recent games?”

“I was bored.” Okay, maybe Oikawa's a little embarrassed. 

They are on another phone call—which they do every few days now; it's nothing —but Oikawa can almost see the knowing smile that Ushijima's lips have pulled into, no longer a stranger to the language Oikawa likes to speak.

Oikawa is aware he barely has any reason to be on defense anymore. They’ve learnt to separate their daily lives from the animosity bred through years spent on the opposite ends of a volleyball court. But openly admitting to watching Ushijima, and by extension Kageyama's matches, regularly still leaves Oikawa wading through uncharted waters. For now, the subtext has to do. 

“Do you have any advice for me, Oikawa?” Ushijima asks, voice steady as always. 

Oikawa considers this—giving advice to Ushijima. That too, free of cost. He chooses to start with something else instead—an observation he's been keeping track of from that first night in California. He thinks it’s the perfect time to divulge. It's only fair that he does before he helps Ushijima with his technique.

He tells Ushijima that he smiles more now. That he smiles easily. It gives way for Oikawa to smile too. 

It's so easy, getting on with a life that Ushijima Wakatoshi has somehow become a regular part of. Oikawa has such a hard time believing it sometimes — living a reality where he’s fond of Ushijima’s existence. But as much as he struggles to make proper sense of how they got here, he has no questions about the event that started it.

He wouldn’t deny it — he knows why he was the one approaching Ushijima and offering to stick together that night. He has been living in Argentina for a while and sometimes his desires are simple and desperate. Like getting to talk in a language he was born into and have someone else speak it back to him; and not over a phone call, where the sound never feels the same. That desire had only gotten stronger after he had a taste of it when he ran into Hinata Shoyou in Rio.  

San Juan is wonderful, Oikawa knows and wholeheartedly believes in it. Its summers are hotter,winters are drier, the people speak fast here and they speak intimately. It’s a new world that he chose on his own, a new world he loves —his second home— filled with novelties that are entirely different from the ones he left behind in Sendai. It’s just sometimes he misses the details that make his present so different.

He missed those things so much that his brain and his actions didn’t have to wrestle much when he saw Ushijima that night. Sure, he couldn’t have exactly ignored Ushijma entirely because what the hell the dude was placed right next to him. But Oikawa knows, no matter how much he would have liked it otherwise, he doesn’t regret how it all played out from then on until Oikawa’s flight back to San Juan. 

He isn’t sure how it led to whatever it is they have now, though. He does, however, know that he is hesitant to mistrust it.

Because sometimes, after spending demanding hours on the court, coming home to notifications from Ushijima feels as good as being handed a bottle of cold milk on a hot summer day.

And Oikawa loves cold milk.

He is never gonna let Ushijima in on these thoughts — Ushijima who persisted and made a spectacular waste of all of Oikawa’s efforts to keep him at arm’s length. Ushijima, who has been talking animatedly this entire time on the other side of the screen, telling Oikawa about an incident he and Hoshiumi had gotten into during a bar party. Oikawa wasn’t fully paying attention, far more engrossed in his own thoughts, until Ushijima tells him he's never been attracted to a girl.

Huh?

“I have seen you go out with a girl or two during highschool,” Oikawa caps his sentence with a bland stare.

“I am gay Oikawa,” Ushijima replies flatly. “Always have been.”

Oikawa hums definitively, not willing to allow an elaboration here; he’s smarter than that. He moves to swiftly change the subject to the Alpacas Ushijima had recently watched a documentary about. He has learned through experience that Ushijima actually enjoys talking; and Oikawa enjoys listening to him blabber on. Even if it’s about things Oikawa couldn’t care less about. It’s bizarre, everyone would think it’s the other way around, but Oikawa has long reconciled with the fact that neither of them is what other people expect them to be.

It makes everything a lot easier.

It’s a warm day, and too humid for Oikawa to have a shirt on when Ushijima FaceTimes him for the weekend. So he doesn’t bother putting one on before answering the call. Besides, Oikawa is an athlete, he doesn’t have much to hide when it comes to his upper body. It's not necessarily impolite either, Ushijima is an athlete too. Half-naked men should be a normal scene for him. 

“What's that?” Ushijima asks when Oikawa gets up to get himself some cold milk from the freezer, his body fully on display. 

“Huh?”

“That. The scratches on you. On your chest and back.” 

Ushijima points at him through the screen and he looks down at himself, eyeing the scratches he already knew were there; he had found them himself before he went to sleep last night. Blanco was being a little bitch when he was trying to wash him up the previous day and scratched him. Oikawa hadn’t stopped to think about the marks, he didn't really have the time for it. But now that someone else is curious—he can't believe his teammates weren't, when they usually love to tease him—he knows how it must look. Ushijima is not completely stupid, no matter how hard he tries to not be absolutely perfect.

“Gee what could those be?” Oikawa leans back against the kitchen counter, his lips curled up in a smirk. 

Ushijima looks small and flummoxed from the laptop screen that's placed on the kitchen island opposite to Oikawa. He shifts his glance around his room before focusing back on Oikawa again.

“I apologize. I didn't realize those were from your partner. I should not have pried. I do hope you're being safe though.” Ushijima tells him this with such earnestness, Oikawa feels color creeping up to his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

“Every day you wake up and embarrass me,” he lets out an ungraceful groan. “Those are from Blanco.” Oikawa says. “My cat,” he adds as an afterthought once he realizes how the name could incriminate him further. He could have sworn he'd introduced Ushijima to his cat, or at the very least mentioned him by now.

“Cat.”

“Feline animals. I know you're more into equine ones, but I can’t keep them in an apartment.” Oikawa pulls a chair out and sits, sipping on the cold milk he had pulled out from the freezer. 

“I am glad my curiosity yet again presented you with another opportunity to make fun of me.”

Oikawa doesn't bother to hold back on the grin, taking great pleasure in the slightly red tint of Ushijima's cheeks. “Your contributions to making my day better are duly noted.” 

They soon move on to a different topic, but Oikawa takes this as a fitting opening to start picking up Blanco and make him an unwilling part of their video calls whenever he can. Blanco is a big, ugly ginger cat Oikawa would rob pet stores for, and he must make Ushijima bask in his glory. It just won't do any other way. He also starts sending Ushijima videos of Blanco during odd hours; they are a free dose of serotonin, and Oikawa is a saint. Ushijima, to the setter’s delight, always responds aptly. 

“No, don’t even look at me,” Nathan says as he shoves Carlos back, twisting his arm to move the ice cream cone he is holding away from the tall libero. Oikawa laughs. They are at the ice cream parlor near the gym the team practices at. They don’t frequent it much, but his favorite hitter had recently had a terrible break up and has been sulking for the past couple of weeks. The team thought post-practice ice cream might cheer him up.

“After Natalie burned me, I deserve every kind thing you know!” Carlos tries to argue as he reaches for Nathan again, intent on stealing the cone. 

“We are already getting a one day early break because you can’t get your shit straight. Stop being so greedy.” Jaime interjects sourly. Everyone else dutifully nods. 

Oikawa's phone pings and he unlocks the screen to see a reply from Ushijima. 

YOU: 

i got my argentine passport a few days ago. dont bother with sending me any flowers or anything, i dont have time to sign off on deliveries.   

Ushibaka:

Congratulations! Iwaizumi had told me of your plans to naturalize yourself. I am glad you’re one step closer to what you want out of your volleyball career and life. 

Oikawa's cheeks reddens as he reads the reply. Always so fucking earnest and oblivious to the damage he causes. He hands the chocolate part of his cone to Carlos, dusting his hands off as he does it. Carlos takes it gratefully, muttering a small, “Finally, someone sympathetic.” while everyone stares, stupefied. Oikawa finds it all too dramatic.

“What? He's going through a rough time.” Oikawa defends.

“You’re just trying to get out of here early, aren't you?” 

“I am doing no such thing!” 

“You like being home for some reason now,” accuses Santino. “And you're always on that damn phone. And you just got a text too. Are you in a long distance relationship?”  

Oikawa didn't think it was possible but he reddens even more, squeaking. He snatches the bottom of the cone back from Carlos. “I am going home.”

“What are you looking for?”

Oikawa stops midway in his search to turn around and take a look at his laptop screen occupying the kitchen island. Ushijima is staring at him, eyebrows lightly knitted in confusion. The afternoon sunlight streaming in through the window behind him makes his hair look greener and softer. 

“Poerim Ubenushi,” Oikawa replies. “It's garbage and I absolutely love it.” He's very glad he can forgo dietary restrictions during breaks, because if he agrees with his ancient grandma on anything, it’s that Peorim Ubenushi is less a food and more an elixir of life. “I don't know where I put them though, I remember buying some last week in preparation for break week.” 

“You were on call with me when you were unloading groceries last week.” If Oikawa is being fair, he always seems to be on call with Ushijima whenever he's at home these days. “I remember you putting it in the corner most to the left top shelf.” 

“Oh my,” Oikawa says, clutching at his chest and widening his eyes. He also makes a point to raise the pitch of his voice for extra effect before continuing. “Ushiwaka-chan are you in love with me?”

“I am not.” 

“You remembered what I bought and where I put it,” Oikawa tries to argue. 

“I retain everything on sight.” That, he does, Oikawa remembers with a sinking heart. He had once asked how Ushijima knew so much about pop culture. It turns out that the big idiot reads all kinds of pamphlets and posters and everything else that he sees on the streets and online. He doesn't understand most of it, but he knows about all of it. 

That doesn't deter Oikawa from making his next comment though, teeth bared in a feral grin. “I will let you keep up with the pretense of not being in love with me out of the goodness of my heart.” 

“It’s alright Julio, everyone has a bad day,” Carlos says, squeezing the man’s shoulders while Julio sniffles, his head hung low. They had lost an important match and Julio—their opposite hitter—hadn’t performed well. He had gotten blocked more than he had in the entire season. The outcome hurts more than Oikawa would like to admit. 

Soon the others joined, trying to assure Julio, through their own disappointment and regret. So he nods along to the soft whispers Santino is directing at Julio and moves to clap him on his back.

Claps on the back were how people at Seijoh used to comfort each other. Here, they squeeze your back, give you assurance. It's empty platitude. Oikawa misses the burning feeling of palms connecting to his sweat covered back, saying we are here, you’re not alone. But that’s not what it always meant either, it also meant don’t slump your shoulders like that, stand up straight; we believed in you today, tomorrow we believe in you to do better. 

Oikawa knows this gesture—it is as much for himself as it is for Julio. Because he knows he needs this, too. Needs to remember the language that he thought he could always fall back on, even if it is with different people. Because today’s loss was as much his fault as Julio’s, if not more. He is the setter. He is supposed to open up paths for his hitters to maneuver through blocks that come their way. It’s not just Julio having a bad day, it’s them both. 

Julio offers a weak smile to everyone gathered around him and pats Oikawa in the back, lightly. “I will learn to clap hard and slam harder,” he says, eyes blazing, looking at Oikawa like he's seeing something more for the first time.

Oikawa thinks he has found language all over again. He nods and they all line up to leave the court. 

Ushibaka (≧▽≦):

Are you upset?

what made u ask that?

Ushibaka (≧▽≦):

I follow you on spotify.

 

no u dont

Ushibaka (≧▽≦):

I have been following you ever since you made me a playlist with your favorite songs from Barbie movie soundtracks to help me sleep better.

Oikawa would like to take this newly presented information as an appropriate reason to throw himself off a cliff. All he wanted was to help Ushijima. He never asked to be perceived like this. Sure, his reason for helping Ushijima wasn’t selfless. He wanted to get rid of having to receive animal pictures that Ushijima sent him because the spiker had trouble sleeping, but that doesn't mean he wanted to suffer from the mortifying ordeal of being known. Ushijima now knows he listens to the Twilight soundtrack on repeat. All the time. 

How’s that worse than having favorite Barbie songs? And making a playlist out of it?

He's going to kill himself. Taylor Swift will just have to make do without his 5 star review on Lover. 

“Hey, stand still there.”

“Here?” Ushijima stills in front of his window. It’s bright out and the thin white curtains are blowing in his face a little from the wind. He looks appropriately confused, but, as always, chooses to entertain Oikawa nonetheless.

“Yeah.”

Oikawa squints, a little wrinkle appearing between his eyebrows in concentration. It’s so hard trying to figure shit out from a screen. “Hold the phone closer to your face.”

“Oikawa, what exactly are you trying to do?” Ushijima asks as he does what he’s told.

Oikawa squints harder, his eyes searching intently until they find what he was looking for. He punctuates his delight with one of his infuriatingly easy smiles and declares, “You have freckles! Around your nose. I can see them under the sunlight.”

The lines around Ushijima’s eyes soften visibly, and he smiles, close lipped, nodding gingerly. “Yes, they are really light. Iwaizumi was staring like you too.”

That seems to stop Oikawa. 

“Iwaizumi? My Iwa-chan?” 

Ushijima affirms enthusiastically. “He noticed them when we first hung out in California. It’s very sunny over there.”

Inexplicably, Oikawa feels annoyed; as if Iwaizumi has betrayed him somehow. How close Iwa-chan had to be to notice them? 

Wrong question to ask, his brain supplies. Wrong thing to care about. Why does it even matter?

Oikawa doesn't know why he has to make an effort to force down the apprehension threatening to bubble up in his stomach. He doesn’t know why he's failing to reconcile with a fact he had already known either—he had known Ushijima and Iwaizumi had hung out a fair few times in California, even if that didn’t mean they were in a proximity close enough to make discoveries like that. 

However, what Oikawa does know is that there somehow still seems to be much to unpack about the new bit of information he’s been presented with no time to process, conclude, and compartmentalize. Not with Ushijima on the other end, patiently waiting for a response, too polite to pull him out of his head and call him back to the conversation.

Oikawa shakes his head and exhales.

“You could use the colors of the rainbow,” Oikawa starts, his voice sounding stiff and robotic to his own ears. “And draw constellations on your nose crossing over to your cheek if you ever choose to attend Pride,” he finishes, putting emphasis on sounding more human. “You’d look really pretty.” 

The immediate reaction that comes his way is absolutely comical; Ushijima looks positively stricken and almost on the verge of a panic. Oikawa laughs at what he believes is an overreaction, tilting his head to the side. Ushijima’s turn to feel out of depth, he thinks. 

Ushijima clearly doesn’t appreciate the thought, Oikawa realizes as he sees Ushijima relax the muscles on his face, removing any and all trace of emotions 

“There's an appointment I need to attend,” Ushijima says, his voice betraying the lack of emotions on his face. “I must go. Thank you for your suggestion.” 

Oikawa stops, the laugh caught in his throat. He stares, puzzled and dumbfounded as Ushijima cuts the call off right after, taking Oikawa’s confounding silence as a response.

Did he just upset Ushijima…?

Oikawa has done it—albeit unintentionally but he’s finally managed to upset Ushijima Wakatoshi enough to drive him away, because all conversation halts for the next few weeks. His high school self would have immensely enjoyed this, counting it as a hard earned win. After all, he had spent a considerable amount of time agonizing over how untouchable Ushijima seemed, how every single jab and insult ricocheted off and came back to only hurt Oikawa in return. But now, Oikawa’s just confused.

He doesn’t understand what was so upsetting about the suggestion he made, either. Is he upset because he didn't like it and he thinks he's entitled to be upset because oh my god we’re friends now?

The timing is awful too. V League was approaching the end of the season, giving Ushijima plenty of legitimate reasons to get out of whatever conversation Oikawa had tried to strike up a fair few times now. The differences in time zones weren't on Oikawa's side either. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't have let himself worry, leaving Ushijima be. But this wasn't a normal circumstance. Ushijima clearly hadn't liked what Oikawa said that day, and he can’t stop thinking about how uncharacteristic all of it really feels—Ushijima is not one to avoid bringing up and clearing out things he has problems with.

The whole thing bothers Oikawa enough that he considers sending Ushijima a simple apology at least 12 times—even though he has no idea what exactly he’s apologizing for. ( Iwaizumi had told Oikawa to ‘fucking calm down’ after his eighth time whining about the situation, assuring him that there hasn't been any change in Ushijima's behavior recently ). 

The next time Oikawa catches an Ushijima who doesn't instantly look desperate to come up with a reasonable excuse when he calls is after the V League season finals. The Adlers won the championship and Ushijima looked happy enough to forget he's been purposefully avoiding Oikawa. 

Fresh from the shower Ushijima is a sight that Oikawa has seen a handful of times now. Yet, this time, something shifts. It's probably because I haven't seen him in a while, the rational part of his brain tells Oikawa. He had become part of my routine, and then he was gone. I’m just overwhelmed. 

Oikawa recognizes the change for what it is soon enough, when a sudden and very inconvenient realization dawns on him. Ushjima is objectively attractive.

“Your hair,” he says, distracted, “is straight.” 

“Yes.” 

“It curls when wet.”

“Yes.”

Oikawa starts to sympathize a little with the version of Ushijima that was ignoring him, because he gets it. He would have ignored himself too if he was on the receiving end of this , this for which Oikawa is yet to have a name for. 

What the fuck are you doing? Get your shit together. 

Oikawa doesn’t want to admit that he needs to give himself room to breathe, but he also wants to continue the conversation. He’s missed the steady octaves of Ushijima’s voice, telling him about the ridiculous things he finds in himself to care about. Like baby cows, and the chemical properties of swimming pool water, and the quality of graphics in magazine ads.

“Ushiwaka-chan, since you won, I think this is the appropriate time to loosen up and tell me why you think Chicken Run is the best romantic comedy film. There was no romance!”

“There was. It was subtle, a setter with your eye for details should have picked up on them.”

“Hey focus! This is about Chicken Run.” 

Days pass and they go back to normal. Ushijima doesn't, for once, bother to offer any explanation for his behavior and Oikawa, the good hearted saint he is, doesn't ask for any. 

Things are good.

Oikawa squints at the screen when his phone chirps to let him know about the delivery of a text from Ushijima. He’s hanging out with his teammates in a streetside café they like to frequent whenever practice ends early, and the glare of the afternoon sun makes it hard to read properly. Oikawa almost makes a point to leave it be, his teammates and his friends deserve his undivided attention but a name in the text catches his eye.

Ushibaka (≧▽≦):

Are you seeing your teammate Santino?

He reads the text twice, turning up the brightness of his screen to the maximum. Why the fuck would Ushijima ask him that out of nowhere? He’s confused and caught a little off guard. He’s also annoyed, because he was literally just minding his business, munching on chips he had stolen from the bowl Santino had ordered for himself; the text makes him push the bowl back. Santino who is busy laughing at a joke made at Pablo’s expense doesn’t notice it all. 

Not fucking Santino, he thinks before he scrambles to amend his tone of thought. There’s actually nothing wrong with Santino, Santino is perfect. His first friend in San Juan. Oikawa had roomed with him and another old teammate—Max—when he had first made his way to this city, fresh and a little green from Japan. 

Santino, born and raised in San Juan, was the first person to welcome Oikawa in and kiss his cheeks, showing him the ropes all the while bullying him through the entirety of it. Santino is his friend and Oikawa decides to chalk Ushijima’s question up to his persistent need to cause problems on purpose. 

Oikawa can’t help the snort that comes at the idea of them dating as he looks over at Santino and sees him elbowing Julio into spilling some gossip he’s apparently hoarding. This is hilarious, he supposes . Santino is hot shit in the dating circle and yet Oikawa’s never even stopped to consider him. And now that he thinks about it, Oikawa finds Santino’s hair isn’t dark enough for his taste and his eyes could do with a little bit of green and gold too. 

y? are u jealous? 😏

Oikawa doesn't let his mind wander into uncharted territory even as he makes the joke. He won’t entertain himself with the idea of Ushijima being actually bothered, it’d be pointless. 

Ushibaka (≧▽≦):

Tendou sent me several tweets made about you two and a couple articles.

Okay, maybe he kind of wants to entertain himself with certain ideas. Oikawa is only big in the Southern Leagues, he hasn't made it in the Japanese stream yet. Which means Tendou shouldn't be coming across things about him and his teammate unless he's actively looking for it. So why is he searching the internet about Oikawa?

wht r u, 13? 🙄

Ushibaka (≧▽≦):

No that's you. Your number once you make the national team. 

He is so annoying , Oikawa huffs, completely flustered by Ushijima's response. He had told Ushijima about Blanco and number 13 in confidence!

i meant age. wht r u, 13? giggling and gossiping about me with ur homies?

Ushibaka (≧▽≦):

Would that be distasteful?

 

i would enjoy it regardless 🤔

 

 

It’s a sunny day in Tokyo, which means it’s nighttime in San Juan. The city is restless and loud. Abuelita Celeste is singing some old Spanish song from the apartment window adjacent to Oikawa’s. Tío Manuel from the other side is clapping his hands at it, whistling here and there, because he's an old creep with no better hobby.

The night’s windy enough that Oikawa takes his keys and goes up to the rooftop; anything for momentary comfort in this terribly dry season. He sits down near the railing, a cold milk bottle in hand and looks up at the sky. It’s pitch black and the moon is a petulant child, hiding behind the clouds. 

It’s midnight in San Juan, which means it’s lunch time in Tokyo. Ushijima is at a restaurant that serves the best Foie Gras in town. He’s sitting in a corner booth and making good on his promise of letting Oikawa know his thoughts after he tries it out. 

The keyword had been after. Ushijima, on the other hand, seems to have taken that promise as a solid reason to FaceTime while he tries it out. Oikawa thinks the whole thing should be harmless enough, watching Ushijima eat. 

It goes well at first—when Oikawa receives the call, they talk about volleyball and the recent games they have watched and played, while Ushijima waits for his food to arrive. This is ordinary enough, talking to Ushijima.

The irregularity happens when the waiter arrives with the food. Ushijima thanks them and picks up his fork and knife. Oikawa watches Ushijima slice the dish into portions and put it on top of thinly cut toast, trying to forget how creepy it feels. Like Edward Cullen watching Bella sleep. 

Ushijima takes a bite and basically moans as he chews. Oikawa has the distinct feeling he's in a horror movie, because the muffled sound is as awful as it is maddening. Oikawa stares, eyes wide.

“Is something wrong?” Ushijima asks, his voice even lower than it usually is. It’s like he’s purposefully doing this... whatever it is he’s doing to Oikawa. 

Honestly fuck you! Oikawa thinks. “Nothing’s wrong! I am just really glad you’re enjoying my favorite food,” Oikawa says, his voice saccharine sweet.

Ushijima looks like he wants to ask a follow up question but Oikawa moves to quickly cut him off. He needs to go back home and get some sleep, he informs Ushijima, trying his hardest to maintain his composure. He’s not making excuses, he does have practice in the morning. 

Ushijima bites his lower lip, his face giving away slight hints of confusion. The horror movie Oikawa is stuck in only gets worse, because he probably would have liked to put his own teeth there.

“Do you really have to leave this early?” Ushijima asks, his lips pulled in a tiny pout Oikawa can see clearly if he squints into his screen hard enough. Well, he’s not squinting, he’s at a massive danger of feeling incredibly fond. 

“You're such a big baby.”

“I am a grown man.” There’s a pause. “Are you perhaps trying to call me a pet name?”

“What— no!” Oikawa sputters, horrified. Why the fuck would I want to do that?

Even so, Oikawa can't help himself. He chews on the inside of his cheek and mumbles, “ baby,” to himself, quietly. He feels the way it rolls over his tongue. Like the caramel in his favorite chocolate bar. 

It doesn't...feel so bad…? 

No. 

Oh, shut the fuck up. 

“I really do have to go,” Oikawa says, fighting to keep his voice steady. “I will hear your stellar review on Foie Gras the next time I am free, okay?” He ends the call once Ushijima nods and Oikawa has wished him a nice lunch.

He’s furious as he bounds down the stairs to his flat. He takes off his shoes and doesn’t bother to put them in properly, too busy muttering, “ fucking Ushiwaka,” under his breath. 

When the fuck did Ushijima Wakatoshi (his friend), become Ushijima Wakatoshi (his misplaced homoerotic awakening?)

He's ready to call it quits. Having Ushijima be a consistent part of his life is awful, and he jinxed himself the moment he accepted it as a good thing. It’s a terrible thing. He 10/10 doesn’t recommend it. Everyone should cut Ushijima Wakatoshi off and exile him from society. 

Oikawa should cut Ushijima Wakatoshi off and exile him from his mind.  

He sighs as he turns on the lights in his apartment. He’s tired, he reasons. He’s let down his guard too much. Yet, he feels reluctant to protect himself from the way he’s feeling—from the way Ushijima makes him feel. 

And that, he decides, is terrifying.

The next course of action is reflex. He doesn’t even bother checking the time before he’s pressing buttons on his phone that lead to the sound of a ringtone he has known since the eighth grade. 

“Iwa-chan, what do you do when your brain is producing emotions that you don't want it to produce?” Oikawa asks, breathless.

“Well hello to you too.”

“Iwa-chan, this is an emergency!”

“It's 2 in the morning for me,” Iwaizumi sighs. “Fine, what's the emergency?”

Oikawa tells Iwaizumi about his predicament. By the time he’s finished, he’s convinced Iwaizumi would be hitting him black and blue if he were physically present anywhere near Oikawa. Oikawa shoots a quick thanks to God for the distance, as well as the invention of phones. 

“Have you, I dunno, considered the possibility that you might be attracted to Ushijima?” Iwaizumi says, after a brief moment of silence. “Or better yet, that it goes beyond attraction and you actually like him?”

“How’s that better?! That’s horrifying!” 

“Okay, wait.” 

There’s some rustling of sheets from the other end and soon Iwaizumi is speaking again.

“ Ushijima is mad at me I think. Didn’t know all I had to do was suggest some makeup choices and have his presence exorcised from my life. Highschool me could have had an easier life with that information, really.” 

Oikawa stares at his phone screen, confused for a second, before he realizes what’s going on. Iwaizumi is reading the text messages Oikawa has sent him about Ushijima.

“ Did I really say the one wrong thing I needed to say?”

“Please stop,” Oikawa groans, his face in his hands and his soul preparing to leave his body.

“I saw the press conference. Ushijima sure does clean up nicely. Both literally and with probably deleting my number.” 

“Iwa-chan, have mercy.”

“ He’s ignoring me, I know he is! And I don’t even understand why. For someone as straightforward as Ushijima presents himself to be, he’s so confusing. I didn’t understand him in highschool, and I certainly don't understand him now even though we have become… friends, ugh . I would apologize because — Iwa-chan, my life has turned into a horror show and I miss Ushijima. He has been a constant and I don’t know how to deal with such a sudden change in the rhythm we had built. It’s awful.”

“This is what you were like because Ushijima wasn’t talking to you.”

“Why are you doing this?” 

“I need you to have certain realizations, for the sake of our society.”

“ The Society is garbage, and Netflix should maintain their pattern of cancelling shows after the first season.”

“Tooru, I am serious.” 

“So am I!”

“Are you? Because you having feelings for him would make the most sense. You keep having these reactions towards him, and he has become as much a part of your routine as volleyball is. Most importantly, you were the first one to admit you’re happy when you talk to him.” 

“I have never admitted to any such thing.”

“Stop being so goddamn impossible. You like him, and guess what, it's not a bad thing.” 

“How can you be so sure, Hajime?” Oikawa's voice is small, small like it was when they were 7 and Oikawa had scraped his knee but didn’t know how to talk about the pain without crying. He had liked that Iwaizumi knew how to help him anyway, both with bandaging his knee and with talking Oikawa through the pain. He’s not sure he likes it now.  

“Because I know you, and I know when you want something, you figure your way out. Whatever choices you make, I will support you through all of it” Iwaizumi pauses and then adds, “as long as I don’t think they’re stupid choices.” 

“Can you start talking about beating me up? Iwa-chan being suddenly nice is making me uncomfortable.”

“I will use your head as a volleyball the next time I see you.” 

“Aww, I love you too, Iwa-chan!” 

It’s a lot to take in, the fact that he likes Ushijima. And he stews in it long enough that he’s late to practice the next day and has to pretend to be busy when Ushijima tries to call him. He texts Iwaizumi two nights later, seething. 

Line

Toto13

making me like him is the meanest thing Ushijima has ever done to me

“Oikawa?”

“Yeah?”

“If you had to pick a flower, what would you pick for me?”

He doesn't miss a beat. He remembers this question from that very first night, vividly. Remembers the poison he had offered Ushijima, when he asked for honey. 

“Daisies,” Oikawa says, and he knows he’s far too gone. 

“I am not surprised at all that you fell for Ushijima,” Iwaizumi starts as Oikawa is munching on cereal for a late breakfast, eyes still drooping with the remnants of sleep.

That wakes him up.

“Spare me the speech on how you knew about my incredibly low standards from the get-go,” he scowls. He wishes Iwaizumi didn’t know about his feelings for Ushijima. He gets made fun of for it in the Seijoh group chat enough as is. Hanamaki and Matsukawa are ruthless bullies. But as it is, he couldn’t possibly hide things from someone who helped him discover them in the first place. 

“You two are pot and kettle,” Iwaizumi continues, pointedly ignoring Oikawa's remark. “You would tear yourself apart to build the world while Ushijima would tear the world apart so he can keep himself together. Both of you find purpose in destruction and I am scared.”

“You think he'd hurt me?”

“I think, if he reciprocated—and I am fairly certain he does—he'd do anything for you. Because you'd be a part of him. I think he's wanted that for a while now too. You two would be terrifying together.” 

It's not long before the announcement comes. The Tokyo Olympics have been postponed. Oikawa had himself convinced answers would relieve him of his anxiety, they don’t. They only add to his dread. 

His first Olympics. His first time going back home. 

And it got pushed back. 

Well, at least he has Taylor Swift, who decided to drop a depressing as shit album in the middle of it all, because why not?

Oikawa calls Ushijima the moment Folklore drops, giving absolutely zero regards to the difference in their timezone. Heis greeted by a sleepy Ushijima, whose voice is even thicker than usual. 

“Folklore listening party, you and me,” He says, breathless. 

There's no response for a moment. And then, “Oikawa, it's 2:30 am.” 

Oikawa tuts. “Take it up with Taylor Swift. Anyway, when are you free? Now? Why don't you freshen up and we can listen to it together?” 

“It's 2:30 am,” Ushijima repeats.

Oikawa rolls his eyes. “Yeah, for you. It's Folklore hours for me personally. Anyway, are you joining me or not?” 

He hears Ushijima sigh. “Fine, give me 15 minutes.” 

Oikawa claps, childlike and says, “Great, I will set everything up in the meantime.” 

Ushijima comes back in 15 minutes just as he had promised. His hair is in wet, curly strands and face a little red. Oikawa almost feels a little sorry for waking Ushijima up before remembering he’s probably doing Ushijima a massive favor. Listening parties are an experience. 

“I am starting,” Oikawa informs the spiker as they both get comfortable. Once Ushijima nods, Oikawa presses play.

-----

“Let's not talk about the album until like next week. My brain has melted. Also what the fuck was this is me irying and mirrorball? I am unstanning.” 

“I have no idea what you’re trying to say. But sure, yes, those two songs might have been a big personal attack for you.”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY PERSONAL ATTACK FOR ME? I RELATED TO NOTHING!” 

“Okay?” 

“You’re infuriating,” Oikawa says into the silence he had let settle.

Ushijima says nothing. Oikawa knows he’s thinking, and the silence is nice. Must be even nicer for Ushijima, who has the window to his bed giving him a better view of the sky.

“Can I say something?” Oikawa asks.

“Go ahead.”

“I don't think I ever saw you be happy back in highschool. Not that I was paying attention to you outside of court,” Oikawa stops to remind Ushijima. “But still, you always looked like this blank slate of a man. Someone who just had to win. Be the thorns laid out on the path I wanted to walk—” Oikawa breaks off. “Sorry,” He says, embarrassed. “That was too harsh.”

“It’s alright. I know what you said had no bite in it,” Ushijima replies. “I assume you had a question or a point to make when you started to talk about how you never saw me be happy back in highschool,” Ushijima supplies helpfully, when he's met by silence from Oikawa's end. 

“Were you?”

“I believed I was walking the right direction and that made me happy whenever I thought about it.”

“So you weren't happy.” Oikawa sits up straight, picking up the pillow he was leaning against from behind him. He tugs at the threads as he continues. “But you're happy now. Visibly, I might add. I could see it that night when I met you again for the first time. What changed?”

There's a brief silence, and it's so unlike Ushijima. He always has a response ready. 

“I am not sure. Maybe I realized the world is bigger than I thought it was.”

Time flies by swiftly and Oikawa barely has the chance to marvel at its speed. Practice has been grueling with the Olympics getting closer, and making sure he takes proper rest while keeping up with the training regimen is as hard it gets.  

Born in Japan, the red son, he’s been tested in Argentina and now he’s coming back; no longer golden but silver, a rarer metal above ground. An Argentum champion.

It feels positively bland to say he couldn’t be more excited. But there’s no other way to put it. 

He’s so goddamn excited and ready to take on the stage he’s been dreaming of since he learnt to dream.  

The Olympics start with a spectacular opening ceremony. Argentina goes through all of it's matches like a tornado moving from one city to another. Oikawa makes himself known to the world.

Then it happens; the match-up he hadn’t been counting on, but was looking forward to anyway. Argentina vs Japan for the gold medal match. Imagine being Oikawa Tooru, moving to a new

country, making his way; and then in his first Olympics, he's made to face idiots from his rap sheet of highschool villains, all to have a shot at the championship. What’s more, the person training them is his best friend. Oh golly, it's spectacular, being Oikawa Tooru. 

Oikawa hadn't planned on it but his phone was in his hand, his messenger app still open. Even after he was done replying to the texts in the Seijoh group chat. He shoots a text to Ushijima before he has the time to second guess it. 

i am going to grind all of u to ashes today. keep ur eyes on me ok?

The response is immediate. 

Ushibaka (≧▽≦):

I wouldn't dream of doing anything else.

 

The ball lands with a resounding thud, the audience at the edge of their seat. The silence that follows is unbearable, but only for a moment. Soon, the referee is blowing his whistle, his arm flung wide at Oikawa's side of the court and the crowd erupts in cheers and screams. Oikawa looks down, over the net where he'd dropped the ball in. He had taken a dump shot. 

He had taken a dump shot for the winning point in the match against Japan. 

The rush of blood in Oikawa’s ears drowned out the crowd as he looked across the net. Kageyama Tobio, Hinata Shoyou, and everyone else is staring at him; confused and surprised and disappointed, with the hint of a smile that says well played . 

He smiles back.

Victory is as heady and addictive as ever in his veins, but he isn't satisfied. 

He has so many more games to play. 

Oikawa takes his time, showering and getting ready for the post-game party Team Japan was having. Ryujin Nippon might have lost the match, but it's the Olympics and the last game always calls for a gathering. 

Iwaizumi had invited him, of course he had, right after he hugged Oikawa at least 15 times and kissed his forehead in a rare show of affection, giddy and proud.

Argentina's next match is two days later, which means their coach had given them the next morning off. Oikawa wants to take full advantage of it. Beating Japan isn't the only thing on his list for tonight. There's something else he wants to accomplish. 

Oikawa takes one last look at himself in the mirror, making sure everything’s prim and proper, and then heads out for the party venue.

The place is loud, crowded and heavily lit. Oikawa wastes no time, his eyes already scanning the area in search of Iwaizumi or Ushijima. He finds the latter soon enough, standing in the middle of a crowd. Classic Ushijima. Oikawa isn’t surprised at all.  

He walks over to where Ushijima is standing with Hinata right beside him. The others, Oikawa only knows by face.   

“I told all of you, I never lose.” Oikawa hears Ushijima say, his tone positively bland. The setter chuckles under his breath.

“We lost though,” Kuroo informs him sourly, his eyebrows raised. 

“Japan lost, I never lose.”

“Are you NOT Japan?” Hinata retorts, sounding very offended. 

Before Ushijima can respond however, Oikawa comes in, invading Wakatoshi’s space with the carelessness of a man who has never had anything to be scared of. He leans forward to smooth the spiker’s tie and then flashes all of them a gorgeous smile. “Might I steal him for a moment?” He asks, his eyes trained on Ushijima alone. 

“You can steal him for all the moments, that traitor!” Bokuto Koutaro chooses to answer for all of them.

Oikawa nods, pulling a slightly confused Ushijima away and into a less crowded corner without a moment's delay.

Oikawa had thought of doing this after a pep talk from Iwaizumi. He seems to have skipped right over that part of his plan, dragging Ushijima into a private corner without thinking. Well, Oikawa tries to tell himself, what better time than when I secured a win against Japan in the quarters and contend for Olympic gold? 

If the god of fortune is on his side, by the time it's all over, he could potentially have an Olympic trophy and a trophy boyfriend.

“You were spectacular today,” Ushijima says when Oikawa leans against the corner comfortably.

Oikawa snorts. “That’s all you have to say?”

“I’m proud yet not the least bit surprised,” he says, counting his fingers.

Oikawa shakes his head, he has no trouble remembering the way Ushijima had counted his fingers that first night too. He remembers most details vividly, it was the first night he had given Ushijima a chance. They've come a long way since then.

“You piss me off,” he grumbles, not even a little pissed.

Ushijima smiles, in that small and imperceptive way he always does when he's genuinely amused. Oikawa pinches at Ushijima's cheek. “Stop being mean!” 

“Okay,” Ushijima says, schooling his face into an expressionless one. “Better?” 

Oikawa crosses his arms, his nose high in the air. “You look like you're posing for a mugshot.” 

“I am not.” 

“Sure,” Oikawa laughs. Ushijima stares. 

“See something you like?”

“Yes,” Ushijima blurts out, a little too fast and a little too easy. It helps ease out the jitters that spread all across Oikawa, making him nervous. Oikawa blushes.

“I meant—” Ushijima starts to say.

Oikawa moves to stop him. Well, here goes nothing. Oikawa interrupts Ushijima with arms that pull him in, with a mouth pressed firmly, with a kiss. And then with everything he feels, with every thought he has had since he realized he likes Ushijima.

Ushijima, however, stands there in what Oikawa thinks is shock, mouth slightly agape while Oikawa's lips move languidly against his. Oikawa pulls away immediately.

Oikawa is quick with his apologies as Ushijima just stands there, frozen and not reacting at all. 

I fucked up, he thinks.  

“We can pretend,” Oikawa tells Ushijima hurriedly, his breath shaky. “We can pretend and we never have to talk about it. Ever.” He means it. He could make do with having Ushijima as a friend. It’d hurt but it’d be enough. 

Ushijima says nothing. He just looks at him like he’s trying to calculate a million things in his head all at once. It'd be comical if Oikawa could focus on it over the loud drumming of his own, treacherous heart.

“Oi-” Ushijima starts, after a pause and then closes his mouth, seemingly unsure of whatever it is he wants to say and then starts again. “Tooru, do you like me?”

Oikawa makes a point to not laugh. He just kissed the guy, pretty sure that means he likes him. He could probably joke about them being set for marriage at this point, by elementary school standards. 

He chooses not to, not after the way Ushijima just said his name. “So much,” he replies. 

“Tooru,” Ushijima breathes. He looks—for the lack of a better word—surprised. Like a deer picking up on the crunch of leaves in a clearing. Like there is always the possibility of a hunter lurking by, but it’s startled anyway, scrambling to put it’s guard up. 

Oikawa wants Ushijima to stop looking surprised. What’s there to be alarmed about anyway? He wants Ushijima to say his name again. Again. And with different emotions. He wants to memorize the curve of his lips as he says it. He wants to let his ears be so attuned to however Ushijima voices his name that he can pick up on who's saying it from breath alone.

“I once was your poison ivy,” Ushijima says once he finds himself. 

“Sure.” Oikawa fails to see the relevance here. But he refuses to be impatient.

“But now I am your daisy.”

“Yes.”

“Taylor Swift.”

“Huh?”

Ushijima whips his phone out and quickly types something in before pushing his device towards Oikawa. “See?” he asks. “It's the lyrics.” 

Oikawa peers into the screen, a google search to ‘Don't Blame Me’ is opened. 

“I told you the daisy thing almost a year ago. Have you been—” Oikawa breaks the sentence to let out a chuckle. “Have you been holding on to it all this time?”

“I did stay up wondering if you intentionally did this.” Ushijima is so unabashedly open Oikawa wants to kiss him, have Ushijima kiss him back, have his name be murmured in between breaths.

He really, really wants to have Ushijima Wakatoshi kiss him back. You have to be patient. Like he always is with you. “I think it's evident from your reaction that you didn't.” 

“No I didn't. It's just something that happened. Don't you worry your big head about it. Taylor Swift won't sue me.” 

Ushijima shakes his head, suddenly very serious and stepping closer to Oikawa, his hands are impossibly warm on Oikawa's face. 

Ushijima smiles indulgently, the lines around the corner of his eyes crinkle as he does so. “I want you to take whatever you want from me and to know that you deserve every bit of it.” 

“Okay,” He says as he takes what he wants. He kisses Ushijima’s jaw, leaves a trail butterfly kisses on the sharp bone structure covered by prickly skin ending at the base of his throat. His mouth, soft and reverent. 

Ushijima's hands slide up Oikawa's neck, burying themselves in his thick hair. He tilts Oikawa's face the way he wants it, his olive eyes dark. Oikawa's mouth parts slightly, his eyes fluttering shut.

Invitation and permission.

Ushijima dives in. 

The kiss is awkward and messy in the way first kisses usually are, the gravity of the situation making them shy. They pull away with burning cheeks and half-formed sentences stuck in their throats before leaning in again, wordlessly in sync. This time, they are not so shy, sure of each other to the absolute. (Oikawa and Ushijima know each other, they just don't know each other like this. The prospect of making new discoveries makes Oikawa giddy.)

Ushijima kisses the same way he plays—with all of himself and the world left behind in a blur—the thought turns Oikawa completely boneless. He tries to anchor himself by breaking away from the kiss; but fails inevitably when his soft sigh against Ushijima's nose turns to a moan after the spiker pulls at his lips to kiss him again. Oikawa's arms wind around Ushijima's neck swiftly, hands fisted in his hair to try and press him closer, teeth clashing, tongues pushing and coaxing in all the ways Oikawa has only been able to dream of so far.

They pull away soon after, out of breath. Their foreheads stay touching for a moment and Oikawa grins, his cheeks all bunched up when Ushijima withdraws himself. 

“I am a better kisser than that,” Ushijima tells him, his unruly eyebrows in a deep frown. 

Oikawa has heard enough tales of how good Ushijima is in his off the court extracurricular activities — primarily from Iwaizumi ever since Oikawa came to terms with his feelings. Iwaizumi loved taking the piss out of Oikawa by spilling most of the hot gossip in their Line group chat, Hanamaki and Matsukawa being his diligent enablers. Tonight, however, Oikawa didn't exactly have the time to properly judge the legitimacy of those stories, too caught up by his own nerves and desires. Even then, Ushijima was great once they got into it. The last one was shamelessly passionate. 

He can do better than this? 

“Performance anxiety?” he asks, his grin now compacted into a predatory smile. He's flattered that Ushijima wants to be at his best with Oikawa. 

“Yes.” Ushijima looks annoyed at himself, his lips swollen and slightly jutted out. Oikawa finds it adorable and reaches forward to press at the lines that have appeared all over Ushijima's face. Can't have him all wrinkled this early in his life, he tuts mentally.  

He presses a chaste kiss on Ushijima's lips. “Good for you then that I am generously allowing you as much trial and error you need.” 

-----

Oikawa slips his hand in Ushijima’s, pulling at him. “Come on.”

“To the hotel?” 

“Why? Do you have some other ideas?” 

“For the future perhaps,” Ushijima shrugs loosely. 

“When did you get so smooth?” 

“I have been for a while. I just didn’t think you’d appreciate it.” 

“Okay. Full transparency, I am not smooth at all. So open your mouth!” 

“Why?”

“So I can put my tongue in.”

Oikawa tries to use his teeth to open the top buttons of Ushijima's shirt, but it doesn't work. He tries to smartly use his fingers next when Ushijima bats Oikawa’s hasty hands away and takes up the work himself. Through the cotton, he could feel the warmth Ushijima is radiating and it only makes him press closer, claiming more of the heat. Oikawa pulls away at the collar once Ushijima is done, hungry and desperate. He wants his mouth on Ushijima’s neck, he needs to learn what the skin there tastes like. His index finger sweeps in a long stroke along the side of Ushijima’s throat and Ushijima shivers, letting out an undignified sound. 

Oikawa grins. “You want me, don’t you?”

“So much,” Ushijima says, repeating the words Oikawa had told him a few minutes ago. 

Oikawa laughs and the elevator makes a ding noise, announcing their arrival to their intended floor. Oikawa almost groans—he didn’t get the chance to mark Ushijima’s neck. It’s a summer night, it will be long, his brain supplies. Maybe he will get the chance to time how long it takes to bruise Ushijima, and find if he bruises as easily as anywhere else.

Oikawa, however, allows the reality of their day to shut himself down. They're probably too tired to get into anything crazy. Oikawa could definitely end up asking Ushijima to spend the night with him actually sleeping . 

Will they cuddle? Is Ushijima into spooning? Will he find out they're not compatible because Oikawa has neglected to ask Ushijima if he likes being the small spoon? Oikawa could probably resolve it for the night by bullying Ushijima into letting him use his tiddies as pillows. But what about other nights? 

What if they don't do either? What if they just lie on their side of the bed and he spends half the night staring at Ushijima instead—too jittery to actually fall asleep while Ushijima is fast asleep, snoring slightly? Ushijima does look like he'd be a snorer. 

Ushijima sees the pout that adorns Oikawa's mouth while he is lost in his own head. He leans down and presses his warm lips behind the shell of Oikawa's ear moving up towards Oikawa's temple, an attempt to grab attention. He tugs at Oikawa, nudging him out of the elevator and into the hall. 

“What's your room number?”

“Eager, are we?” Oikawa teases as he fishes out his keycard out of his pants pocket. 

“Very much so,” Ushijima says but he doesn't look eager at all. He looks content. Like he'd just be happy to stand here, out in the hallway, holding on to Oikawa's waist as he nuzzles his face in Oikawa's neck, whispering soft and incoherent nothings. 

The mental image of it makes Oikawa feel lightheaded. He is quick to pull Ushijima towards his room at the end of the hall and keys in his lock. 

“You might have left the heater on when you left,” Ushijima says as he closes the door behind him.

“Oh,” Oikawa replies and then shrugs. “I did it on purpose.”

“You like the cold better.”

“But you don't,” Oikawa says. “I knew I was gonna ask you to come back with me, if things went well.” or stew in the heat of my own terrible decisions , he doesn’t add. “I wanted you to feel good,” he finishes instead.  

“Your company and—” Ushijima takes off the suit he was wearing, allowing Oikawa to bear witness to the way his back muscles swell at the action underneath his thin white shirt. Oikawa swallows and Ushijima walks over. He pulls Oikawa by his jaw and traces his thumb over his pinked cheekbones; his olive gaze intense. Oikawa licks his lips. “—your proximity would have more than made up for the cold.”

Oikawa almost shyly detaches himself from Ushijima who eyes him curiously and moves away to connect his phone to the bluetooth speaker. He presses the keys he needs to get the song he wants from YouTube as Ushijima watches him. Quietly, a 15 second advertisement of Lux soap starts playing from the tiny speaker.

“I am going to kill myself.” 

Ushijima laughs, loud and breathy. Oikawa scowls before the memory of something pokes at his brain and his face lights up instantly. It’s a detail he had kept with himself, not wanting to let go, no matter how asinine it had been. He’s happy to have held onto it now, in hindsight.

“Since we got the time, wanna know a secret?” It wasn’t a part of Oikawa’s plans, this turn of events. He was only looking to make out with Ushijima as music played in the background. Music that had them starting over and taking a chance they otherwise definitely wouldn’t have.

Ushijima nods, the fluorescent lights of the room have him looking golden.

“I wanted to dance with you that first night,” Oikawa confesses. “The night at the bar, after the concert. It was probably the alcohol. But I wanted to do it.” He could get used to this, he thinks foolishly, telling Ushijima his secrets. 

“Why didn’t you?” 

“The timing was wrong.”

It's true, they weren't ready for something like that. There was so much they needed to go through before reaching a moment like this. They weren’t ready for anything other than a Taylor Swift shaped catalyst to a new beginning. And now that they are ready for something more, capitalism is trampling on their romance. It's like something always has to get in the way. Next he knows, Ushijima is gonna tell him he's allergic to dancing.

Ushijima doesn't. 

Ushijima beams instead. He doesn't have a lot of practice doing that, Oikawa thinks because Ushijima still looks like the same kind of serial killer he had looked like in that awful selfie Iwaizumi had sent him so long ago. This time though, Oikawa is taken in by that smile, enamored to the bone. It has its charms, he tries to defend. 

Ushijima bows his head and extends his left arm towards Oikawa, palm out. Oikawa—not prepared for Ushijima to be ready to oblige—stares at the extended hand in confusion.  

“Are you worried I might not know how to waltz?” 

Oikawa thinks back to all the times he has seen Ushijima bend his figure to the perfect form on the court and the considerable skill he showed with his body when they kissed. Even if Ushijima doesn’t know how to waltz, he realizes they’d be okay. Oikawa figures the conventional romantic thing to say here would surely be ‘ It’s you. I have nothing to worry about.’

But Oikawa Tooru is not conventional. His smile is infectious when he takes Wakatoshi’s hand in his own, kissing the centre of his palm. 

“We will brave the complications of waltzing with a southpaw like champs, together .”