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Oikawa hums to himself as he shakes a tube of what Iwaizumi would call “goop” if he saw it. Unfortunately for Iwaizumi, he doesn’t know the wonders of face masks, because they’ve gotten into a wrestling match every time Oikawa tries to get him to try one.
They don’t even do wrestling! They’re volleyball players! Although, Iwaizumi has used the excuse that he’s just a volleyball player and doesn’t need to worry about skincare before, but he just hasn’t realized yet that self care is an important part of hygiene.
Now that he thinks of it…
Oikawa pokes his head out of the bathroom. “Hey, Ushijima!”
Ushijima pauses whatever he was listening to on his computer and takes off his headphones. “What is it, Oikawa?”
“Have you ever tried a face mask?”
Ushijima considers the question. “No, I don’t think I have. Eita tried one of yours at the training camp, right?”
Oikawa nods. “Yep! Now that you mention it, maybe I could get everyone on the team to try it… at least once… hm.”
“Oikawa, you look like you have a devious expression on your face,” Ushijima says, like that’s a normal thing to say.
“Hey! It’s not like I’m plotting an evil plan or anything, I just think our teammates could stand to have better self-care practices!” He catches the slip there: our teammates. He’s not sure how to feel about the fact that it comes so naturally to him.
Ushijima shrugs. “I’d be willing to try it.”
“Alright, hold on.” Oikawa drags his desk chair over next to Ushijima, who turns to face him. “You wouldn't know what you’re doing with this—don’t look at me like that, I still haven’t forgotten the 3-in-1 shampoo—so I’m just going to start it for you, okay?”
Ushijima nods. “I trust you.”
Oikawa lightly whacks him on the forehead with the tube of goo. “Focus,” he scolds. “I think your hair is short enough that you don’t need a headband to keep it out of the way, so that’s good. The key with these is to not get it in your eyes, mouth or nose, ‘kay?” He squeezes out the green mud onto his fingers and spreads it over Ushijima’s forehead in a thin layer, leaning closer to see more clearly. Ushijima closes his eyes as Oikawa moves on to the bridge of his nose and his cheeks, making sure not to get it too close to anything or too thick.
“It’s cold,” he comments.
“Shh. Y’know what, I think it’s easier if I just finish this for you,” Oikawa decides. He gets more clay from the tube and spreads it along Ushijima’s jawline (definitely not admiring it as he does so, although it is a nicely-shaped jawline) and around the rest of his face. “There,” he announces. “Not so bad, huh?”
Ushijima hums neutrally. “Can I open my eyes now?”
Oikawa laughs a little and resists the urge to roll his eyes. “Of course you can.”
After opening his eyes, Ushijima tentatively pokes at the edges of the mask, before Oikawa slaps his hand away.
“You’re supposed to leave it on for half an hour,” he tells his roommate (his foolish, misguided roommate who doesn’t know ANYTHING about face masks!). “I still have to do mine, so try not to mess it up while I’m in the bathroom.” He winks after saying this, to make sure Ushijima knows it’s a joke.
He does his own face mask noticeably faster than Ushijima’s, spreading the goo over the familiar contours of his own face in the mirror. When he steps back out of the bathroom, Ushijima has his hands folded in his lap, and his computer screen displaying a news video about a recent volleyball match.
“Since you said it would take a while,” he says, “I thought we could watch something.”
Oikawa smiles. He’s no stranger to this strategy of distraction, although he usually watches soap operas or romcoms. “Is there anything besides volleyball in that head of yours?” he teases, but it’s with fondness.
They settle down on their respective desk chairs, although Oikawa can’t resist half a spin. The match is the most recent one from the Tachibana Red Falcons, one of the Division 1 V League teams. It’s a pretty standard match, but Oikawa still takes mental notes on how spatially aware their setter is, how he chooses the best option for each play, and how he leads the team to victory.
The end of the match turns into commentary on how the coach is retiring, and how he’s had many good years, blah blah and so on. The new coach is going to be—
“Wait, wait, hold on,” Oikawa says, frantically hitting the pause button. “Did that announcer just say José Blanco is going to coach the Red Falcons?” He hits the rewind button and plays it again. “Woah. I’d love to play on his team.”
Ushijima listens to the announcers almost as thoughtfully as he watched the game, but he looks away at Oikawa. “I’m sure that if you keep working hard, you can do it,” he says.
Oikawa blinks a few times. “Really?”
“Yeah. You’re a great player, Oikawa.”
The sincere praise from Ushijima—even though they’ve been teammates for a while now—catches Oikawa off guard, and he feels his face heating up with… embarrassment? Only recently it would’ve been resentment and frustration that he’d be feeling right now, but that’s no longer the case. “I…” He is, shockingly enough, kind of at a loss for words. “You’re damn right I am,” he fumbles. “Tell me something I don’t know.” He breaks eye contact, not looking at Ushijima or the screen.
José Blanco is one of the coaches that makes international news, the kind of coach and former player that even Japan had heard of. Argentina produces a lot of great volleyball players, it seems. Competition always drives Oikawa to improve his own skills, but to play for the Red Falcons with José Blanco as his coach?
It would be kind of a dream come true, honestly.
It seems like a reality check that Ushijima believes so highly in his abilities; that maybe opportunities like these aren’t so out of reach, especially with how hard Oikawa has worked and continues to work. He folds his legs up on the chair, couches his face in between his knees, and thinks about the V League as the announcers finish talking.
“Are you running tomorrow morning?” Ushijima asks as the credits play on the video.
“Yeah.”
“I’ll join you.”
Well. It’s not like he can stop him. And funnily enough, the idea of running together with Ushijima doesn’t fill him with dread and pettiness anymore. “...Sure.”
When Oikawa goes to bed, he stares at the ceiling and thinks about home.