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The local club team is loose and disorganized, and Tooru tells himself he’s only part of it to get some extra practice in outside of his regular schedule. He doesn’t think he likes beach volleyball all that much anyway. The sand is rough and coarse and it gets everywhere. It’s tough to get any kind of leverage, and when they play beach rules and not regular, he ends up flat on his face trying to do everything.
Still, he shows up every Saturday morning, bright and early, joining the group of guys gathered around one of the nets along the strand. They’re all young adults like him, of varying levels of skill and of having their lives figured out. He finds them still in the process of goofing around and catching up, and gets lighthearted laughter when he tries to move them along and get the game going. Still, they start setting up the balls the captain brought with him, keeping up a steady stream of their typical bad jokes.
The captain divides them into teams of six, and Tooru breathes a sigh of relief. Just what he’s used to. He takes his place at the right side of the net to wait for the first serve. The guy takes his sweet time with it, and Tooru lets his attention drift along the beach. There’s quite a few families out this fine morning, enjoying the water. Most of the other nets are being used as well, most of them casual players just messing around. A couple of people are walking the beach, just at the edge where the water comes up to the sand.
One man in particular stands out. He’s wearing jogging clothes, but walking leisurely, watching the ocean. His path takes him towards Tooru and his team, giving him a good view of the guy’s looks. And what a view that is. He’s on the shorter side, but tan and muscular. Holy shit those arms! It’s clear that jogging isn’t all he does for exercise. His jogging pants are loose, and boy does Tooru wish he could see –
The captain blows his whistle to start the game and Tooru jolts back into focus. The server sets the ball into motion, and the whole team moves as one. Despite how disorganized and rag-tag the group is, Tooru loves how easily they move together. How they play off each others’ strengths without even realizing it. How the messy group comes together with one singular goal: keeping the ball in the air. This is why Tooru loves the sport so much.
He’s good at it, and he knows it. He’s everywhere he needs to be to get the ball where it needs to go, over and over all the way up until one of his spikers slams it down into the sand on the other side. As it always does, it takes him a couple seconds to readjust to the terrain. He has to keep reminding himself of the sideways walk the captain taught him, to jam his feet into the sand as he runs so that he gets the purchase he needs and avoids the heat of the top layer of sand.
He’s just gotten into a rhythm when two things happen at once. One, a skillful receive by their libero deposits the ball perfectly in his waiting hands. Second, the super hot guy walks past, just on the other side of the tape that marks the edge of their court. In the split second he has, Tooru evaluates the situation. He wants to win, he knows this. He always does. But this team is casual, and he knows no one else has as much drive as he does. They’re already fifteen points ahead, even if he’s the only one counting. And he cannot understate how hot this guy is.
So Tooru does something that he never has, in the history of his career as a setter, once he got his body under control. He tosses the ball long.
The spiker he was supposed to be aiming for makes a surprised noise, landing confused on the sand. But Tooru is already moving, running to get the ball as it lands perfectly at the feet of the handsome jogger.
The man turns in surprise, eyes widening as he realizes how close he is to the volleyball game. He picks up the ball as Tooru reaches him.
“Sorry about that, I wasn’t paying attention,” the man says, handing Tooru the ball.
Tooru could apologize for almost hitting him. He could. Instead he says, “You walk by here often?”
“Maybe. I just moved -” the guy starts, but is stopped by a whistle.
One of the spikers on the other team is waving at them. “‘Ey, Oikawa! Stop flirting and get back in the game!”
Tooru flips the guy off, but turns back to the game. He is busy, after all.
The handsome stranger chuckles. “See you around then, Oikawa.”
He walks away. And yes, his backside is just as attractive as his front.
The game continues, and Tooru leads his team in a sizable victory. That still doesn’t keep everyone from teasing him about the handsome stranger who threw off his skills.
The next week is a similar story. As the rest of the guys chat and set up, Tooru has his eyes peeled for the handsome jogger. And sure enough, there he is, actually jogging this time. He’s a ways down the beach, but Tooru would recognize those arms anywhere.
The game starts and Tooru plays as he usually does, but still with an eye out. He gets his chance when the jogger passes. He’s farther away this time, likely having learned to watch his distance, and Tooru is on an awkward side of the net, but as the ball settles wonkily into his hands, he knows what he has to do.
The set is long, and awkward, and he makes it seem like he’s tripping when he releases it. It’s not entirely a ploy, that sand is awful, so maybe making it seem like an accident will get the guys to shut up. Still, the ball lands perfectly just ahead of the jogger.
He pauses, glances down at it, then back at Tooru, who’s already hurrying over. He picks it up, and there’s a small frown on his face.
“You’re not doing this on purpose, are you?” he asks suspiciously.
“What? Me? ” Tooru laughs. “Don’t be ridiculous. Anyway, you got my name, what’s yours?”
The guy frowns harder. “Iwaizumi Hajime. I just moved here. And you’re Oikawa?”
“Oikawa Tooru,” he says, flipping his hair and posing, making himself the pinnacle of attractiveness.
Iwaizumi shoves the ball into his chest. “Okay. Good luck with your game. Looks like you need the practice.” And then he walks away.
Tooru is left in anguish. He wants so badly to defend his skills, but that would mean admitting he was aiming at Iwaizumi. And he will never admit defeat. But now Iwaizumi thinks he’s bad at volleyball!
He’s pulled back to the game by a pair of his teammates, both laughing hysterically, having not bought his ruse that he'd tripped at all. He’s subjected to another round of jokes at his expense, but he does succeed in crushing the other team into dust. At least he accomplishes one thing.
The next week he sees Iwaizumi again, but this time he doesn’t bother to approach him. He can’t stand for Iwaizumi to think he’s bad at volleyball. That’s, like, the one thing he has going for him! As he watches out of the corner of his eye for Iwaizumi to pass on his jog, he puts on a show. His sets are perfect and clean. He turns a shitty receive into a cannon that his spiker hurls into the opposing side with no sign of a block. He is a volleyball machine and he knows it.
As luck would have it, it’s his turn to serve right as Iwaizumi is getting the closest on his route by the waves. Tooru takes his place just outside the tape, smirking. He’ll show Iwaizumi what he can do! He moves, launching himself into the air, drawing all his years of practice into one powerful serve. He’s seen men of all ages cower from his jump serve, and he knows his form is perfect. Despite the sand beneath his feet, his takeoff is flawless. His back arches in a perfect curve, and he sends the ball flying at the perfect angle, directly between the opposing libero and his teammate, both of whom are frozen, staring, as the ball misses them entirely.
He realizes he has never used this move in this group before, not like this. They know he’s in university on a sports scholarship, and plans to go pro one day. They know how good he is when he sets. But he’s never felt the need to show off his jump serve to them before. He’s never needed to. But this time is important.
He glances back at Iwaizumi. Who is continuing his jog farther along the beach, not even looking back at Tooru’s game.
What! How rude. And after all he’s been doing to show off how good he is. He’ll prove Iwaizumi wrong once and for all, he tells himself.
The game continues, this time without any teasing from the other guys. They’re all too impressed with his jump serve. He soaks up the praise because, yeah, he is awesome, but he wasn’t doing it for them.
The next time Iwaizumi comes by, Tooru is ready. The set is perfect, right over his spiker’s head. The guy doesn’t have the decency to look surprised, landing on the ground, resigned to his fate as a background character. The ball continues its trajectory, Tooru following close behind.
Iwaizumi slows and turns as he gets closer, smirking as if he has something to prove, and Tooru reaches out a hand to stop him before it’s too late, but there’s no more time. No longer moving and facing the net, Iwaizumi is now directly in the path of the ball, because Tooru had calculated it perfectly to land next to him, while he was still moving. As a result, Iwaizumi gets a volleyball directly to the face and gets knocked on his ass.
Tooru can almost hear his teammates wince in sympathy, both for the hit and for his chances with this guy.
He crouches next to Iwaizumi on the ground, reclaiming the ball. Iwaizumi’s frown is almost angry, and his face is such an interesting shade of red.
Before he can even think to apologize, Iwaizumi grounds out, “I thought you weren't trying to hit me on purpose.”
“Hey, this one’s your fault for stopping!”
“Are you insane? How bad at volleyball are you?”
“Better than you!”
“Oh yeah?” Iwaizumi gets to his feet. His face is still red, but Tooru isn’t sure whether it’s from the impact of the ball or his anger. “Prove it.”
Tooru smirks, straightening up himself. “Watch me. Let’s play. Right now. And if I win, you take me out to lunch. Think you can assess my skills that way, Iwa-chan?”
To his credit, a twitch of an eyebrow is Iwaizumi’s only reaction to the nickname. He squares his shoulders and pulls the ball back from Tooru’s arms. “You’re on. You should know, I used to play wing spiker in high school.”
Tooru practically skips back to the net at Iwaizumi’s side. The guys are good sports, one of them on the other side shooting him a salute as he heads off to the sidelines to let Iwaizumi take his spot. But their smirks let him know they will be using this as fodder for months, regardless of the outcome.
They play. Iwaizumi is good. He clearly knows his stuff, and he has the sheer power to back it up. But he doesn’t know this team, and Tooru does. His victory is inevitable. But holy shit, the way Iwaizumi moves. Tooru is almost salivating at the concept of setting for him.
At the conclusion, Iwaizumi stays to help the captain pack up the balls. He seems more approachable, until Tooru approaches him and his scowl returns.
“Fine. You beat me. You’re pretty good, I guess.”
“And?” Tooru draws out the word, leaning into Iwaizumi’s personal space.
Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. He doesn’t make a move to lean away. “Fine. Lunch is on me.”
Tooru cheers and wraps an arm around Iwaizumi’s, pulling him away and ignoring the cheering of his teammates behind him.
They end up in a diner farther down the beach, right near the marina. They get a booth by the window. Tooru gets a chocolate shake and a burger, opting for the side salad under Iwaizumi’s frown. Iwaizumi gets a veggie burger, and lectures Tooru on healthy habits, which is how he learns Iwaizumi is in school to be a personal trainer. They talk as they wait for their food, covering all the bases.
The milkshake comes, and the waitress puts two straws on the table, giving them a wink. Iwaizumi complains, but takes the straw Tooru practically shoves in his hand, and Tooru absolutely notices them both having equal sips.
“So,” Iwaizumi says, taking a long drag of the shake. “I noticed how accurate you were with your sets. Were you actually trying to hit me?”
“I wasn’t trying to hit you.” Tooru rolls his eyes. “You moved!”
“But you were aiming at me.”
Tooru splutters, and Iwaizumi smirks at him.
“W- well! It worked!” Tooru smirks right back. “Now we’re on a date!”
Iwaizumi’s eyebrows raise. “We are?”
For the first time, Tooru falters. “Well, I mean, if you don’t -”
Iwaizumi leans forward, face softening. He takes one of Tooru’s hands in his. “If you want this to be a date, this can be a date. Just don’t hit me with a volleyball again.”
Tooru leans in too, smiling genuinely for the first time in their whole acquaintanceship. “Sure, I’ll do that when you stop jogging by our games looking so hot that I’d be crazy not to try and talk to you.”
And just like that, they’re back to arguing.
The club is going to continue to tease Tooru endlessly. But it doesn’t matter, now that he has something to look forward to every week.
And, as much as Iwa-chan denies it, Tooru knows he’s looking forward to their meetings too.