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Wakatoshi wades through the Tanabata crowd with a pair of candied apples in his hands. His stomach drops and he nearly drops them with it when he finds the bench empty.

“Ayame?”

Parental instinct kicks in and he tries to swallow his panic when he doesn’t immediately see his daughter where he’d left her, where he’d explicitly told her to wait for him while he went to fetch them a sweet treat. The giant stuffed bear he’d won her is still leaning casually against the arm of the bench, as if holding her spot for her. He’d only turned his back for a minute, two at most, so she can’t have gone far.

His head swivels as he scans the crowd, looking for a bobbing black bun atop a jade yukata. Lately green has been her favorite color, and when he’d found the fabric shopping on one of his last away trips, he’d had it special ordered for her birthday. Was it really just last month? Time flies. The logical part of his mind reminds him that she’s eight now, and a capable eight year-old at that. She isn’t necessarily lost.

It does little to quell the surge of fear that always rises when he doesn’t know where she is, though. There are so many people, how can he find one little girl? He needs to call out for her again; maybe she’s just around the corner and didn’t hear him the first time. His throat is too thick with panic to get her name out.

A new voice rings out over the crowd, one familiar and yet out of place, that makes his pulse race for a different reason.

“Ushiwaka!”

Wakatoshi turns towards him, inevitably pulled to that teasing lilt, old feelings stirring as they instinctively rise to meet the challenge, and he breathes a sigh of relief. Inexplicably, Ayame is in the arms of Oikawa Tooru. Inexplicably, because his oldest rival is no longer a Japanese citizen, his new home far across the ocean, and yet he is here, in Sendai, under the festival lights, dressed in a well-worn navy blue yukata as though he had never left.

The years have been kind to him. His hair is shorter than he wore it in high school, but still thick and brown and artfully styled. Subtle laugh lines crease at the corners of his eyes, and the lanterns above cast them in a soft glow. Strong arms support the child wrapped around his neck and one hand waves to get her father’s attention.

Now that Wakatoshi knows Ayame is safe and his stomach is back where it belongs, it does a funny little swoop at the sight.

“Daddy! Look who I found!” She squeezes her little arm tight around Oikawa’s shoulder, as if she could be referring to anyone else.

As pleasantly confused as he is to see Oikawa, he has to scold his daughter. “Ayame, I told you to wait at the bench. You scared me, you know.”

She tips her head onto Oikawa’s shoulder, an abashed grin lighting up her face in a way his never could. “I left Usa-chan to wait for you. I told him to tell you I’d be right back.”

Oikawa laughs. The joyful sound weaves itself around Wakatoshi’s heart and clenches. “Aya-chan, adults can’t understand teddy bear language.” He squeezes her leg and points to Wakatoshi. “You should apologize for making your father worry.”

Her dark, round eyes go wide with the realization, and she leans off of Oikawa, reaching for Wakatoshi. She winds her arms around his neck and squeezes. It’s a bit awkward. Wakatoshi’s hands are still occupied with the candied apples, but Oikawa is still supporting some of her weight. “Daddy, I didn’t mean to! I’m sorry!”

He isn’t really mad anymore. Not that he was mad to begin with, just scared, and it’s funny how often the two emotions go hand in hand. She’s okay, and that’s all that matters. He kisses her temple, careful not to mess up the pretty bun they’d worked hard to put her hair in. “It’s alright sweetheart. Just promise you won’t run off into the crowd without telling me first next time, okay?”

“K! Can I have my apple now?”

Wakatoshi chuckles. “Go sit with Usa-chan and I will give it to you. I’m sure Oikawa-san’s family is missing him right now.”

Ayame squirms out from between them and does as she’s told. Oikawa doesn’t immediately part after Wakatoshi gives her the apple he bought, so he turns to thank the man.

“It’s no trouble,” Oikawa insists. “I was just surprised someone so young recognized me. I didn’t think I was that big a name back here.” There’s a teasing note to his words, a mischievous glint to his eyes.

Wakatoshi bites down a grimace. Embarrassment is not an emotion he has much experience in, but underneath that challenging gaze he feels its heat crawling up the back of his neck. He’s never backed down from a challenge from Oikawa though, so he powers through. Admits the truth.

“Well, you are her favorite setter.”

That seems to take him by surprise, eyes widening and blinking rapidly as if to process the words. It passes quickly, and Oikawa smiles. He crouches at Ayame’s level. “Do you like volleyball, Aya-chan?”

“It’s the best!” she declares. Wakatoshi winces as flecks of candy shell and apple juices dribble down her chin. “I’m a setter, like you!”

Oikawa’s smile grows wider. “Oh you are, are you?”

“Mhmm! It’s the most fun! I get to touch the ball the most!” She takes another bite and swallows. “Daddy showed me your matches from the Olympics. I’m gonna be an Olympic setter one day too!”

“Olympics, huh?” Oikawa chuckles and pulls a napkin from somewhere to wipe her chin. Wakatoshi momentarily forgets how to breathe and his heart stutters in his chest as he watches them. “Those are some pretty lofty goals. It’ll be a long, tough path to get there, but I’m sure you can do it.”

Ayame’s eyes sparkle in the dim lights. “Really?”

“Of course!” and he says it like he means it. “You’ve got your father’s genes in you. I have no doubt you’ll be a menace on a court someday.”

“Will you come watch me play?” she gasps.

“Ayame,” Wakatoshi tries to intervene, to give Oikawa an out, but the older man waves him off with a slight shake of his head.

“I’d love to.”

Ayame squeals in delight. “Daddy! Did you hear? Oikawa-san is gonna come watch me play!”

“Yes, that is very kind of him.” He gives Oikawa a pointed look as he stands. She happily takes another large bite of her apple. “If he has the time.” There are a lot of unspoken questions in that statement. Why are you back in Japan? How long are you here? Are you really going to come to a Little Tykes volleyball match on a whim?

“I’ve got nothing but time,” he says with a little shrug.

It’s Wakatoshi’s turn to show surprise. In their line of work, that usually means one thing. But he hadn’t heard anything about Oikawa retiring. That kind of news would travel fast in their circles, and Hinata or Iwaizumi would have told him about it already. He doesn’t like the thought of Oikawa retiring. What would be the point of playing if his greatest rival is no longer there to challenge him?

“I’m just taking a break,” he adds, as if he can read Wakatoshi’s turmoil in the frown on his face. “Takeru’s getting married next week, you know, so I figured it was as good a time as any to return to the homeland for an extended visit.”

“Oh, right.”

He had known, of course. It was impossible not to be aware of Japan’s beloved volleyball power couple’s upcoming nuptials. Oikawa’s nephew and Hinata’s sister. Somehow it hadn’t occurred to him that Oikawa would return to Japan for such an auspicious event.

But for him to stay?

That’s a dream too audacious to even consider.

“Please give them my best,” he says. “How are preparations going?”

“Oh Nee-san is such a wreck you would think Nacchan is her daughter already and she’s marrying her off instead of bringing her into the family,” he laughs. “I actually came out tonight to get a breather from the insanity. I don’t know how people do it.” His voice trails off at the end, hesitant in a way Wakatoshi has never heard him before. His gaze drifts back to Ayame, something soft and almost sad pulling at his lips. She mostly ignores them, intent on finishing every piece of the apple she can reasonably get in her mouth.

“Anyway, I won’t intrude on your Daddy-Daughter Date anymore.” He turns to go, pausing to lean into Wakatoshi’s space. “Your number is still the same, right?” Wakatoshi nods dumbly. He hasn’t changed it since high school. He didn’t know Oikawa had it. “Kay, cool. I’ll text you for her schedule. Once I’m free of wedding obligations, I do want to see how my biggest fan plays,” he teases. In a louder voice he calls to her, “Aya-chan, be good for your Daddy, now. No more running after strangers, kay?”

“Kay!”

Oikawa gives them both a jaunty wave before he slips back into the crowd. Wakatoshi watches him go, fading into the nameless faces as if he were just another stranger. As if he were a dream.

Wakatoshi definitely feels like he’s dreaming. He sits next to his daughter on the bench and slowly eats his own apple. The whole interaction sticks in his thoughts like the candy coating sticks to his teeth. He still isn’t sure it’s not a dream when his phone chirps with a new text a few minutes later.

Let me know when she plays! I’ll be there!

“Ayame?”

“Yeah, Daddy?”

“Why did you go after Oikawa-san instead of waiting for me?”

She hunches her ears to her shoulders and kicks her feet against the ground. “I didn’t think you would believe me if I told you I saw him.”

No, he probably wouldn’t have. Oikawa is an Argentinian citizen now. He chose volleyball long ago and would always choose volleyball. But that’s less important than, “why did you need me to believe you?”

“Because! He’s your friend, isn’t he? I thought you’d want to see him.”

She looks so serious, Wakatoshi isn’t sure how to respond at first. There had been a time, decades ago, when he’d wanted to be Oikawa’s friend so much he’d inadvertently offended him. Their teen years were fraught with tension from their school’s rivalry. Then Oikawa went abroad and he’d thought he’d lost his chance forever. Of course they’d also then crossed paths every few years between Olympics, international tournaments, and the All Stars match that the JVA put together, and with each passing year, that old tension changed from animosity to something almost friendly.

He wipes her cheek. Chuckles softly. Maybe they should have gone for crepes instead.

“Yes,” he says. “Thank you, Ayame. I am very glad we got to see him tonight.”

His mind wanders to the text sitting unanswered in his pocket. He’ll get to see Oikawa again before he inevitably leaves. Maybe he can finally cross that bridge with him after all.

“Didja see how high Nagisa-chan jumped! I thought I messed that set up for sure!”

Oikawa laughs with Ayame as she excitedly recounts every play. “You put it right where she needed it to be, just like any good setter would.”

She grins, wide and toothy, before taking a generous bite of the ice cream cone melting in her hand.

Oikawa had come to the Little Tykes practice as he’d promised. Not only that, but he’d texted Wakatoshi other times in the two weeks since they ran into each other at the summer festival. A few pictures from the wedding. Random anecdotes from his days, usually when he ran into a mutual acquaintance. Well wishes of a happy birthday. And then yesterday, asking if they would want to get ice cream after the game.

Wakatoshi has no idea what to make of any of it.

He doesn’t hate it though.

They find a quiet table in the shade to enjoy their cold treat. There’s a set of swings and monkey bars and a jungle gym in the playground nearby, and Ayame spots one of her friends not long after they sit down. He lets her run off after she finishes her ice cream, and tries not to think too hard about how he is now alone with Oikawa for the first time since probably high school.

That last encounter is not one of his proudest memories, but they’ve also long put that behind them. He can be normal about this. About Oikawa.

“Thank you,” he says. Oikawa raises an eyebrow in question as he takes a long, slow lick of his vanilla ice cream. Heat crawls up the back of his neck again, and he knows it’s not the August sun making him warm. Somehow he’s already made a fool of himself, and he isn’t sure how. “For coming to the match today,” he clarifies. “It really meant a lot to Ayame.”

“Oh, right.” Oikawa twists on the bench to turn around and look for her. She waves from the top of a slide, and they wave back. A few more quick bites and Oikawa’s ice cream vanishes behind smirking lips. “You made a cute kid, Ushiwaka. I gotta hand it to you.”

“I admit sometimes I find it hard to believe she is mine.” Oikawa blinks at him in surprise. “We have very few traits in common,” he elaborates, “and she is so much cuter than I was at that age.”

Oikawa is too slow to stifle the snort that escapes him. “Oh come on, I’m sure you were a cute kid too. To your parents at least.”

“I suppose.”

“I was glad to come, by the way. To the match. Brings back memories.”

“Did you also play here?”

“Mm, Takeru did. I used to pick him up on Mondays when we didn’t have practice. Can’t believe he’s all grown up and married now.” He exhales on a wistful sigh. “When did we get so old?”

Wakatoshi scrapes the sides of his cup to get the last of the melted cream on his spoon. The air between them feels light. Jovial. He leans into it, tries for humor. “Well, you are the old man here. I only just turned 33 a week ago,” he says, smiling around the last bite of ice cream he puts in his mouth.

Oikawa throws his wadded up napkin at his chest. His eyes are full of laughter, though, so Wakatoshi knows he did not mess this up. “Since when are you so cheeky, huh? Fatherhood really has changed you.”

He wouldn’t say so. Wakatoshi doesn’t think he’s all that different from the man he was before Ayame came into his life. Gentler, maybe. More aware of himself and his flaws for sure. If being a father did cause any significant changes in him, he would like to believe they have been for the better. He understands how to communicate better now. How to love someone unconditionally. What it truly means to sacrifice.

He doesn’t say any of this. It doesn’t feel like the right response to what was clearly a teasing jibe.

Oikawa doesn’t seem bothered that he hasn’t responded to his bait. He leans his chin in one hand as he grins at him. “It’s a good look on you.”

Wakatoshi knows he isn’t referring to the navy polo and chinos he’s wearing, but he isn’t sure how to respond to that either. He wants to comment on how good Oikawa looks. He’s not used to seeing him dressed so casual. He tries to remember if he’d ever seen him in shorts that weren’t elastic or nylon. His simple white undershirt is tucked into tan Bermuda shorts and his short-sleeved button-down is open to the breeze. The pineapple pattern on the pale blue fabric adds a layer of whimsy he never would have associated with Oikawa before listening to Iwaizumi’s stories of their shared childhood. It suits him as well as the Raybans perched lightly atop his windswept hair.

Not for the first time, Wakatoshi is struck by how beautiful Oikawa Tooru is.

But, well, they aren’t talking about their physical appearances. He thinks back to the first time he saw him a few weeks ago, Ayame perched on his hip like she’d always fit against him. He doesn’t recall ever hearing about the other man settling down, but he was so natural holding his daughter it makes him wonder.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” he ventures.

Oikawa shakes his head with a snort. “Oh no, not me. Something about having a crying baby on the opposite wall during middle school really turns you off from ever wanting kids,” he laughs. “I’m just waiting for Takeru and Nacchan to start their own volleyball team and then he’ll finally understand the suffering I went through with him.” He flashes a model-worthy smile to take the sting out of his words. “I did learn a lot back then, though. And kids love me.”

To punctuate the point, Ayame calls out to them again, telling Oikawa-san to watch her do a flip on the rings.

Wakatoshi remembers those sleepless nights in her first months in this world. She would cry and cry until their nerves were worn paper thin and they wondered if there was something deeper wrong with her. His heart would clench with worry and some nights he feared it would never relax again. His mother’s guidance was the only thing that kept them from bothering the doctor every time she had a bad night. They could never truly repay her for her assistance in those early days.

Of course, her meddling also drove a wedge between them eventually.

Perhaps they had been doomed from the start. Marriages like theirs were commonplace, but despite being arranged between their families, they both yearned for something more than either of them could give the other. He, a love their society would not accept for him. She, a life unbound by the demands his family placed on her. They’d promised to try to love one another in spite of it, to be partners. But while fatherhood had made him softer, expanded his world, motherhood had hardened her, broken her down, and strangled her. Perhaps if he’d been a better husband instead of the dutiful son, he could have convinced her to stay.

He clasps his hands on the table in front of him. Unconsciously, he rubs at the empty space on his fourth finger. It’s been years since he took his wedding band out of its velvet box, but thinking about Chiharu reminds him of the invisible scar.

“You always go out without your ring?” Oikawa’s eyes are still as sharp as ever. The motion doesn’t escape him.

Wakatoshi takes offense to the implication in his tone. It makes him defensive. “You do not wear one either.”

Oikawa’s nose scrunches as if the sentiment offends him. “Because I’m not married.”

“Neither am I,” he says, clipped. Then, softer, almost a whisper, “Not anymore.”

“Oh.” Silence settles over them, swallowed up in the sounds of children laughing and birds chirping. Oikawa puffs up his chest and grimaces like he’s bracing himself for an assault. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have— it’s none of my business.”

It isn’t. It’s not like they are close enough friends to confide in each other. But they have been growing closer these last couple weeks, and Wakatoshi does want to be his friend. He’d wanted it when they were only a few years older than Ayame, but he had been too awkward, too arrogant, to meet Oikawa on his terms. He wants to let Oikawa in, and since their reunion was spurred by his daughter, he decides it is only fair to tell Oikawa about her mother.

“It is alright. You couldn’t have known. The divorce wasn’t publicized. It wasn’t even finalized until two years ago, but it has been six years since Chiharu left us.”

At Oikawa’s look of surprise, he explains how she left in the night, leaving behind her ring and a note saying she couldn’t live under his mother’s thumb anymore. Couldn’t be a mother worthy of Ayame or a wife worthy of him. His mother had been furious, of course. She had brokered their engagement, had personally chosen Chiharu for their family. It wasn’t as if she could have known that Chiharu would suffer severely from giving birth. Wakatoshi only wished for her happiness, and regretted that he had caused her any pain. Despite his promise to be a partner to her, he had failed.

“You can’t blame yourself for that,” Oikawa says, gently. “Relationships are hard work, and sometimes they just don’t work out. It’s nobody’s fault.”

Wakatoshi rubs his left ring finger again. “I could have handled it better. Could have stood up to my mother when she was being particularly overbearing.”

Oikawa chuckles. “Could you have, though?”

Wakatoshi thinks about this for a moment. The first time he’d put his foot down with her was well after Chiharu had gone. When he moved to Tokyo with Ayame and told her they would be fine on their own. By then he’d had the distance to see that her methods, while they worked well enough for him growing up, were not what he wanted for his daughter. He loves his mother, but it was time to find his own way.

“No,” he admits, a light smile tugging at his lips. “I suppose not. Not back then.”

“And now?”

“It is easier when we are in Tokyo. But we spend the summers here in Sendai to be closer to her.” Wakatoshi sighs. “And now she is trying to meddle again. ‘A girl needs a mother, Wakatoshi,’ she says.” He folds his arms over his chest and glances out over the playground, checking to make sure Ayame is still alright. “It’s not as if she doesn’t have women in her life. The women’s national team has been a great help to us since we moved to Tokyo, and she has plenty of positive role models there.

“I told mother I would consider remarrying after I retire, since part of why Chiharu felt so isolated was the months I spent away with the team. I will not do that to another partner.” He feels his brows pinch as he frowns. “But of course she has gone and set up a dinner date with a colleague’s daughter already.”

His scowl deepens with Oikawa’s laughter. He does not think this is particularly funny, until Oikawa says, “So you get your bull-headed stubbornness from her, I see.”

He winces at the comparison, but Oikawa’s glee is infectious. He can’t help smiling with him. “Yes, I suppose so. It is that same stubbornness that makes me want to put off retiring, just so I won’t have to think about it for a few more years.”

That seems to surprise Oikawa. “You’ve been thinking about retiring?” He seems almost disappointed.

“Not seriously,” he hastens to assure him. “But I am not as young as I once was, and every year the fresh prospects get faster and stronger it seems. I am not sure how much longer I will be able to keep up with them.”

It used to scare him, that his body isn’t indestructible and would one day fail him. That injury or illness could take him out without warning. He never cared to think of the future beyond volleyball, because his life was volleyball. What more could there be?

Ayame races another child from one end of the playground to the other. She wins, and the other child falls to the ground, doing several somersaults before stumbling up to the slide as Ayame laughs and claps at their descent. They race again, and she loses. It becomes her turn to make herself dizzy before going down the slide. He doesn’t understand the rules of the games children play, but he’s come to understand that most of them are made up anyway.

“I have plenty to look forward to,” he muses.

Oikawa hums. Wakatoshi turns his attention back to him. He’s also watching the children play, a distant look in his eye. “I think I understand. We’re more alike than you know, Waka-chan. Though, unlike you, I’m not sure what I want to do after I retire.” His eyes slide towards Wakatoshi, and he gives him a wink.

Wakatoshi doesn’t know how to interpret that. “Are…you thinking of retiring?”

“Not seriously,” he echoes. “My contract is coming up for renewal, though. And I’ve been considering all my options.”

Before Wakatoshi can respond to that, Ayame calls out to them, asking Oikawa to come push her on the swings. He acquiesces quickly, teasing her for the dirt on her nose from her roll in the grass. Wakatoshi’s heart does a funny little flutter watching him lick his thumb and rub at the dirt. He has a handkerchief for such situations, but he’s seen other parents use that trick with their children. Ayame squirms but allows Oikawa, this near-stranger, to clean her face for her. Because he’s a friend of her dad’s and they trust him, even though this is only the second time she’s ever met him in person.

“Daddy, watch!”

Oikawa stifles a laugh behind his hand. When his eyes meet Wakatoshi’s, they are full of mischief. He’s seen that look across a court countless times. Dark, hooded, and a harbinger of a deadly strike to come. Yeah Daddy, watch, they seem to say.

Out loud he asks Ayame, “Ready?” and when she nods, he gently pushes her back.

Wakatoshi does watch, rapt with attention on the dynamic between his daughter and his oldest rival. His earliest crush, his mind unhelpfully supplies, and he wonders. It still feels too fragile to imagine a world where Oikawa stays in Japan, where Wakatoshi can make right all the wrongs of their youth and truly make him understand the importance of his existence in Wakatoshi’s life.

But he wonders.

Oikawa said he was looking at all his options. Wakatoshi doesn’t pray for much, but a small, secret, selfish part of him hopes that Japan is one of those options.

“Thank you for doing this on such short notice.”

“It’s no problem.” Oikawa grins as he toes off his shoes in the genkan, easily finding and fitting into the guest slippers like this isn’t his first visit to Wakatoshi’s home. “Wouldn’t want to stand a lady up, now would we?”

Wakatoshi is rather indifferent on that front. It would be rude to cancel last minute, particularly after all the trouble his mother went through to set the date up. But a small, vindictive part of himself he never knew was there wants to thwart her carefully laid plans and just stay home with his daughter. With Oikawa.

When his sitter called to inform him she had food poisoning and couldn’t watch Ayame tonight, he’d almost cheered his good fortune. Which would have been in very poor taste considering the poor girl’s intestinal distress. It was also short-lived, as it then occurred to him if he tried to cancel for lack of a sitter, his mother would volunteer herself. He’d only agreed to the date on the condition that Ayame would remain in their home with her usual sitter, but that wouldn’t stop her from coming over to watch her granddaughter and insist he go on the date after all.

Texting Oikawa has become commonplace in his day-to-day. They were in the middle of discussing some gossip in the European league when Sayu called him, and he found himself lamenting his woes to Oikawa afterwards. Without preamble, he’d asked Wakatoshi what time his date was and said he would be over an hour before. He wouldn’t take no for an answer, and threatened to get his address from any number of his teammates if he wouldn’t give it to Oikawa himself. Wakatoshi had no doubts they would give it up, especially Iwaizumi, so he willingly sent it along.

Oikawa is here exactly an hour before Wakatoshi needs to leave, and he gives Wakatoshi a smirking once-over. “Is that what you’re wearing?”

He’d thrown on a pair of old gym shorts and a plain white tank top after his shower, not wanting to sweat through his nice clothes before his date. He still has to shave his face and pomade his hair. He hates getting the small hairs everywhere or the gel on his clothes, so he held off on actually getting dressed until about ten minutes before he needed to depart.

He suspects Oikawa knows some of this, or at least isn’t serious in his inquiry, so he decides to play along.

“Do you think it would ensure a second date?”

Oikawa knows he does not even want to go on this first date, but he chews his lip in contemplation anyway. It’s mildly distracting, Wakatoshi thinks. Oikawa’s eyes skate over the bulk of his exposed biceps and the expanse of his chest. “Unfortunately, I think it might,” he chuckles, a touch breathlessly. “Luckily for you I think the restaurant has a dress code policy and you will just have to wear a boring suit that no one will find attractive whatsoever.”

“Yes,” he says, not missing the irony in Oikawa’s voice. “How lucky indeed.”

A pair of small footsteps come tapping down the hall. “Oikawa-san! What are you doing here?” Ayame’s eyes are wide as saucers.

He waggles his fingers at her. “Yahoo, Aya-chan!”

“Sayu-chan isn’t feeling well,” Wakatoshi explains, “so Oikawa-san is going to spend the evening with you while I go on the date I promised Obaa-san I would attend.”

The little girl squeals in delight and tugs him by the wrist into the house. She chatters away as she shows him to the kitchen so he can deposit the pair of plastic bags he brought with him. “What’s in there anyway?”

“Dinner ingredients.” He crouches down to her level and affects a conspiratorial glee. “How would you like to learn how to make empanadas?”

She jumps in place, her hands shooting up above her head. “Yes!”

“Ok, go wash your hands extra good for me.” She dashes off to the bathroom to do as he tells her. He grins up at Wakatoshi. “Don’t you need to finish getting ready?”

He does, though he has a little time. He is still trying to process the fact that Oikawa Tooru is in his home, preparing to make dinner with and for his daughter.

“You didn’t need to bring dinner,” he chides. “I would have left money for takeout, or there are leftovers.”

Oikawa dismisses his complaints with a flick of his hand. “I was going to make them this weekend anyway. Plus it’ll keep her busy for a bit. Go get dressed, I’ve got this.”

Wakatoshi leaves him to pull out the pans and utensils he will need, feeling a strange sense of melancholy. He feels like he will be missing something important, going off on his date while Oikawa and Ayame cook dinner together.

Oikawa.

Being domestic in Wakatoshi’s house.

He could not have pictured it before if he’d been asked.

Oikawa has always been larger-than-life in Wakatoshi’s mind, always dominating on a volleyball court or dazzling from on high in press junkets and television interviews. It is one thing to know, objectively, that he is no different from Wakatoshi, just a man who must eat and do mundane chores about his home when he is not playing or practicing. It is another thing to witness it first-hand.

He has a front row seat now, but he is missing it.

Ayame’s laughter echoes up the hall. It’s nothing these walls haven’t heard before, and yet it is new. Because it is Oikawa bringing those giggles out of her. Oikawa guiding her hand as he shows her how to shape the dough. Oikawa who is delicately slicing up vegetables at his kitchen island with practiced ease. He found Wakatoshi’s apron too, and seeing him in it makes Wakatoshi’s insides feel like the pastry currently being kneaded in his daughter’s fingers.

“Oh.” Oikawa’s hand stills on the cutting board when he sees Wakatoshi in the kitchen doorway. His eyes slide over Wakatoshi’s slicked back hair, down his crisp, maroon button-down to his tailored slacks. His mouth curves in a cheeky grin. “Well, don’t you clean up nice.”

“Daddy, you look great!” Ayame attempts a whistle, but only succeeds in blowing air. She pouts as Oikawa laughs, but he promises he’ll teach her how to whistle properly too.

He wipes his hands on his apron and maneuvers around the island to stand in front of Wakatoshi. His fingers deftly slide up the black tie at Wakatoshi’s neck to straighten it. Wakatoshi doesn’t comment on the pink in his cheeks. His own feel just as warm. “There. Honestly, how do you get by?”

“It has been a while since I’ve been on a proper date.” He clears his throat at the bemused expression on Oikawa’s face and barrels on. “And for media appearances, there are always wardrobe people to make sure I am presentable.”

Oikawa hums. “So the great Ushijima Wakatoshi is human after all.”

“Of course I am. What else would I be?”

Oikawa shakes his head with a chuckle. “Never mind. Go kiss your daughter goodnight. Aya-chan, don’t get flour on your father’s nice suit. We wouldn’t want to ruin his date now, would we?”

“Well…” she drawls, dark eyes glimmering with mischief. He gives her a stern look. She knows he does not wish to go, but she also knows it doesn’t matter what he wants when Obaa-san tells him to do something. She giggles, and offers him her cheek to kiss.

“You be good for Oikawa-san. Just like you would if he was Sayu-chan.”

Oikawa resumes his vegetable chopping. “Aya-chan and I are going to have plenty of fun, aren’t we?” He waggles the knife threateningly in Wakatoshi’s direction. “Now you better get going if you don’t want to be late. Don’t fret about us.”

He isn’t worried about them.

He’s envious.

But he goes as he is bid and tries his hardest not to be.

He arrives at the restaurant promptly fifteen minutes early. He gives the hostess his name and says he is expecting one more. His date has not arrived yet so she escorts him to the reserved table and offers to get him a drink while he waits. He is not a very social drinker, but he enjoys a strong bourbon on occasion, and an arranged date seems to call for such an occasion.

He doesn’t have to wait long. The hostess returns with his mother’s colleague’s daughter before his drink.

She’s lovely. Polite. Young, with long dark hair pulled back from her face in a half bun. He only half listens to her talk about herself, her interests and course of study. She’s fresh out of university with her teaching certificate. Loves children. Hopes to have one or two of her own someday. He can understand why his mother picked her, but he is content with his one child.

His thoughts drift to her more often than not throughout the meal. He wonders what Ayame and Oikawa are up to. If they’ve eaten yet. If there are any leftover empanadas for him to try. He imagines them in the yard after dinner, Ayame begging Oikawa to teach her his best sets and Oikawa obliging until it’s too dark to see. He wonders if they’ll play board games then, or if Ayame will make Oikawa watch her latest favorite movie with her.

He doesn’t completely ignore his date. He isn’t rude. He answers her questions about his life. About volleyball. About Ayame. He is honest about his intentions, or lack thereof, as well. He tells her he does not wish to pursue another relationship until after he retires, and does not wish to give her false hope or waste her time. He apologizes for his mother’s attempt at matchmaking, and thanks her for humoring her own parents’ wishes.

She understands. Thanks him for his transparency. They briefly argue over splitting the bill, but he insists on paying all of it since he was the one who wasted her time. She relents when he suggests they go for after dinner coffee and tells her she can pay for that instead. There might not be a second date in the future, but they can at least make the most of this one.

By the time he arrives back home, it is well past Ayame’s bedtime. He hopes she gave Oikawa no trouble about going to sleep. There are no concerning texts on his phone, which is both a relief and a disappointment. He figured Oikawa would spam him with pictures, and while he dutifully kept his phone silenced throughout the course of his date, he was surprised when he had no missed texts afterwards.

The house is dim when he walks in. The light in the entryway was left on for him, but the only other light is coming from the living room. Wakatoshi calls out, but there is no response.

Frowning, he makes his way to the backlit doorway and peers in.

The sight that awaits him steals the breath from his lungs.

The TV is dimmed, idle for some time but still displaying the colorful graphic of Ayame’s favorite movie. The lamp on the side table blankets them in a warm glow. His daughter is asleep against Oikawa’s side where she’d clearly curled up during the film, just as she does with Wakatoshi. There’s a small damp spot on Oikawa’s shirt where she has begun to drool. Not that it seems to bother Oikawa in the least. He is also asleep, his head pillowed against the back of the couch, glasses slightly askew on his nose, arm resting lightly over Ayame’s shoulder. He snores softly.

Wakatoshi’s heart clenches at the domesticity of it.

Ayame has always been an agreeable child, friendly with everyone she meets no matter their age or relation. She is comfortable meeting new people and warms up to them quickly.

But this is new.

He has never come home to her like this with Sayu-chan, for instance. And he doesn’t recall Himura-san or Shinamori-san saying she ever dozed off in their arms. Not even as a toddler. Over their years in Tokyo she has stayed with one woman or the other whenever he has away games.

And then there is Oikawa.

Wakatoshi has barely scratched the surface of this newly-revealed side of him. He hadn’t had the privilege of seeing him with his nephew when they were younger, but seeing him now with Ayame it isn’t hard to picture him taking a young Takeru to Little Tykes practices or soothing a baby Takeru so his sister could get a few more minutes of sleep. It isn’t hard to picture him with a child of his own.

(Wakatoshi rather likes the image of Oikawa with his child, though.)

He lingers in the doorway, simply watching the pair rest. He allows himself the moment to dream along with them. Of nights like this being commonplace, a partner to come home to and love his daughter as his own. When he had married Chiharu, he’d thought that dream was too far to grasp.

Now, well.

Oikawa snorts himself awake, blinking bleary eyes around the room until they adjust, eventually landing on Wakatoshi. His lips curve in a soft smile. “Okaeri.” His voice is rough around the edges from sleep. It is the most beautiful thing Wakatoshi has ever heard.

“Tadaima.”

He is home.

Wakatoshi has never been the type to get particularly melodramatic over the changing of the seasons. Shorter days and cooler nights had never quite held nostalgia for him the way it did for his peers. Fatherhood hadn’t brought a significant change in that regard, except perhaps a heightened awareness of how the years seemed to be passing faster and faster. Sometimes it felt like he blinked and Ayame changed from a wobbly toddler into an acrobatic child between one moment and the next. Those moments came at random and weren’t tied to any particular season.

This year, though, the end of summer brings a sense of melancholy over him.

He and Ayame would be returning to Tokyo soon for the start of the fall term. He would resume training and prepare for an action packed V League season while she returned to school and friends and practices of her own.

And Oikawa?

His home was across the ocean. Where the language was melodic and lilting and the seasons reversed. No doubt he would be returning any day now.

Wakatoshi understands this last month has been a gift. A chance to reconnect and lay the foundations of a relationship he’d long thought out of his grasp. He is grateful their paths have crossed again after so many years, that he has been able to cultivate this tender friendship into something that will hopefully bloom over the years to come. These things take time, he knows, but as the Sendai summer sprints to a close, he feels the time slipping like sand through his fingers.

For the first time in his life, he’s not ready for the summer to end.

In their last week in the prefecture, Oikawa invites Wakatoshi and Ayame out to dinner.

Wakatoshi does not think twice about accepting his invitation. Such had their friendship become. Since the night he filled in for Wakatoshi’s babysitter, Oikawa has shared several more meals with them. Lunch after another Little Tykes practice. Dinner that Wakatoshi and Ayame made him as thanks for the empanadas. A family barbeque at the Oikawa’s.

He does, however, start to question what Oikawa is up to when he sends Wakatoshi the name and address of the restaurant, an upscale establishment on the nicer end of town. The sort with a dress code and unspoken “no children” policy.

He double checks the text. Oikawa had specified both him and Ayame.

“It’s a special occasion and it’s my treat,” he insists when Wakatoshi calls him to clarify. “Stop fretting and just make yourselves pretty. Leave the rest to the great Oikawa-san, okay?”

Wakatoshi has no idea what the special occasion could possibly be. It’s no one’s birthday, and it’s not like they have been close enough to have any significant anniversaries. He wonders if this is just one of Oikawa’s quirks he never got to know in high school, and smiles to himself. How far they’ve come that Oikawa is comfortable revealing all his facets to Wakatoshi. It’s wonderful.

He does as the setter bids, and gets Ayame washed up. At first, she protests. They go out to dinner all the time. Why does she need to get dressed up?

“Oikawa-san is taking us somewhere fancy,” he explains. “He requested that we both look our best. Remember the V League Gala we attended last winter?” She nods, eyes sparkling with the memory of the glittering lights. “This place is like that. Usually only adults are allowed, but it seems Oikawa-san has worked his magic to make sure you can come too.”

“I can be a grown-up!” she exclaims. “I’ll be so good!”

Wakatoshi chuckles. “I know you will. So please, wash your hair nice and good for me. We can pick out what you will wear after.”

She has a couple of nice sundresses he’d bought for her at the start of summer. She’d shot up since last summer and he’d had to donate the old ones. Unsurprisingly, she opts for the forest green dress. It’s the only one without a pattern, which makes it feel more mature, but he knows that wasn’t part of her consideration. It’s the only one in her favorite color.

He combs her hair and helps her twist it up in a half knot. She asks if she can wear the nude lip tint Sayu-chan got her for her birthday. Ayame loved to play with Sayu-chan’s make-up. There were many days he’d come home to find them both dolled up and giggling. There was no harm in it. Still, he hadn’t wanted her to get in the habit of wearing make-up yet. He’d allowed Sayu to gift it as long as she explained it was a “special occasion” sort of gift.

And well, Oikawa had said this was a special occasion.

She carefully applies the tint in the mirror, popping her lips as she’d watched Sayu do dozens of times. When she turns back to him, a full beaming smile dimpling her cheeks, Wakatoshi’s heart stutters. “How do I look, Daddy?”

For a moment, he is transported through the years. He sees her graduating middle school. Winning her high school volleyball tournament. Standing at the altar with a faceless person, happy as the day she first spiked a volleyball. They fight, have arguments, scream at each other over the foolish things parents and children disagree on. He comforts her during her first heartbreak and all the ones after. Except for the one he can’t. The one he will cause, hopefully many, many years from now. Through it all, she will always be his little girl.

He blinks away the heat forming at the corners of his eyes. He raises her chin gently with his knuckle, quietly appraising her work, but giving himself a moment to recover. Finally he nods, seemingly in satisfaction. “You look beautiful.”

Her squeal of delight fills him with warmth.

He finishes getting himself ready. He chooses a shirt to match her dress, and lets her help him grease up his hair. A product he usually saves for dates, or special occasions. She giggles as the pomade gets all over her fingers, and he has to help her wash it off her hands after. Miraculously, she doesn’t get any on her dress.

The hostess doesn’t bat an eyelash when they arrive, only offers a perfectly cordial smile and asks the name on their reservation. He gives Oikawa’s name, and asks if they are early.

“Not at all. Oikawa-san only just arrived as well. If you’ll please follow me.”

She leads them into the dining room, to a table in the corner. It’s early enough in the evening that there are only a handful of other tables filled. Mostly older couples and a boisterous group of middle-aged women who appear to be enjoying the first of many stops on what will surely be a night to remember. He doesn’t know what they’re celebrating; he barely even registers them beyond the shouts of “Kampai!” as they clink their wine glasses together.

His attention is stolen along with his breath by the man raising out of his seat just ahead of the hostess.

Oikawa Tooru has always been beautiful beyond compare. Wakatoshi’s life-long infatuation with him notwithstanding, it’s just a fact of life. The sun rises in the east. Wakatoshi is left-handed. Oikawa Tooru is beautiful.

“My my, don’t you two look dashing tonight.”

Oikawa’s suit is bespoke. Like Wakatoshi, he probably has to have a tailor, too tall and broad in the shoulders to fit anything off the rack. The effect is that it fits him like a second skin. It perfectly accentuates his legs, and hugs his torso like a lover. The fabric is a navy so dark it may as well be black, but he added a pop of color at his neck in a baby-blue bowtie. His hair is as precisely coiffed as ever, if a bit shorter on the sides than he wore it in his youth and freshly trimmed besides. To say he cleans up nice would be an understatement.

He smiles and Wakatoshi’s brain erupts in static. Over the years, he’s witnessed many of Oikawa’s various masks. The false smiles he puts on for adoring fans, the feral grins when he’s crushing opponents on a volleyball court, even the true smiles he gives to those he loves. Wakatoshi has seen almost all of them in his lifetime, but he has never had the pleasure of having one of those blessed, true smiles turned upon him.

Ayame’s hand squeezes his when he takes too long to respond.

“Thank you for inviting us, Oikawa-san,” she says, offering a half bow.

Wakatoshi follows her example half a step behind. “Yes, thank you.” And because he has never held back his opinions in front of Oikawa in his life, when he straightens his back he adds, “You are beautiful tonight, as well.”

The light dusting of pink that highlights his cheeks is worth it.

Dinner is an easygoing affair. Everything has become so easy between them lately, it makes Wakatoshi’s chest tight to think how soon this will be in the past. He does his best to remain present, to enjoy Oikawa’s company and the delicious food. Oikawa keeps them both engaged in conversation, an expert in conducting people no matter the situation. Wakatoshi is grateful. Ayame laughs at Oikawa’s jokes, and offers up her opinions on the food.

(She didn’t like the seasoning on the fish, but she thought the soup was “exquisite.”)

Despite the venue and ambience, it feels like any other dinner they’ve had in the last few weeks.

Then, once dessert has been delivered and Ayame is delightedly eating the raspberry tart Oikawa swears he’s too full to eat, he finally acknowledges the elephant in the room. The real reason he wanted to treat them to dinner.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about what I want to do next,” he says, smacking his lips after sipping the Malbec in his glass.

Here it comes. Wakatoshi consciously reminds himself to breathe.

“Being back here, being home with my family, really made me realize how much I’ve missed Japan. And well, kaa-san’s getting older. Argentina isn’t going anywhere, but she won’t be here forever.” His words are at odds with his body language. He talks about his family, but Oikawa’s eyes bore into his as he speaks, unblinking. Unyielding.

Wakatoshi was never fluent, but he’s gotten better. And this last month has done wonders for his ability to translate Oikawa’s body language specifically. He takes a sip from his own glass to buy himself a moment to think of how he wants to respond. The full-bodied red makes his head hazy, but it also makes him bold. He cuts through it to ask the question he’s wanted to ask since Oikawa first appeared out of a crowd four weeks ago, Wakatoshi’s daughter safe in his arms.

“Will you stay?”

Oikawa considers him for a long moment, weighing the question. Against what, Wakatoshi doesn’t know. But then he smiles again, and he turns to look at Ayame. “What do you think, Aya-chan? Should I stay in Japan?”

Her eyes shimmer in the low light. That could just be the sugar, though. “Does that mean you’ll be able to come to more of my games?”

“Ayame, it is quite some distance between here and To—"

“Tokyo is only a few hours by bullet train,” he cuts him off, casually swirling the wine in his glass. Ayame claps excitedly. “I’ll have to go back to Argentina for a week or two to settle a few things with my team and my landlord, but yeah. It’s time for a change. I’m staying.”

Wakatoshi doesn’t speak. His head feels light and full of spun sugar, his heart sings the words his tongue is too heavy to push out of his mouth. Ayame talks enough for both of them. She has most of Oikawa’s attention, telling him about all her friends back in Tokyo and all her favorite places to eat and shop and how they’ll all go together when he comes to visit and they can have another sleepover just like when he babysat. He laughs with her and says he can’t wait.

His eyes meet Wakatoshi’s again, and he knows Oikawa can easily translate his own smile.

Summer may be coming to an end, but a whole new season is just beginning.

In October, Oikawa visits them in Tokyo.

They meet him at the station and all walk to Ayame’s school together, one of her hands in each of theirs. He sits with Ushijima and the other parents and he cheers the loudest when Ayame lands a service ace. He proudly tells one of the moms on the other side of him that he taught her that. They stare at him in awe, and discreetly look between him and Wakatoshi with curiosity.

Wakatoshi doesn’t mind. Let them make their own conclusions.

(He hopes to prove them right one day.)

After the game, they bring Oikawa back to their apartment as promised. Ayame points out the sights as they walk and Oikawa asks pertinent questions as if he really is a tourist. She makes a lot of things up, but he always indulges her with oohs and aahs to make her smile. Wakatoshi loves them both so much.

At home, they send her off to shower and settle into the routine of prepping dinner together. It’s been months since they shared such close proximity, and yet they’ve lost none of the familiarity they built over the summer. Oikawa fills the air with idle chatter, and Wakatoshi listens, responding when the conversation requires, but it’s easy. Comfortable.

After dinner Oikawa helps Ayame construct “the most epic blanket fort of all time” in the living room while Wakatoshi takes care of their dishes. The giggles filling the small home also fill him with warmth. The fort is impressive, not least for its occupancy capacity. All three of them are able to fit comfortable within, and they arrange themselves with Ayame between them.

Around midnight, their third movie of the night finally gets to the credits. Ayame remains steadfastly asleep, but the adults are stiff from so many hours on the floor. Wakatoshi helps Oikawa extricate himself from Ayame’s hold on his arm, delicately replacing it with Usa-chan.

“You’re a regular Indiana Jones, huh,” Oikawa chuckles softly once he gets to his feet.

It takes him a moment to mull that non-sequitur over in his tired mind, but it clicks soon enough. Not unlike the traps the titular character’s daring escapes. He nods, mostly so Oikawa knows he understands the reference.

“Safer than moving her to bed and risk waking her up.”

There really isn’t much danger of that. She always sleeps hard after a game, and she’s had an exciting day besides. But she’s not the only one.

Wakatoshi yawns, and his jaw cracks with the force of it. It immediately infects Oikawa and he glares softly at Wakatoshi for triggering his own yawn. He had arguably the longest day of them all, getting up early to catch the first train to make Ayame’s game on time.

He glances at the mess of couch cushions and blankets on the floor and realizes he has nowhere for Oikawa to sleep.

Nowhere except—

Oikawa’s fingers loosely curl around his. He’s almost bashful in the dark as he smiles up at Wakatoshi. “Maybe we should have our own sleepover,” he suggests.

Wakatoshi mirrors him, closing the loop of their hands, and gently tugs him down the hall towards his room.

In the morning, there is a warm body in his bed. Smiling brown eyes greet him, and Wakatoshi knows this is the view he wants for the rest of his life.

He brings his hand up to cup Oikawa’s face and pull him in for a soft, lingering kiss. He lost count of how many times he kissed him in the early hours before they tired themselves out. Not enough. He could spend the rest of his life kissing Oikawa and it would never be enough.

Oikawa giggles into the shared air between them when he pulls away.

Wakatoshi rubs his thumb over his pretty, flushed cheekbone. Because he can. Because Oikawa is still here.

“Will you stay?” he whispers.

“I thought you’d never ask.”