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The first time Daichi runs into Oikawa Tooru on campus is a complete accident. Nishi-Waseda is sprawling; for the first-year, it’s a bewildering maze of wrong turns and too many buildings that look all alike, and Daichi's pretty sure that his Microeconomics A lecture has started more than fifteen minutes ago. He unfolds the campus map they’d given him during orientation, cursing Tokyo in general for being too big and confusing. At least Karasuno had been a straightforward bike ride away from home; Daichi’s current commute consists of three train transfers and a twenty-minute walk, minimum.
He fumbles with the map, trying to orient himself. He’d entered by the west gate, so that building to his right has to be the Waseda Institute of Advanced Studies - - Daichi’s so engrossed in working out where he is that he doesn’t look where he’s going, and he ends up colliding with someone else.
“Shit, sorry!”
“Watch where you’re going - ah, Sawamura!” The voice is strangely familiar, and one that he didn’t think he’d be hearing again any time soon. Daichi blinks.
Oikawa Tooru beams at him, irritation replaced by a sunny smile, and it’s a little odd seeing him dressed casually and not in Aoba Jousai’s mint-and-blue volleyball attire.
“Oikawa. Sorry, I’m kind of lost.” Daichi admits, scratching the back of his head sheepishly.
“Don’t worry about it,” Oikawa waves it off. “I’ve got a class right now… ah, Microecons A,” he says, squinting at his phone with a general air of distaste, as if he’s eaten something particularly sour-tasting, and Daichi raises his eyebrows.
“Same, actually, only I don’t know where it is - “
“You’re majoring in Econs, too?” Oikawa slants him a look, and this time it’s faintly amused, “Never figured you for a social sciences type of guy.”
“I could say the same.” Under any other circumstances, Daichi would be mildly offended - what’s that supposed to mean? But he figures this isn’t the kind of thing to get worked up over, especially if he and Oikawa are going to be seeing a lot of each other.
“My parents want me to study something marketable in case volleyball doesn’t work out.” Oikawa snorts, dismissive, and Daichi can almost hear the scornful as if at the tail end of his sentence.
“So, uh, do you know where it is?”
“Class? Yeah. I think,” Oikawa consults his phone once more, and points in the opposite direction. “It’s this way.”
It turns out that Oikawa, for all his prowess on the court, is hopeless when it comes to finding his way around.
“i thought you said you knew where it was,” Daichi mutters, after their third circuit of the building, and Oikawa scowls at him, the tips of his ears going red. “Well, I do, and we’re here now, so - “ He pushes the door open, and cuts himself off at the an irate shhh from a few rows in front.
They’re forty minutes late, and there aren’t any seats available at the back, so they have to make do with the steps. Oikawa settles a pair of glasses over his nose and pulls out a notebook, and after belated moment - he never knew Oikawa needed glasses, okay - Daichi reaches for his pen and jotter book too, and starts taking notes. They’ve already missed a good deal of the lecture as it is, and as yawn-inducing as the graphs look, he’s not going to fall behind on the first class.
“That was the most boring thing ever,” Oikawa complains, throwing both arms over his head in a lazy stretch. “I’m glad it’s over!”
The sky outside is a crisp blue, and the sun on Daichi's face is a warm welcome after being stuck inside a windowless auditorium. Briefly, he wonders how Suga and Asahi are doing, and he checks his phone - no messages from them, yet.
“It wasn’t that bad,” Daichi says, tucking his phone away; sure, their lecturer droned, a fair bit, but he’d sat through worse.
Oikawa shoots him an incredulous look. “Are you serious? I was falling asleep towards the end. Anyway, I’m meeting Iwa-chan near Tsukiji for lunch - wanna come with if you don’t have class?”
“Iwaizumi’s in Tokyo, too?” Daichi remembers Seijou’s vice-captain; stocky and a solid presence behind Oikawa on the court, with a killer spike. He’s never spoken to Iwaizumi much, and the few times they have were mostly just pre- and post-match formalities.
“Iwa-chan’s been accepted into Todai's law faculty,” Oikawa explains, tapping at his phone as he replies a message, “I know, surprising, right? I thought he was joking when he told me about it.”
“Sure, if Iwaizumi doesn’t mind. And if you don’t get us lost on the way to Tsukiji, why not?” Tsukiji Market’s been on his to-visit list, but Daichi hasn’t exactly had the time to head there yet; he’d just only moved into his dorm a few days ago. So far, all he’s done in Tokyo is unpack and do his laundry.
“Excuse you, that was a one-off!” Oikawa squawks, flailing at him, “Also, just for that, you’re uninvited!” But he’s grinning, and Daichi allows himself to be dragged along for another undoubtedly winding subway trip.
They end up missing their stop for the transfer, and have to wait for the next train heading back towards Nishi-Funabashi.
Oikawa huffs, preemptively casting a look at Daichi. “Don’t say ‘I told you so’, or I’m leaving you here,” he threatens. It’s not very convincing, not when Oikawa himself can’t exactly navigate Tokyo on his own.
Daichi bites back a snicker; he’d just been about to say that. “You’re the one with the smartphone and access to Google maps, I can’t believe you keep getting us lost!”
“One,” Oikawa raises a finger, “we are not lost, we just missed our stop. Two, I can’t believe you still have one of those flip phones. They’re like VHS cassettes. Who even uses them anymore?”
“There’s nothing wrong with using a flip phone,” Daichi informs him. “At least if I drop it, it won’t shatter like yours would - “
Their train arrives in a clatter of wheels, and they step past the barrier and into the carriage, still bickering.
It takes them several more minutes and more arguing, but they finally get on the right train at Monzennakacho on the Oedo line.
Oikawa’s phone pings; he swipes through the lock screen and sniffs. “Iwa-chan says he’ll meet us at Tsukijishijo. Apparently, he doesn’t trust us to find our way to Marushizu on our own.”
“Good call,” Daichi says, relieved; neither Oikawa and he are any good at this whole city thing, really, and they could both do with someone who actually knows their way around.
Iwaizumi’s waiting by the east exit, hands shoved in his pockets. He breaks out in a smile when he catches sight of them both.
“Sawamura!” Iwaizumi’s handshake is every bit as firm as Daichi remembers. A little too firm, in retrospect; Daichi discreetly flexes his fingers to regain some of the feeling in them.
“How come you’re shaking hands with Sawamura, but you won’t say hi to me?” Oikawa demands, slinging an arm around Iwaizumi’s shoulders.
Iwaizumi sighs, and gives Daichi a long-suffering look that says that he’s well-acquainted with Oikawa’s idiosyncrasies. “Sorry this guy is so annoying,” he deadpans, “He’s always been like this.”
“Way to greet your best friend, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa grumbles, but he doesn’t let go of Iwaizumi, and neither does Iwaizumi attempt to push him away.
Marushizu, it turns out, is not actually at Tsukiji, and Daichi sees why Iwaizumi had decided to meet them at the station - they’d never find it otherwise on their own. The restaurant’s tucked away in an alleyway with only a small sign by the front door and the savoury smell of grilled eel to mark it as an eatery.
Daichi’s not exactly a huge fan of eel, but his indifference dissolves at the first bite - it’s sweet-savoury with a hint of salt, bursting with flavour, and he makes a pleased noise in the back of his throat, his eyes widening with surprise.
“Someone on the volleyball team recommended this place to me,” Iwaizumi explains around a mouthful of unagi. “They’ve only got the one dish, but s’good, isn’t it?”
“So, it turns out we’re almost all in Tokyo,” Oikawa says, after they’ve scraped their bowls clean and ordered seconds. “Us captains, I mean. Ushiwaka’s at Keio.”
Daichi nods, taking a sip of tea. “Yeah, I’ve heard. Kuroo - he was Nekoma’s captain - is on Keio’s team too.”
“Waseda’s got the Fukurodani captain - Bokuto, I think? It’s gonna be an interesting season, definitely.” Oikawa picks up his chopsticks as the waiter slides their bento onto the counter. “Which reminds me - volleyball tryouts are on Thursday. Are you going?”
“Actually, I haven’t really thought about volleyball,” Daichi says; he’d been accepted into Waseda on the basis of his grades in the entrance exams, not volleyball, and he’s under no illusions about the ease of getting on the team. Like any other good university, competition to get into the first string is going to be tough.
“Waseda could do with someone like you running defense,” Oikawa hums, popping a slice of unagi into his mouth. “I mean, you don’t have to, obviously, but… think about it.”
“You’re a solid foundation for the team,” Iwaizumi agrees, and there is no trace of bitterness in his eyes as he looks at Daichi, “Like against Shiratorizawa, and in every match you’ve played against us.”
“You watched the match?” Daichi’s surprised; he hadn’t noticed Iwaizumi or Oikawa, but then again he’d been too intent on the match to pay attention to the audience.
“Yeah,” Iwaizumi jerks his thumb at Oikawa, “we were there. Thanks for kicking Ushiwaka’s ass, by the way.”
“It was a team effort.” Daichi’s mouth quirks a little at the corners; they’d fought hard and long, and while they’d ultimately been defeated by another team in Tokyo, they’d done their very best.
“Yeah, but you played a part, too.” Oikawa leans forward and steals another slice of unagi off Iwaizumi’s plate. “Your receives are nothing to sneeze at. Give it a try. And,” he grins a commercial-worthy smile, teeth gleaming, “a tip from Tokyo's finest - no one passes up an opportunity for Oikawa Tooru’s toss - “
Iwaizumi’s elbow connects with Oikawa’s arm, sending the piece of unagi dropping to the counter-top. Oikawa lets out a yelp, whirling around to shoot an outraged glare at Iwaizumi.
"You’re embarrassing me, dumbass. Stop bothering him.” Iwaizumi scowls gruffly, “Try not to let him disturb you too much, Sawamura. He can’t help it.”
“Hey!” Oikawa sputters, indignant, but Iwaizumi talks over him. “It’d be good to see you on the court again, though. And this guy here,” he gives Oikawa a pointed look, “could do with someone level-headed to keep him in line.”
“I do not!”
“Be quiet and eat your unagi, or I’ll finish it for you.”
“Sawamura, can you believe this brutality - no, no, don’t! My unagi! Fine, I’ll be quiet!”
“I’ll think about it.” Daichi says, when they’re about to part ways for the day; Oikawa to the bookstore to buy textbooks, and Daichi, back to his dorm.
“About what?” Oikawa’s brow creases as he looks up from his phone.
“About tryouts on Thursday.”
Oikawa’s eyes crinkle at the corners, “I guess I’ll be seeing you there, then?”
“I haven’t even said yes yet - “ Daichi protests, but the doors slide closed, and Oikawa waves at him cheerily from inside the train.
He goes to tryouts on Thursday. Daichi’s thankful he packed his volleyball things, if only on a whim; Kuroo had made him promise that they’d try for fortnightly scrimmages, at least. “We’re in the same city now,” Kuroo had said, over steaming bowls of what he assured Daichi was Tokyo's finest ramen at Mutekiya, “so don’t think you’re getting off with any more excuses, Sawamura. It’s my turn to kick your ass this time.”
Daichi’s barely set foot in the gym before Bokuto descends on him with an excited “HEY, HEY, HEY, SAWAMURA!”
“Bokuto,” Daichi wheezes; he’s pretty sure Bokuto’s hand has left a giant print on his back, judging from how the impact stings for a good while after that.
“I heard from Oikawa you're here!” Bokuto’s practically bouncing on his heels, “Just like old times, eh? Only it’s you and me against Kuroo this time round!”
“That’s if I get in,” Daichi reminds him. The line of hopefuls isn’t exactly short - both in terms of length and height - and it’s going to be tough.
“Nah, no worries, man, you’ll totally ace this,” Bokuto squeezes his shoulders, unfazed; in between trying to get his breath back, Daichi wishes he had half Bokuto’s optimism and confidence.
Bokuto catches sight of a familiar face, and then he’s gone, tearing across the gym with his usual exuberance.
“He’s a bit of a handful, isn’t he,” Oikawa drawls from behind him, and Daichi jumps.
“Relax,” there’s a wry smile tugging at his mouth, as if Oikawa’s in on a secret Daichi isn’t privy to, “You’ll do fine.”
There’s little time to talk after that; they get divided into teams and it’s on to play-offs to determine who gets sorted into first-, second- and third-string.
Lev and Aone wouldn’t have looked out of place in the opposing team's line-up. Two of them look like they’re pushing two meters in height, and it’s almost like Dateko’s Iron Wall over again. It’s not a problem, though. As long as he can get the receive, they’ve still got a good chance of winning.
The whistle shrills, and that’s it - game on.
Daichi’s team wins. He won’t know the results of the selection until next week, but Bokuto talks (read: drags) him into going for a celebratory dinner anyway, and as is often the case with Bokuto, Kuroo is invariably involved, and the evening’s shenanigans end with them getting chased out of a yakiniku restaurant in Edogawa (“The menu said all you can eat, so why are they kicking us out!? Kuroo, back me up here!” “I don’t think they were prepared for you to clean the whole restaurant out, and you ate my share, dumbass!” “Let’s never do that again,” Daichi intervenes, “Also, you both owe me 25,000 yen, so pay up.” “But I’m still hungry!”)
Daichi makes it into the Waseda team. He still has his work cut out for him - second-string means he’ll see more of the bench than he did at Karasuno, but it’s a start. Daichi isn’t ruffled. He knows about earning his place, and he will; it’s just a matter of time. The only first-years who make it to the starting line-up are, unsurprisingly, Oikawa and Bokuto, and even then that isn’t a constant; they’re to be rotated in and out as the coach sees fit.
Across the gym, Oikawa gives him a small, secret smile when his name is read out, as if to say, I knew you could do it, and Daichi grins back at him, giddy with excitement.
From that point on, Oikawa becomes a regular fixture in Daichi’s campus life - in class, at practice, and in general, around. They run in the same social circles, and he usually winds up bumping into Oikawa multiple times in a week outside of volleyball and lectures.
For all that Oikawa complains about economics being a pain, he works twice as hard as Daichi to keep his grades up. Now that the semester’s gone into full swing, they’re inundated with work - essays, stats problems and projects; and that’s not counting the hours they need to put in for volleyball practice, especially since the season’s starting soon.
“I hate econs,” Oikawa snarls to no one in particular, glaring at his laptop screen. His teeth are gritted, and he’s tapping his pen against the tabletop again. The erratic beat of it is driving Daichi nuts. “What is the point of studying History of Econ Thought when no one knows how the fix the damn economy?”
There’s a sharp shhh! from someone two tables down, and people are starting to stare; not that Oikawa seems to notice. His hair, usually perfectly coiffed, is sticking out at odd angles, and there are dark smudges under his eyes that concealer can’t quite hide. After four hours wrestling with his own essay, Daichi’s eyes are starting to water too, and the words are sliding in and out of focus. He’s in need of a break, and judging from Oikawa’s ranting, he is, too.
“C’mon,” Daichi hits save, and powers his laptop down, shoving it back into his bag, along with the stack of books he’d been referring to. “Let’s get some fresh air and something to eat.”
“Essay,” Oikawa mutters, stubborn, not taking his eyes off the screen.
“It’ll still be there when you come back to it. ‘Sides, we still have a day left to finish it.” After dealing with Karasuno’s second-years, wrangling Oikawa isn’t that difficult - he’s learned all he needs to do is to be firm. Daichi reaches out to press Command and S on Oikawa’s Mac Air - Oikawa's written all of a paragraph, and the rest is agitated keysmashing - and closes the lid. “You’ll feel better after you get something to eat.”
“What are you, my mother?” Oikawa growls, eyes narrowing, dangerously, but Daichi’s already helped him pack his things; propelling him out of the library is just the logical next step, and it’s not as if Oikawa is going to break free of Daichi’s grip (perfected by catching Noya mid-jump) any time soon.
Oikawa cheers up considerably once he’s got some food into him - he perks up, and the vicious edge to his voice melts away after several mouthfuls of ramen, “Sorry I got a bit snappy there.”
“Nah, don’t worry about it. Happens to all of us,” Daichi takes a long slurp of his soup, sighing in contentment. Nothing hits the spot better than a large bowl of shoyu ramen after a long day - Kuroo really had his food recommendations down pat.
Oikawa’s staring. “How do you do that?” he bursts out, leaning forward, as if to peer at him more intently.
“Do what?”
“Do that. Like - stay so calm and have your shit together in general, and just,” Oikawa gestures, “be patient and so steady when everything’s so -“ He makes another frustrated noise, trailing away into silence.
“Uh,” Daichi says eloquently. “I don’t - um. I guess, regular breaks help. And practice, I guess. Karasuno’s second-years give you plenty of opportunities for that."
Oikawa huffs. “You’re really something else, Sawamura.” He shakes his head.
“Sometimes - you just have to roll with the hard stuff that comes your way, y’know? Sounds cliche, but it’s true. Kinda like going in for the receive.” Daichi doesn’t know how else to explain it, just trusting his instincts and his reflexes, and accepting that he’s not always going to be able to connect with the ball.
“Remind me to come to you when I need a pep talk,” Oikawa smirks at him, and Daichi aims a light kick at him under the table.
“But seriously, thanks.” Oikawa says, dodging it with ease.
“Consider it a thank you, yourself,” Daichi leans his elbows on the table. Something’d had been niggling at the back of his mind lately, concerning Oikawa, but between assignments, classes and volleyball, he’d almost forgotten about it.
Oikawa raises his eyebrows. “For what?”
“For your advice. Kageyama said you helped when he didn’t know what to do about tossing to Hinata.”
Something flickers in Oikawa’s eyes, but it’s not the envious dislike he reserves for Kageyama; it’s something else that Daichi can’t quite pin down, but Oikawa laughs, and it’s gone in a flash. “You say that like I did it for Karasuno’s benefit, Sawamura. In hindsight, that wasn’t exactly the smartest thing to do, but it did make our matches interesting, huh. So I guess that’s what counts.”
Oikawa and Kageyama don’t get along - Daichi’s never asked about the specifics, and he’s not going to pry, not when Oikawa’s stance has shifted from relaxed to something more guarded, shoulders hunching a little more over his bowl of ramen.
“You helped more than you knew.” He’s not just saying it to placate Oikawa; it’s true. “Losing to Seijou was probably the biggest motivation for Karasuno to evolve.” They’d been so close, only to have their hopes dashed, with Oikawa turning the tables on them until he’d driven their backs to the wall. Nationals have eased the sting of defeat, and in the end they’d repaid the favour, so they were even now - not that such things mattered anymore, when they were both wearing Waseda’s burgundy uniforms.
“Well, it worked out in the end, didn’t it?” Oikawa’s smile is crooked, “I’d rather it have been Karasuno than Shiratorizawa, any day. Still, Keio’s going down, Ushijima or no.” His eyes gleam, almost manic; a familiar blend of determination, pride and hunger, one that Daichi knows all too well - he’s seen it reflected in Hinata’s eyes far too many times.
He matches it with a grim smile of his own; Daichi might not be the flashiest player on the court, but he can hold his own well enough. “I look forward to having your back when that time comes.”
The first match of the season is a friendly against Keio. Technically, it’s unofficial, but given Keio’s long history of rivalry against Waseda, and both schools’ animosity, it’s as good as a real game, and both teams go all out. Waseda loses, two sets to Keio's three. Oikawa is silent for the duration of their commute back to Waseda, a stark counterpoint to Bokuto’s outright dejection; wedged in between them at rush hour, Daichi’s subject to Bokuto’s moaning about how he’s going to quit volleyball, lose his scholarship and drop out of school to become a hobo. He only stops when Daichi buys him several chocolate taiyakis.
“I’ll go ahead first,” Oikawa nods at them; the first words he’s spoken ever since the match, and without waiting for a reply, he’s gone, heading back in the direction of Waseda’s campus.
Bokuto turns wide, mournful eyes on Daichi, despite having polished off the taiyakis in record time. “Dinner?”
“Sure,” Daichi says; there’s no refusing Bokuto when he’s in one of his moods, and besides, his stomach is rumbling.
Daichi only realises he’s forgotten his spare set of kneepads at the school gym when they’re leaving the restaurant. It’s just as well he remembers; the restaurant’s just ten minutes away from school, which is much nearer than his commute, and they’re not having practice until Friday. He could leave it until then, but they’re new, and Daichi’s not exactly rich - he’d rather retrieve them than have someone else pick them up.
The gym lights are on; odd. He can hear the faint squeak of shoes and the familiar smack of volleyballs bouncing off hardwood - someone’s practicing late. Daichi pushes the doors open, and halts mid-step over the threshold. He’s seen Oikawa’s jump serves before countless times, but they never cease to amaze him - all that power and grace, not to mention the way Oikawa almost seems to hang, suspended in air for a few seconds, before he snaps his arm forward and his spike connects.
His next thought is, I can receive that, and he moves, dropping his gym bag to the side and sprint-diving forward. He makes the receive, if barely, the ball smacking against the meat of his forearms, instead of connecting with the floor, and Daichi sorely regrets the lack of kneepads; the burn of sliding across the court is sure to sting for days afterwards.
“Oof,” Daichi groans, and makes no attempt to move.
“Not bad,” Oikawa calls, walking over and ducking under the net. He’s still in his Waseda jersey, and his hand is warm and calloused as he reaches out to help Daichi up. “You all right?”
“Turns out donburi and flying receives don’t go so well,” Daichi rubs his stomach regretfully, joints creaking a little as he gets back to his feet.
“Thought you might’ve winded yourself for a bit there.”
“Almost,” Daichi says, and then he sobers, locking eyes with Oikawa, “I want to practice, too. I hated sitting there and not being able to do anything. I want to get better. It was - “
“Frustrating,” Oikawa finishes, softly, “yeah. Well, knock yourself out,” and his mouth quirks at the corners, "If you can keep up with me, that is.”
Daichi knows a challenge when he hears one. “Proved it back there, actually.”
“Oh, you’re on, Sawamura,” Oikawa’s eyes glint as he steps away, and his next serve cuts through the air, giving Daichi little space for a reprieve.
They fall into a rhythm; Oikawa’ll stay back late after training, practicing his jump serves, and Daichi, his receives. Most nights, it’s more misses than connects for Daichi; he’s got a solid enough defense against regular opponents, but there’s nothing remotely regular about Oikawa; he reads Daichi’s moves like Daichi’s an open book, and Daichi’d be lying if he said it didn’t get on his nerves. Playing against Oikawa helps, though - Daichi’s form is improving, and the coach has been dropping hints that if this keeps up, Daichi could be looking at first string sometime soon.
When not playing volleyball or cramming, Oikawa sends him lots of weird trivia, usually at odd hours of the morning. Daichi doesn’t mind; it’s company, and it's kind of nice, he guesses, even though Oikawa's mind flits from subject to subject without head nor tail.
oikawa: so how do u feel about aliens
daichi: I haven’t actually thought about them all that much.
oikawa: did u know there rnt any ants in antarctica
oikawa: i mean the name is kinda misleading, u wld think there’d be ants there. somewhere.
daichi: Go to sleep, Oikawa.
oikawa: u type like an old geezer. anw y r U awake
daichi: Seriously, you need it more than I do. Also I have a presentation tomorrow, so.
oikawa: ok. night!
daichi: good night
oikawa: do u kno i just went downstairs n family mart is out of milk bread. this is an injustice
oikawa: no it’s a fucking emergency is what it is
oikawa: srsly where the hell m i gonna get my milk bread now
oikawa: iwa-chan is a brute he BLOCKED ME ON LINE
daichi: GO TO SLEEP.
daichi: If you do, I’ll bring you milk bread tomorrow.
oikawa: really??? ur a lifesaver, sawamura!!! kay. ;D
“Sawamura,” Oikawa slides into the seat across from him, looking mildly rumpled. He stifles a yawn with the palm of his hand, and rubs his eyes. Yawns again. “So, about that project we were s’pposed to do - “
“Yeah,” Daichi fumbles in his folder for the print-out of the instructions, “So, uh, we need to conduct research on an industry of our choice and classify - “
He looks up, and stops. Oikawa’s nodded off mid-sentence, his head pillowed on his arms, and he’s snoring softly, mouth half-open. The sunlight streaming through the window casts a golden glow over him, highlighting his hair and his eyelashes, and Daichi smiles, despite himself. Oikawa’s a restless creature, always on the go, and it’s rare to see him still and relaxed for once, the anxious tension gone from his stance.
“Hey,” Daichi says, softer this time, but when Oikawa doesn’t stir, he decides against waking him up. God knows Oikawa needs the sleep; if he’s not at practice, he’s studying, and vice versa - he drives himself harder than anyone else Daichi’s ever seen, aiming for perfection in practically everything.
He ignores the sudden tug of affection in his chest, stronger now than ever. It’s nothing, or so he tells himself; the Daichi-in-Karasuno is different from Daichi now; so what if he’d been starstruck by Oikawa all those years ago? Oikawa had shone brighter than anyone else on the court - still does, if Daichi is any judge - and it’d been… normal to get swept up in admiration and less-than-platonic feelings of attraction, but now? That’d just make things weird, and while Oikawa’s never reciprocated any of his many admirers’ feelings, that doesn’t automatically mean he might be in any way open to a relationship with Daichi.
He scribbles on a post-it: hey, you fell asleep, and i figured you needed the rest. don’t worry about the project - we can discuss it later. also, i hope you like the milk bread! Daichi leaves the milk bread, with the post-it stuck to the packaging, by Oikawa’s elbow, and as an afterthought, he tosses his team jacket over Oikawa’s shoulders - the seasons are turning colder, and the library heating is moribund at the best of times.
“So, uh.” Oikawa shows up outside his dorm room on a Saturday afternoon, Daichi’s Waseda jacket folded over his arm. “Sorry about falling asleep on you the other day.”
“Um.” Daichi stares at him, bewildered; he’s just woken up five minutes ago, and his mind is still bleary with sleep. “How do you know where I stay?"
“Oh, that. Bokuto told me where you lived.” Oikawa hands the jacket back to him. “Thanks, by the way. For the milk bread and the jacket.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Oikawa’s fingers brush against his, and Daichi tries not to focus too much on the point of contact.
“So, there’s this café I’ve been meaning to go to; it’s got great coffee, apparently, but Iwa-chan’s always buried in schoolwork, so I was wondering if you, uh, wanted to?”
“Sure. Should I call Bokuto, let him know?” They usually hang out together as a trio; Bokuto’d be put-out if he’s left out, and Daichi’s budget is limited where cheering Bokuto up is concerned - the surest way to Bokuto’s good graces is via his stomach, and feeding Bokuto is expensive.
“No! I mean, he’s. Busy. Yeah.” Oikawa’s fingers practically dance on his phone’s screen, and he waves it at Daichi, as if trying to prove a point. “He’s back at Fukurodani. Some gathering, I think.”
Oikawa’s a little jumpier than usual today. Daichi squints, but it’s honestly too early to cope without coffee, and he shrugs. “Okay. Sure. Just let me get dressed properly, and yeah.”
The café is really more of a coffee stand near Yoyogi Park, and there aren’t any tables - or seats, for that matter, but the coffee is better than good - the brew smooth and nutty, just the way Daichi likes it, with the thick coating of foam, and by the time he’s reached the bottom of his paper cup, he’s feeling a lot more awake.
Oikawa’s gotten a lot better at navigating Tokyo ever since the start of semester; he leads Daichi away from Yoyogi Park, his steps sure and steady, past a intersection, a library, and a 7-11, down a series of narrow, twisting streets, until he stops outside a bakery, the aroma of freshly-made bread making Daichi’s mouth water.
They step inside; it’s one of those old-timey cosy outfits, with warm yellow lighting and a brick interior.
“You must’ve really been craving milk bread, huh.” Daichi says, as they settle down near the window, and Oikawa stares, before he bursts out laughing, shoulders shaking.
“What?”
“I am trying,” Oikawa says, and he lets out a loud snicker before continuing, “to ask you out.”
Now it’s Daichi’s turn to stare. “What,” he says again, feeling like he’s missing something.
Oikawa scrubs a hand over his face, and he’s no longer smiling when he looks at Daichi. “I mean just that. Damnit, Sawamura, you’re making this difficult for me. I just - I like you, all right? For a while, actually. Since harukou preliminaries last year, and if you don't…” he trails off, picking uncertainly at the menu in front of him, “then that’s fine, too, and forget what I said -“
“Since harukou preliminaries?” It’s as if his brain is stuck in a loop, and he’s parroting everything that Oikawa’s saying, but Daichi can’t believe his ears. It’s a joke. It has to be - but he’s gotten to know Oikawa fairly well, and Oikawa doesn’t do this kind of thing.
“Look, you were annoying as all get out at first, and there’s nothing I dislike more than an opponent who doesn’t know when the hell to give up.” Oikawa confesses, “But there was a - I don’t know - a kind of dignity about you, I guess, no matter how many times you got pushed back you’d rally your team and give as good as you got, and I respect that. For a while, I wanted to give up after you knocked us out of the going, and you pissed me off pretty badly, Sawamura, but as much as you say Seijou was your motivation, you ended up being an inspiration, too - “
Daichi seizes his courage in both hands, and leans over, pressing a kiss to Oikawa’s forehead, effectively cutting his nervous rambling off.
“I’ve wanted to do that since my second year, and our first match,” Daichi says, and it’s a relief, admitting it rather than keeping that secret close to his chest.
“That long, huh.” Oikawa breathes, and his eyes are very bright.
“Yeah,” Daichi says, and Oikawa grins, the same smile he gives after scoring a service ace, smug and happy all at once.
“So is that a yes?”
“Definitely,” Daichi says, and this time, when their hands brush, he reaches out and interlaces their fingers together.