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The sound of volleyballs hitting the gym floor was almost deafening–the sound that would send chills running down your spine.
But to Oikawa, it was music to his ears. Ball after ball, hit after hit, like a rhythm only he could hear. Anyone who had the misfortune of standing on the opposite end of the net would get a concussion if lucky.
Oikawa stood alone on the court, with the last volleyball gripped tightly in his hand. His hands were red, raw, and bruised from all the serves. His hair was a mess, damp, dishevelled strands–a stark contrast from the clean and put-together image he wore so effortlessly.
He drew in another breath before he threw the ball in the air. Then–
BAM!
The ball slammed against the wooden floor, the sound echoing through the empty gym.
He lets out a sharp exhale, and his chest rises and falls in heavy, uneven waves. Sweat clings to his jaw, trickling down the curve of his neck and soaking into the fabric of his shirt. His fingers twitch, still curled slightly from the last serve, raw and aching.
For a moment, he just stands there, staring at the ball as it rolls to a stop. His mouth parted, gasping for air, he was panting now, knees slightly bent, body trembling from the exertion. Every muscle in him begged to collapse. Still, he straightened, dragging a hand across his face to wipe away the sweat.
“Oikawa-san?”
A voice called from the gym doors, breaking through the silence. He didn’t look right away. He gave himself just one second–only one–to pull the mask back on. And when he turned, there it was: the practised smile, effortless and charming, like nothing cracked.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, but….coach asked you to wrap it up; they’re closing the gym soon.”
A first-year hovered by the doorway, shifting awkwardly under Oikawa’s gaze. Oikawa’s smile didn’t falter.
“No worries, I’ll take care of it. You go on ahead.”
He beamed, all warmth and easy charm. The first-year blinked, then gave a hasty nod before hurrying off, sneakers squeaking against the floor. As the doors swung shut behind him, the echo faded, and the smile on Oikawa’s face did too.
***
The night air hit him the moment he stepped outside. It carried the faint scent of rain on concrete. Oikawa shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket, a volleyball bag slung over one shoulder, the weight of it digging into his sore muscles.
Each step echoed faintly against the pavement.
After the noise of the gym, this silence was jarring and unfamiliar. Unsettling, even. His pace slowed as he passed by a small convenience store, its fluorescent lights buzzing quietly. He paused, eyes flicking toward the glass. Maybe he’d get something to drink. Maybe he wouldn’t. But before he could even decide, he was already inside—he had been pulled in like his body had chosen before he could even register it in his mind. The door chimed gently behind him as it shut, sealing out the night. The air inside was cold and smelled faintly of instant noodles and lemon-scented cleaner. There were no other customers, just him and the cashier.
Like instinct, Oikawa offered her a smile–that same practised, polished thing he gave to fans. Too perfect of a smile, that not a hint of sincerity was behind it, but then again, who could tell?
The cashier returned his smile with a slight sceptical raise of the brow. Without a word, Oikawa made his way to the cashier and took a bubble gum from the counter.
“Just this,” he said, voice light, friendly. Handing the 300 yen bill
The cashier rang it up with a quiet beep.
“You don’t look so good. You okay?”
The cashier asked as she handed him his change, her tone casual, but her gaze flicking up to meet his.
He blinked. For a second, he almost didn’t answer.
He knew her. Same year. Same class, she sat a few rows ahead of him. Quiet. Always with her notes out, blue pen in hand. He’d lent her an eraser once–she’d returned it with a thank you and never said another word.
But there she was, looking at him like he was just…another customer. Not Oikawa Tooru, the guy everyone seemed to know, whether they wanted to or not. Something about that sat oddly in his chest.
“..yeah,” he said finally, slipping the change into his pocket. “Just tired.”
He smiled again, but this time it faltered at the corners. She gave a small nod, already looking past him.
***
The next morning, the classroom buzzed with early chatter. Yet, the soft scratch of pen against paper was the only sound coming from her desk. Blue ink glided steadily across the page. Like always, she kept her head down, tucked away in her world.
Oikawa noticed her the moment he walked in.
It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen her before–of course, he had. But after last night, he saw her differently. Or maybe he just hadn’t seen her at all until now.
He settled into his seat and glanced over, fingers idly tapping on the edge of his desk before he casually made his way to her table and took the seat in front of her.
“Hey,” he said, voice friendly. “You’re the girl from the convenience store, right?”
She looked up, blinking once. No surprise. No fanfare. Just a small nod. “Yeah.”
“I didn’t know we were in the same class.”
“It's only been a few weeks,” she replied. “Easy to miss.”
He let out a breath of a laugh. “Guess so.”
There was a pause–not awkward, exactly. Just quiet.
“I’m Oikawa, by the way. Oikawa Tooru.” he offered, though he knew he didn’t have to.
She nodded, “L/N Y/N.”
Something about the way she said it made him feel like she already knew who he was–and yet he chose not to care.
“Well,” he said, standing from the chair he stole, “see you around, I guess,” he said, smiling at her and heading back to his seat.
She didn’t answer. Just kept writing. But her hand had tightened slightly around her pen. Her chest stayed steady, her face unreadable, but her pulse quickened. From the outside, it looked like nothing.
Just another morning. Just two classmates talking. But she felt it–that strange, silent flicker of something. Not that she’d ever show it.
***
A few weeks had passed since their initial interaction, and by now, things had settled into a quiet routine. Their exchanges had grown more comfortable. It was a mix of shared notes and greetings in the hallway; their relationship had slightly shifted from mere acquaintances, though neither of them would quite call the other a “friend” just yet. Y/N had remained as reserved as ever, but Oikawa began to notice the little shifts in her behaviour–the small, dry quips and the rare but genuine smiles.
She wasn’t the type to draw attention to herself, which stood in stark contrast to the person he was. And yet, he found himself appreciating those quiet details. Similar to Iwaizumi, he noticed how she was attentive in ways others weren’t, always listening; she was, in a sense, grounded.
But that day was different.
——
The rain had started before school ended, and Oikawa stood outside the gym, staring at the locked doors in mild frustration. He glanced at his phone–one new message from Iwaizumi in the team group chat: “No practice today. Coach cancelled last minute.”
Oikawa sighed. Of course. He must’ve missed the memo while zoning out in class. Now he was left standing under a roof that barely shielded him from the downpour, cold, wet, and alone with his thoughts.
It somehow irritated him more than expected. He hated that silence. He tightened his grip on the strap, biting into his palm, as though the pressure might distract him from the feeling of being alone.
“You should get home. It’s cold here.”
A voice broke through the patter of rain, it tore Oikawa away from his thoughts.
“L/N? What’re you doing here?” Oikawa turned, a little surprised.
She stood a few feet away, an umbrella in hand, dry as ever.
“I got bored and went out for a walk,” she said simply, stepping closer.
She holds out the umbrella towards him. “Take it.”
Oikawa blinked, a small frown tugging at his lips. “What about you?”
Y/N shrugged. “I’m fine. I’ve got to tutor a bunch of first-year students anyway.”
Oikawa blinked again, her indifference throwing him slightly off guard. “Oh..I see,” he said, his voice trailing.
“Glad I caught you then, huh?” she said with a small, joking smile.
He let out a low chuckle, not quite sure what to say.
“Well, see you tomorrow then,” Y/N says as she waves Oikawa off.
Oikawa stood there for a moment, holding the umbrella, the words lingering in his mind. He watched as she walked away, his fingers still gripping the umbrella with the faintest hint of irritation, not at her,
But the way she brushed off being out here alone as if it didn’t matter.
He sighed, shook his head, and started walking home under the umbrella, shielding himself from the rain.
She’d stepped out into without hesitation.
***
Winter had settled in–crisp mornings, cloudy skies, the scent of warm bread and hot tea from the school cafeteria, and the distant sounds of volleyballs echoing from the gym.
By now, Oikawa and L/N had become something steady. Not loud nor flashy. But there was a rhythm to their quiet companionship.
They didn’t talk every day. But when they did, he cherished them.
Sometimes it was the small things–offering each other warm tea in the cold weather, or him waiting a little longer, just until she finished tutoring the first years, so that he could walk home with her.
One night after the match between Karasuno, where he came out victorious, Oikawa found himself walking to the convenience store where Y/N worked, as soon as their match ended.
He stood outside, leaning against the benches, waiting for her to come out and greet him. His ego was still fanned and inflated after the big win. He wore a big, goofy smile at the thought of telling her. He had already memorized her shifts when she would finish, when it would start. Just so he could catch a glimpse of her in action.
“Hey,” she said simply when their eyes met.
“Hey,” he says, a slight smile tugging his lips as
Both their cheeks were coloured with a hint of red from the cold air., If you looked close enough, if you paid close attention, you could spot the faint blush on either of their cheeks.
She pulled out a warm cup of hot cocoa and handed it to him.
“Good work today,” she said, nodding towards his bag.
He smirked, mock-confident. “Well, of course. Did you expect anything less from me?”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re annoying.”
“And yet, you brought me cocoa,” he shot back, grinning. “So who’s really winning?”
A small smile tugged at her lips. “I saw the match,” she said, her voice steady, eyeing the brunette as he took a sip from the drink in his hands. “You played well.”
He scoffed, eyes fixed on the ground. “Damn right, I did. All to beat that genius setter, Tobio.”
Y/N didn’t argue, she had known Oikawa long enough to know his determination and his obsession with being the best. And it was honestly admirable. Most people would have given up by now, yet he used those emotions to keep going.
“Do you think I’m petty?” he asked suddenly.
She looked at him. “At times..”
He laughed quietly, “harsh..”
“But everyone else can be a little petty too..”
Oikawa didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. She was right, she read him like a book.
“Iwa-chan says I work too much,” he muttered.
“You do,” she replied, matter-of-factly. But then added, “It’s one of the things I admire about you”
They sat like that for a while, shoulders not quite touching, warmth radiating between them in the middle of the cold. After a moment, she broke the silence,
“Oikawa–”
He cut her off.
“Call me Tooru.”
She blinked, glancing up at him.
“We’re friends now, aren’t we?” he added, glancing at her sideways, his tone teasing but something gentler underneath.
There was a pause.
“...okay,” she said. “Tooru, we should head home.”
He raised an eyebrow, then checked his phone to look at the time. “You’re right.”
They stand up and dust themselves off, “Alright then. Your turn.”
She blinked. “What?”
“Can I call you Y/N instead?” he says, slightly teasing, but he does mean it with sincerity.
She narrowed her eyes at him like she was testing if he was being sincere. She then shrugged, “Fine.”
He then beamed excitedly, “Okay! Y/N, let’s head home!” he said as he happily marched home, with her by his side and hot cocoa warming their hands.
***
Winter had passed, and now cherry blossoms had started to bloom. Soft petals fluttered through the air, gentle, bright, and beautiful. But to Oikawa, they felt like reminders. That time moved on. That everyone else was moving on. And he wasn’t. It all felt too cruel.
He walked home alone, ignoring the slight sting in his knees with every step. His body was still sore from the match a few days before. His fingers twitched from phantom serves. His mind replayed the game on a loop, and every time, it ended the same way—Karasuno won.
More specifically: Kageyama wins. Again.
He stopped walking. The breeze ruffled his hair, but he didn’t move. The sky above was warm, clear, and painfully beautiful.
He wanted to scream.
All this time, the work he had put in, every extra hour spent in the gym, every injury pushed through, every single time he told himself, “Just one more serve, just one more set, and you’ll catch up to him.”
He wanted to prove to himself that he didn’t need to be some prodigy because he had drive, he had will. Yet now, that desire to play was hanging on by a thread.
He lost.
He noticed he had stopped in front of the convenience store where Y/N worked. He scoffed. Of all the places his feet could drag him to. It was to her.
Before he could continue walking home, a voice called out to him.
“Tooru, Iwaizumi said you missed practice.” She said, with concern in her words.
He didn’t respond
“Are you okay?”
Still no response.
“I heard about the game.”
Silence.
“Tooru, I’m so-”
“Of course you are,” he muttered voice a low and sharp voice. “The team is, the coaches too, the fans, teachers.” He said, “What? You gonna pity me too?” His words were laced with venom.
Y/N watched him carefully, before speaking calmly, “That’s not what-”
He straightened but didn’t look at her. “You know what pisses me off the most?” he says cutting her off.
But she didn’t answer, not like he was waiting for an answer anyway.
“I knew I wouldn’t win. Somewhere deep down, I knew. And I still let myself hope. I still showed up and told myself, This time will be different.”
Y/N’s eyes softened, but her voice remained calm. “It doesn’t make you an idiot. It makes you human.” She tried to reason with him. But it was no use.
Oikawa scoffed. “Don’t- don’t start, don’t act like you understand.”
“I’m not.”
That’s when he turned to her, eyes tired, red-rimmed and sharp.
“No. Because you’re just always there, preaching your words of wisdom...as if you see yourself as some saint.”
He let out a dry laugh, “I mean, why do you even befriend people like me? Huh? Is it so that you could fix me? To feel better about yourself?”
He let out a mocking laugh “You think you’re helping? With your half-assed bullshit sympathy?” he stepped closer, “ I know what you think, Y/N. You think that all my hard work, my prestige, my pride, amounts to nothing..” he says in a low tone.
“Oikawa Tooru and his worthless pride,” he says again, barely above a whisper.
She said nothing; her fingers twitched at her side. Her gaze is more careful.
“I gave everything to this game,” he hissed. “Every second, every drop of energy. And for what? So that Kageyama beat me and moved on to Nationals? To prove that nothing beats prodigies? Now, I'm stuck here, clinging on to some dying dream like a joke.”
He looked at her like he was trying to find something—comfort, maybe. Or blame. But she didn’t offer either. Instead, her voice came low.
“You think you’re the only one who works hard?” she said, something cold flashing in her eyes. “The only one who’s tired, angry, disappointed..?”
Oikawa blinked.
“I’ve never pitied you,” she went on. “But maybe I should’ve. You make it sound like the world owes you something.”
“Don’t twist my words–”
“No. You don’t get to talk over me right now.” Her voice rose–not yelling but full of pain.
“You’re not angry at me, Tooru. You’re angry because you didn’t win. Because your stupid narrative of talent beats hard work comes in the form of Kageyama Tobio. So now you’re lashing out at the one person who’s always been by your side.”
He looked like she’d struck him.
She stepped back, suddenly cold again. Her voice was quiet.
“You don’t want someone who understands. You just want someone to blame.”
Y/N turned and walked back to the store.
“If you can’t accept that or the loss, then just give up, you're not meant to be an athlete.” Her last words were before she slammed the door.
Oikawa didn’t stop her, didn’t call out, didn’t look away either. He stood there, in the middle of the street, as the wind picked up, cherry blossoms spinning widely around him. Her words struck as hard as Iwa-chan’s words did. And yet he came to the same conclusion.
He lost.
And now, maybe he’d lost her too.
***
A few months had passed with nothing but static between the two. Ever since his meltdown and their exchanged words, nothing was ever the same again.
They still talked in school, but it wasn’t like before; there was no warmth or sincerity, only an artificial smile, the type you would see on strangers or teachers.
His routine was still the same; he still played volleyball, but rarely. There were final exams to prepare for, and Y/N had her path to focus on, too. He told himself the distance was for the best. That they needed space. But as weeks dragged on, the silence between them began to feel unbearable.
He had realised one thing he hated more than the silence of being alone with his thoughts:
He hated the silence he couldn’t share with her.
It was Iwaizumi who finally knocked sense into him.
——
“What the hell, Shittykawa?” Iwa said, smacking the back of Oikawa’s head during their walk home from school.
“Ow–What was that for?!” Oikawa hissed, rubbing the sting.
“You’re such a prick,” Iwa muttered, shoving his hands in his volleyball jacket.
Oikawa frowned. “Okay? What’s new?”
“L/N, she didn’t deserve that,” Iwa said flatly, not bothering to look at him. “You were hurting, yeah. But you hurt her too, she was just trying to help. And now what, you’re just gonna pretend like nothing happened?”
Oikawa said nothing
Iwaizumi sighed. “Fix it, Tooru. Before it’s too late.”
The silence dragged between them.
Iwaizumi began, “Have you told her about Argentina?” he asked.
Oikawa only frowned. “No.”
Iwaizumi let out a low chuckle. “You’re a big pussy.”
Oikawa whined at his best friend’s retort.
——
It took him a week. Another week of thinking about what to say, another week of running into her in hallways and not having the courage to say anything at all.
And then, one afternoon, he stood outside the convenience store she worked at, chocolate milk in hand, waiting for her to finish her shift. When she stepped out, she glanced at him, she didn’t continue walking, and she didn’t smile either.
Oikawa stepped toward her, slow and uncertain, before he handed her the chocolate milk with a sticky note on it: I’m sorry :(
For a long time, he said nothing. Neither did she.
The wind picked up, brushing hair into her eyes, but she didn’t move to fix it.
He did.
Her eyes flicked to him, and his hands froze midair before falling back to his side.
“Iwa-chan hit me,” he said suddenly.
That caught her attention. She blinked.
“He said that I was a prick.”
She looked away again, expression unreadable, “he’s not wrong.”
Oikawa gave a humourless laugh. “Yeah. I figured.”
Another silence. This one felt…less suffocating.
“I was angry at myself, the world. At losing. And I took it out on you,” he said. “You didn’t deserve that. You've always been there for me, no matter what. And I’m sorry for hurting you.”
She was silent as she observed the boy in front of her.
“I don’t expect you to forgive me, you've always deserved better...” he said, voice low. “But I needed to say it.”
She didn’t answer right away. He almost thought she wouldn’t. But finally–
“I did forgive you,” she said, still eyes fixated on the milk box in her hand. “A while ago.”
Oikawa turned, startled. “But–”
“I did forgive you,” she repeated, “but it was hard to forget what you said.” Her voice was soft, yet laced with pain and hurt he caused. “I needed time, you did too.”
That silenced him.
They stood together in the middle of the parking lot, the sun covering the sky in golden hues. She looked at him, then really looked. And though there was still a distance between them, it no longer felt impossible to cross. Not yet warm but no longer cold. And for now, for Oikawa, that was enough.
However, the lingering thought about his newfound goal, moving to Argentina, playing professional volleyball, he couldn’t bring himself to tell her just yet.
He just wanted this.
He wanted for this moment with her lasts a little longer.
***
The months pass in a blur. In the blink of an eye, it was graduation day.
The halls buzzed with life. Graduation flowers in arms, camera shutters clicking, laughter and goodbyes echoing down the corridors.
Oikawa smiled for every photo. Joked with Iwaizumi. Signed shirts, notebooks, everything handed to him. He was the centre of attention, like always.
But something tugged at him.
So when no one was looking, he slipped away.
He walked through the halls, the familiar classrooms lined with memories from the past three years.
There was a quiet nostalgia in his chest as he traced the steps of who he used to be. He smiled to himself–softly, silently–proud of how far he’d come. But most of all, he was grateful for the people he’d met along the way.
Especially her.
He had found her in an empty classroom. She sat alone by the window, sunlight brushing her face, eyes somewhere far away.
“You really know how to make a guy chase after you,” he said jokingly.
She looked up, a little startled. “I thought you’d be outside...Taking more pictures.”
He chuckled. “I took enough," he shrugs "besides, there’s one I didn’t get.”
She tilted her head. “With me?”
He nodded. “Wouldn’t feel right without it.”
She hesitated. Then stood up.
“Say cheese Y/N-chan!!” he says, holding up his fingers into a peace sign–his signature pose.
They took a photo–He smiled, genuinely this time, with none of the practised charm he gave everyone else. Her smile was softer, more reserved, but it still made his heart flutter. He took a couple more and quietly admired the photos.
He then lowered the phone and exhaled slowly.
“I’m leaving,” he said, barely above a whisper.
She blinked. “What?”
“To Argentina. For Volleyball. It’s official.”
Her breath caught–just for a second. She was excited for him, truly, but with the sudden declaration, she could feel her heart sinking to her stomach.
“When?”
“Soon.”
A beat of silence stretched between them. She looked away for a moment.
“You’ll do great there,” she said quietly, putting up a brave face as tears threatened to blur her vision.
“You think?” he asked, like a whisper.
She looked at him and held his gaze. “I know.”
He wanted to say something else—so many things. He wishes he could take this version of her with him. That he didn’t want to leave things like this. He wanted her to ask him to stay. But she didn’t. And he didn’t ask her to come with him.
She smiled. Barely. “You were always meant to go far, Tooru.”
He looked at her like he might say something. But didn’t. Just nodded.
And that was it. Not a dramatic goodbye. Just a quiet moment in an empty classroom, sunlight between them, and the weight of all that could’ve been. Lingering in silence.
***
After a week, Oikawa was set for Argentina. He had made all the necessary preparations. Not forgetting to hang out with his friends, mainly Iwa-chan, who he knew would miss him more than he let on. The rest of the week felt like a countdown. To Oikawa, it was a countdown to his new life. He was excited, I mean, who wouldn’t be? He spent the entire month learning Spanish and the last 5 days rewatching the old movies he and Iwa watched when they were kids.
Somewhere in between, he started to appreciate Japan a little bit more, he knew he was gonna miss it: his morning jog in the park, the ramen stand a few blocks from his school, the old lady who sold the best milk bread, second only to his mother’s.
He was dead set on leaving, so why did he feel so…empty?
The day finally arrived. His flight was scheduled for the morning, and he had already expected that most of his friends wouldn’t be there, but his family and Iwa were. And that was all he needed. At least he thought he did.
But he could never have expected Y/N to show up.
“Y/N–” a mixture of surprise and relief, he wanted nothing more than to ditch his luggage and run after her. But he stood still, unable to move.
He didn’t tell her the time, the terminal, or the gate. He didn’t want to make it harder for her...okay, he didn't want to make it harder for himself.
He thought back to their hangout a few days ago at an aquarium, he wanted to keep that image of her to be his last memory. Peaceful, sweet and light.
So, why was she there?
He mentally scolded himself for ever trusting Iwa with his flight details. He recalled telling him that he is not allowed to tell Y/N anything, under any circumstances. But a part of him felt grateful that Iwa ignored him and told Y/N anyway.
She stood there quietly, along with Iwa, no waves, no tears, only a smile. Hands tucked into her coat, watching.
For a moment, he just stared. Like, part of him thought she was a dream. She walked toward him. Steady. Certain. No dramatic run. No last-minute confession.
Just her.
Just him.
When she stopped in front of him, pulled out something from her bag.
An umbrella.
The same one she gave him all those months ago–neatly folded, clean, a little worn over the months.
She held it out.
“Thought you might need it,” she said softly.
He took it. Their hands brushed. A pause, a heartbeat.
In his mind, if it were possible he wanted to take her in his arms and never let go. Her warmth alone from the mere touch was enough to make him fall apart. All he craved was her touch.
He wanted to say something. Anything. His mouth opens to say something.
But then–
“Final call for passengers on flight 748 to Buenos Aires.”
The words echoed through the speaker, cutting the moment short. He felt it was as if the world wanted to take him away from her.
She smiled. She didn’t ask for him to stay. He didn’t ask her to wait. She smiled, and so did he. Just barely.
“See you at the top, Tooru”, her voice calm and sweet. “ I’m counting on you,” her final words to him.
“Yeah,” he smiled, “See you.”
He turned. And walked away. No promises. No lingering touches. Just the soft sound of footsteps on airport tile, and a girl left behind, holding all the words that were almost said.