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Oikawa has a 500 yen coin that glints in the setting June sun every time he tosses it in the air. It makes a perfect arc, Hajime’s eyes following each flick of the other’s wrist, Hanamaki’s laughter echoing in their wake.
He bites his lip to fight back a smile and when Hanamaki shrieks at something Matsukawa says, a nearby flock of crows startles. Disappears behind a band of clouds in the rapidly purpling sky, caws diminishing as it draws further and further away.
“Well,” Hanamaki says when they reach a fork in the path, the left leading onto a footbridge, the right further into the boonies. “Guess we’ll see you two tomorrow.”
Matsukawa nods in agreement and Oikawa exhales sharply, the intensity of his breath causing his perfectly coiffed bangs to lift as he pockets his coin.
“Aw, you guys don’t want to come celebrate with us?” he asks, using that ridiculously exaggerated lilt that Hajime is all too accustomed with.
“My mom’s gonna skin me alive if I’m late picking my sister up from ballet,” Hanamaki explains, hiking his sports bag up on his shoulder. “Last time, she decided to walk home on her own while a pervert was on the loose.” Matsukawa gasps theatrically, but the other ignores him. “And anyways, I think an occasion like this calls for a better celebration than convenience store nikuman. I deserve cream puffs and pancakes at the very least, Captain.”
The mention of his shiny new title of exactly twenty-five minutes causes Oikawa’s face to light up, its brightness rivaling that of a thousand-watt bulb. Hajime and Matsukawa exchange bitten grins behind their wrists as their friend preens, everyone basking in the elation of the good news, and after the pair finally breaks off with congratulatory slaps to their backs, Oikawa turns to Hajime.
“So,” he starts stepping onto the bridge, metal supports creaking underfoot. “Can I interest you in a steamed bun?”
“No,” Hajime deadpans, “but I could go for something cold.”
Oikawa beams and they set off, alternating kicking a lone pebble ahead of them. The river is bustling this time of year, water levels high and current fast, crashing and falling against the large boulders lining the bank. A few bullfrogs croak below.
“Captain,” Oikawa says, kicking the pebble once more. It skids across the aluminum flooring before flying off the side of the bridge and landing in the water with a barely audible plop. “That’s gonna take some getting used to.”
Hajime snorts. “Well, make it fast. It’s not like anyone else stood a chance.”
Oikawa hums in response and they head for a nearby 7-Eleven in comfortable silence.
The door flies open just as Hajime’s reaching for the handle and a gaggle of girls from their year pours out, chattering loudly amongst themselves.
They greet the pair cheerfully. Congratulate Oikawa on his newly found captain-ship, news of which has already spread like wildfire across the greater Aoba Johsai student population, and Hajime (a little less enthusiastically) for being his second.
Oikawa, to his benefit, acts humbler than Hajime remembers him being a couple of months ago, when he had told their friend group point blank to get used to calling him captain, and rubs the back of his neck. Takes a second to thank and invite them to stop by practice, only to call Hajime a few choice names when the other shoves him into the store unceremoniously.
The air-conditioner is on full blast, thankfully, and the stench of greasy snacks quickly replaces the cloying scent of the pomegranate-hibiscus-vanilla-rose perfumes that their classmates probably bathe in.
Oikawa grabs a basket and heads for the industrial freezers lining the back wall, tossing in two cups of ice before turning to the drinks.
“What are you in the mood for, Iwa-chan?” he asks, brows furrowed in concentration as he studies the labels. His eyes light up and he holds up a pastel pink Hello Kitty pouch. “I think this suits you.”
“Get fucked,” Hajime replies, shouldering past to look at the selection of sports drinks.
“Saving myself for marriage,” Oikawa says without missing a beat, but he swaps the pouch for a lilac one from the same collaboration. “Oh, yeah. Mom said to remind Auntie to come watch the finale of Lucky at our place this Friday. She’s making udon.”
“As if she’s gonna forget that,” Hajime replies, picking up a bottle of Pocari Sweat and skimming over the ingredients despite having them committed to memory. “I don’t think she was this excited when I was born.”
His fingers skirt over cartons of strawberry, banana, and melon milk and he huffs before snatching up the aforementioned pastel pink Sanrio monstrosity (raspberry flavored), pointedly ignoring Oikawa’s shit-eating grin and hightailing it for the snacks.
“Well, finding out whether Mika-chan picks Hiro or Tadashi as the love of her life is a matter of national concern. You, on the other hand, were a guarantee,” Oikawa says, stumbling in his haste to keep up.
Hajime rolls his eyes as he grabs a fruit sandwich and a bag of shrimp chips from adjacent shelves and tosses both into the basket. “If she asks me which guy I think is better one more time, I’m gonna explode. Also, tell Auntie that she’s bringing gyoza. She made my dad pick up pork from that place in Natori yesterday.”
“Oh, the tribulations of being an emotionally stunted gorilla,” Oikawa snickers, ducking to dodge the half-hearted swing Hajime aims at his head. “Remind me to not eat too much for lunch on Friday; that wonderful woman’s cooking deserves to be honored with an empty stomach. Ice-cream?”
“Sure.”
After adding a packet of mochi ice cream to their spoils, they queue up behind an elderly man struggling with his coin purse.
“Do you have enough money to pay for all this?” Hajime asks, expression softening when Oikawa taps the man on the shoulder and offers to help.
Oikawa nods, patting his pocket. “Yours truly is loaded.”
“Well, in that case,” Hajime says, waving the cashier over to the hotbox and pointing at the curry buns.
With Oikawa’s assistance, the old man completes his transaction in record time and leaves with a hot curry bun (courtesy of Oikawa) and a standing invitation to come watch Seijoh kick Shiratorizawa’s ass during qualifiers in October.
By the time they step outside, the heat has mellowed and a crisp chill has settled into the air.
The sun has sunk behind the hills, the moon slowly rising to take its place, and more than a few stars are twinkling in the sky as they head into the park where they’ve attended one too many training camps.
Oikawa comes to a halt by the swing-set, plops down on the metal seat, and groans appreciatively when a gust of wind brushes his sweaty hair off his face.
Hajime pulls the lapels of his jacket tighter around his body and raises a brow at the other who looks completely at ease, head tilted back to watch a flock of birds soar across the dark sky. The streetlights have come on across the road and they have less than thirty minutes before security runs them off the premises.
“You’re gonna catch a cold,” Hajime observes and Oikawa rolls his eyes.
“It’s the middle of summer, mom,” he replies, digging through the plastic bag to fish out his drink and unceremoniously dumping it into a cup of ice.
“Hey, watch it,” Hajime grumbles as the contents splatter, drops of the pale lavender liquid kissing his wrist. “Don’t blame me if you have to miss practice. We both know which one of us is gonna be more upset.”
He pulls the bag towards himself and curls his fingers around the warm curry bun, Oikawa scoffing as he stirs his drink obnoxiously loud.
“You need to learn to live a little, Iwa-chan.”
“Says the person whose life revolves around practice, livestreams, and reruns of The X-Files.”
“I do more than that,” Oikawa protests, coughing between sips.
Across the street, a young mother steps out of her house to call her children in for dinner. Two little boys and a hyper-active terrier bound her way, the dog yapping in excitement as its owners loudly challenge one another to a race.
The bun is spicy. Causes tendrils of heat to creep down Hajime’s limbs and warm his extremities. He sticks out his tongue to alleviate the burn, gratefully accepting the Hello Kitty drink Oikawa twists open with a tut and pouring half of the lukewarm liquid down his throat.
“Captain.”
“Hmm?” Hajime asks, setting the bun on his thigh to tilt the remainder of the pouch into the other cup of ice.
“Captain. I’m the new captain,” Oikawa repeats and this time a hint of…something…seeps into his voice. Uncertainty, perhaps? Maybe doubt. But it’s flagrant enough to cause a shift in the mood. Hajime sips silently, a gentle nudge for the other to continue.
“You know how you said no one else stood a chance? And how I kept saying it over and over and over again. Told you guys to practice some respect?”
“Yeah?”
“What if this is all just one huge mistake?”
Hajime sighs. Scrubs a hand over his face, immediately regretting his decision as remnants of the spicy curry paste cause his eyes to water. “What are you going on about now?”
He watches Oikawa hop onto the swing, left foot first, causing the rusted chains to creak when he leans forward. “I’m just saying — what if this is all a joke and I suck?”
“Oikawa.”
“The captain is supposed to lead their team to victory, but there’re so many strong teams out there and what if this isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be. What if I’m not? And—”
“Can you shut up for a second?” Hajime interrupts. Oikawa’s face is turning an ugly blotchy red — the way it always gets when he’s overly worked-up about something, be it grades or practice or missing a once in a life-time meteor shower to talk his sister through a bad break-up.
It’s hideous and unsightly and miles from his usual effortless grace. And while there’s something about the fragility of his expression, the way he’s looking to Hajime for assurance that everything is going to be fine that strokes a deeper part of Hajime’s ego, the part that inflates just a tad bit whenever someone, stranger or friend, calls him Oikawa’s safe place, Hajime knows this conversation is going to require some finesse.
“Man, I knew you were selfish, but this is a new low.”
The words are clearly not what Oikawa was expecting to hear and he scrunches his nose in indignance. “What—”
“There’s, like, a couple dozen people on this team. Six people on the court during a game. Six. And they rotate in and out; do the math on what your sole contribution comes out to be. Do you really think this is just about you? You may be our new leader, but you aren’t God.”
Another breeze blows over their heads, rustling the leaves of the surrounding trees, and Hajime extends his legs to alleviate the post-practice ache. The moon has fully ascended, shrouded by a cluster of fluffy clouds, and an owl hoots softly in the distance.
Oikawa remains silent, the only evidence of his presence coming from the squeaking chains.
“And you can call me an emotionally stunted baboon or say that I have the emotional range of a teaspoon or whatever, but I’m being honest — you’re gonna have to try pretty damn hard to fuck this all up on your own.”
“But—”
“No buts,” Hajime stands. Hops onto his own swing and cringes as the frame groans, threatening to give out under their combined weight. “We do that, we’ll be here all day. How about you focus on giving your all instead, okay? And I’ll do the same and if we still don’t make it…then, that’s just how it’s supposed to be. And that’s what’s best for us.”
Oikawa nods pensively and Hajime sighs. Swings silently next to his best friend before demounting when he sees park security approaching in the distance, a silent signal to gather their spoils and leave.
The heaviness of his best friend’s mood is still weighing down on them by the time they reach their street, and Oikawa turns to look at him, hands stuffed in his pockets, face so morose that Hajime can’t help but snicker. At the ridiculousness of this situation, of how characteristic this is of the other, to fly straight into the sun sans parachute, allowing his thoughts to get the best of him despite everything he’s achieved.
Oikawa looks up from beneath his bangs, a small scowl on his face that makes it obvious he wishes Hajime would have treated him with more poise. “What?”
“You’re gonna do great things, you know that?” Hajime says and he means it.
Oikawa raises a brow. “You just said—”
“I know what I said. And you’re gonna see that I’m right. It’s all gonna work out. But,” he says, lifting a hand to silence the other. “But if anyone’s gonna do it — if anyone’s qualified to lead us to the top, it’s you. If anyone’s gonna make it, it’s gonna be you. In every aspect of your life. And I can’t wait to see what you do.”
Oikawa’s face has turned a light shade of pink. Very different from his previous state, but familiar to Hajime all the same. He ducks his head shyly, rubs the back of his neck before mumbling a low, “Thanks, Iwa-chan.”
Across the street, the door to the Oikawa residence slams open and Oikawa’s sister steps out. Spots the pair and waves furiously at Hajime before yelling, “Dinner’s ready, Tooru! Mom said to hurry up!”
“I’m coming!” Oikawa calls and when he turns back to his best friend, his features are more composed.
He nods. Once, then twice. To himself, to Hajime, to their impending future and takes a step back, fingers curled around the strap of his sports bag.
“See you tomorrow, Iwa-chan,” he says, pivoting on his heel and checking both ways for traffic. And just as he’s halfway across the road, the same bout of giddiness that had filled up Hajime’s stomach when they had first left the gym, when Coach had made it all official, returns machspeed. He scrubs a hand over his face, unable to contain his excitement and calls out the word they’ve been waiting their whole lives to hear.
“Hey, Captain!”
Oikawa immediately whirls around. The look in his eyes desperate, elated, and most importantly indisputable that he won’t go down without a fight. He raises his chin, waiting for his best friend to finish and Hajime can’t help but mirror the feeling as he holds up a fist in celebration.
“Congratulations!”