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the first time takahiro meets oikawa tooru is kind of funny until it kind of isn’t, oikawa sent flying forward from what takahiro later learns is his usual dynamism with iwaizumi, oikawa’s head a muffled impact feathering against the crest of takahiro’s shoulderblades.
“ow,” takahiro says, even though it doesn’t hurt, not really, more the belated acknowledgment of surprise than anything else. “iwa-chan,” oikawa says from behind, tone simultaneously wounded and unsurprised, and takahiro turns to take him in then, this wiry bird of a boy ruffling fingers through his hair against a backdrop of spring sakura blossoms and new beginnings --
“oh!” oikawa looks up at takahiro, the hand in his hair stilling for the slightest of seconds before it runs through his hair one more time and drops back to his side. “that was rude of me, wasn’t it?” oikawa doesn’t give takahiro time to answer, might not have been expecting one in the first place as he continues, “are you a first year, too? i’m oikawa tooru.” then oikawa tooru smiles and it’s like sunshine in goddamn july, bright and warm enough to be stifling, and takahiro would despise him on sight except he can see one of oikawa’s hands fist the fabric of his uniform pants, cloth wrinkling in direct proportion to the crow’s nests by oikawa’s eyes, and --
takahiro lets out a laugh, which was maybe supposed to be a sigh but that’s fine, too; takahiro doesn’t mind oikawa knowing he’s not the only nervous first year in the school.
“oikawa, huh? i’m hanamaki -- hanamaki takahiro.” takahiro’s hand jerks forward to shake oikawa’s before he thinks better of it, waving a little awkwardly, instead. if oikawa notices he doesn’t let on, humming as takahiro says, “hey there.”
“hello to you too,” oikawa agrees, head bobbing once, twice. takahiro slips his hands into his pockets, shoulders loosening as oikawa’s own hands relinquish his uniform pants to hover by his sides, instead. it softens the rest of him, too, just a little bit, less flashy summer smiles and more early spring mornings in march. falling into step beside oikawa, a voice rumbles from behind them both, gaining volume and proximity at an alarming rate: “oikawa --”
“iwa-chan!” oikawa jolts again, and now takahiro lets out a laugh that’s meant to be a laugh, running with oikawa from kami knows what -- who? iwa-chan , apparently -- ducking around students and trees towards the hall where the entrance ceremony’s being held.
oikawa tooru, huh, takahiro thinks between gasps, the thought remaining even after his laughter lifts up into the sky, drifting up and over the clouds.
(not immediately after, but later, takahiro informs oikawa that “your best friend’s all kinds of terrifying, just so you know.” snorting for good measure, takahiro adds on, “seriously, who the hell’s that strong in first year? he can fight me; we could totally arm wrestle, me and --,” takahiro clears his throat before affecting oikawa’s particular sing-song intonation of: “-- iwa-chan.”
oikawa snorts, too, more at takahiro’s tone rather than the nickname, and takahiro doesn’t know why that should make any kind of difference at all but it does, it does.
“i’d like to see you try, makki ,” oikawa challenges, and takahiro doesn’t let himself to stop and think about that because he’s already grinning, shit-eating and delighted. raising a fist towards oikawa, he says, “you’re on.”
beaming back, oikawa lets his fist bump against takahiro’s.)
by second year, takahiro is used enough to oikawa’s antics that the latter’s head popping up by his classroom door -- head first, then the rest of him, because he’s oikawa tooru and everything oikawa does means something, whether you see it or not -- doesn’t have any effect in the slightest.
“makki,” oikawa singsongs, and a part of takahiro wonders how, if this had been happening just two doors down, oikawa might’ve been calling iwa-chan in that tone, instead, and this makes takahiro pause. careful not to look up from his notebook (where he’d been idly doodling cats in the margins that matsukawa swears are actually just overgrown creampuffs which, excuse you, they are not ), takahiro lifts an eyebrow as he says, “you’re right, that’s me.”
oikawa’s hand appears on top of his notebook. “you’re not even listening -- didn’t you know it’s rude to ignore your friends, makki, not to mention inconsiderate -- ,”
oikawa’s fingers are spread across the page in a way that doesn’t cover up takahiro’s doodling, presumably enabling him to continue ignoring oikawa despite oikawa’s hot-air huffing. takahiro’s grip on his pen tightens; he looks up at oikawa.
“oh? i don’t recall barging into someone else’s classroom like it’s, what, iwaizumi’s pocket money --,” takahiro starts, not meaning a single word but oikawa’s expression doesn’t budge at all and takahiro might be used to oikawa’s mannerisms but that doesn’t mean he’s learned how to decipher them all, so he stops, tries again.
slower this time, takahiro says, “oikawa -- is something up?”
“sometimes,” oikawa sighs, hand over his heart, “i think you must like iwa-chan more than me, makki, so here i am, plucking up courage to confirm your affections for me at last, but here you are, patronising me, of all things…”
and takahiro might not know how to translate oikawa tooru like it’s standardised modern japanese, but two of the first things takahiro has learned to understand are that: a) oikawa rambles the way your average person speaks; and b) he’s almost always lying whenever he most seems like he isn’t , which makes oikawa probably the best liar takahiro knows. desensitised as he is to observation A, takahiro finds he’s still trying to come to terms with how he feels about observation B. something he has learned to accept, though, is that takahiro will almost always try to be honest with oikawa anyway.
“oikawa,” he repeats. “it’s a lost cause trying to sort through all your bullshit for all your actual shit, which means you gotta tell it to me straight.” and because takahiro is really a lot softer than he lets on, he shrugs, finishing loftily with, “i’m sure even you can do it if you try.”
oikawa pouts, and it’s such a ridiculous look on him, like the ridiculous overgrown child he is -- or at the very least, can be, sometimes -- that in the back of his mind takahiro realises that oikawa’s not seriously upset about anything after all. probably. takahiro waits five seconds, counting slowly in his head, one, two, three, four --
“makki,” oikawa begins, tapping takahiro’s fingers and picking up the pen when takahiro releases it. pointing the pen at takahiro’s feline creampuffs, he scrunches his nose; plainly trying not to laugh, oikawa says: “those creampuffs are super ugly.”
“they’re cats ,” is all takahiro says in response, but it doesn’t much matter because oikawa’s already hunched over his desk, jabbing takahiro’s pen at takahiro’s cats and cackling with laughter.
fond despite himself, takahiro raps his knuckles against the back of oikawa’s head, says “you’ve got the ugliest laugh, yourself.”
takahiro only half means it, but oikawa laughs harder all the same.
(takahiro’s translated footnotes on oikawa tooru, the second amendment:
he does not, for the record, like iwaizumi more than oikawa, and it’s not like it would be any less trouble for takahiro if he was;he does probably mention iwaizumi more than he should, which isn’t at all fair for oikawa to call him out on, because oikawa’s honesty grows in inverse proportion to his proximity to iwaizumi and/or the volleyball court;it’s unfair of takahiro to resort to these sure-yet-underhanded methods of deciphering oikawa, but it’s unfair trying to make do with partially acquired conversational skills next to the walking, talking oikawa tooru dictionary)
that night, oikawa texts him halfway through algebra homework: “ne, makki?”
“mm?”
“what would you say about me being captain next year? like, hypothetically?”
takahiro stares down at the text, moves his phone from the edge of his desk onto the top of his textbook, measuring out considering syllables and careful words into deliberately light sentences before finally pressing ‘send’ on: “well, hypothetically , i guess i’d say: congratulations on my vote, captain. just hypothetically, of course.”
takahiro doesn’t get an immediate reply, but he does get (1) Incoming Call from: oikawa tooru not two minutes after sending the text.
“oikawa? hey --,” takahiro says, but oikawa cuts him off.
“ -- and realistically?” oikawa’s smiling, and takahiro’s not sure how he knows that but he does, sees the slow curl of oikawa’s expression in his mind unfold and take flight into something not -- hopeful, exactly, but soaring all the same. a trusting promise. and takahiro doesn’t feel himself smile back but he hears it in his voice when he says, comically serious and completely sincere, “congratulations on getting captaincy, captain. ”
takahiro’s imagined oikawa preens, slipping out of takahiro’s head and into actual!oikawa’s voice when he says, “i’ll do you proud, makki, and that’s a promise.”
takahiro’s not getting his algebra done anytime tonight.
“i guess i’ll be counting on you, then,” he says, closing his textbook and resting his head on top of it, phone still pressed to his ear, listening for oikawa’s reply.
(it’s just -- a little maddening, sometimes, trying to care for somebody when you’re not really sure how to show it yet, or at all, because, well, because. when oikawa tooru says hello, he never actually just means hello, he means how are you today?, means i’m happy to see you, means are you happy to see me, too?
and it’s maddening because takahiro’s great at subtext but terrible at subtlety, and trying to cover that up with sarcasm just turns sarcasm into habit into easy, practiced banter, just another learned language device for manuevring through communication with oikawa.
see, when takahiro says i’ll see you tomorrow all he ever really means is i’ll see you tomorrow .)
“i’ve decided,” takahiro announces, because he’s in third year now and what better time to make rash, unrepentant declarations? “with interhighs coming up and all, that what this team needs is tradition -- a proverbial silver lining, you might say.”
matsukawa looks up from his lunch -- wednesday’s special steak set A -- to look at takahiro and make a chewing sound around his food as if to say, i’m listening. oikawa scrunches his face into a moderately disgusted moue that moderates into mild distaste as matsukawa picks up a piece of meat to deposit on top of oikawa’s own bento. iwaizumi huffs a laugh and swipes half of it; oikawa pokes his cheek with the end of a chopstick. elsewhere in takahiro’s head, out of sight, several small capillaries twitch, threatening to burst in annoyance and, ugh, reluctant but genuine affection.
anyway, once they’re all attentive and looking at him again, takahiro says, rather needlessly, “if we’re all done now.” clearing his throat, he continues, “so as i was saying, tradition --”
“ -- should involve food,” oikawa interjects. “like, good food. free food .”
“your treat?” iwaizumi says, matsukawa piping in with, “i second that.”
takahiro slaps his palm onto the table, jolting matsukawa’s lunchbox and making everyone else blink. sounding injured and somewhat whiny, he says, “could you maybe, y’know, stop stealing my thunder ? just a thought.”
“sorry,” the three of them chorus, appropriately apologetic, and takahiro waves them off. “nah, it’s cool. it’s not even a bad suggestion...” oikawa’s eyes narrow, so takahiro’s do as well, trying (and failing) in making his smirk as inconspicuous as possible. he settles on wagging his eyebrows instead. “the way i see it, since we’re all set for prefectural domination this summer --”
“ ushiwaka, yes ,” matsukawa clarifies.
“ -- we should maybe get some post-domination plans locked in. y’know, for those of us uninterested in, like, boundless glory and such.”
“ needy,” oikawa sniffs. iwaizumi bops him over the head before addressing takahiro: “third years’ treat if we win, oikawa’s collateral if we lose?”
“why, iwa-chan,” takahiro says, “it’s like you just read my mind.”
oikawa’s protests are loud but insubstantial. “i don’t agree with this. i demand a refund.”
matsukawa hums, “oh?” and iwaizumi grins. “thought we’re taking ushiwaka down for sure, though?”
takahiro is more than willing to admit this: he will never stop being thankful for his friends. leaning across the table to peer obnoxiously up at oikawa, takahiro croons, “you heard ‘em -- what do you say, captain?” bending down, oikawa gets right up in takahiro’s face, smiling fierce and terrible and takahiro thinks he might be thankful for this, too, maybe, as oikawa says, soft but sure, “oh, makki.”
headbutting takahiro gently before pulling himself back up, oikawa crosses his arms. “i hope you all know you’re taking me much too lightly,” oikawa informs the table at large, “and i hope you all enjoy treating all our kouhai to ramen and the sweet, sweet taste of victory.”
and somewhere along the way takahiro’s smirk had collapsed into a true grin, because oikawa’s eyes never once left his.
( don’t go forgetting now, he texts oikawa on the way home, because if he insists on being as ridiculous as the rest of the them, he may as well go all the way. oikawa -- my money’s on you.
wouldn’t dream of it , oikawa texts back. takahiro slips his phone back into his pocket and nods, satisfied.)
as it happens, unquestionable prefectural domination finds itself acquiring the slightest, shakiest of question marks the night before interhighs. watching iwaizumi enter and exit the gym after the third years’ extra-extra-practice, takahiro can only frown and wish he felt more surprised. he stops close to the school gates, bag falling to the floor with a thump because this moment calls for emphasis!, if not the unexpected wake of realisation.
“you coming?” matsukawa’s noticed he’s lost takahiro, though, so if he’s caught off guard he doesn’t show it when takahiro rolls his shoulders and exhales, says to matsukawa, “nah, gotta work off some night before nerves after all.”
then, as an afterthought: “actually. iwaizumi’s probably coming with, so i’d give him -- what, two minutes? three?” at matsukawa’s flat, questioning look, takahiro shrugs. “don’t give me that look. not like i’m short enough to know how speedy you can go under six feet tall --” “wanna find out?” matsukawa offers, nodding somewhere behind takahiro, who swallows.
“yeah, i don’t think so.” shouldering his bag again, takahiro turns and heads back the way he came, looking over his shoulder to wave, “i’ll see you on the other side, i guess.”
matsukawa gives a two-fingered salute. “i’ll be waiting.”
takahiro figures he probably wasn’t nearly as evasive as he thought, and wonders what story matsukawa’s got for iwaizumi on the way home. he imagines it sounds a hell of a lot more well-meaning than what actually happens, which is this:
takahiro gently slams open the gym doors, because it’s late and he’s not that inconsiderate, before dropping his bag to charge at oikawa -- still in practice clothes, honestly -- who drops the volleyball in his hands, turning to face takahiro and blustering, “i already told you, iwa-chan, i’ll be done in twenty minutes, i swear --.”
oikawa stops. takahiro doesn’t, and oikawa doesn’t flinch, eyes widening in surprise then horror as takahiro’s foot slips on te court and propells him forward, barrelling them both to the floor. takahiro groans, hauls himself off of oikawa and doesn’t bother moving any more than that.
finally, oikawa says. “well. i certainly didn’t see that coming.”
takahiro wheezes, rolls onto his side to stare oikawa down. “really? you didn’t -- see me at all? unbelievable.”
“i didn’t say i didn’t see you,” oikawa says, quieter this time. he’s still on his back, not looking at takahiro, who mutters, “unbelievable.” silence for a minute, then two, then oikawa sits up, pulling takahiro with him as he stands. hands on his hips, oikawa huffs before turning to takahiro, cheerfulness loud enough to fill a near-empty gym, not nearly convincing enough to convince takahiro to vacate it.
“it’s quite late already, makki,” oikawa volunteers, like takahiro doesn’t already know. “i thought you were heading back ages ago.”
“i was,” takahiro admits. then: “i was, but i’ve got an idiot of a hard worker for a captain, and --,” takahiro sighs. oikawa’s still looking at him and maybe it’s the hour but it’s harder to look back, like takahiro’s just barged in here without a plan (which is true), like two and a half years later and he’s still floundering through trying to stop just listening to oikawa and start, start understanding him, too. the hardest part about always saying exactly what you mean is there’s no such as thing as guaranteed reciprocation.
-- and i’m an idiot who won’t even consider leaving him alone.
“ -- oikawa. we all see how hard you work, we do , and it’s fine to ease up once in a while, yeah?” and takahiro means every word, he does, but it’s not enough, it’s altogether too much and even then, still nowhere near enough. “i wouldn’t think any less of you if you did.”
oikawa laughs, sound slipping out awkward and wrong, truthfully raw, and takahiro doesn’t believe it’s a lie. oikawa says, “the thing about you, makki, is that i didn’t ever thought you would.”
and in this moment they’re first years again, takahiro’s hand not quite reaching out the whole way, oikawa a bird caught off-guard midflight. “you’re an idiot,” takahiro breathes out, and when oikawa smiles it looks less like a grimace and more like an open hand: hello, i’m oikawa tooru, it’s nice to meet you.
“yeah,” oikawa allows. “yeah, maybe. but --.”
“ -- but i believe in you anyway,” takahiro finishes, and he nudges oikawa’s shoulder. “and i’m gonna keep believing in you, ‘cause we’re gonna win tomorrow.” oikawa’s head tilts; takahiro thinks it might be a nod. he waits, looking and looking at oikawa to be sure.
and oikawa sighs, claps a hand over takahiro’s shoulder and squeezes once before turning in the direction of the door. “i did promise, didn’t i?” he says. then, over his shoulder: “so -- are you coming with me, makki?”
takahiro grins. “i’m already there.”
they fall in step with each other as they walk out of the gym, oikawa’s shoulders hanging loose and easy as he nudges takahiro back, eyes squinting around a smile that says, yes, yes you are.
(the definition of victory, according to hanamaki takahiro:
“who’s a king, now?” takahiro sniffed at oikawa who was, admittedly, too busy wheezing over takahiro’s overwhelming, unacceptable , consecutive arm-wrestling loss against iwaizumi. “don’t be down, makki,” oikawa manages between giggles -- because oikawa tooru would giggle, the nerd -- “we can’t win them all.” takahiro is nowhere near consoled by this; what a hideous thing pride is.
“ha,” he huffs. “whatever. you and me? --,” jabbing a finger at oikawa, “ -- we’re challengers. doesn’t matter if we can’t win all of them; we just gotta win in the end.”
“you’re terrible, makki.” oikawa’s stopped laughing. he doesn’t look any less pleased, though.
“damn right i am.”)