Work Text:
A PLACE OF SOLACE
The bus eerily silent. Only a few sniffles were heard. Oikawa could barely hear anything, covering his eyes and ears with mufflers, trying to get a quick shut eye before going to his resting place. The murmur of the air-conditioner was rings through his ears, making him feel irritated - as he does whenever he looses.
Scratching his hair, Toru takes his eye patch off ever so slightly to see what everyone is doing. Iwaizumi beside him is reading a book, trying to divert his attention from the loss by any means possible.
"What're you reading there?"
"Some motivational mumbo-jumbo magazine I found in the pavement," he said.
Suddenly Oikawa is quiet, causing Iwaizumi to glance up from the book only to see that he is sleeping.
"I know he is tired," he murmurs under his breath, with a soft smile, "But this is ridiculous."
Everyone in the bus wonders what they could have done better even though they all know it's all pointless to ponder. If Oikawa was awake he'd probably sport his devilish smile, saying "Aoba Jousei will get them next time!"
But what about Toru Oikawa?
'Our captain.'
'A piece of shit.'
'Annoying punk.'
'Scary....'
'A friend.'
But nobody understands what is going through Aoba Jousei's Captain's head. Even his best friend(?) knows that he can't decipher Oikawa's brain. So he has stopped.
The bus stops and every starts to get down, the tears still not dried out. Even if it does, they'll probably won't forget this day for a long time.
Iwaizumi turns around his eyes drifting around the head for his one and only, but Oikawa is nowhere to be found. With his usual pissed off look, Iwaizumi heads for home, waving back at his classmates.
'Piece of shit.'
Toru Oikawa walks through the dusky street, the sun hiding from the Japan's eyes. The only tangible sounds in the street are the calls of the birds as they return home, the ringing of the occasional cyclist's bell and the tires of the buses screeching as they stop.
He gets up on one of the said buses, grasping on the lone empty handle, listening to whatever song plays on his mixtape. He doesn't care. He just wants to go home.
His home.
The old man infront of him realized how empty the lad infront of him looked and gave him a small smile. Oikawa looks back, and their eyes meet for a second. Oikawa smiles back, but it's less of a earnest smile and more of the usual courtesy, drilled into him.
'Be the leader.'
'The best.'
'Always smile.'
He drilled these into himself. He has no one else to blame. 'Lucky bastards.'
Oikawa's stop arrives and he's the only person who walks down the bus's rusted stairs. A sole bouncer stands infront of the door.
Black, chiseled jaw, biceps which are highlighted even more due to the tight black shirt he is wearing. His eyes aren't visible due to the black sunglasses he was wearing, but Toru knows that he's looking down at the setter.
"Thought you were told not to come back, boy."
"I am not underage anymore, moron," Oikawa hands over his ID card, smirking.
"Fine. Enter."
Oikawa walks in the small bar, the place lit up with deep red and soft jazz playing on the background. The mood set is obvious - Romance. As he walks through the narrow passageways between the tables, the servers pat him with a touch of melancholy or said 'You did good.' if their hands where occupied with the customers' liquid poison.
He finally sits on the bar stool, the main bartenders facing his back to Toru, cleaning a glass as the night is only about to start, all types of people mingling in the speakeasies. Oikawa slams his head against the table, as if to get heads turning.
Before the nearby man could approach, the old man raises his hand in the form of a first. The Latin man steps back and sits on his seat.
Oikawa hears the soft fizzle of a bottle cap opening and the tap of glass meeting the mahogany wood of the bar table. He sits up, finally looking at the bottle and groans, "Fuckin' Cranberry again, old man?"
Before any of the man's friends or co-workers could even approach Oikawa to give him an ass-whooping, the elderly man raises his first again and shoos them all away. Clearing his throat he sits down in front of Tooru, leaning on the table, squinting his eyes.
"You're hurt."
"It's just a scratch."
"I suppose you lost?"
"Yeah."
"Arms, on top of the table, now."
Begrudingly, he places his arms on top of the table, rolling up the sleeves of his jacket. Most old scars could be excused as 'injuries' but there's one which looks quite fresh. The man glances at Oikawa as he presses on the cut which he thinks looks recent, causing the young lad to whince.
"Hm...." He lets go of the hand and stands up from the stool, crouching down, Oikawa leaning up to see what the man is doing. Few cupboards closing later he brings out a pint of beer - Irish Beer. And a bandage. But Oikawa's drift to the bottle, everything blurring around the Murphy's bottle. That's the most he can read anyways.
"No need for the bandage, Rich-"
"Quiet, boy. What type of mates you got? They don't even see a brother in pain." Richard's thick African American voice seeps through his mouth, his Japanese still not as fluent as you'd expect a man of his calibre to be.
"My friends are good enough, old man."
Toru's claims have gone to deaf ears as Richard wraps the small bandage around his wound, even though it's not deep enough to bleed anymore. He cleans his hands and passes the beer to Oikawa, grabbing the Cranberry juice and takes a sip.
"Yeah, you right, this some bullshit man."
Oikawa chuckles softly and then stares at the uncapped beer bottle, looking up at Richard, with almost pleading eyes.
"Nah, you an adult now, no? Open it, lad."
Groaning, Oikawa places the cap infront of his jaws, pressing down on them hard. A fizzle is heard and then a pop. Toru opens his mouth wide and takes the bottle out, flicking the cap away.
"How's this?"
"Not bad at all. Good teeth too. C'me on, lets go outside."
If Toru Oikawa was a cat, his ears would probably wiggle at the sound of it.
"The bar?"
"These mates manage it good enough. Come on, le's go."
Richard opens the swinging door and walks through the wooden floor, not looking back to see whether Oikawa is following. He knows the sound of the fidgeting way Toru walks.
'When did he even- No, it's pointless, gotta be with him right now. Don't do anything stupid, Richie.'
They both walk outside the bar through the backdoor, where the lush green almost makes them forget that they are in Sendai. Richard sits down on the porch, lighting a piece of wood, throwing it on the defused bonfire, the fire burning brighter than the distant stars. Oikawa sits beside him taking a sip from the bottle, the smoothness of the beer shocking him.
It's a serene moment. A slow jazz song courtesy of Sinatra plays in the background, the flicker of the fire cracking through the wood and the occasional sipping of the beer and juice.
For Oikawa — He doesn't know what to make of this. But Richie, this feels like home.
"Y'know, when I left 'Merica this was the last place I thought I'd end up? Miyagi prefecture. Selling moonshines at the back alley. I wish to be a Blues-man. Guitar and voice. Life ain't turned out then, made s'me bullshit choices."
Richard takes a long sip from his juice bottle and stares at Oikawa, his hand slipping into the boy's neck, patting him.
"All I'm saying is — don't do anything stupid. You lost. It means a lot to you. It's ya passion. Don't hurt yourself for passion. Do ya hurt yourself over something you love? Nah."
Toru takes a sip from the beer, leaning on Richie's broad shoulder as the old man massages his nape.
"I am just so – no matter what I do, I ain't good enough. Ushijima, Bokuto, Kageyama and now this... little shrimp. This is some bullshit man."
"Yeah, it is. But you did your best. Gave it your all. I saw the game. No way you could have done anything more. But don't let this stop ya. You can do better, you always can, boy."
"Call me Toru, ain't I old enough?"
"Shiiiitt I might even let you call me Richie from today, Toru."
"No way, really? Alright, deal!"
"Now scram! Go to ya home, say hi to your mum and pops."
"Just.... let me finish this beer."