Chapter Text
overture
noun over·ture \ˈō-və(r)-ˌchu̇r, -chər, -ˌtyu̇r, -ˌtu̇r\
: a piece of music played at the start of an opera, a musical play, etc.
: something that is offered or suggested with the hope that it will start a relationship, lead to an agreement, etc.
: the first part of an event : the beginning of something
(intro)
The idea of a soulmate is quite the romantic one, you think longingly at the tender age of eight.
By this time, a lot of your friends and fellow students have already gotten a mark on their wrist; seemingly random illustrations that are supposed to give you some sort of hint about your perfect match.
What it means is this; somewhere, somehow there is a person the universe has deemed 'the one' for you. The one that perfectly compliments you and the one that will enrich your life in a way no one else can.
Your wrist will still be clean, even ten years in the future.
What that means is this; your soulmate is somewhere beyond your reach, or maybe they're going to die before having the chance to meet you. Perhaps they never existed at all. Or maybe – and this is the one that breaks your heart the most – you're not their soulmate in return.
(verse I)
Not getting a mark is unusual but not unheard of, and it's the cause of quite a lot of angst as you enter your teenage years. You realize the chances are getting slimmer and slimmer as you age, and the day your mother stops reassuring you that you're just a 'late bloomer' is one filled with tears, anger and a strange kind of grief for the person you'll probably never meet (you hope they never even existed, the thoughts of death and possibilities of unrequited love hurts your fragile, little heart).
You don't need a soulmate to be happy, your father comforts, though the words feel rather empty coming from someone with not only a mark, but their universe-handpicked partner by their side. He pulls up the divorce statistics in an attempt to cheer you up or completely turn you off the aspect of love (it's not always easy to say with doting fathers), but it only makes you sadder. If not even finding your soulmate ensures you happiness, what's the point of it all?
The first time you become infatuated, you're rejected on the basis of not having a matching mark on your wrist, and you punch the poor kid in the face.
(pre-chorus)
Nothing could've stopped you from falling in love with Oikawa Tooru. Not the neatly drawn mark ever present on his wrist, nor the looks of pity on your best friend's face whenever she catches you staring at the brunet.
You meet him in junior high, and he's all smiles and enthusiasm. It's no wonder he's so popular, he seems to be the embodiment of “girls want him, boys want to be him”, and you're ashamed to say that you're intrigued from the moment he steps into the classroom for the first time.
He's unreachable, almost, in the way that people always flock around him. There's never any room beside him, every side taken up by either his friend Iwaizumi or some random person who longs to bask in the sunshine that seems to surround him at all times.
He's unreachable; so knowable in the way that he seems to exude personality and emotions with wide gestures and even wider smiles, yet so unknowable in that everything he is is like a shared object; never reserved for one person only.
So you're limited to watching him from the comfort of your own desk, never finding an opportunity (or the courage) to actually speak to the boy.
The interest does vane somewhat in the first few weeks of school and for a while, Oikawa is sorta under your radar.
But when he finally does enter your life, he does so with a bang.
(which is fitting, in a way)
(chorus)
Here's how it happens: with a study group.
Over the years, you've watched the brunet go from 'that one popular guy in school' to 'teenage heartthrob'; girls steal glimpses of his exposed wrists and sigh in disappointment when the mark doesn't match their own, guys fall over themselves trying to be his friend. You've kept your distance, more than happy with observing from afar; amused by the enigma that is Tooru Oikawa.
This is why you're so surprised when the boy marches over to your desk one day (intimidating best friend in tow) and looms over your sitting form in all his tall glory. Hajime Iwaizumi is standing behind him looking incredibly peeved, and you can't help feeling like you're about to be reprimanded for doing something wrong.
Instead, you have to squint to not be blinded by the figurative beams of light that explode from Tooru Oikawa's face as he fixes you with a trademark smile.
“I hear you're good at math?”
It's as simple as that – what was once a duo is suddenly a trio.
Weekly meetings at the library becomes part of your routine, and in the beginning you struggle with the fact that these two boys instantly treat you like an old friend. Your friends are jealous of the time you spend with the boys despite your repeated “I'm only helping them with math” and “it's in the library, it's not like we talk a lot”, but honestly you count the days between the study sessions. It's the highlight of your week, and it doesn't take many sessions to consider the two of them your friends.
You enjoy watching them interact, even if it's in hushed tones as to not get a nasty glare from the hilariously stereotypical grumpy librarian. Hajime's seemingly unending supply of variations of Tooru's last name combined with insults make you grin, and Tooru's faux-offended act never ceases to amuse.
You try to ignore the tugging feeling in your stomach that only gets stronger and stronger; he already has a soulmate and I'm not it becoming a mantra you have to repeat to yourself as you lie in your bed after every session.
And you know, you just know, that this will end in heartbreak.
(verse II)
One would've thought that in a world where there's actual proof of 'the one' people would stay away from shallow and short-term relationships, but Tooru manages to somehow find himself in one relationship after the other. He's the very definition of a serial-dater, and that would be annoying enough as it is, but for some reason the volleyball player has deemed you some sort of love expert despite your non-existent love-life. Thus, you're constantly giving him tips and mending his supposedly broken heart with each inevitable break up.
He keeps not showing up to your weekly study sessions to go on dates, despite being the one to beg for them in the first place, and you try desperately to tell yourself that's the reason you're so annoyed with him.
Not the fact that you have to tell him how to court the cute girl two rows behind you in class. Not that you have to tell him the name of the tall redhead he saw in the cafeteria once. Not that everytime he ends up screwing up his relationships you have to comfort him and inflate his wounded ego.
Not that your gaze lingers on him whenever he enters a room or that you're paying extra attention in math to be able to improve the study sessions. You're definitely not annoyed by the fact that you had this uncomfortably realistic dream about him the one night and woke up covered in sweat and it took you ten minutes to calm your beating heart and you couldn't look him in the eyes for three days after the dream.
You're not irritated at the little voice in your head that keeps reminding you that Tooru doesn't seem to be looking for his soulmate at all. The fact that your hands get sweaty when he sits close to you to copy your notes doesn't mean anything.
It's all bullshit of course - but you imagine you're able to stay in denial for a little while longer.
(pre-chorus)
“I'm almost surprised Shittykawa hasn't tried picking you up yet,” Hajime casually remarks one day. Oikawa himself has ditched your little study group again in favor of spending time with his newest girlfriend; a pretty, tall blonde whose name you've failed to remember out of petty spite.
He says it casually, but his inquisitive glare is anything but, and you wonder – not for the first time – how you managed to get into such a clusterfuck. You wonder if the forlorn look the boy in front of you is wearing mirrors your the one you wear when looking at Tooru. Glancing down at Hajime's clean, mark-less wrists, you feel your heart ache. It would've been so easy to just settle, and you're sure you could've learned to love him eventually.
But that's not fair, and you abandon the thought as soon as it appears.
Instead you swallow the lump that always threatens to choke you whenever this subject is brought up and plaster an effortless (and incredibly forced) smile on your face.
“Don't be silly!” your voice is an octave higher than usual, but if Hajime notices he doesn't point it out, and the subject is dropped in favor of fractions and numbers.
When you're engulfed in the darkness of your room that night and staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars lining your ceiling, you can't help but to cry. For yourself, for Hajime Iwaizumi, and even a little bit for Tooru Oikawa.
(chorus)
Here's how it all falls apart: with a bona fide soulmate.
She appears out of nowhere to disrupt your monotonous routine of going from 'pathetic denial' to 'slightly-less-pathetic self-pity' ten times a day, and throws you right into the pit of what teenagers typically tend to call “depression”. It sounds dramatic – it is dramatic – but it feels like the end of something that didn't even get to start. It feels like when your father told you to throw out your raggedy, old doll when you were six. Maybe you're not ready to throw away the doll just yet (the doll in this case of course being the stubborn hope that Tooru would one day wake up and realize that hey - you're a girl too!), maybe you just like the way the raggedy and coarse fabric against your skin.
It doesn't take long to understand how ignorant you've been in regards of Hajime's feelings. Selfishly you've thought to yourself that you've got it worse for having to watch the brunet continuously go from one girlfriend to another, but when Tooru introduces you to the actual soulmate, you realize how wrong you've been. The term 'heartbreak' makes a whole lot of sense now. You shake the girl's hand and inwardly flinch at being introduced as Tooru's friend. You are, of course, his friend, but it was easier being his friend when the girls he rushed to introduce came with an expiration date.
It doesn't help that Tooru seems to feel the urge to talk about her all. the. damn. time. You used to be so mad at him for ditching study sessions to be with a girl, but you're finding yourself wishing he would spend more time with his soulmate rather than talking about her to you. You try to be more understanding (it's a big deal, finding that one person the universe wants you to spend your life with), but can't quite escape the bitterness (you're never going to experience this feeling yourself).
The third member of your little study group seems oddly on edge these days as well, and you wonder if he's experiencing the same bitter taste of envy in his mouth.
Tooru excitedly tells you and Hajime where they met recently (a cafe, or at the grocery store, or something stupid like at the movies), what she looks like (which is so stupid, you've all met her multiple times by now), how she's got the best personality ever (so stupid – it's not like he knows every person in the world), how cute their texts are (she probably uses stupid emoticons), their plans for the weekend (stupid) and – and you promptly tell him to shut up and solve the damn equation already.
“I thought you'd be happy for me,” his less-than-genuine pout doesn't mask the actual irritation marring his features, and you're simultaneously angry at him for being so goddamned dense and feeling guilty for the outburst. You're not really angry at him, you have to tell yourself, you're just horribly frustrated with the situation itself. It feels so unfair, and instead of doing the right thing (being happy for your friend), you find yourself getting increasingly annoyed.
“I am. Tooru, of course I am,” the lie leaves a nasty, bitter lump in your throat and all you manage to think is I need to get out of here. You're forcing out excuses; there's an upcoming test, you're not feeling well, you had a fight with your mother this morning, and the rest of the study session goes by in loaded silence. You don't even notice how Tooru gets everything right without asking any questions.
You leave the library first, rising so fast from your chair that it wobbles dangerously. With a muttered 'see you later', you leave the boys behind. Feeling stupid.
(bridge)
Tooru doesn't show up at the library after 'the incident'. He doesn't talk to you – or even as much as look your way – in class, and it looks like you're back to square one; ''Tooru Oikawa: unknowable” and “random girl in Tooru Oikawa's math class”.
Hajime tries to play mediator, bless his heart, but he seems to realize pretty quickly that the mere mention of the other male's name is enough to set you off and he drops it after the fourth attempt. You do appreciate that he didn't revert to “pre-friendship”-status as well, but it's getting more and more obvious that Hajime in particular does not need help with math. Well, you think, it doesn't really matter anyways. It's nice, to be able to sit in a comfortable silence with him, without Tooru's energetic irritating voice breaking your concentration every tenth second. If you keep telling yourself this, you'll probably start believing it.
“Maybe you should've just told him?” he suddenly says on a day you're particularly worn out. There's a big test coming up and you've pulled more than one all-nighter this week; hopped up on coffee and the fear of failure.
“What are you talking about?”
He glares at you. Hajime is not as expressive as his best friend, but you've become pretty good at reading his face, and this one definitely says 'don't play stupid'. He's got the uncanny ability to imitate the 'I'm not angry, I'm just disappointed'-face your father used to make, and he knows it works like a charm on you. You don't want to broach this topic, especially not with Hajime. You don't want to acknowledge the fact that this boy looks at you and knows how you feel, and you don't want him to take on the part as the selfless friend with the most to lose, not again. How shitty it must feel, you think, to always end up in second place.
“I don't want to talk about it.”
He sighs and leans back in his chair, looking at you with contemplation clear in his eyes. You feel particularly vulnerable under his scrutiny; you're a ball of nerves and the result of days spent suppressing your emotions is undoubtably evident in the circles under your eyes and the matching 'fed up student'-costume.
"Fine," he concedes at last, and you're thankful by the fact that he seems to ignore that obvious traces of desperation that line your face. Everything is kind of blurred together, and you'd rather just focus on the test for now and figure out how to keep ignoring the growing pit in your stomach later. "he misses you, though."
Every stinging retort in the back of your brain dies when you look at you companion. He's scratching his wrist, not able to meet your eyes. Again, you're hit with sheer appreciation for the boy in front of you, and again you entertain the idea of how much easier it would've been if you had fallen in love with him instead. You want to say 'you're a good guy', and you want to say 'the girl who gets to be with you is so fucking lucky', you want to squeeze his hand and tell him everything's going to work out. There are so many words on the tip of your tongue, but they feel cheap and more damaging than helpful, so you keep your mouth shut.
Because here's the thing about Hajime Iwaizumi; no matter how many times he insults the other or how much it conflicts with his own feelings, Hajime is always Team Tooru.
“She's not that pretty anyways,” he murmurs as an afterthought, and you laugh the loudest you've done in weeks. The librarian looks like she wants to kill you.
(chorus x2)
Here's how he finds out (supposedly): through his best friend.
That's what he'll claim later, but you suspect that's not completely true.
In retrospect you should've known something was up when Hajime, who always manages to already be in the library when you come for the weekly sessions, sends you a text to 'start studying without him' because he's 'running late', but honestly you're tired and relish the chance to be alone with books and math and things that makes logical sense for a few minutes.
So when Tooru of all people sits down and stares at you, face uncharacteristically blank, you opt to ignore him; trying to drown out the loud beats of your heart by focusing on the sound of pen against paper. I've missed you, you want to say, but you remain focused on your homework. He was the one who ignored you for weeks, he can be the one to break the ice.
You don't expect him to say this, though –
“Are you in love with me?” the question is surprisingly blunt and comes completely out of the blue, and you can't tell if there's trepidation or accusation that's laced in the tone of his voice; whatever it is, it makes you flinch. You notice the lack of sounds before you notice you've stopped writing, and it takes a few seconds (you count five, but it feels like hours) before you dare to move your gaze up from the notebook.
The silence that fills your little corner of the library is heavy.
“Does it matter?” you say at last, responding to his question with a question of your own (you know he hates that – does she know? The bitter thought crosses your mind and makes you grimace just for thinking it). Because it doesn't. In this world, in this universe, it really, really doesn't, and frankly you think Tooru's been aware of your feelings for quite a while.
“Of course it do-”
“No, really, what good will this conversation do?” you interrupt, your voice barely above a whisper. Suddenly, you're angry; angry with Tooru for bringing it up, angry with yourself for being too stupid to let a hopeless crush go. “Is your ego that fragile? Isn't it enough that you've dated half the school and found your goddamned soulmate?” the word sound like a curse. It feels like a curse. Saying out loud these things that have been in your head for what seems like forever makes you dizzy. You're going to regret this, but it feels so good to be mad.
“You're such a fucking baby sometimes, Tooru. You can be downright insufferable and sometimes I wonder how I can stand you,” you're rambling, voice trembling dangerously, and Tooru looks shell-shocked. “You don't even suck at math, why am I even here every week?” At this point you have to take a pause, reining in your oncoming mini-hysteria and blink back angry tears.
You have to leave, looking at the tall brunet makes you feel ill. You stand up, chair scraping loudly across the floor; earning you a stern glance from the librarian.
“Yes, I'm in love with you, and fuck you for rubbing it in,” with that you leave your math homework and a frowning Tooru behind, almost running the entire way home.
For the next few weeks you'll ignore both Tooru and Hajime and refuse to offer any type of explanation to your worried friends, and you'll convince yourself that you did the right thing.
And then you try (and subsequently fail) to will yourself into letting the whole thing go.
(outro)
Here is how it ends: with a knock on your door late at night and a pair of eyes rimmed with red.
You feel like you should be the one with puffed up eyes and heartbreak visible on your face, but the quivering fingers and deep frown belongs to Tooru Oikawa. For a moment you're stunned – you've seen this boy cry on multiple occasions, but not like this; like it means something. People like to say that Tooru wears his heart on his sleeve; that it's easy to tell whatever it is he's feeling just by looking at him, but you've come to know him better than that. What he wears on his sleeve is what he wants you to see, and what's inside his head is much, much more than that.
Which is why the sight before you right now leaves you speechless and a little nervous. The silence stretches out far longer than you expect it to; Tooru seemingly does not know what to say. You've never been this uncomfortable in his presence and after weeks upon weeks of playing the ignore-game, you have no idea how to break the tension.
“What's up?” you end up asking, feeling incredibly lame the moment the unnaturally casual words are out of your mouth.
Truthfully, Tooru is kind of a coward. You know this, of course, but it's still oddly charming to see him be so timid. He still doesn't say anything despite his mouth opening and closing several times, but when you're about to ask again he suddenly seems to find his voice.
“I broke up with her,” it comes out in a breathless rush, as if he's been running a marathon. You're not sure what to do with this information exactly. In a distant part of your brain, the one that insists on being a good friend, you think you should offer condolences or something, but the part of your brain that you tend to actually listen to tells you this: he's here. He's here to tell you that he broke up with his soulmate. That means something, right?
“Why would you do that?”
“I don't really give a shit about soulmates,” he murmurs like he's confessing his sins, like you should know what that means. It's weird, hearing those words connected to form a sentence like that; has anyone ever said that? Is it even possible? It kind of makes sense when you think about his serial-dating ways, but it makes less sense when you think about your annoyance with him the times he couldn't shut up about his soulmate.
Again, you're at a loss for words, stuck between pondering the possibility of someone not caring about soulmates and trying to sort out your head enough to form a coherent reply to this admission. In the end it doesn't matter, because Tooru seems to be done with this subject and moves right on to the next, this time with no prompt needed.
“Iwaizumi would be better for you, and he loves you a lot.”
“Yeah,” you respond, because you really don't know what else to say. You know this; of course you do. It's not as if you haven't tried, wished even, for things to be different. You're about to tell him as much when he takes a step towards you. You have to physically resist the automatic urge to take a step back into your hallway.
“I can't promise not to hurt you,” he says. A million different responses go through your head, ranging from the clichéd semi-truth of “I don't give a shit” to the scarily honest “I'd probably let you”, instead all you can manage is a single word.
“Sure.”
You swear there's a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. Maybe it's just the shadows playing tricks on you, but it makes your heart hop in a way that's probably not good for your health.
“I don't know how to do this,” coming from Tooru, who's always been suave and a smooth talker, it's almost kind of funny how frustrated he sounds. This is the part he doesn't want anyone to see; the part that gets depressed at a loss and angry at an opponent he can't beat. The part that's not certain that he's making the right descisions and that fears what the future brings. Incidentially, it's your favorite part.
“I can tell,” it's your turn to smile. His fingers edges closer to the hand hanging limp at your side, pausing then reaching as if still unsure. It feels like electricy every time he accidentially touches your fingertips.
“I'm scared.”
He's so close you feel the words against your skin with each whispered syllable. It feels intimate, like you're sharing a secret. You reach for his still fidgeting fingers and interlace them with your own, a sort of quiet reassurance. He squeezes your hand and lets out a shaky breath that caresses your nose. It fills your nostrils with a minty smell so intense it almost makes your eyes tear up. If the tone hadn't been so serious and your throat didn't feel so constricted, you might've made fun of him for that, but you decide to catalouge it for later instead.
“Me too,” you feel breathless and dizzy, but you don't miss the way he shivers at your words.
“I really want to kiss you right now,” as if to accentuate this, his gaze drops from your eyes to your lips. And even though you knew it was coming, the confession sets your skin on fire. There's something about hearing it in his voice, knowing it's directed at you. There's something about the knowledge that you're not his soulmate, but Tooru chose you anyways. There's uncertainty and fear and exhilaration and anticipation. There's the actual soulmate, and there's Hajime. There are so many things that needs to be discussed, but you feel that familiar pull in your stomach and everything else seems unimportant.
“Good.”
The gap closes.