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you all plan a trip away after exams, the four of you in a car and a world of freedom ahead. it was oikawa's idea at first, of course, and the moment you all agree he pulls out an itinerary about four pages long with an entire fortnight-long trip planned out down to every hour. you all stare at him incredulously and he squawks indignantly in response.
“what!” he says. “i got distracted when I was pulling that all-nighter studying fo-”
“i really hope you passed that exam, shittykawa.” iwaizumi groans from beside him.
“of course i did,” oikawa responds, defensive. “oikawa-sama passes all his exams.”
you grin fondly as matsukawa snorts and leans over to read the itinerary. you look at the three of them crowded around oikawa’s table and you count the number of days until the holidays start.
you can't wait until they do.
time passes faster than you could have thought possible. studying blurs into exams and assessments, endless questions and answers, the rustle of papers and pens. before you know it, the last exams rolls around and the four of you gather outside in the courtyard afterwards.
iwaizumi is leaning against your shoulder groaning as matsukawa throws you a drink from the vending machine. oikawa is restless in a way that's indicative of the number of coffees he must have consumed in the last twenty four hours. he grins at you, wide and a little wild, “it's finally over,” he says.
“good,” iwaizumi grunts from beside you. “i never want to see another maths question again.”
“can't be that bad,” matsukawa says, grinning.
you can see oikawa fidgeting in his seat as if he wants to say something. inwardly you smile, waiting a moment, then two, until- “so we're heading off tomorrow right?” oikawa bursts.
“ah how could we forget?” you grin. “our fearless captain’s desire for endless adventure on the road”. from over iwaizumi’s head, oikawa catches your eye and smiles, bright and happy.
the trip is a great idea. it certainly goes better than any trip that requires four people to be stuck in close quarters with each other for an extended period of time ought to go. the days blur together, a heady mix of bright colours, loud laughter and the familiar comfort of friends who know each other’s small idiosyncrasies.
the car trip back is spent in soft, easy silence, topics of discussion long worn out. the echoes of their camaraderie settle over them like a blanket though, warm and cozy, broken only by the quiet buzz of the radio.
oikawa drives the last leg of their trip, preferring to sit in the front seat giving them directions for the majority of their trip. he hums softly to whatever's playing the radio as he drops off matsukawa, then iwaizumi before making the trip to your house. parking in the driveway, oikawa gets out to open the boot and you follow suit, stepping out into the chilly night air.
the stars are stretched out above you, watching over you like they always do, a witness to the years you all have spent together.
things won't be the same when you all graduate.
the thought strikes you suddenly, that soon there will be no matsukawa for you to joke and laugh with, no iwaizumi for you to tease and no oikawa - no oikawa, with his odd sleeping patterns, copious amounts of energy and brilliantly strange ideas. no captain to lend his support, to help you improve and show you the way. you find yourself shiver, the night air feeling frosty against your skin.
you are so caught up in your thoughts, you don't realise oikawa is holding your bag towards you until he calls your name. his voice is warm and soft and you are struck with a strange sense of longing, of missing someone before you have lost them. unsettled, you try to grab your bag that oikawa is holding out to you.
he stops you with his hand on your wrist. “makki? what is it?” he asks.
you feel like you're drowning, everything swelling up inside of you like a wave preparing to crash against the shore and you grab both of his hands in yours, trusting that he'll be your anchor the way he always has been. oikawa’s hands are warm and calloused in yours and you hold on to him like a lifeline.
“don't leave me,” you say, unable to force the enormity of your feelings into words, except for- “don't ever leave me.”
the two of you stand there for moment. oikawa looks startled before his eyes sharpen and he stares at you, thoughtful and piercing. suddenly, you are painfully aware of how close the two of you are and you pull away from him, embarrassed.
“u-uh," you mumble, flustered. "sorry, don't know what came over me, i'll seeyoutomorrowbye." you grab your bag and run inside, slamming the down behind you. you slump against the door, hands pressed to your cheeks.
they're warm.
a buzz from your mobile snaps you out of it and you fumble through your bag for it, wondering who it could be. there's a text message from oikawa waiting for you.
goodnight, makki (๑ゝڡ◕๑), it reads. it’s horrifyingly endearing and you smile as you text back; goodnight captain.
you make your way upstairs into your room, dumping your bag in the corner. you feel exhausted and wrung out but strangely satisfied.
as you get ready for bed, another text message from oikawa comes in. keep moving forward. i’ll always be by your side it reads. your fingers brush against the screen and you smile.
you were wrong about him being your anchor, you muse as you settle into bed. no, like a guiding star burning bright in the night, he is your compass, always pointing due north.
-
Kunimi yawns as his teacher dismisses the class, the students bursting into a flurry of motion, eager to get out. From the desk next to him, Kindaichi turns to look at him. “Do you want to walk home together today?” he asks.
“I think I want to take a nap first,” Kunimi replies, folding his arms on the desk in front of him.
Kindaichi blinks, “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“It's fine,” Kunimi says, “the captain will come find me.”
“Yahaba-senpai?” he hears Kindaichi say confusedly, “why would he -- wait, Kunimi! Don't fall asle--” but Kunimi’s already sound asleep.
Oikawa’s packing away his things, chattering to Iwaizumi when Kindaichi comes in, flustered.
“Kindaichi,” Iwaizumi says, “what’s wrong?”
“It's Kunimi, senpai,” Kindaichi replies, chewing in his bottom lip, “he fell asleep you see, and said that the captain will come get him, but I asked Yahaba-senpai and he didn’t know what I was talking about, and I didn't know who els--”
“And that sounds like my cue,” Oikawa says brightly, cutting Kindaichi off. “Go on without me, you two.”
Kindaichi slumps in relief. “Thank you, senpai.”
“Come on then,” Iwaizumi says, reaching over and ruffling Kindaichi’s hair fondly, “see you tomorrow, Oikawa.”
Waving the two of them off, Oikawa shoulders his bag and goes to find his wayward kouhai. He really is like a cat, Oikawa muses as he passes the third year classrooms, curling up and taking a nap wherever and whenever he pleases. He finds Kunimi sleeping peacefully on a desk in the corner of an empty classroom, his head pillowed in his arms.
Cute, Oikawa thinks, smiling to himself as he reaches over to wake him up.
Kunimi is flying. There's this soft, trance-like quality in the air that only dreams have but he doesn't mind it. It's raining, the water running through his fingers where he's floating and he can smell the storm coming, the sharp taste of lightning lingering in the air. The rain is warm. He looks down and the sea is brown like the hot chocolate he sometimes gets in the morning. It's warm and welcoming and he falls, down, down, down.
He opens his eyes slowly.
“Good morning, Kunimi-chan,” Oikawa says, fond amusement colouring his voice. Kunimi blinks blearily at him.
“Hello captain,” he yawns.
“I'm not your captain anymore,” Oikawa says, running his fingers through Kunimi’s hair. Kunimi leans into his hand, eyes drooping like he wants to go back to sleep.
“You're always going to be my captain.”
When Oikawa leans down to kiss him awake, Kunimi feels his smile, curling against his lips, warm, like hot chocolate on a cold day.
-
“Never forget this insignificant pride of mine.” Oikawa turns his back and begins to walk away before Ushijima reaches out and grabs his arm reflexively.
“Wait --”. The sudden, sharp pain shooting up his arm halts his words. It feels like there's electricity coursing through his veins, centred on the burning on his palm where it's clasped around Oikawa’s bicep. He would be worried, except he knows what this is, has heard stories about it, seen glimpses of it on t.v., in books and manga. Soulmates, his brain supplies.
The thing is though, Ushijima thinks, he probably already knew, deep down. There was something about Oikawa Tooru that drew Ushijima to him, like moth to a flame, even when he first met him all those years ago. He should’ve known that that kind of magnetism couldn't simply be something as tenuous as recognising a talent for volleyball, that there was something deeper there, waiting to be discovered.
Oikawa, Ushijima realises when he surfaces from his thoughts, is ranting and swearing at him. It’s kind of cute, he thinks, the way he talks with his hands, flailing them about but seemingly unconsciously always straying back to touch his right arm. Oikawa is always kind of cute, even when he's angry and calling Ushijima every name under the sun. Wanting to catch his attention, and stop him from ranting, Ushijima catches his wrist. Oikawa startles and stops, mouth half-open in surprise. He blinks and stares, distracted by the dark mark on Ushijima’s palm, peeking out from where his hand is wrapped around Oikawa’s wrist.
Oikawa opens his mouth as if to start swearing again but Ushijima gets there first, crashing his lips against Oikawa’s, swallowing the small sound of protest before it leaves Oikawa’s throat. Everything burns and Ushijima can feel it, feel their connection, their bond, running through his skin. Oikawa gasps and deepens the kiss, licking into his mouth, intense and fierce like everything else about him. It's hot and wet and perfect, Ushijima thinks, moaning into Oikawa’s mouth, before he feels a small prick of pain and surprisingly sharp teeth dragging along his tongue.
They break apart and Ushijima stares at where the white of Oikawa’s fang drips with Ushijima’s blood. He watches as Oikawa’s tongue swipes along his bottom lip, smearing it red.
“Fuck,” Oikawa says, hand pressed against the mark -- Ushijima’s mark on his arm, “that wasn't supposed to happen. The bond -- I didn't think it'll be like that. Didn't know that --.” He stops and blinks, staring at Ushijima as if registering him for the first time. His face darkens.
“Why is it,” Oikawa growls, mouth red and bloody and beautiful, “out of all people it had to be you?”
Ushijima doesn't respond, eyes still drawn to the sight of Oikawa’s mouth, the metallic taste of blood lingering on his tongue. Wordlessly, he raises his hand, palm up, Oikawa’s mark on his skin a physical brand. He angles his wrist up towards Oikawa, an invitation.
Oikawa looks at him warily, searching his face -- for what, Ushijima doesn't know. Whatever Oikawa’s looking for, it seems he finds it, his hand reaching out to clasp Ushijima’s wrist lightly.
Oikawa rubs his thumb along Ushijima’s pulse, lifting his wrist to his mouth. Ushijima swallows, watching as Oikawa runs his lips along the soft skin, smearing blood across it as he goes.
Oikawa bites down.