MOURNING STYLE

to kuroo—former volleyball captain, current japan volleyball association promoter, and full-time overthinker when it came to the person he loved most—those four words shattered his calm like a rock thrown through glass. ‘i’m leaving forever.’

he had been sitting on the couch with his laptop open, ostensibly checking sponsorship emails, but the moment the sentence left your lips, his hands froze over the keyboard. his dark eyes locked onto the back of your head, watching the gentle slope of your shoulders and the way your hair caught the soft lamp light. a sudden, cold weight settled heavily right in the center of his chest.

what if one day you actually did?

what if one morning you woke up, packed that exact same leather bag, walked out the front door, and never came back? what if the tiny arguments over who forgot to restock the dish soap, or his ridiculous work hours, or the sheer friction of daily life eventually wore away at your affection until leaving felt easier than staying?

the thought alone was suffocating. kuroo had faced terrifying opponents across the net, navigated high-stakes corporate negotiation meetings in tailored suits, and handled press crises without losing his cool, but the abstract nightmare of an empty apartment without you made his pulse spike into an frantic cadence. he hated it. he hated the visual. he hated the sickening drop in his stomach. he hated the idea of you leaving more than anything else in the entire world.

‘i can’t let that happen,’ he thought, his chest heaving silently as he stared at you. ‘i literally cannot survive that.’

logic was usually kuroo’s domain. he liked strategies, calculated risks, and neat timelines. he had actually bought a ring three months ago, tucked safely inside a small black velvet box hidden beneath a stack of old volleyball jerseys in his wardrobe. he had planned to propose properly next spring—maybe during a quiet vacation along the coast or at a nice restaurant where he could wear a sharp jacket and pretend he wasn’t sweating through his shirt.

but as he watched you zip up your bag with a small, innocent click, logic went completely out the window. spring was too far away. next month was too far away. tomorrow was too far away. he needed to bind your lives together right now. he needed the permanent, undeniable weight of a promise.

“hey,” kuroo blurted out, his voice a little rougher than intended.

you turned around, tilting your head in confusion. “hm? what’s up?”

“let’s go out,” he said abruptly, shutting his laptop with enough force to make the keys clatter. “right now. let's get dinner. or coffee. or just walk.”

you blinked at him, amused by his sudden energy. “now? but i just finished packing—”

“please,” he interrupted, rising from the sofa. his eyes were intense, fixed on you with a quiet, desperate hunger that made your breath catch. “just a quick walk. indulge me?”

you gave in easily, smiling as you stood up. “okay, fine. let me get my jacket.”

the moment you turned your back, kuroo darted to the bedroom, practically throwing his closet door open. his hands scrambled through the stacks of cotton until his fingers grazed the soft felt of the velvet box. he shoved it deep into the pocket of his coat, his fingers clamping around it like a lifeline, before marching back to the hallway where you were already slipping into your shoes.

outside, the evening air in the city was cool and bustling. neon signs painted the wet pavement in shades of pink, yellow, and blue, and crowds of people navigated the wide sidewalks. kuroo took your hand immediately, lacing his long fingers through yours with a grip so tight it was almost possessive. his palm was slightly clammy, his shoulder pressed firmly against yours as you walked side-by-side down the lively avenue.

“you okay, tetsu?” you asked softly, looking up at him as you strolled. “you’ve been super quiet since we left the apartment.”

“i’m fine,” he murmured, though his brain was running a mile a minute. ‘no, i’m not fine. i’m losing my mind. i need you to stay. i need to know you’re staying.’

they crossed a vibrant public square surrounded by glowing shop windows and street performers. a group of young people were gathered near a wide fountain, filming a video on a phone set up on a tripod. among them, two friends (???) named eme and mika were laughing hysterically while enthusiastically hitting the six seven emote in sync with the beat of a loud song playing from a portable speaker.

under normal circumstances, kuroo would have made a sly remark or chucked at the energetic crowd, but tonight he didn’t even register them. the world around him was an uninteresting blur of noise and color. the only thing in sharp focus was you—the warmth of your hand in his, the way you walked next to him, and the knowledge that nothing in this universe was technically stopping you from walking away forever.

except him. he had to stop it.

they reached the center of the illuminated plaza, right beneath the bright lights hanging between the street trees.

kuroo suddenly stopped dead in his tracks.

the abrupt halt yanked your arm back slightly, forcing you to turn around. “tetsu? what’s wrong?”

he didn’t answer right away. his throat worked as he swallowed hard, his dark eyes wide and full of an emotion so raw, so unshielded, that it instantly made your smile fade into concern.

“tetsurō?” you whispered, stepping closer. “are you feeling sick? what is it?”

“you can’t leave,” he rasped out, his voice cracking slightly over the ambient noise of the city.

you blinked, entirely bewildered. “what? leave where? i’m just going to my parents’ place for two days—”

“no, not just that,” he blurted, his chest rising and falling fast as he tugged you closer by your hand. people were pushing past you on either side, casting curious glances at the tall, handsome man in the long coat who looked like he was on the verge of a panic attack in the middle of a public square, but kuroo didn’t care about any of them. he didn’t care if the whole city watched.

“cause i hate you leaving,” kuroo confessed desperate, the raw truth tumbling out of his mouth in a frantic rush. “i hate the idea of it. i hated when you said it earlier, i hated thinking about it on the couch, and i hate even imagining a version of my life where you step away from me and don’t come back. i know you’re just visiting your family, i know i’m being completely insane right now, but i realized i can’t go another day without making sure you’re stuck with me forever.”

your jaw dropped slightly, your eyes wide as the pieces began to fit together in your head. “tetsu... were you overthinking because i said packing felt like leaving?”

“yes!” he said loudly, completely unashamed. “absolutely! i panicked!”

before you could even process his confession, kuroo dropped down onto one knee right there on the hard, paved ground of the plaza.

a collective gasp rippled through a few nearby onlookers. someone nearby stopped walking to pull out their phone, but kuroo was entirely blind to the world. his heart was hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. with trembling, long fingers, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the small black velvet box, snapping it open to reveal the brilliant diamond ring catching the golden streetlights above.

“tetsurō!” you squeaked, your face instantly feeling hot as you looked around at the growing audience, then back down at him.

“i was gonna wait,” he said, looking up at you with wide, vulnerable eyes, his usual cheeky composure entirely stripped away. “i had a whole plan. a nice speech, a nice place. but i don’t care about any of that. i just need you to know that i love you more than my own life, and i never want you to leave me. so please—marry me. marry me now, please.”

the desperation, warmth, and ridiculousness of the moment washed over you all at once. tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, half from overwhelming love and half from laughter at how hopelessly dramatic he could be.

you dropped down to your knees right in front of him, ignoring the dusty pavement, and wrapped your arms tightly around his neck.

“you absolute idiot,” you laughed softly into the crook of his neck, feeling him instantly sag with relief against you, his big arms wrapping around your waist like iron bands. “i’m not going anywhere. i love you. yes! of course i’ll marry you!”

a small cheer erupted from the surrounding crowd, someone whistled, and off in the distance near the fountain, eme and mika cheered loudly before going right back to their antics.

kuroo pulled back just enough to slip the ring onto your finger, his fingers still shaking slightly, before pulling your face in for a deep, lingering kiss that tasted like the cool night air and relief.

“good,” he whispered against your lips, a tiny, familiar smirk finally creeping back onto his face despite the flush on his cheeks. “because i was seriously about to follow you on the train.”

n: barbie movies are my saviour.

© showhay — don’t copy, repost, or translate without my permission. do not use/feed my works to AI.

You weren’t supposed to be sitting in front of your computer, staring blankly at it, as if the pictures that emerged in your head would magically transform themselves into words. You never struggled with it before, never faltered, but it seemed as if with every passing minute, the pit in your stomach only seemed to grow as you continuously deleted the first sentence, over and over, until the idea in your head was nothing more than that.

An idea. Not a draft, not a drabble, and definitely not a story.

You stared at the keys, wondering if typing anything would even make a difference.

Did this make you pathetic?

At this point, you weren’t sure. It certainly wasn’t hard to feel that way, especially when pathetic took on a meaning that was incomprehensible, even to yourself.

It had always been easier to express yourself through the words you wrote, opposed to the way you spoke.

When you spoke, the words would be eloquent, oftentimes disguising the way you felt inside, where you were, for the most part, pretty lonely.

Your friends would never agree with the statement. They’d say that they would always be there, always listen, and a whole lot of other things that you appreciated with your whole heart, but simply couldn’t use.

It wasn’t a matter of trust.

Because no matter how much you tried to explain, the sheer simplicity (yet complex, always twisted) nature of your feelings went unnoticed, simply heaped onto the pile of “it’s false, it has to be.”

Maybe they were false. Maybe they were just your brain’s imagination stretching beyond realms of what was even necessary.

But, it never seemed to feel that way.

You were simply always thinking thoughts that made sense, comments that targeted parts of you that you knew were flawed, and just…seemingly defined the things about you that you had slowly come to despise, yet accepted with a sense of resignation.

“Love, are you alright?”

You found yourself gazing into the dark blue eyes of your lover as he sat beside you, slowly shutting the laptop screen as he did. “You seem lost in your head.”

That you were.

“It’s nothing much Keiji,” you chuckled, attempting to ease yourself for his sake. “I suppose I was just thinking.”

“You seem to be doing that a lot nowadays.” He sighed, “Tell me, what’s wrong?”

You weren’t sure how to feel about the fact that he had been able to read you so easily. Of course, you had always longed for a mechanism like that, being able to accept help and care from the people who cared about you, but rather, it seemed the more willing you were to the idea, the more isolated you became.

“A lot. A whole fucking lot.” You begged your voice not to waver as you looked back at the man who had been there for you through thick and thin, a voice of reason when your fears uprooted you, and somebody you loved to the ends of the world (and then some). “I’ve been feeling sort of down for a week or so. It’s so hard to explain… it’s as if I just can never measure up to anything.”

Akaashi watched as your hands shook slightly from the confession of it all, your face neutral, but eyes expressing everything you weren’t able to put into words.

All he could see was pure anguish. Perhaps it was from all the nights spent wondering how to be better, only for your brain to shoot down every opportunity like it was some sort of child’s play.

He hated how it turned you, the very definition of somebody who lit up the lives of those around them, into a shadow of yourself.

He brought his hand steadily to reach yours, placing them within his own and holding them together, feeling the warmth of your joined palms intermingle with one another as he looked back at you.

“I know insecurities don’t just disappear overnight darling, but I promise you, to me, you are more than enough.” He brought a hand to your cheek to caress it gently before bringing it back to your hands. “I know that sometimes it’s hard to believe, but I would never lie to you. You know that, right?”

You nodded in agreement as you breathed deeply, the warmth of Akaashi being enough motivation to continue, the void-like entity in your chest being replaced with something less turbulent.

“It’s alright to express these sorts of things too. I know I’ve felt this way before. You always knew just the right things to say to make me feel like a man worthy of you again, haven’t you?”

“That’s different,” you smiled lazily, “You don’t even have to try to be a man worthy of me. You’re absolutely perfect as you are — I was merely just reminding you.”

“So it’s only fair that I do the same,” he jested in response. “Look, everyone is flawed in some sense of the world, but they should never be what you utilize as a measure of your self worth. And theoretically, even if you had a million flaws, I would still love and cherish each and every one of them, because they’re yours.”

You took a moment to replay those words, the simple phrasing causing your heart to stutter in your chest, despite the fact you weren’t feeling well only moments before. A look to his face showed you that he was genuine, as he always was, yet still — it managed to surprise you.

“You don’t have to hide it with me,” he whispered softly before pulling you to his chest. “And it’s okay to feel it. You don’t have to shove it away or hide it. No matter what, I’ll be here every step of the way. I promise.”

And for the first time in what felt like ages, times where you felt like you’d never receive the comfort you received just then, you broke down in his arms, knowing that with him at your side, you’d never truly be alone. 

©mysterystarz all rights reserved, please do not plagiarize, translate, or modify my fics in any way even if credited

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there are many forces in the world that cannot be stopped: gravity, natural disasters, and bokuto kōtarō deciding you are his.

and it isn’t a slow realization, either. the first time he sees you nervously chew on your pencil in class, too shy to ask the teacher a question, he feels like he’s been struck by lightning. the second time he notices you stumbling through an apology after someone bumps into you in the hallway, he swears he hears wedding bells. by the third time—when you quietly thank him for holding a door open—he’s done for. like stick-a-fork-in-him done.

bokuto doesn’t just like you. no, he recalibrates his entire existence around you. if his brain were a map, you’re the only destination, and everything else is “here be dragons.”

so obviously, something had to be done.

and that something?

the y/n protection squad™.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

the announcement happens during practice.

“guys, listen up!” bokuto booms, striding into the gym like he’s about to deliver the state of the union address.

“what now?” konoha mutters, already sensing a headache coming on.

“this is serious,” bokuto declares, seizing a volleyball like a visual prop. “this—” he holds it aloft— “is the world. and the world is full of dangers. like sharp corners. and rude people. and… feelings.” he hugs the ball dramatically. “and this is y/n, who is my whole world. therefore—y/n is the world!”

akaashi doesn’t even blink. “you’ve lost me.”

“look, the point is,” bokuto waves wildly, nearly clocking komi in the head, “y/n is shy and sweet and delicate, like… like a baby bird who deserves a velvet nest! but the world is cruel! we need a squad to protect her!”

washio, who’s long since accepted his captain’s theatrics, simply raises an eyebrow. “a squad?”

“yes!” bokuto puffs out his chest. “the y/n protection squad. effective immediately. positions open. full benefits.”

there’s a beat of silence.

then komi bounces up and down, hand in the air. “i’m in!”

“same,” says anahori, who looks more entertained than annoyed.

“why not,” onaga shrugs.

sarukui nods. “sure.”

even konoha smirks. “could be fun.”

akaashi sighs, rubbing his temple. “bokuto, this is absurd. we can’t just—”

“akaashiii,” bokuto pleads, his golden eyes wide and shimmering. “don’t you care about y/n’s happiness?”

akaashi stares at him. stares at the others. stares at bokuto’s trembling lower lip. “…fine. but we’re doing this discreetly.”

“YES!” bokuto pumps his fist so hard he nearly dislocates his shoulder. “welcome to the squad!”

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

the operation starts the very next day.

you’re walking to class when suddenly konoha and washio materialize like secret service agents, forming a human barricade in the hallway.

“…hi?” you say, voice small.

“good morning, y/n!” konoha grins brightly, like this is completely normal.

washio nods solemnly. “you’re safe.”

safe from what? you don’t know—but before you can ask, bokuto comes barreling around the corner like a runaway train.

“Y/N!!!” he shouts, skidding to a stop just inches from you, hair fluffing wildly as he beams. “good morning!! did you sleep okay? did you eat breakfast? do you want my breakfast? or my jacket? or—”

your cheeks burn. “i’m… i’m fine.”

his whole face softens, so full of relief it almost makes your chest ache. “good,” he says reverently. “so good.”

behind him, konoha and washio exchange a thumbs up like proud stage parents.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

by the end of the week, you realize this “squad” thing isn’t a one-off joke.

at lunch, komi and konoha stand guard at either side of your table, glaring daggers at anyone who so much as glances in your direction.

on your walk to math, sarukui and onaga flank you like bodyguards, their strides perfectly timed so no one bumps you in the crowded hall.

when you study in the library, akaashi positions himself strategically nearby, pretending to read but actually scanning the room every three seconds like a hawk.

and bokuto? he’s everywhere.

if someone says your name too loudly: “HEY! keep it down, she’s delicate!”

if someone tries to sit next to you: “oh sorry, that seat’s taken—by me!”

if you drop your pencil: he’s already diving under three desks to snatch it up like it’s olympic gold.

you can’t decide if it’s embarrassing or… strangely comforting.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

the thing is, they’re all so genuine about it. none of them mock your shyness or make you feel like a burden. instead, they adapt. they keep their voices soft around you, never press too hard, and always give you time to answer at your own pace.

and bokuto—oh, bokuto.

he looks at you like you invented warmth. like if you disappeared, the sun would stop rising out of respect.

you thank him quietly for lending you his eraser, and his entire body vibrates like you just handed him an engagement ring.

you brush past him accidentally, and he spends the next three hours replaying the exact angle your sleeve touched his arm.

once, you smile at him—just a small, shy curve of your lips—and he nearly falls to his knees in the middle of the hallway.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

“you don’t get it, akaashi,” bokuto hisses one afternoon after practice, while you’re across the gym quietly waiting for them to finish. “y/n smiled at me. at ME. that’s it, i’ve peaked. everything else is downhill from here.”

akaashi doesn’t look up from tying his shoes. “you’re saying this like you don’t peak daily.”

“but this time it was HER,” bokuto insists, eyes practically glowing. “akaashiii, i would die for her. no—i’d live for her! i’d fight a bear for her!”

“please don’t,” akaashi mutters, but bokuto is already imagining it.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

meanwhile, you’re starting to catch on.

you notice how konoha subtly steers loud classmates away from your desk. how komi “accidentally” bumps into people who try to bother you. how sarukui and onaga walk you to club rooms under the excuse of “oh, we’re headed that way too!”

and you notice bokuto most of all.

the way he lights up when you enter a room. the way his voice drops softer when he talks just to you. the way his hands twitch like he’s dying to hold yours but reins himself in because he doesn’t want to scare you.

it’s overwhelming, yes. but it’s also… sweet. like he’s wrapping you in bubble wrap and placing a giant “fragile: handle with care” sticker on your forehead.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

the tipping point comes during a group project.

a classmate raises their voice—not at you, but near you—and you flinch instinctively. before you can recover, bokuto is suddenly towering over them, golden eyes blazing.

“HEY. tone it down. she doesn’t like that.”

the classmate stammers an apology, backing away fast.

then bokuto whirls on you, his hands fluttering uselessly like he wants to touch you but doesn’t know if he’s allowed. “are you okay? did that scare you? should i go yell at them again? want me to carry you out of here?”

your heart hammers. “i’m… i’m okay,” you whisper.

instantly, his whole body deflates with relief. “oh, thank god.”

he crouches slightly, meeting your eyes with a gentleness so at odds with his booming personality that it makes your throat tight. “you don’t ever have to deal with that alone, y/n. not with me. not with us. you’re… you’re everything to me.”

and as if on cue, the classroom door opens and konoha, washio, and komi peek in, clearly having been eavesdropping.

“don’t worry, y/n,” konoha grins, “the squad’s got you.”

“always,” washio says firmly.

“forever!” komi adds with a thumbs up.

bokuto beams at you, eyes sparkling like he’s singlehandedly bottled the milky way. “see? you’ll never be alone.”

and despite the absurdity, despite the embarrassment bubbling hot in your chest, you can’t help but smile. because with bokuto and his ridiculous squad of teammates, you’ve never felt safer—or more cherished—in your entire life.

‎♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡‎

♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡

a: wrote this an hour before my exam, i’m such a chad. my bf mad cs i have the exam room with a guy ik 😔

© showhay — don’t copy nor translate without my permission. i do not own any of the photos that i have used. credits to all the rightful owners. (˶ˆᗜˆ˵)

His name would roll off the tongues of adolescent and teenage girls, accompanied by dreamy sighs. They’d all looked up to him as though he was Prince Charming or the handsome male lead of a shoujo manga. And, in all honesty, you couldn’t blame them, even back then when you hadn’t known him personally.

He was everything a prepubescent girl could ever want from a guy. From good looks to an approachable persona, he effortlessly sold the image his fans had crafted of him. He hardly turned down the attention and only fuelled their advances, easily dishing out winks and smiles for them to greedily eat up and feed into their romantic fantasies of him.

Hell, you’d even caught some guys who’d scoffed at him flush at his impeccable fan service.

He was a celebrity—untouchable for mere plebeians like you, belonging in a separate world for those who were bolder, brighter, and far away.

In hindsight, you wondered if you would have harboured an unrequited crush on him as your peers had. There was no denying the effortless draw he had over people. The only reason you probably didn’t was that you’d nursed a silly crush of your own. One that had annoyingly carried over into the beginning of high school but fizzled out as you simply grew out of it.

Ultimately, your path did eventually cross with Oikawa’s in Aoba Johsai.

By some mysterious twist of fate, you wound up becoming the manager of the boys’ volleyball team.

Takenouchi Hina, the third-year manager back when you were in your first year, had been on the lookout for a new manager. Later, she admitted to you that she’d wanted to snatch up a first year who hadn’t chosen or joined a club; it had been to her luck that you were one of the last students in your class who hadn’t joined a club by her timely hunt, torn between Home Economics and Photography.

During one lunch period, she’d approached you with a warm smile and invited you to watch their practice before you could completely rule out the volleyball club. Being the good kouhai you were, you couldn’t bring yourself to deny such an earnest plea. And so, after class that day, you awkwardly trailed behind Takenouchi and hesitatingly followed her into the gym, wondering how rude it would be to excuse yourself when you were already there.

Very rude, you’d decided and continued to obediently shadow your senior.

“Takenouchi-san! Hello!” A boy called out from the other side of the court as the two of you drew closer to where the coaches stood.

The greeting caught the attention of the other gym-dwellers, and you found dozens of curious eyes falling on your awkward form trying to hide in the shadow of their manager.

Oh, God. Help me.

The sheer number of people just staring at you intimidated the ever-loving shit out of you. Why were teenage boys so intimidating and imposing and—

A deep voice suddenly cut your thoughts short, and you instinctively turned to the call of your name, eagerly latching onto the familiarity in the voice. Relief immediately flooded your veins and soothed your nerves as you found solace at the sight of the familiar speaker.

Over on the other end of the court, your old classmate, Iwaizumi Hajime, stood with a dumbfounded look on his face—slack jaw, wide eyes, and all.

Is it really that surprising to see me in the gym? Momentarily, you couldn’t tell if you should have been offended by how surprised he appeared. Rather than dwell on that stray—and semi-depressing—thought, you pushed it aside to give him a jerky wave and strained smile.

Your eyes swept past him, intending to survey the rest of the gym before the inevitable and dreadful introductions. However, you unwittingly met the gaze of a certain Oikawa Tooru, who’d been watching you and Iwaizumi with what you could only describe as curiosity and cautious intrigue.

You studied him for a moment longer before tensing and glancing at Takenouchi as she introduced you to the rest of the team. On cue, you greeted them with a proper 90-degree bow and soft stutter of “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

After you straightened up and stiffly accepted the team’s loud greetings, you found yourself studiously avoiding Oikawa’s (still!) curious gaze on you. There was something piercing about his stare—something that made you, honestly, intimidated by the guy you’d heard so much about in junior high.

It felt weird being in the same space as him. You didn’t actually know the boy personally, but you’d heard so much about him from other people—even people close to him like Iwaizumi. It sort of felt like you knew him, but at that moment, you realized that you never really had proper face-to-face interactions with him in your three years at Kitagawa Daiichi.

And for some reason, that made you feel incredibly awkward and a bit like a creep.

In your first year as the volleyball team’s manager, you had slowly but surely gotten closer with the players—especially the ones your age.

Hanamaki Takahiro and Matsukawa Issei were both easygoing guys, so it didn’t take long before you shared inside jokes with them and sought them out for company during lunch. And you had probably felt most comfortable with Iwaizumi out of pure familiarity and an established sense of rapport.

The three of them had helped you comfortably ease into your new role, freely lending a hand as needed, much to your relief and appreciation. Within a couple of months, you even felt comfortable calling them your friends.

That wasn’t to say you didn’t get along with Oikawa—because you did. It did take him a bit longer to warm up to you, having approached you with guarded eyes in the first few months. You were fairly certain that he only started to truly respect you after you’d helped Iwaizumi treat a jammed finger from an Interhigh match against the reigning champions, Shiratorizawa.

Frankly, Oikawa had defied your expectations.

Perhaps it was because you weren’t his best friend like Iwaizumi or a pining fan, but you were surprised by just how cool and indifferent he could be to others. Sure, he was polite and all, but you had seen the calculating glint in his eyes as he watched you, seemingly evaluating you and your every action.

It was only after that jammed finger incident that the ice in his eyes had completely melted, and he started to approach you with genuine smiles. From there, forging a friendship with Oikawa had been surprisingly and pleasantly easy. You found his dramatics amusing, and he seemed to enjoy your reactions, sometimes amping up his antics, if Iwaizumi was to be believed (he had a tendency to exaggerate when it came to the matters of his best friend).

But your friendship with Oikawa did not just end there. In some respects, the setter had come to trust you the most in certain matters over the others.

“Oikawa,” you called out to the boy glaring across the net, his chest rising and falling with each breathless pant.

Staying back after practice and watching over him had been a recent development, starting from the beginning of your second year. The brunet had come up to you one day after club activities and asked if you could stay back with him for extra practice—apparently, the coaches had only permitted it on the condition that someone else stayed back to supervise.

You hadn’t understood why at first, but after having sat through multiple overtime sessions with him, the answer became abundantly clear.

Oikawa had a propensity of working himself to the bone.

You were genuinely concerned for his health and well-being. Sometimes, he looked downright exhausted as the two of you cleaned up. You’d always offer to clean up by yourself, afraid that the boy would topple over or collapse on his way home if he moved around anymore.

Naturally, he brushed aside your offer, insisting that you stayed back for him, so he needed to repay the favour. Any further protests and snatching of balls from his hands went ignored and snatched back. To avoid having the boy expend any more energy, you relented but made sure to take care of the more tedious and laborious tasks as discreetly as you could—though you had a sneaking suspicion that Oikawa picked up on that and played along to keep you happy.

At first, you’d stayed behind because he’d asked. After the first few times, you stayed behind to keep an eye on him to assuage your worries—not that seeing him push himself so much ever really did.

You became a constant presence in the court, worriedly watching Oikawa as he pushed himself with a hunger and drive you didn’t think you could ever understand. You admired him for it, nonetheless.

“Geniuses make me sick.”

The venom in his voice made you tense as you helped Oikawa gather up the balls scattered all over the court.

“What?”

He clutched the ball in his hands tighter, trembling in a way that accentuated his frustration and despair. “I can’t stand geniuses. They don’t need to put in as much effort as I do to pull off the same stunts. If geniuses and people like me put in the same effort, the geniuses will win as long as they have a team of equal skill with my team.”

You startled as he suddenly snapped his head up and gave you an intense look. Envy, anger, hatred, desperation, and sadness swirled in those chocolate orbs, leaving you feeling oddly winded as though he’d sucker-punched you with the unmitigated force of his emotions.

“It’s so unfair.”

Your heart broke at the unadulterated grief and anguish in the boy’s voice.

You could sort of understand where he was coming from, having witnessed those who were effortlessly smart and comfortably sitting at the top of the class while you had to put in the work and tirelessly study to keep up with them. It wasn’t fair, and sure, sometimes, you were bothered by it, but it wasn’t something that… ate you alive. Those were simply the cards you were dealt with. You were alright with being average—content with it, even.

Oikawa evidently wasn’t. In fact, he seemed to abhor the very idea with every fibre of his being.

Life wasn’t fair. And that was a plainly irrefutable truth—one painful in its simplicity yet exhausting in its web of complicated intricacies.

But you didn’t want to say the wrong thing, not knowing nearly enough about volleyball to provide a proper response to such a weighty and loaded statement. You honestly thought Oikawa was a brilliant player. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t a natural-born “genius” or whatever.

He shone brightly on the court, positively beamed with a child-like joy you couldn’t comprehend for simply playing the sport he loved more than anything else in the entire world. You might have been more envious that he had such a life passion if you did not get a glimpse into the suffering it also caused.

“It is unfair,” you found yourself agreeing.

Oikawa blinked at you owlishly, clearly not having expected such a response. You absently wondered if all he’d heard until that point was disagreement or a challenge to his impassioned words.

“Don’t discredit the fruits of hard work, Oikawa,” you told him softly but with firm conviction. “Your dedication and effort will surely pay off.” It had to. You refused to believe that such a dedicated and talented individual like Oikawa would not reap the rewards of his passionate drive and effort.

Surely, the world wasn’t that cruel.

You’d expected more of a fight from the brunet, seeing how passionate he was earlier, but he curiously remained silent.

You watched as the high-strung tension in his shoulders loosened, and a thoughtful look chased away the dark looming cloud of hatred and frustration that’d previously taken over his usually clear eyes.

“I… see.”

You let your eyes linger on him for a few beats longer before giving him space. Just before you averted your gaze, you noticed the boy slowly mouth the words you’d said to him as he curled his hand into a tight fist over his chest.

Don’t discredit the fruits of hard work.

Something about your friendship with Oikawa changed after having bore witness to that moment of vulnerability. You couldn’t put your finger on exactly what it was, but it certainly felt like he had let all of his remaining walls down around you—walls you hadn’t even realized he still had up in the first place.

You had grown a lot closer to him—and quickly, too. He actively sought you out during practice to whine and cling to you the way he did to Iwaizumi. The first time he’d done that was the day immediately after that moment, so you had been taken aback at his sudden bout of silly affection. However, you were adaptable. And so, you and Oikawa developed your own brand of friendship. Unlike the ace, you entertained Oikawa’s clinginess but poked fun at him in your own way instead (one that refreshingly did not involve your fists and sharp looks).

When you were apart, he texted you frequently, striking up random conversations and asking the strangest but admittedly interesting questions about alien life. You found yourself glued to your phone more than usual, giggling quietly in your room as you read through his far-fetched albeit entertaining conspiracy theories about JAXA and life on Mars.

It surprised you just how easily and effortlessly you clicked with Oikawa. You could be both silly and serious without any judgement from the boy. Although he’d been the guy you were most distant with on the team in your first year, he was probably the member you were closest to by your second year.

And going into your third and last year of senior high, he was both one of your best friends and a great menace in your life.

“Oh, Manager-chaaaan,” he sang before clutching onto your arm with his two hands.

You merely grunted in response, letting him pull you away from your desk. You’d learned the hard way that some things weren’t worth fighting when your opponent was the Oikawa Tooru.

“Yudacchi insisted we join him for lunch today,” Oikawa heaved a dramatic sigh as though Yuda was causing him a great inconvenience—which you knew wasn’t the case as the boy cared for his teammates more than he liked to admit. “So it’s not going to be at Iwa-chan’s as usual.”

“What, why?” you furrowed your brows, wondering what Yuda wanted. As Seijoh’s volleyball team was rather large, not all those in the same year hung out with each other. Sure, you were all friendly and got along fine, but the club had broken off into smaller friend groups. You mostly stuck around the starting third years: Oikawa, Iwaizumi, Hanamaki, and Matsukawa. While you all were somewhat friends with Yuda, Sawauchi, and Shido, they stuck to themselves outside practice.

“He said he wanted to talk to us all about something.”

“All of us?” you queried dubiously. “What could he possibly want from all of us?”

Oikawa shrugged and simply pulled you along.

There was no need for him to keep holding onto your wrist as you were following after him willingly. For a split second, you considered telling him to let go, but you couldn’t bring yourself to open your mouth and say the words.

Mystified by your own reaction, your eyes fell to his fingers, which were wrapped soundly around your wrist. He had long and almost elegant-looking fingers with pretty nail beds. You knew he took care of them obsessively, insisting that if a nail was even a millimetre too long, it threw off his tosses.

You didn’t know if you believed him (the millimetre part, that was) but entertained him, helping him pick out new nail files whenever his old ones grew dull.

Either way, his meticulous routine and care for his hands paid off. They were probably the most well-groomed hands you’d seen from an athlete. You’d have thought that volleyball players who built up calluses from constant contact with fastballs would have hands that were rough to the touch.

It was almost unfair just how much Oikawa had won the genetic lottery. From his princely looks to his athletic abilities, he was a bit too perfect. If he hadn’t opted for sports as his career path, he probably would have made it big in the entertainment industry.

The call of your name pulled you out of your strange thoughts.

Shit.

Heat rushed to your cheeks as you met Oikawa’s amused chocolate brown eyes. Flustered, you tried to sputter out an excuse for your blatant gawking but fell short of any coherent stream of thought when he suddenly leaned in.

He gazed deeply into your eyes, and a slight smirk graced his lips.

He’s too close, you shrieked in the safe confines of your mind.

You fidgeted in your spot, cursing Oikawa for the twitter-pated effect he had over you. His gaze appeared to melt with unbridled softness and another indescribable emotion. The look stole your breath away, and your fingertips tingled as a pleasant yet electrifying thrill coursed through you.

Unable to handle any more intense sensations, you directed your eyes to your feet.

To both your relief and disappointment, Oikawa pulled away the slightest bit, and you heard a quiet chuckle. Then, he gave the back of your hand a cheeky little tap with his finger before finally—mercifully—letting go of your wrist.

What the hell was that?

You stood there, still as a statue, while Oikawa blithely entered the classroom with a notable bounce in his steps.

You sucked in a deep and long breath for four seconds and held it for seven before letting it out slowly through your nose—eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one.

Those traitorous butterflies in your stomach settled a bit, and you felt… well, like yourself again.

Without another moment to waste, you strode inside and glanced around to see where the team was gathered in Yuda’s class.

“Oh, it’s our Manager-chan,” Hanamaki caught sight of you and waved you over to where your friends had pushed together a few desks by the window.

“Hey,” you greeted everyone as you took the empty seat between Hanamaki and Matsukawa. Looking up from your seat, your eyes met Oikawa’s amused ones.

Still embarrassed from whatever the hell happened by the door, you found that you couldn’t hold his gaze and immediately looked to Yuda.

“Is this everyone?” The aforementioned boy asked Sawauchi on his left.

“I think so?” Sawauchi gave the entire group a cursory scan.

“Yeah, it is,” Shido confirmed.

Without a moment to waste, Yuda slammed his hands down on his desk, “Listen.” Your clubmate’s antics embarrassingly captured the attention of the rest of the class. Mercifully, once they noticed who had caused the commotion, they all turned back to their own friends and ignored the boy.

You couldn’t help but wonder just how commonplace Yuda’s theatrics were for his classmates to turn away without so much as batting an eye. As much as you liked your fellow third year, you found yourself looking down at your lunch to avoid meeting the gaze of his classmates.

“We’re all the same age, right?” he continued, evidently oblivious to your discomfort.

You exchanged wary glances with the others at the table.

“Right…”

“We’re all friends, right?”

“Right…” This one was said with more hesitance, but luckily, Yuda didn’t seem to notice.

“It’s our final year! We need more team bonding moments!”

While the sentiment was nice, you didn’t think Yuda was going about it the right way, seeing as the rest of the team shared discreet cringes.

Matsukawa nudged you by the side and leaned in to whisper, “How long do you think this will take?”

You grimaced, “Maybe the whole lunch?” Yuda, though a kind and well-intending soul, was not the most… concise. He had a tendency to ramble and go off on tangents as he circled around the point he was trying to make out of pure passion.

“Damn,” the middle blocker chuckled and straightened up. “I think you’re probably right.”

Sorry, Yuda, you sent the fellow third year a silent apology.

You tuned out the rest of Yuda’s ramblings and leaned back into your chair, tilting your head to stare up at the ceiling. Your fellow clubmate could go on for ages if he wanted to, and you’d learned that it was best to let it out of his system.

With that thought, you fixed your posture, opened your bento, and pulled out the chopsticks you’d packed.

You gave an internal cheer as you realized that your mother had put in the leftover tonkotsu from dinner and happily shoved a big piece into your mouth.

Just before you could chew down on the tonkotsu, you heard someone call your name. Perking up, you instinctively turned your head in the direction the voice came from.

You promptly swallowed the tonkotsu and blinked in surprise. “Nakamura?”

“Hey,” the boy smiled. “Long time no see.”

Nakamura Seiichi was, by all means, an average high school boy. Though rather plain-looking with an average build and height, he was friendly and had an endearing charm about him. It was those very traits that had you carrying a crush on him throughout junior high.

“I see you’re with Iwaizumi, too,” he nodded before giving your friend a wave. “Long time no see.”

“Hey,” Iwaizumi gave him a friendly nod back.

“You guys on the volleyball club together, was it?”

“Yeah,” you replied. “I’m just the manager, though.”

Nakamura’s lips curled into that boyish and friendly smile of his. “Yeah, I think I heard that from our old classmates. I’m on the student council as treasurer… though you probably already know that.”

You nodded and let out a quiet chuckle, “Most people know the third years on student council, yes.”

Nakamura gave a sheepish laugh as he rubbed the back of his neck. Then, he glanced up at the clock and grimaced. “I have to run—student council meeting, actually.”

“Yeah, go ahead,” you waved in understanding.

“Well, I’ll see you both around,” Nakamura waved back before leaving the room.

Your eyes trailed after Nakamura, shocked to realize that his presence didn’t fill you with the same jittery nerves and butterflies as it once did. It was a small thing but felt more monumental than it actually was. It felt like you’d shed that last bit of your junior high self and were seeing the changes within you.

You tapped your finger on your chin and shifted your gaze back to your friends. Amazingly, Yuda was still at it and hadn’t seemed to notice the exchange. You gave a cursory glance over at each of your friends to notice that Hanamaki and Matsukawa were actually listening but with a suspiciously mischievous glint in their eyes. Iwaizumi appeared to be half-listening as he chomped down on his yakisoba bread.

You stopped short at Oikawa, not having noticed that he had been watching you for who knows how long. There was something in his eyes that you couldn’t describe, but it was intense. A part of you wanted to desperately avert your gaze, but the more stubborn and traitorous part couldn’t bear to look away from him at that moment.

He’s beautiful, your mind supplied unhelpfully.

At that horrifying realization, you finally fixed your eyes on your bento box.

Senior high was very short. Each year passed by in a blur, but the sentiment rang particularly true in your last year at Aoba Johsai.

Volleyball had ended on a bittersweet note. While you could proudly declare that your team had relentlessly fought—tooth and nail—to the bitter end, it still hurt that their efforts fell short. Their blood, sweat, and tears weren’t enough to reach their longtime goal of making the Spring Nationals.

Hell, they didn’t even manage to make it to the finals against Shiratorizawa after facing an agonizing defeat to the rapidly evolving Karasuno.

Nevertheless, you were proud of them and yourself.

The plays they pulled against Karasuno were astonishing. Watching the match on the bench left you on the edge of your seat, waiting with bated breath for the ball to drop on the other side of the court.

You were grateful to have been part of a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Who would have thought you’d get involved with volleyball, or sports in general, as you had the opportunity to in high school? You didn’t think you would ever get involved with volleyball in the same capacity but had an inkling that you would follow the sport for a long time—it wasn’t like Oikawa would let you stay out of the loop with his declaration that his journey with volleyball was nowhere near ending after high school.

And it was finally the day of your graduation.

You were glad you had the opportunity to cry with the rest of the volleyball team at the crushing realization that you would not see each other in the same capacity next year. You didn’t want a repeat on graduation day and, mercifully, found yourself laughing with your friends as you all reminisced on past memories and talked about your plans.

The air was filled with a blend of bittersweet nostalgia and anticipation for the future. It truly felt like a chapter of your life was ending, but that only meant another chapter was starting.

You had been with the rest of your friends when Oikawa suddenly sauntered up and grabbed you by the upper arm.

Startled by the sudden contact, you whipped your head to see the boy not looking at you but at Iwaizumi. The latter merely shook his head and glanced between you and Oikawa with a strange smile toying at his lips.

“Wha—” you sputtered as Oikawa tugged at your arm.

You shot Iwaizumi a startled look as his best friend started to drag you away from the rest of them. He only gave you a knowing look and turned back to Hanamaki and Matsukawa, who hadn’t so much as blinked at the intrusion.

That traitor!

Enraged by your friend’s betrayal, you fiercely glared at the back of his head, fervently hoping that he would feel it and take pity on you—or save you out of fear over your wrath.

But Iwaizumi did not move or show any indication that he felt your glare as you only got further and further away from him until you lost sight of him among the sea of students.

Once you could no longer see your friends, you hesitantly shifted your attention to the boy in front of you. As much as you wanted to ask Oikawa where he was taking you, for some reason, it did not feel right to break the weird silence.

Tension lined Oikawa’s shoulders, contrasting the gentle yet firm grip on your wrist. He did not look back at you at all as he kept maneuvering you through the crowds.

Amazingly, no one approached him. You couldn’t help but wonder what his face looked like for it to ward off even the most persistent of his fans. A part of you wanted a glimpse, but another part of you didn’t. You were, frankly, scared of what you would see.

Inwardly, you were grateful that Oikawa didn’t hold onto your hand. Your palms were cold and clammy as your nerves got the better of you. That time before lunch with Yuda had already cued him into his effect on you—you didn’t want to give yourself away any more than that.

The silence and trek stretched on for what felt like hours when, in reality, it had only been a couple of minutes.

Eventually, Oikawa came to a stop as he wrenched open a door and ushered you inside. Instantly, you recognized that he was taking you to the roof.

Will it be empty? You wondered doubtfully. You imagined it was the perfect place for some graduating students to say their goodbyes or have private conversations away from peering eyes.

“We’re here,” Oikawa announced, breaking you out of your thoughts.

“Oh, wow, there really isn’t anyone else,” you blurted out as you scanned the shockingly empty roof.

“I’ve been keeping my eye on it,” he admitted sheepishly. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

You remained quiet for a few seconds, studying your friend’s form. “What is it?” you finally asked.

Oikawa shoved his hand into the pocket of his jacket and seemed to fiddle with something in it.

“I have a present for you.”

“A present…?” you eyed the hand in his pocket dubiously.

“Yep, will you accept it?”

“As long as it isn’t weird,” you nodded slowly.

“It isn’t weird! Promise!” Oikawa defended, looking mildly offended.

“Alright, then… What…?”

“Tada!” In typical Oikawa Tooru fashion, he’d brandished his gift with unnecessary flair, sticking his hand out to you as he winked and shot you his signature disarming grin.

Although it was not unlike him to put his flair to things, it felt a little out of place and forced. You could see the nerves and tension in his usually naturally charismatic and charming smile—the corners gave a nearly imperceptible twitch.

You glanced at his hand to see a little button smack in the middle of his palm. At the sight of the gift, you pursed your lips and arched a brow at him skeptically. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Oikawa?”

He beamed down at you unflinchingly, “Giving you my button, of course!”

You stared at his jacket and noted that his second button was indeed missing and likely the one he was offering you.

“Why are you giving this to me?” You queried cautiously. Did he know what giving the second button entailed? Knowing Oikawa and his popularity, he had no reason not to know.

But there’s no way he’s giving it to me of all people, right?

He must have noticed your doubts as he immediately adopted a grave face and called you by your given name. “Listen, carefully. I…I want to tell you something.”

A shiver went down your spine at the serious use of your name. Normally, Oikawa would say it playfully, though he didn’t use it too often either.

“Uh…” you tried to string together a coherent response but found that he’d rendered you speechless—a common occurrence as of late.

He gently grabbed your wrist and pressed the button down firmly into your palm. “I’m giving this to you for the same reasons other guys give away their second buttons.”

You gaped at him, opening and closing your mouth a few times in a fruitless effort to say something—anything in response to this earth-shattering…confession.

Wait, is this actually a confession? It can’t be. No way.

You needed to clear the air.

“Oikawa, I—”

“Tooru.”

“What?”

He averted his gaze.

“Call me Tooru… just for this moment. Please.”

Oh, maybe this is real.

“Tooru,” you acquiesced in a shaky tone.

The boy before you sucked in a sudden deep breath. He appeared oddly nervous—unlike his usual demeanour—and seemed to be trying to calm himself. Ironically, the sight only set your nerves to life as butterflies came to life and fluttered in your stomach as you put two and two together.

His nerves…the freaking button, graduation day. Is he actually…?

“Is this… are your, uh, feelings—”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

In all honesty, you didn’t know what to say. Oikawa was leaving for Argentina in a few days, tirelessly working and pushing to make his dreams come true. It was a little cruel of him to confess his feelings when he couldn’t even stay.

I like you, too. Those words lingered at the tip of your tongue, and suddenly, you were gripped with the need to let Oikawa know your feelings as well—that you reciprocated his feelings.

You looked up at him, set on telling him, but something in his face gave you pause.

You couldn’t completely place your finger on it. It was something soft. Something sad. Something so heartbreakingly tender.

You studied him for a few moments longer before it finally clicked.

Oikawa knew. He knew that his feelings weren’t one-sided. He knew that confessing now put you in a pickle.

He gently reached for your hand and laced your fingers together.

You both stared at your hands, marvelling at how well they fit together. Warmth emanated from his fingers and palm, and you realized just how cold yours had been. It was pleasant. Comforting. It was like Oikawa—the way you knew him. Not the way his fans knew him. Not the way Iwaizumi knew him. Just you.

He was your Oikawa in a weird way.

That thought ushered a flush to your cheeks, and you couldn’t help but look down at your shoes in embarrassment. Stop. He’s not my anything.

How horrifyingly embarrassing.

Before you could shrink into yourself, Oikawa gently tugged on your joined hands, drawing you into his warm atmosphere. You stumbled at first but quickly regained your balance as Oikawa let go of your hand and wrapped his arms around you instead, pulling you in even closer.

What.

You froze for a moment, totally caught unaware by the boy’s actions. But soon enough, you felt yourself melt into his warm embrace. You raised a hand to his back and felt him immediately hold you tighter in his arms before cradling the back of your head with one hand.

It was in that tender action that you realized that you both knew and understood.

He wasn’t even planning on staying in the country. Oikawa Tooru was meant for greater things in life, higher summits. Saying those sweet yet forbidden words would hurt more, given the circumstances. Knowing what those words sounded like from his lips, in his beautiful voice, saturated with heart-wrenching sincerity, would hurt all the more.

You would simply have to bury those words deep in your heart and lock them away.

Still, you closed your eyes and basked in your shared warmth. And as you held him in your arms, just as he held you, the beat of your heart danced steadily against your chest to the melody of your feelings singing from its locked cage.

[12:47 PM] Oikawa: I’m in Japan for a bit. Wanna hang out and catch up?

You stared down at the text as you bit down on your thumb nervously.

It had been a few years since you graduated from high school and a few months since you graduated from university. In the hustle and bustle of school, you hadn’t had the opportunity to see Oikawa the couple of times he’d visited Japan—specifically, Miyagi. Sure, you managed to keep up with him via video calls, messages, regular calls, and all that, but it just wasn’t the same. You could afford to delay your responses as needed—besides, with the time zones, it was a rarity for you to hear back from him right away, and vice versa.

But now… you were minutes away from interacting with Oikawa in real time with no delays, no mulling over your words, and no anxious waiting for replies.

[1:23 PM] Sure, do you wanna go anywhere in particular?

You read over your text again and scanned through your brief conversation. Ultimately, you and Oikawa had chosen to meet by Skytree to do some sightseeing—well, more like you playing the tour guide for Oikawa’s Tokyo trip.

You were, admittedly, nervous. It had been over four years since you’d seen Oikawa in person, so your scheduled reunion felt… monumental. It felt like you were breaking off from the familiar and comfortable rapport you’d built up over the years.

And so you stood outside Moomin House Cafe, which Oikawa had insisted on visiting before making your rounds around Skytree. You took another quick peek inside and had to admit that it was rather cute. It was a supposed “anti-loneliness” cafe, and the decor certainly created a warm atmosphere even as you looked in from the outside.

The warm spring breeze swept through you and let a stray hair loose from your scrunchie. You huffed in annoyance and reached up to undo it when someone else had beaten you to it.

Alarmed, you whipped your head back to see Oikawa smiling down mischievously at you, scrunchie in his hand. 

“Oikawa!?” you reeled back in surprise, watching as he pocketed your scrunchie with a cheeky grin. 

“That’s me!” The brunet winked and lifted his fingers into a peace sign. “Long time no see, Manager-chan.”

“Yeah,” your words came out in a breathless rush. “It has been a long time, hasn’t it?”

After graduation, the distance between you and Oikawa had grown bigger—almost insurmountable. He lived across the globe, chasing after his dreams with that hunger you’d seen since high school.

And now, he was right in front of you, and the distance grew smaller. You hovered in his orbit, close enough to see and admire but never daring to touch.

He’s beautiful, you couldn’t help but think to yourself.

Like clockwork, a wave of horror crashed over you—a stupidly common occurrence every time you’d made that realization, even back in freaking high school.

You cleared your throat in an attempt to distract yourself from those warring feelings. “So, want to go in?”

After catching up on each other’s lives over a cup of coffee, you and Oikawa decided to make your trek to Skytree. Having already visited a couple of times in university, you led him to the Skytree Gallery, allowing him to “ooh” and “ah” at the models and historical photos.

Once he’d had his fill of learning about the history of the tower, you took him to enjoy the view from Tembo Galleria, the highest observation deck of Skytree.

“Have you ever been here at this time?” Oikawa asked.

You shook your head. “No, I visited when it was dark since that’s when I finished most classes.”

“The night view must be nice. You should take me here again when it’s dark next time.”

You couldn’t help but quirk a little smile at the prospect of a next time, liking the thought—the delicious promise—of seeing each other again. “Yeah, definitely.”

A comfortable silence fell between the two of you.

Oikawa turned back to the windows with a thoughtful look on his face. “Miyagi was all I knew,” he admitted as he took in the city view with shining eyes. “Adjusting to Argentina was hard.”

You nodded slowly. “I mean, you went alone and away from home. There must have been a lot of barriers you had to overcome in the process.”

“Yeah…” He got a distant look in his eyes as he seemed to reminisce about days past.

You let him be, wondering if he’d ever given himself a moment to really think and reflect—to be proud of his accomplishments as many others were—as you were.

Fixing your gaze on the breathtaking afternoon view of Tokyo, you felt a sense of peace. You understood why so many people took comfort in viewing the city from a far distance or great heights. Everything looked smaller and put things in a different perspective.

As it was still bright outside, you could see some office workers—the poor souls, working on a weekend—hurrying back into their office buildings with a coffee in hand. It was funny that while it had only been a few months since you started working at your plain old office job, you related to them more than the students who were seemingly on break and enjoying the nice weather, likely taking a break from their studies.

Life moves on. The sentimental thought struck you suddenly as one student in particular—if their Waseda hoodie was to be believed—tackled their friend waiting for them by a bench excitedly as though they hadn’t seen each other in a long time.

With that thought, you fell into a thoughtful silence, reminiscing on your high school years, which simultaneously felt like yesterday and eons ago.

Quietly, but comfortably, you followed Oikawa as he walked around the observation deck to admire the city view from all angles.

It had been a peaceful and quiet affair, and you felt so relaxed as you took comfort in simply being with Oikawa.

“Welp! I think I got my fill of Skytree. Have anywhere else to go, Tour Guide-san?” Oikawa asked playfully as he stretched his arms behind him.

You thought for a moment before taking a quick glimpse outside. “Up for a walk?”

“Sure,” he shrugged.

“We’re gonna have to cross Oshinari Bridge,” you explained as the two of you made your way out of the observation decks. “There’s a quaint little park—Oshinari Park—it’s quite nice but nothing special. We can kill some time before grabbing some dinner.”

“Sounds good. Lead the way!”

As you’d said, Oshinari Park was not anything special. In all honesty, it wasn’t even worth touring around, but it served its purpose. You wanted to kill some time before dinner and expend enough energy to feel hungry.

After you’d walked around and worked yourselves up to hunger, you and Oikawa entered a nearby izakaya.

Thankfully, there was an empty table when you’d arrived, so you were swiftly seated upon your arrival. After some contemplation, the two of you ordered karaage, agedashi tofu, and some beer.

You laughed through a mouthful of karaage, mindful to cover your mouth with a hand as the other reached for your beer cup.

He laughed along as well. “Man, nothing beats authentic Japanese food!”

“How is the Japanese food in Argentina?”

“It’s alright,” Oikawa shrugged. “Pretty standard for Japanese places outside of Japan. Buenos Aires has some pretty good restaurants.”

“Bu—Bue…no…?”

“Buenos Aires,” he repeated slowly with an amused grin.

“Buenos Aires,” you nodded resolutely as you repeated the name, albeit with a thick Japanese accent. “Your Spanish accent sounds pretty good to my non-native ears.”

“Well, I’ve had a lot of practice.” He shrugged nonchalantly before redirecting the conversation back to you, “Do you come to izakayas often?”

“Sort of?” you hummed. “After work, some coworkers invite me to grab drinks with them. Sometimes it’s at an izakaya, sometimes it’s not.”

You took another swig of your beer and gingerly plopped a piece of tofu in your mouth.

“It’s like those scenes in anime and dramas!” Oikawa giggled.

“Hardly,” you rolled your eyes. The slight delay in your movement keyed you into the fact that you were drunker than you’d expected.

The man giggled some more.

“Are you getting drunk, Oikawa?” You couldn’t help but laugh at how… giggly and gleeful he seemed.

“Hardly,” he threw your previous words back at you. “Just… happy, I guess.”

“O-Oh…” you looked down at your fingers and twiddled your thumbs. “That’s… good,” you finished lamely.

“Yeah.”

The slightly choked response made you look up in confusion and concern.

His gaze made your breath catch in your throat.

Even in your less-than-put-together state, flushed cheeks from the alcohol and all, he stared at you as though you’d placed the stars in the sky.

You couldn’t bear the weight of his gaze, so you looked down at your shoes and let your hair fall and curtain you from him.

“I… missed you,” Oikawa said in an uncharacteristically timid voice. “I meant to say this earlier, but… you—you look good.”

“Oh, uh, thanks,” you stared down at your food, unable to look at him. “I—I missed you, too.”

The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. Briefly, you wondered if others could feel it from their seats.

He called your name in a choked voice.

You sighed and let your hand inch closer to his. After a fleeting moment of hesitation, you hooked your pinky to his.

I’ll allow myself this much.

You heard Oikawa heave a shaky breath before he curled his pinky tightly around yours.

“We broke up.”

You paused in the midst of chewing on a piece of tempura and gazed across the table.

You had unexpectedly run into Matsumoto Ayaka, your high school classmate, after getting off work and making your way to the station.

She had looked excited to see you—likely excited to see a familiar face in a city far from home. But now, she looked wistful. Her brows slightly furrowed and lips pursed as she peered over your head, eyes not focusing on anything in particular but staying still.

“Oh, uh, I’m sorry to hear that,” you floundered, taken aback by the suddenness of her confession. A brief moment of silence had overtaken you both as the waiter brought over your entrées to the table.

“No,” she shook her head, eyes focusing back onto you. “Sorry to spring it up on you. I just…”

“Haven’t had anyone to talk about it with?” you finished gently, watching as your former classmate seemed to struggle to verbalize her feelings.

“Yeah…” Matsumoto hung her head.

You waited for a few moments, but Matsumoto did not seem to know where to start, simply lost in the storm brewing inside her heart. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She hesitated before peering up at you impishly. “Can I? I know I kinda sprung it on you, but—”

“It’s alright,” you assured her. And you meant it. While you hadn’t been the closest with Matsumoto in high school, you had been close enough to have somewhat deep conversations—those that went beyond just the simple and trivial pleasantries.

“Did you know that Shin went pro?”

You nodded. “I heard. There aren’t many alumni that make it to the big leagues, especially for soccer.”

“It… was rough,” Matsumoto admitted in a soft voice. Her eyes glazed over, lost in a haze of beautiful memories, even as she continued speaking. “We had to be careful. He had some overzealous fans, so he wanted to keep me safe. We were careful… but… that can really mess with your head, you know? I felt like, I don’t know, a dirty little secret?”

You hummed and nodded so that Matsumoto knew you were listening. Frankly, you didn’t know what to say and felt it was more appropriate for you to listen and let her get things off her chest.

“I started to grow bitter,” Matsumoto sighed in a painful combination of resignation and self-blame. “I kept thinking things like ‘He’s not even an idol. Why do we have to go to such extents?’ and ‘Is he even that popular in Portugal?’ I started to resent him and picked fights with him. It was like… I wanted to get under his skin. I wanted him to feel a portion of what I felt.”

She paused and hung her head, voice coming out weak and defeated. “I hated the person I was becoming… and the person that I was.”

Your heart clenched for your high school friend. Matsumoto had always been a sweet and self-assured person. She never came off as overly confident nor arrogant; she had a quiet sort of confidence about her, a comfortability with herself and an understanding of her character.

It was odd to see her so downtrodden and uncertain. Although you hadn’t been the closest with her, it still hurt to see a friend in such spirits. 

“It made me question: can I really be happy like this? Is a relationship that’s so… so… closed off healthy? I wanted to be like any other happy young couple—holding hands in public without having to mask up and disguise ourselves. I’m just ordinary. Average Japanese office worker. Average in looks, average in my freaking salary, average in, like, everything!”

As the impassioned words left her mouth, the sympathy you felt for Matsumoto mutated into something deeply personal. Every syllable pricked at your chest, spreading a cold, suffocating haze of self-doubt from your heart straight to your fingertips—like a storm cloud violently overtaking a clear sky.

“He asked me to move to Portugal with him.”

A tense silence fell between the two of you. 

You stared at Matsumoto with wavering eyes, waiting with bated breath for her to continue. 

“I guess… I guess I couldn’t take it anymore,” Matsumoto sighed defeatedly. “Being with him clawed away at my insecurities—which isn’t his fault, don’t get me wrong! I know that perfectly well!”

You just nodded numbly in response.

“But…it made me think that I needed a break,” she admitted in a defeated voice. “I needed to take a good look at myself. I’ve grown and felt like we’ve grown apart, if that makes sense.”

You could feel the strain in your face as you fought to keep your cool, trying your best to not let her words put a fucking mirror up to you and see you in Matsumoto’s shoes. The pain, the resignation, the insecurities, the uncertainty—the beast born of those unspoken and repressed feelings clawing away at your chest one excruciating chunk at a time, manifesting into a physical hurt and suffering.

This will be your future! You can’t let it happen to you! Look at you right now; the mess you are right now! Do you think you can handle being like Matsumoto right now? The insidious voice inside you screamed.

Fighting hard to keep your cool, you reached for your cup and sipped on the tea, letting the familiar, slightly bitter taste ground you.

“I’m sorry you felt that way,” you said, realizing you had stayed silent throughout the entire conversation. 

“I’m doing better,” your former classmate managed a crooked smile. “I had to learn to pick myself up alone. I relied on Shin a lot, so it was hard at first, but I managed.”

She rested her chin on her palm and tapped her cheek with her index finger. “Shin was my first love. I thought we were gonna get married and have kids by now.”

You hesitated but decided to bite the bullet. “Do you… still want to be with him? I mean, would you take him back if he chased after you again?”

Matsumoto closed her eyes as she hummed in consideration. “I’d like to say no because of how hard it was, but a part of me still misses and loves him.”

It was both an answer and a non-answer. An oxymoron that spoke to the complexity of love—one that you knew very well.

You, and evidently Matsumoto, were a pendulum, swinging to and fro between wanting to recklessly chase after the thrill of a good romance and wanting to ground yourself in reality and live without any unnecessary risks.

Ultimately, that was what it was: a risk. Love was a risk, and it was up to you to decide whether it was worth the risk or not. 

Her hand fell from her face and gently folded over her other hand. Matsumoto opened her eyes and looked into yours intently. “So, if I were to give you one word of advice, it would be to stay clear from pro athletes. Especially if they have big dreams and ambitions. You might just end up getting caught in something bigger than you expected.”

Your pulse raced at her words, wondering if her intent gaze could see right into the depths of your heart.

“Right,” you nodded jerkily. “I won’t.”

The next time you see Oikawa again is a year later when you have enough vacation days stocked up to go abroad for once. He’d bugged you endlessly to visit Argentina. You had your reservations since it was an unknown country to someone who’d grown up and stayed in Japan for, basically, all their life.

Alas, you somehow found yourself walking down the jet bridge of your plane to Ministro Pistarini International Airport.

This is a dumb idea.

The thought repeated itself over and over and over again in your head like a mantra. Regret swelled up in your chest as you clutched tightly onto your carry-on bag. And it only continued to balloon as you claimed your luggage, went through immigration, and slowly dragged yourself to the arrivals terminal gate.

Each step was one step closer to him.

The sheer reality of it threw your mind into a frenzy.

With each step you took forward, your fingertips buzzed with anxious anticipation. Beyond the crowd of passengers ahead of you, the excited calls of names sounded along with the squeaking of shoes hurrying against the floors.

The sounds grew progressively louder until you could see the people waiting at the terminal gate. With a stuttering heart, you scanned the groups of people until your eyes settled on one familiar figure.

And there he stood, with his hands in his pocket as he scanned the terminal.

Your footsteps slowed as you got closer and closer to him. Your eyes greedily drank in the sight of him, cataloguing the changes in his appearance since you’d seen him last. He had filled out considerably, his shoulders broader and posture more commanding—the undeniable physical transformation of an Olympic athlete. He wore a pair of round glasses and donned a white t-shirt, well-fitted grey pants, and white shoes.

The changes weren’t major or drastic, but they were, nevertheless, there—there as a gentle yet harsh reminder of the lengthy time spent apart from him.

He spotted you and immediately lit up in that endearing way of his—eyes wide and brows drawn slightly up as the ends of his mouth curled up in that boyish grin of his.

“Hey,” he greeted with a wide smile as you stopped a good foot away from him. “Long time no see.”

“Yeah, hi.” You returned with an equally big smile.

“Welcome to Argentina!” he stretched out his arms excitedly and suddenly pulled you into a tight hug, closing the distance between you two.

You froze for a brief moment but returned the embrace. “Thanks. Glad to be here.”

“You’re finally here.”

“Yeah… I’m… finally here.”

And you’re close to him, sitting across from him at some restaurant he had pulled you into. Your fingers curled around the napkin in front of you as your eyes wandered and scoured the place with a curious glint.

“Like it?”

You glanced back at him and felt your lips involuntarily rise at the sight of his eyes twinkling under the ambient lights.

“Of course. It’s beautiful.”

He gave you a soft smile in response. “It’s one of my favourite places.”

Unable to hold his stare, you fixed your eyes on the menu laying atop the table. “What do you recommend?”

Oikawa hummed thoughtfully as he swiftly scanned the menu. “How about I surprise you?”

“Uh…” you floundered, wondering if it was safe to trust the man across from you. After all, he had a penchant for teasing you at the most opportune moments.

“C’mon!” He pouted, seeming to have guessed where your thoughts had trailed to. “I wouldn’t do you dirty for your first taste of Argentina!”

“I… guess so,” you acquiesced albeit with the slightest hint of distrust colouring your voice. 

“Just trust me,” he shot you his signature disarming wink. Then, he waved down a waiter and ordered your dinner with practiced ease.

As you watched Oikawa confidently hold somewhat of a conversation in Spanish, you couldn’t help but admire his grit and drive.

The man had been crazy enough about his dreams that he left his friends and family at home, only to carve out a new home in a totally foreign country. It was so like Oikawa to fit right in with all sorts of people. You remembered how he would sometimes fill in as a setter for a university team during practice matches and harmonize perfectly with completely new teammates.

In some weird way, that familiarity comforted you. The man before was still Oikawa Tooru, your old senior high—and junior high—classmate.

After the waiter left, you and Oikawa took the time to catch up, filling each other in about things mentioned in passing over the phone or updates to texts. It was… nice to finally share the things you had wanted to share in full with him. There was only so much a phone or text could do—you had been robbed of seeing how his laughter seemed to brighten the atmosphere around him. Being in his presence raised your spirits, and you found yourself growing more animated as you shared the silly moments you had mentally bookmarked for him.

As the conversation fell into a comfortable lull, the food was ready and set on your table.

“These are empanadas,” he pointed to the dish that resembled gyoza to some extent. “And you have choripán in front of you.”

“Chouripan?” You echoed as you eyed the hot dog-looking dish dubiously. “That’s what they’re called?”

“Choripán,” Oikawa corrected in a damn near flawless Spanish accent. Sure, you weren’t a native speaker, but in the short time you’d already spent in Argentina, you had been surrounded by Spanish. Your keen ears had listened intently whenever Oikawa conversed with a local, and you were fairly sure that his accent and pronunciation were even better than you’d seen him last.

You listened intently as he carefully explained the difference between the Argentinian choripán and Japanese chouripan. More than the actual explanation itself, you found yourself captured by how passionate he seemed about describing anything related to the cultural differences between his national and ethnic identities.

Conversation flowed easily out of the two of you. With Oikawa’s exciting adventures as an Olympic athlete, he had a lot of interesting stories to tell. And you listened intently, finding it unbelievable yet so natural that Oikawa managed so many great feats already.

“I… missed you,” Oikawa confessed slowly, sliding his hand closer to yours on the table.

You stared down at his hand, waiting with bated breath as it inched closer and closer to yours.

He hesitated for a moment before gingerly linking his pinky with yours in a painful reminder of that cozy night in the izakaya. In fact, the dim and ambient lighting of the restaurant you were currently at seemed to overlap with the image of the izakaya in your mind’s eye.

It amazed you how warm it was having his pinky connected to yours. It wasn’t just a physical warmth but one that emanated from within. A hearth that drew you in and smoothed out the knots in your tense shoulders—knots that only accumulated in his absence.

For a tempting moment, you almost caved. Suddenly, the words buried deep in your heart that had remained there for years seemed to want to let loose.

You were so close to the edge. You were teetering on the edge of a line you both religiously did not cross for your sakes.

But you took a look at Oikawa again. And reality slapped you in the face.

You needed to pull back from the dangerous waters. It wasn’t like the waters were violent and crashing tides. No, if anything, they were calm and still—and that was what scared you from ever dipping your feet into them.

You didn’t know what your touch would do to these still and peaceful waters of your relationship. And so, you strayed from ever diving in.

Besides, you were just a regular office worker in Tokyo, and he was a professional volleyball player. Perhaps Ushijima had been onto something with that infuriating plant analogy. 

You were a single blade of grass in an ordinary field. Oikawa was a shooting star, burning brilliantly across the night sky for the entire world to admire. The distance between your worlds was simply too vast. There was no earthly way you could ever hold a candle to his exuberant brilliance.

At that thought, you gently pulled your hand away from him. His eyes tracked your every move, watching until you clasped your hands together tightly, fending off the desire to reach out to him and feel his warmth.

Finally, his eyes trailed up to your face, studying you with an inexplicable look. “Where did we go wrong?” His voice cracked towards the end.

A lump formed in your throat at his teary question, but you merely shook your head and bravely looked up at him with glassy eyes of your own. “I don’t know.”

Soon, your trip came to an end. You had seen Oikawa every day despite his busy schedule. Every time you expressed your concerns, he’d brush you off with a light yet meaningful laugh.

Nevertheless, you were grateful for his hospitality. Thanks to Oikawa, you got to know the more local spots in San Juan as opposed to solely tourist areas. Every single day of your stay had been amazing, and you fell for the charm of the country you truly hadn’t known anything about before your visit.

With your carry-on bag on your back and phone and passport in one hand, you scoured your terminal for a seat. Thankfully, you were early and had plenty of seats to choose from, so you decided to sit by the windows.

Oikawa hadn’t dropped you off at the airport or seen you off there. And you were grateful for that.

There was something about saying goodbye at airports that felt…too sentimental. Too significant for whatever you and Oikawa were.

As you sat at your terminal, awaiting your flight, your phone buzzed on your lap and the screen lit up to reveal a text that sent your heart racing.

[10:49 PM] Tooru: I miss you already.

A single dry chuckle escaped from the back of your throat, raw and gritty.

You sat at your cubicle in a daze for a few more moments, allowing yourself to feel the exhaustion of working overtime with yet another deadline looming over your head for the entire week. You were unable to formulate much coherent thought, having used up all your brain power throughout the long and hectic day. Your stomach was empty, but you didn’t feel particularly hungry, even though you had skipped lunch and dinner—you’d completely bypassed hunger by that point and were simply left feeling tired and drained.

But, it was a Friday, a merciful end to your long and arduous week. You had a couple of days of rest and reprieve—you could sleep in the next morning without a care in the world. You could laze around in your apartment without having to worry about deadlines and proposals for the next two days.

With that promising thought, you started to gather your things, turned off the computer, and slung your bag over your shoulder. You bowed to your poor colleagues left in the office and dragged yourself to the lobby to wait for the elevator to arrive on your floor.

After pressing the down button, you stood back and stared blankly at the shiny tiled floor.

Should I eat or just go to sleep?

You genuinely worried over whether you could muster up enough energy to cook some instant ramen or not. The last remnants of adrenaline had completely vanished into thin air at that point. The trek home would likely eat up the remaining bits of your energy as well.

Maybe I should just—

Suddenly, your purse vibrated against your waist, shocking you out of your reverie. The muffled sound of your ringtone went off in the quiet lobby, growing louder and clearer as you fished your phone out of your bag.

Without bothering to see who was calling, you swiped your finger across the screen to answer the call. “Hello?” Your voice came out more tired and lifeless than you’d intended.

“Why, hello to you too, sunshine,” came a familiar deep and sarcastic voice.

“Give me a break, Iwa,” you grumbled, relieved that it wasn’t someone you had to put a front with. “I’m dead tired.”

“Sure sounds like it. Where are you?”

Then, the elevator pinged, and the doors slid open to reveal an empty cab.

“At the office.” You stepped into the elevator and pressed G to lead you to the ground floor of the office building.

“Still?” Your friend queried in a notably concerned voice.

“Overtime.”

There was a pause.

“You down for yakiniku?”

Iwaizumi’s gaze always seemed to pierce through your façade, leaving you feeling as though you were stripped bare in front of him.

You squirmed in your seat as he studied you for a moment longer before finally letting out a sigh.

“What’s with you and Oikawa?”

You immediately averted your own gaze away from your friend and fiddled with the napkin by your cup of tea. “Nothing.”

“Sure,” he responded sarcastically.

“No, really,” you insisted, eyes turning back to look at him. “Nothing’s going on.”

Iwaizumi paused at that before he started tapping the table with his index finger. “And? What do you want?”

I want him.

Your breath caught in your throat. You couldn’t bear to speak the words into actuality.

But the desire burned you from the inside, crawling up your throat, desperate to get out.

You clenched your jaw tightly.

He waited. And waited. And waited.

But you stubbornly kept quiet.

“Why are you so scared?” Iwaizumi probed in a gentler tone. “I don’t get it. Oikawa doesn’t treat you the same as others.”

“He treats me as a friend.”

You internally winced at the uncertainty underlying your voice. Your mind traitorously thought of the stupid button you’d put into a cute ring box—it had a pretty little bow and all.

You were a goner and you knew it. Hell, maybe everyone who knew the two of you knew it.

Iwaizumi shook his head, “Bullshit.”

You heaved a long and heavy sigh.

Even if you were to pursue something with Oikawa, would it really last? He had a bright future ahead of him—one that he’d fought tooth and nail for. And he’d already made some impressive yet scary leaps to reach his dreams. To stand on the Olympic stage, he dropped his Japanese citizenship for an Argentinian one.

How the hell would a relationship with an Argentinian even work? You sure as hell weren’t going to up and leave your roots for a relationship. You didn’t have anything in Argentina other than Oikawa, and he would get so incredibly busy that—

Iwaizumi stood, chair scraping against the floor at his movements. “Look, I can’t convince you of anything, but…”

You watched curiously as he shoved a hand into his jean pocket and wrenched out a familiar scrunchie.

“What…?”

“I told Shittykawa to give this to you, but he wanted me to be the messenger.”

Your brows furrowed. “Messenger?”

“Oikawa said he’s going to be at ‘your spot’ by Skytree,” Iwaizumi continued. “You should probably go now if you want to catch him.”

“Wait, Iwa, what?”

He held your gaze, his expression entirely serious as he spoke your given name. It was stern, yet enveloped in a deep, protective warmth—an expression that was fundamentally, purely Iwaizumi. Your mouth snapped shut. Despite years of unbreakable friendship, he had never once addressed you by your first name.

“You deserve to be happy,” he said quietly. “Oikawa’s my friend, but so are you. I want you to be happy.”

A lump formed in your throat.

“I know that relationships are not needed for people to be happy, but…” he trailed off and shot you a meaningful look. “But Oikawa makes you happy.”

He grabbed hold of your limp hand and pressed the scrunchie—the silly little thing—down in your palm.

“Go.”

What in the shoujo manga am I doing? You couldn’t help but let loose an incredulous laugh as you ran to where he was supposedly waiting.

You felt so ridiculous. This wasn’t like you.

And frankly, you weren’t entirely sure where “your spot” was supposed to be, so you just followed your heart, as cliché as it was. The place that had the most… emotional memories was the izakaya.

Tipsy giggles spilling out of lips. Eyes glazing over with wistful adoration. Pinkies linking together in an unspoken and uncertain promise of something.

Yes, that was indeed your spot—at least, it was in Tokyo.

And wasn’t that quite the thought; you had multiple “spots” with Oikawa—you had one back in Miyagi and another in Argentina of all places. You wondered if Oikawa considered them his “spots” with you as well.

After all, you had gone to multiple places together, and all those places held special memories—some greater than others.

Your mind drifted back to the anticipation of meeting Oikawa for the first time since he had left Japan in front of Moomin House Cafe.

Yes, your ponytail had come loose from the breeze… and he had taken your scrunchie. 

You shoved your hand into your pocket and gave the scrunchie tucked away a squeeze.

You had completely forgotten about it, not having fully processed that Oikawa hadn’t given it back on that day, too caught up with… him to realize that it had been gone in the first place.

Your fingertips tingled as heat rushed up from your heart to face.

Lost in your thoughts and of days passed, you didn’t notice your surroundings until you nearly got shouldered by a pair of drunk university students near the izakaya.

“Ah,” the one who seemed more sober shot you a glazed over glance. “Shorry ‘bout that!”

Before you could come up with a response, you caught sight of him in your peripherals.

There he is. Your heart raced and your palms grew sweaty as you halted in your steps and just…admired him.

There he was, Oikawa Tooru, in the flesh, leaning against the front of the izakaya, paying no mind to the passersby.

He appeared deep in thought but seemed fidgety at the same time. His arms were crossed over his chest, and his left foot rested against the brick wall behind him. He was tapping his index finger against his bicep in an irregular rhythm, and his left knee bounced restlessly.

You sucked in a deep breath to settle your nerves and let it all out slowly, letting your shoulders relax to release all the tension that had been built up.

Then, you raised your chin and took a resolute step forth.

Oikawa looked up at the crunch of gravel at your feet and immediately straightened up.

“You came…” he murmured, staring at you as if he couldn’t believe it.

You took a couple more steps forward and nodded slowly. “I… was with Iwa.”

He examined you for a couple of moments longer. His eyes traced over all your features, not missing a single detail as though he was an artist staring down at his magnum opus. A wistful smile blossomed from his lips, giving him an ethereal sort of melancholy that made him so achingly beautiful.

He really could have been a model, you thought.

Unable to stand the tension, you opened your mouth to break the silence, but Oikawa held up a hand.

“Wait,” he requested weakly. “Let’s talk… somewhere else.”

You gazed into his chocolate eyes before giving him a slow nod. “Okay.”

He waited patiently as you considered the places you could go. 

Perhaps it was the nostalgia and sentiment of the place that got to you, but a sudden thought took hold of you and wouldn’t let go.

You chewed on your bottom lip as you rolled that idea over and over in your head. Is it really a good idea to walk down memory lane? You wondered before promptly brushing it aside.

“I have somewhere in mind,” you uttered into the silence that had fallen between you.

Oshinari Park was surprisingly quiet. Only a few scattered commuters hurried through the paved pathways, striding briskly toward their next destinations; no one lingered the way you and Oikawa did, walking at a leisurely synchronized pace, drinking in the rare stillness the city had to offer.

You stared up at the warm incandescent lights and listened to the gentle flow of the river. Occasionally, a little splash broke through the soft rhythm of Oshinari Park as fish swam up close to the surface before flittering away with a flick of their tails.

As you walked with Oikawa next to you at a safe distance, uncertainty and doubt crept in, clouding your initial confidence and conviction to open your heart to him.

It was an excruciatingly familiar feeling—an insidious demon that sucked all the warmth in you and left you feeling cold and numb in that tight suffocating bubble of insecurity and doubt.

The longer you lingered in Oikawa’s bright presence, the more uncertain you felt. His presence only emphasized the contrast between the two of you: where he was bright and brilliant, you were dark and dull.

With a heavy heart, you drank in the intimate scenery before you. The river was a wonderful sight to see in the ever-so-busy bustling city of Tokyo. The pretty light and flittering fish were captivating, almost hypnotic in their harmonious serenity.

But they were still not enough to distract you when Oikawa’s presence felt so grand and demanded most of your attention.

The both of you strolled along the river for a bit longer before finding a seat near a waiting heron, unbothered as if your presence meant nothing to its hunt.

Neither of you spoke for a good while, so it startled you when he gently placed his hand on top of yours. Warm. His hand was still as well groomed as ever, maybe even more so; you couldn't stop staring as he linked your pinkies together.

For a moment, you had the absurd thought of standing up, flinging your arm away, anything to avoid what you set out to do, but your pinkies remained gingerly hooked as you held your breath in anticipation.

"This reminds me of when I visited Japan almost two years ago,” Oikawa mused aloud, raising his gaze to the starry skies—a rarity in Tokyo, and it felt more significant with the two of you in your little pocket of the world. “Do you remember when we visited Skytree?”

“Of course I do,” you laughed quietly. “How could I forget?”

You could never erase that memory from your mind even if you had wanted to—not that you ever would. 

“We saw Tokyo when the sun had been out, but it was still nice,” he hummed. “It felt like home.”

Then, he swallowed nervously and licked his lips, glancing over at you bashfully. “Being with you… it felt like home.”

Dammit, you internally cursed, heart picking up speed at his sweet words that nearly tore down your defences.

You wanted it. You borderline needed it.

Those three forbidden words played at the tip of your tongue, tingling your nerves and urging you to open your mouth and let them escape out into the world—but the memory of Matsumoto’s tired and defeated face popped into your mind.

You might just end up getting caught in something bigger than you expected. Matsumoto’s words echoed like a bad omen in the recesses of your mind, pulling your heart in two opposite directions.

Eventually, the tug of war gave way to one side. And you stubbornly swallowed those forbidden words back and fortified your resolve. No, I can’t. This is wrong—I was wrong. This is all a stupid mistake.

What good did following your heart even do?

“Listen to me, please.”

A shiver ran down your spine following the wonderful sound of your name saturated in his deep rich voice. Your pulse raced with anticipation, but you tried to maintain a semblance of your cool as you shoved your trembling fingers underneath your thighs.

“Oikawa.”

The use of his surname was purposeful. A roundabout yet a stern reminder of the distance between you—a distance you had maintained throughout all these years, one you couldn’t close.

“Oikawa, look—”

“Tooru.”

“Call me Tooru… just for this moment.”

Your heart jerked at his painfully familiar words. They took you back to the day that you now knew was when he had completely taken your heart.

“...Tooru,” you sighed, pulling one hand from underneath your thigh and dragging it down your face tiredly. “I just—I don’t—How is this even supposed to work? We live in different worlds.”

“I’m pretty sure we both live on Earth,” Oikawa retorted.

“You know what I mean.”

“No, I actually don’t.”

You turned your head to the side and heaved a long and heavy sigh of frustration. Why couldn’t he understand? Why was he so set on not trying to understand?

“Oika—Tooru,” you hastily corrected yourself. “Look, it’s just that… we’re different. I’m…I’m not right for you. You’re so—you’re you. And I’m me.”

“You’re perfect,” Oikawa insisted, eyes flashing with determination—one that you had often seen right before he pulled off an awe-inspiring no-touch service ace.

Rather than feel flattered or at ease, frustration started boiling over.

Why can’t he see what I see?

“No, look—” you pinched the bridge of your nose and shook your head. “I… just don’t know where to begin. There’s so much stacked against us, Tooru. You’re… chasing after your dreams in another country. I’m happy living my life in Japan as another regular office worker. I don’t have grand dreams, the same kind of aspirations, as you.”

Oikawa shook his head in that same stubborn and determined manner of his. “That doesn’t matter to me. I just want y—”

“Don’t!” you cut him off sharply, your voice cracking under the strain. “Don’t say it. It’s only going to hurt worse when it ends.” 

The fight abruptly left your body, leaving you feeling entirely hollowed out. Your words had cut through the air harsher than you intended, and you didn't miss the sharp flash of agony that flickered across his features. Why do I keep ruining things? This is why we can’t work out.

The two of you were silent for a tense minute or so, and you felt horrible. Hell, you didn’t even have to look at him to know that your words had also hurt him—you could sense it radiating off of him in alpha waves. 

This was a mistake.

Those words sunk deep into your chest, branding its truth and the seriousness of the entire situation on your heart, leaving a painful sting that felt akin to a burn. 

“You know what…” you sighed, wanting nothing more than for time to rewind itself. “This was a mistake. I’m sorry, Tooru.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. You looked past his shoulder at the river, but the harmonious serenity you had admired moments ago was completely gone. In the dark, the water looked black and bottomless, and the incandescent lights from the bridge fractured across the ripples like shattered glass. It looked just like your thoughts—broken, cold, and entirely uninviting.

You felt like a total asshole and so fucking ashamed of yourself. You knew that the ruined mood was all because of you and your stupid insecurities. This was a mistake.

“That’s why I’m no good for you…” you muttered, turning away from him and putting some distance between you two. Maybe I should just leave?

“What you said back then!” He blurted out, desperation and urgency colouring his voice. “To not ‘discredit the fruits of hard work’! I… Those words…”

You craned your head back to shoot him an incredulous look over your shoulder. “You… remember that?”

“Word for word,” he confirmed before continuing. “Those words… for some reason, they kept me going throughout all these years. Even though you don’t know much about volleyball… I felt like you were the only one who really… understood me—saw me sometimes.”

You fell silent at that, not having realized just how strong of an impact your words had left on him through all these years.

For a moment, everything felt serene. It was as though his words quieted all the loud thoughts in your head. There was something tender and intimate about his admission—words blurted out in a moment’s passion.

“Talent is something you make bloom,” he spoke in a way that sounded as though he was quoting someone. “Instinct is something you polish.”

You felt your body turn slowly as you watched his eyes glaze over as though he was lost in memory. A beautifully wistful expression painted his face, brows slightly pinched together with lips quirked up in an oddly complementary way.

Badump. Badump. Badump.

Your heart sped up and your throat tightened in response. As though keenly aware of his effect on you, Oikawa’s gaze refocused and landed squarely on your wavering ones.

“And that is all through hard work.”

And in an utterly embarrassing cheesy turn of events, a strong gust of wind swept through the place right at the end of Oikawa’s solemn statement. You squinted up at him, and the sight that beheld you nearly stole all the breath in your lungs.

Oikawa’s brown locks danced gracefully in the wind. Although they weren’t in their usual place, not a single lock of hair looked out of place. He looked picturesque staring at you with those serious eyes.

You, on the other hand, probably looked ridiculous. You could feel the ends of your hair rising before it obscured your sight.

You blew a piece of hair away from your mouth and ran a hand through your tousled hair, hoping to get it away from your face.

Damn, he really is a shoujo manga male lead.

“Why are you so perfect?” you blurted out with an odd tinge of annoyance and admiration.

“Huh?”

The poor guy looked gobsmacked. For good reason, you supposed. You had thrown that in out of absolutely nowhere, probably shattering whatever mood Oikawa was working up to.

The serenity that had settled between you two was completely shattered, replaced by confusion and awkwardness.

Ah, shit.

After a second of contemplation, you decided to simply lean into it, allowing yourself to be honest with him—with all your confused and awkward feelings.

“You’re just…” You exhaled a long and shaky breath. “You’re just so perfect. And…and I’m just me.”

“You’re… just you?” Oikawa echoed with an odd inflection in his voice. You couldn’t quite pin down what it was.

“Oi—Tooru. You’re a star volleyball player. Yes, I’ve been keeping tabs, you know—turns out Spanish to Japanese machine translations aren’t that great, but the articles I’ve read have nothing but good things to say about your progress. You’ve chased after your dreams with such… hunger. And look at the heights you’ve reached! People at home—in Japan—now know who you are. And…and…” you trailed off as the fire stoking your words simmered down.

Oikawa didn’t say anything. He only stood, watching you with pained eyes.

“And I’m me. I can’t hold a candle to you. I don’t have big dreams. I don’t have big ambitions. Hell, I’m not that passionate about my job! I’m just… content with being, well, average. Surely, you can do better, Tooru.”

You let your head drop, your chin nearly touching your chest as your shoulders slumped under the weight of your own confession. You stared down at your shoes, suddenly hyper-aware of the sharp chill of the Tokyo night air cutting through your clothes now that his hand wasn’t touching yours. You felt entirely small, hollowed out, and utterly defeated by the gravity of your own words.

You couldn’t bear to look at him any longer, so you turned your body slightly away from the man you loved. Yes, I admit it. I love Oikawa Tooru.

A part of you felt relieved to finally admit those words even to yourself. It was simply the truth—one that you had buried deep into your heart and locked away for it to never crystallize and take proper hold in your mind.

Another part of you felt defeated. All of the years of fighting while subconsciously knowing and denying the truth had gone to waste. There were a multitude of reasons why you had gone down the route of repressing your feelings: the difference in lifestyles, ambitions, and homes to start. The list was seemingly endless. How could you even dare to bask in Oikawa’s light?

You would weigh him down.

You weren’t stupid. You were content in your steady and stable life. Although it was routine and perhaps boring, you liked the stability, the on and off, and the time you had to yourself. 

Oikawa’s was far more unpredictable than yours. He had his busy seasons, where he barely had time to himself, let alone others. 

The distance between Japan and Argentina had been good for you. Being in the same place—in a significant place—your spot—was dangerous. It had effortlessly tore down the walls you had built up over the years and penetrated the fortress around your heart that had guarded your feelings—the truth.

Oikawa remained quiet, but you felt his eyes rest on your figure. You didn’t dare look up, fearing what you would see in his gaze.

“I don’t know why you seem to think you’re… lesser than me because you really aren’t. I’ve always thought you were untouchable.”

“Me?” you snapped your head up and couldn’t help but clarify incredulously. He thinks I’m untouchable?

But… you were you. And Oikawa was Oikawa.

There was no comparison to be made. You were simply not on equal playing fields.

“You’re always so steady,” Oikawa started in a soft voice. “I feel like a fucking mess compared to you. After years of knowing each other, you’ve always stayed true to who you are.”

“I… have?”

“You feel like home. Every time I meet you again, I… you feel familiar. You make me feel safe. Comfortable. Like I can let down my walls so that you can see all my ugly parts. And… I want you to see them. I want you to see me. I…I want to see more of you.”

You were floored. You had absolutely no idea that he felt that way around you. You knew that he held some feelings for you; you would have been a fool to not notice those tender glances, lingering touches, and tense silences. But it had never crossed your mind that he might have engraved a piece of you into his heart as you had for him.

After all… you were just plain old you.

In your eyes, there was nothing special about you. You led an average life and just so happened to have some pretty awesome friends.

“So… you’re perfect.”

You didn’t know whether you wanted to laugh or cry. After all these years of thinking Oikawa Tooru was this bright and brilliant star too far out of your reach, it turns out that he’d thought the same of you.

You couldn’t understand.

How could someone think so highly of you? How could Oikawa think you were the untouchable one?

He’d saturated your world with bright and beautiful colours. He was the sun that shone brighter than ever after a long and fierce storm—the reprieve that everyone sought but couldn’t touch without getting burned in the process.

Oikawa Tooru effortlessly drew you in and kept you on a wire, leaving you pining for more like a selfish child. But simultaneously, he provided an absolute sense of security. You finally understood what he meant. Being with him brought a profound, unparallelled peace.

The week following your departure was always the hardest. A part of you felt hollow, feeling symptoms of withdrawal after having basked in paradise for a short reprieve.

A part of you was spooked by the depth of his effect on you. No one should be so over-reliant on another person. That was bound to be the beginning of a painful ending.

“I love you,” he said, his voice ringing out with absolute, unshakeable confidence. 

You closed your eyes tightly, a heavy lump forming in your throat. 

“I love you,” he repeated, closer now. “And… I desperately want you to love me back.” 

Fuck. 

Even with your lids sealed, hot tears welled up against your lashes, your lips trembling violently. Your eyes fluttered open as you focused on preventing the tears from running loose.

“Please say something,” Oikawa implored.

“I’m… I…” you licked your lips as you tried to verbalize your incoherent thoughts. “I’m… scared.”

Oikawa’s gaze softened at your words, and his fingers twitched toward your hands as though he wanted to hold them, but he, mercifully, held back. “I’m scared too.”

“You are?” you asked in a small voice.

“Of course,” Oikawa replied gently. “I’ve wanted you for so long. And it’s not like I don’t see where you’re coming from. I understand.”

“You… understand?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “I get that it can be… burdensome being with a pro athlete. I’ve had colleagues and teammates tell me things over the years. I didn’t want to drag you into all of that and hurt you, so I tried to hold myself back for your sake and mine. But…” He glanced up at the stars and sighed. “But I didn’t want to at a certain point. I was tired of fighting this.”

Suddenly, his gaze fell on yours, and you were entranced.

His soft brown locks danced in the wind, and his chocolate orbs sparkled as they reflected the bright stars in the night sky. He glowed with the city lights of Tokyo behind him. He was staggeringly beautiful, and yet… right now, there was something so completely, beautifully human about him. 

Perhaps it was the subtle tremor he couldn’t quite control in his hands. Perhaps it was the slight redness rimming his eyes. Perhaps it was the tight, anxious clenching of his jaw.

Perhaps he simply convinced you with his open and honest words.

Ah, you realized suddenly as you studied him and noticed all these little details. He isn’t untouchable.

Oikawa Tooru, at the end of the day, was just another person.

You had been so stupid, blinded by the rose-coloured lenses you’d unknowingly donned this whole time. You had put him on a pedestal after you’d gotten to know how amazing the man before you was.

You could see him now, for some reason, with more clarity. You saw the brokenness inside him—one that everyone carried simply because they were human. 

“Take a chance on me. I love you. I have loved you since high school.”

You bit down on your lip, fighting back the tears that welled up in your eyes.

How was it so easy for him to tell you his feelings when it was so hard for you?

“Do… you love me too?”

At his timid question, a single tear rolled down your cheek. Then, another followed suit. And another.

“How could I not?” You responded with a question instead. “How could I not love you? Of course, I love you. I think I’ve loved you since high school too.”

Oikawa let loose a wet chuckle and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “You think? I knew… Actually, I’m pretty sure everyone knew. Iwa-chan knew from day one.”

A disbelieving laugh escaped you, memories of graduation day flooding in like a sudden tidal wave, filling you with wistful nostalgia.

Iwaizumi was a wonderful friend. His knowing smile and eyes suddenly made sense to you.

“He did, didn’t he?”

Then, you suddenly remembered the stupid scrunchie. The ridiculous little token of the past that Iwaizumi had whipped out to prove Oikawa’s sincerity. You shoved your hand into your bag and fished out the silly thing.

Oikawa watched curiously before you brandished your scrunchie before him.

He immediately flushed red.

“O-Oh… uh, that thing! I can—wait—I…”

You took pity on the poor guy and cut him off. “I met up with Iwaizumi earlier. He said that you wanted him to be a messenger.”

The brunet gulped and nodded jerkily. “Y-Yeah…”

“I’ll be honest,” you started slowly. “I didn’t think you would carry something of mine for almost two years. I didn’t think you were the type.”

Oikawa flushed an even deeper shade of red. “I couldn’t help it! I saw the opportunity and… well… yeah!”

“But why?”

“Gosh, you know why! I wanted to have a physical piece of you with me over there, okay? Way to make a guy feel like an absolute idiot,” he whined playfully, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Sorry, sorry,” you apologized with a laugh. “I didn’t mean to tease you.”

“You liar.”

“Okay, well, not that much, alright? Besides… I’m not any better,” you confessed.

At that, the brunet perked up and pinned you down with an accusatory glare.

“Do you remember your second button? From graduation day?” you asked, bypassing his look. 

Oikawa clearly hadn't anticipated your question. His playful defense mechanism dropped instantly, his eyes widening. “You mean…?”

“Yeah, your… gift,” you nodded. “I still have it with me, you know. It’s in one of those small ring boxes with a bow on it.”

Instead of teasing you as you had expected him to, Oikawa simply stared at you with awe.

“You…you kept it? Even after all these years?” he whispered.

“Yes… it’s…it’s precious. A little token of our feelings for each other—even back then.”

A comfortable silence fell between you two. You felt warm, knowing that Oikawa felt the same way as you. It set your heart at peace and soothed the ache that you’d grown used to—one that built up from all the longing and pining over the years.

You smiled at Oikawa, just as a lock of your hair fell over your eye.

He reached up and gently tucked the loose hair behind your ear. His fingers grazed the shell of your ear and trailed down to your cheek. He closed his eyes and rolled his lips in between his teeth, seeming to fight something welling up within him.

“We’re… in love… right?”

“We’re in love,” you whispered into the space between you.

A choked laugh escaped his lips and warmed the cool atmosphere with its beautiful and wonderful tenor.

He opened his eyes, and you weren’t shocked to see that they were glassy with tears as well.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he whispered, shaking his head in disbelief. “I just—I can’t believe…I can’t believe that I’m finally yours.”

You loved how he said it. He didn’t say that you were his, but that he was yours.

“And I’m yours.”

You didn’t think you’d ever said anything truer in your entire life.

His arms snaked around your waist, the heavy fabric of his jacket rustling sharply as he pulled you forward, erasing the last few inches of empty air between you. The contrast was instant—his palm was burning hot against your freezing cheek, his thumb smoothing over your skin with a gentle, desperate friction. You caught the faint, nostalgic scent of his cologne mixed with the crisp, clean breeze from the river. Every single nerve ending screamed with the realization of how solid he was, how completely he anchored you to the earth.

You unabashedly stared deep into his eyes, committing every little detail to memory—the glassy sheen, the little specks of silver and gold from the stars and city lights, the tenderness—all of it.

His thumb gently brushed against your right cheek as he reciprocated your gaze.

You had spent a lifetime maintaining a safe, calculated distance, orbiting his gravity but never daring to close the gap. But as his lips finally descended onto yours, Oikawa completely, beautifully closed the distance between you.

“the hotel lobby has too many chandeliers,” his voice vibrated against your ear, a low, rumbling frequency that could probably ground an entire fleet of airplanes. “and there are forty-two people in the immediate vicinity of the elevator. i counted. it’s loud. the air smells like synthetic lavender and despair.”

you choked on your iced coffee, leaning back against the pile of laundry you were supposed to be folding but had completely abandoned the moment his specific ringtone blared. “forty-two? that’s a very specific crowd to be glaring at, toshi. did you use your scary captain eyes on them?”

“i did not glare,” he muttered, though the rustle of a hotel bedsheet told you he had finally escaped the dreaded lavender-scented civilian sector and successfully barricaded himself inside his room. “i simply looked in their general direction until they vacated the perimeter. but the volume was unacceptable. i’m currently buried under three separate duvets because the air conditioning has a high-pitched whine that displeases me.”

“oh, the horror,” you cooed, your chest expanding with that familiar, ridiculous warmth that usually accompanied his long-distance check-ins. it was downright criminal how a man whose thighs could literally crush a watermelon looked for praise like a golden retriever waiting by the front door. “my poor, brave athlete. surviving the absolute wilderness of a four-star accommodation in osaka. how ever will you cope?”

a heavy, rumbling sigh echoed over the line. it was a sound that usually made opposing teams shake in their kneepads, but right now, it just sounded incredibly needy. “you’re making fun of me.”

“i’m absolutely making fun of you,” you agreed cheerfully, tracing a pattern on your sweatpants. “but i also miss you. does that balance it out?”

“no,” ushijima said instantly, his tone shifting into something so heavy and dense with devotion it practically had its own gravitational pull. “because if you missed me at the same magnitude that i miss you, the structural foundation of our apartment building would have collapsed by now. i’m currently experiencing a severe deficit of your presence. it’s actively hindering my ability to rest.”

you bit your lip to keep from squealing out loud, your toes curling against the carpet. to prove your point to yourself, you pulled the phone away for a fraction of a second to check the time, your lock screen lighting up to reveal his massive, stoic face staring right back at you. it was a not-so candid photo you’d taken while he was intensely concentrating on translating a recipe for strawberry shortcake. you had set it as your wallpaper specifically so you couldn’t miss him too much even if you tried, considering his severe, handsome features took up every single pixel of your digital existence.

“is that so?” you teased, bringing the phone back to your ear and keeping your voice soft, dropping it into that specific, soothing register that you knew made him instantly compliant. “what exactly does this deficit feel like, wakatoshi?”

“it feels like i’m an uncalibrated machine,” he grumbled, the sound deep and gravelly, right up against the microphone. you could picture him perfectly—lying flat on his back, a massive arm thrown over his eyes, looking utterly defeated by the simple concept of being fifty miles away from you. “my shoulder is tight. the pillows here are too soft; they lack the proper density to support my neck. moreover, you’re not here to put your hands on my face. i require the pressure of your palms to regulate my nervous system.”

“you sound like a giant, grumpy textbook,” you giggled, shifting on the floor. “but go on. tell me what else you need. i’m listening.”

“i need you to tell me that you did not forget my face,” he murmured. it was a ridiculous request. he was on three different billboards in downtown tokyo. but the vulnerable, desperate streak in his voice was so real it made your throat ache.

“i haven’t forgotten your face, you big baby,” you said, your heart doing gymnastics inside your ribs. “how could i? you’re literally my wallpaper, toshi. i see your forehead every time someone sends me a text.”

“that’s an acceptable temporary measure, but insufficient for long-term separation,” he countered seriously.

right on cue, a loud buzz echoed from the front door intercom, followed by the distinct chime of a delivery notification on your phone. you blinked, confused. “wait, did you order something?”

“yes,” ushijima stated, his voice completely devoid of hesitation. “i concluded that you were likely neglecting your nutritional requirements in my absence. i used the door dash application to send you a full meal and a beverage from that café you favor.”

“oh, toshi, that’s so sweet—”

“moreover,” he interrupted, his tone turning incredibly firm, almost bureaucratic in its intensity, “i utilized the special instructions feature. i contacted the delivery courier directly and transferred an additional monetary gratuity to his personal account. i instructed him to find a convenience store, print a high-resolution photograph of my face, and attach it securely to the exterior of the delivery packaging.”

you froze, your jaw dropping. “you... what?”

“i required physical confirmation that you would look at me before you consumed your sustenance,” he explained, entirely deadpan, as if this were a standard tactical play from a coaching manual. “i also explicitly texted the courier and commanded him to leave the items on the welcome mat and vacate the premises immediately without ringing the bell a second time or waiting for you to answer.”

you pressed a hand over your mouth, a hysterical laugh bubbling up in your chest. “wakatoshi, why did you tell the poor guy to just leave it and run away?”

the line went dead silent for a beat before his voice dropped into a possessive tone that made your chest tighten with heat. “because i don’t want anyone else seeing you right now. even a delivery courier. your eyes belong exclusively to my image until i’m capable of standing in front of you myself.”

your entire face heated up, a dizzying wave of thrill hitting you so hard your knees felt weak. you scrambled to the front door, unlocking it and swinging it open. sure enough, the hallway was completely empty, almost empty since there’s two insane people called soup and nique doing the six seven emote and running around like headless chickens, but sitting neatly on your welcome mat was a brown paper bag. taped squarely over the staple line was a hastily printed, slightly pixelated a4 sheet of paper featuring ushijima’s official v-league headshot, staring up at you with maximum intensity.

“you.. are unbelievable,” you breathlessly whispered into the receiver, picking up the food and shutting the door with your foot. “the courier probably thinks you’re a mob boss.”

“i’m merely protecting the love of my life,” he murmured, and you could hear him shifting again, likely burying his face deeper into the hotel pillow, completely intoxicated by the domestic control he was exerting from three prefectures away. “the analogy is sound. we are both single-minded in our purpose. mine is to ensure your absolute happiness and to remain within your immediate vicinity for the remainder of my natural life. when i return, i want you to sit on my lap while i read the sports journals. i don’t want to move for seven hours.”

“only seven?” you teased, setting the bag—and his paper face—onto the kitchen counter. “who are you and what have you done with my needy boyfriend?”

“ten,” he corrected immediately, his tone sharp with sudden, desperate urgency. “twelve. however long it takes for my skin to stop feeling cold. i will allow you to choose the duration. i’m entirely at your disposal. if you tell me to sit, i will sit. if you tell me to stay in the apartment forever, i will inform the association that i’m retiring due to an incurable condition.”

“and what condition is that, mr. ace?”

“an inability to exist without my central anchor,” he said, his voice dropping into a register so soft it was almost a whisper, yet it carried the entire weight of his universe. “you have ruined me for any other environment. the court is merely a place where i expend energy until i’m permitted to return to your side. you’re my home, reader. everything else is just noise.”

your throat tightened, a wave of intense, toe-curling affection washing over you so strongly it made your eyes sting. he was just so completely, utterly yours. there was no pride, no ego, no athletic arrogance—just a giant, heavy-hearted man who had handed you his entire existence on a silver platter and asked for nothing but a quiet room and your hands in his hair.

“i’ll be waiting right by the door on sunday,” you promised, your voice thick with emotion. “i’ll make that stew you like. and we won’t open the blinds for the entire weekend. just you and me.”

“and the hoodie?” he asked, sounding like a hopeful child.

“and the hoodie,” you confirmed. “though you’ll probably rip it off me the second you walk through the door anyway.”

“i will be careful,” he murmured, his breathing finally slowing down into a steady, rhythmic pattern that signaled he was finally drifting off to sleep. “but i’ll be thorough. i love you. more than the next match. more than the crowd.”

“i love you too, toshi. go to sleep.”

“mm. counting the hours,” he mumbled, his voice fading into a low, contented hum before the line finally went quiet, leaving you sitting on the floor, staring at your phone with a ridiculous, breathless grin plastered across your face, your heart completely compromised by a six-foot-three human boulder who was entirely at your disposal.

n: @forgottensniper thank u, twin for giving me the ideas :3 main idea was from @potapotapotatopotato

© showhay — don’t copy, repost, or translate without my permission. do not use/feed my works to AI.

“tōru, it’s 7:15 in the morning,” you mumbled, though you couldn’t stop the grin pulling at the corners of your mouth.

“i don’t care if it’s three in the morning or during an apocalypse!” he gasped, dramatically dropping to his knees beside your chair and resting his chin against your knee, looking up at you like you had personally invented oxygen. “you were born today! do you understand the monumental weight of that statement? the world was literally dark and depressing before you decided to grace us with your existence, and now i get to be the luckiest person in human history because you actually let me hold your hand!”

he immediately grabbed your hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips to press about forty frantic, delicate little kisses against your skin. he was doing that thing where his eyes crinkled up so tight that he looked entirely intoxicated by your presence, his hands trembling slightly around yours like you were made of spun glass and actual starlight.

“i made breakfast,” he announced, puffed up with pride, pointing a dramatic finger toward your kitchen counter.

you looked over his shoulder. on the counter sat a pancake tower so crooked it was defying multiple laws of physics, covered in a hilarious excess of whipped cream, fresh strawberries, and at least three dozen colorful sprinkles scattered wildly across the ceramic plate.

“is that...” you squinted. “did you try to shape the cream into a heart?”

oikawa let out a mortified, squeaky noise, his face flushing a violent shade of pink as he buried his forehead into your lap. “it melted! the pancake was too warm! don’t look at it, it’s an insult to your perfection, i’m trash, throw me in the dumpster, i failed you on your special day—”

“tōru, it’s amazing,” you laughed, running your fingers through his soft brown hair. the moment your hand touched his head, he melted into a puddle of absolute mush, letting out a soft sigh and leaning so heavily into your touch that he nearly tipped over. “i love it. you’re sweet.”

he looked back up, eyes shimmering with so much tender devotion that your chest physically ached. “i would bake you ten thousand crooked pancakes,” he whispered, his voice suddenly dropping into that soft, breathless register he only ever used when he was completely overwhelmed by you. “i’d build you a castle out of them if you asked. i’d fight a bear. i’d block every single one of ushijima’s spikes with my bare forehead if it meant you smiled at me like that.”

“please don’t tackle ushijima with your head.”

“i would do it!” he insisted passionately, sliding off his knees to sit next to you on the sofa, instantly looping his long arms around your waist and pulling you so close there wasn’t a single breath of air between you. he tucked his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply, clinging to you as if you were going to float away into the stratosphere. “you smell like vanilla and my favorite thing in the whole world. happy birthday, my whole heart. my literal soul.”

he began peppering your jawline with soft, warm kisses, trailing up to your cheek, your nose, and finally settling his mouth over yours in a slow, agonizingly sweet kiss that made your toes curl into the hardwood floor. he kissed you like he was drowning and you were the air, his fingers gently tangling into the back of your hair, holding you close with a gentle, reverent desperation that made your stomach do backflips.

when he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his brown eyes searching yours with an intensity that could melt iron.

“i bought you the same amount presents as your age,” he confessed casually, rubbing his thumb along your cheekbone.

you blinked, staring at him. “that’s a lot.”

“one for every year you’ve been alive, obviously,” he said, looking at you like you were silly for even asking. “actually, plus one. because that one is just me, dedicating the entire rest of my life to worshipping you.”

“you’re so dramatic,” you breathed, giggling as he cupped both sides of your face, squishing your cheeks together until your lips pursed out.

“i’m not dramatic! you just don’t understand,” he declared loudly, pressing a firm, noisy kiss right on your squished lips. “i’m hopeless around you. you’ve ruined my view for anyone else forever. if you ever left me, i would literally turn into a puddle of tears and evaporate into the atmosphere.”

you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down for another lingering kiss that tasted like strawberry jam. “i’m not going anywhere, tōru.”

oikawa made a high-pitched, pathetic sound in the back of his throat, wrapping his arms around your waist so tight he almost lifted you straight out of your seat. he squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his face into your shoulder, murmuring softly into your skin like a secret promise meant only for the universe to hear.

“good,” he whispered softly, his voice thick with emotion. “because i’m keeping you forever.”

n: happy birthday once again, kat! i love you so so soooo much :3

© showhay — don’t copy, repost, or translate without my permission. do not use/feed my works to AI.