#oikawa tooru angst

[mysterystarz]

kiss me maybe:

summary: finding a flier for the volleyball's kissing booth was surprising for two reasons. a) kuroo had created one of the worst fliers known to mankind and b) oikawa tooru, the school's resident pretty boy was capitalizing off the rumors surrounding him. still, you couldn't deny your attraction to the setter, and he couldn't hide that you were the only one he wanted to kiss

pairing: oikawa tooru x g!n reader

word count: 12.6k (please give this a chance)

genres + themes: college!au, sort of friends to lovers(?), fluff, angst, kuroo being an occasional menace, iwaizumi being the sexiest friend you can have, kiyoko being an icon, romanticized college experience, oikawa being an idiot but yours

warnings: cursing, a tad suggestive in some parts, absolutely not proofread

a/n: hi there i am back with a long fic. anyways this thing is my lovechild and probs the most fanfic thing ive written. its really just a fluff monster (lol) and i hope you give this a chance <3 also dedicated to @chimielie because her stuff gave me the inspo to write ily lia thank you for being so talented

It was said that Oikawa Tooru’s kisses were mythical. 

Some claimed that one press of lips from the kingly setter was like a hit of a drug, sudden in a way that sent you reeling. 

To some, his kisses tasted like the finest candy, hand served on an ornate dish. 

Most magically, it was claimed that a kiss from Oikawa Tooru could heal even the most broken of hearts. Just one thread through sun bronzed hair could make you forget about the most painful memories. 

And of course, like any celebrity would, he knew about each and every rumor.

Naturally, you reckoned you were bound to see the dreaded flier sooner or later. It sat there still, taped onto the tiny bulletin board outside of the Organic Chemistry I room. It was the worst godawful flier you’d ever seen in your life. In front of you was a myriad of colorful borders, and even more whimsical fonts atop of a cardstock page. It seemed to call out to you with its boldness, as if to say “kiss me” with its scrawling typography. 

Mystic Kissbooth, it read in an infuriatingly ornate font. Come and kiss your woes away (and kiss ours away too – a mutually beneficial fundraiser!) 

“I see you’ve seen our handiwork,” chuckled a voice. You didn’t have to turn around to recognize Kuroo, who simply leaned against the bulletin board in an attempt to catch your expression. 

Not that he would. You weren’t going to give him that luxury. 

“No wonder it’s such shit,” you laughed, gesturing to the list of names at the bottom, “I’m honestly ashamed to even know you.”

“Hey,” he frowned playfully, ruffling your hair as he began his signature large strides. Curse him and his stupidly long legs. “That was heavily inspired by your Canva templates…..you know….the bad ones.” 

You let out a long and dragged out sigh while you followed your best friend (unfortunately) to one of the secluded benches on campus. Beneath the hustle and bustle of students as they sprinted to class, it was almost peaceful to rest your legs for just a moment. 

Relaxing onto the bench, you placed your backpack at your side, creating a wedge between you and Kuroo, who’d taken the seat right next to you. He didn’t seem to mind, simply casting a grin in your direction. 

For starters, you weren’t sure how to feel about the Canva invasion. Yes, it was a design platform, and yes, you’d tried (and failed sometimes) to create infographics whenever Kuroo needed a helping hand. It was just a tad surprising to discover that Kuroo had drawn his inspiration from your least successful works. 

“What’s this whole thing about?” You decided on asking after a lengthy pause. Kuroo cast his gaze to meet your own, his grin almost glued into place. 

“Well, not that we’re in any trouble, but the volleyball club could use some funds. We’ve been trying to set up some pretty competitive matches and practice games, but we need the fuel to do it. Oikawa thought this was a great way to make use of all the attention we have.”

“No wonder. He’s probably the most popular one on the team….though Iwaizumi is honestly the one to be looking at.” 

“Rude,” Kuroo huffed, “There’s a lot of other people to be interested in, you know.”

“Hopefully you don’t mean yourself,” you chuckled, dodging a playful hit on the arm from Kuroo. “But in all seriousness, a kissing booth?” Kuroo paused for a moment, seemingly mulling over a proper response, when Iwaizumi entered your frame of vision. 

There were times you wondered why Iwaizumi Hajime didn’t consider a career in modeling. From where he stood, the sunlight almost seemed to caress his skin, tanned and sun bronzed from a summer spent playing volleyball on the beach. Upon seeing you and Kuroo on the bench, he extended a quick wave before jogging over, arms flexing as he got closer. 

“Stop ogling him,” Kuroo smirked, “You could stand to be a bit less obvious.” “Shut up,” you muttered just as Iwaizumi ended his jog to stand in front of you. 

“Nice to see you here,” he beamed, his eyes meeting your own, “I barely see you around these days. Did Kuroo scare you away from the club?” “No not at all,” you smiled, moving your backpack to make space for the handsome spiker. Some of the students on the nearby path stopped to turn at the three of you, and Iwaizumi, none-the-wiser, took a swig from his water bottle. 

He was never aware of the effect he had on people. That was exactly what contributed to his charm. 

“Y/N wanted to know a bit more about the booth,” Kuroo started. “I think you’d explain it better than I could.” 

Iwaizumi raised a brow, “It’s just a club fundraiser. I mean, it's the only decent idea that Oikawa’s had in a while.”

“So he really was involved, huh.” You said (more to yourself than anyone else). The two men looked at you confusedly, before Kuroo finally spoke. 

“You know, you always seem to get a bit fidgety whenever someone mentions Oikawa. And you always try to be away from him when you come to our practices…were the two of you involved or something? Because if you were, I am honestly offended you didn’t tell me.” 

You aggressively shook your head no, warranting a chuckle from Iwaizumi. “Well, if they were, I think it’s had an impact. You start to see him for who he really is.” 

The three of you laughed, choosing to enjoy the fresh breeze. 

However, even despite the simple beauty of this moment, you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking about the booth.

Oikawa stood at the front of the lecture hall, spinning his pen while meeting the eyes of his teammates. At his side was Kuroo’s flier, whimsically colorful in all the ways a magical kissing booth (like this one) was supposed to be. Iwaizumi sat in the front, close enough for Oikawa to catch the teasingly judgy stares of his best friend while he waited for everyone to settle down. 

Finding a free lecture hall had been no problem. All he’d had to do is smile nicely at a few eager students, verify with a few professors, and send a frantic “MEET NOW” to the club group chat. 

The real problem was convincing the rest of the team of this idea in the first place. 

“Hey guys,” he beamed, putting the flier down on the desk closest to him, “Thanks for showing up on such short notice. You guys are the best.” 

“We didn’t come for you,” Makki snickered. “We’re just here to see what crazy justification you have for this.” “Well,” he began, “We’ve been in the spotlight for quite some time now. A lot of us have been featured in the campus newspaper, we’ve made it onto our university’s podcast, and have you even seen the instagram fanpages for us? They’re absolutely insane. So, what better time to take advantage of this?” 

“And this has nothing to do at all with the rumors?” A voice asked. Oikawa turned to meet the eyes of Semi Eita, who sat on the left corner closest to the door. 

The team laughed as Oikawa shook his head in faux denial. “Absolutely not. Why would I ever do such a thing?” 

“Because you're smart!” Oikawa was almost surprised to hear the remark from Bokuto, who sat near Kuroo with his own flier. “And it’s a lot of fun.” 

The team murmured their respective agreements before the room fell silent again. Oikawa, ever the opportunist, slid into the silence with an explanation. 

“I was thinking we set it up as sort of a de-stress day after midterms. We could get the other clubs to join in their own mini fundraisers…like a carnival of sorts. We’ll set up the booth with colorful signs and posters, and we kiss based on the cash. We can take shifts to make sure the two of us aren’t running the whole show. All proceeds are for our matches and practice games. Sounds good?” “A question. Are you going to make people line up to kiss you?” Matsukawa asked casually. 

“You mean us Mattsun. And yeah, a line works just fine.” Oikawa stopped for a moment to admire the unanimous cooperation of his team. “I’ll talk to the other club leaders and see if we can come up with a date. If that’s all the questions you’ve got, I’ll see you at practice tomorrow!” 

With this, his team filed out the door. He caught Kuroo animatedly discussing a design to attract customers to their booth with Bokuto, mentioning that he had a friend who’d know just what to do about it. In the midst of his rant, he’d mentioned a name. 

Yours. A name he hadn’t realized he missed hearing. 

A faint smile crept onto his face at the thought.

Kuroo was a menace. From the minute he’d found you at the library, he’d been nagging you the entire day, practically begging for you to come to their practice. 

“Y/N please,” he whined, attempting his own version of a pout, “If you see us, you could help design the poster to attract customers.” “I don’t think you need help with that.” That much was true. Especially with Oikawa headlining the event. They were guaranteed strong profits. 

Somehow in the midst of all this pleading, you’d ended up right outside the gym. The sounds of volleyballs hitting the wooden floors resonated off the walls, the sound so clear that you could hear it from your spot near the door. 

“You planned this,” you glared, watching Kuroo’s smile twist into one of faux innocence. Bastard.  

“What can I say? I am the master of distraction.” He opened the door, swapping his shoes out at the front and walking into the gym to the greetings of his team. You followed closely behind him, carefully striding across the polished wood and shutting the door behind you. 

The gym had always been grand. Your university’s colors were plastered onto the bleachers, with a wide curtain separating the different sides of the gym. There was space – so much of it – and the team spread out to practice various skills. 

For a brief moment, you allowed yourself the childish awe of standing in a space so big. 

“I forgot how long it’s been since you’ve been here,” a voice greeted, “But it’s good to see you Y/N.” You knew that voice. You’d know that voice like the moon knew the stars. You’d know it anywhere. 

“Oikawa,” you said, turning to acknowledge the brown-haired setter. “Long time no see.”

As much as you didn’t want to, you drank him in. He seemed to be in high spirits this afternoon, hair artfully tousled in the way he always did, and lips so perfectly smooth that they seemed out of a Chapstick ad. 

“You don’t really come around anymore,” He said, taking to walking with you around the gym (much to your own surprise). “I was getting a bit worried actually.” 

“What do you mean?” You stared at a spot a bit beyond the setter, watching Bokuto’s cross court spike slam into the floor with dizzying speed. 

“Well….we talked a bunch. And you came here at the beginning of the year. You suddenly stopped though….so I wondered if something happened.” 

“You noticed?” You scoffed. “I’m surprised you paid attention.” 

“Why wouldn’t I pay attention?” Oikawa raised a brow in confusion before suddenly, the answer seemed to smack him in the face. “You’re petty about that?”

“You barely paid me any mind,” was all you said, meeting Oikawa’s warm gaze, “It was like we’d never met at all.”

You’d met Oikawa Tooru on the flight to university. You’d waved your family goodbye at the gate, hugging them tight to your chest and memorizing the feel of them against you. 

You walked steadily, pulling your suitcase along as you made your way to the security check in. 

“Everything goes in a bag! Belts, shoes, phones! Take off your shoes and step aside. Laptops can stay in your bags! Move along!” 

You hauled your suitcase into the bin, placed your phone and wallet beside it and sent it over to the TSA associate, taking a minute to place your jacket and shoes into another bin and sending that over too. 

The gray bins were plain, old and rackety and classic, comparable to a washed out 1930’s movie. You trodded through the metal detector, feeling the cold floor through your socks. 

When you finally made it through check in, you were met with a TSA associate over your bag, looking straight at you as if you’d committed some heinous crime. 

“Excuse me,” the TSA officer asked, gesturing to your bags, “Are these your bags?” 

“Yes,” you affirmed, almost nervously. “Is there an issue?” 

“You seem to have some liquid above the restricted amount. I’m going to have to take a look.” 

For a moment, you were startled. What did you even bring? You’d diligently packed your belongings and made sure everything was secure….surely there had to be some mistake. 

Your breath wavered the minute the officer pulled out your favorite body wash. 

In the midst of your packing, you’d forgotten you’d slipped it into your carry on. 

“Oh.” Your voice shook as you meant the TSA officer’s eyes, “I’m sorry. That’s my favorite one.” 

“I’m sorry.” For a moment, it almost seemed like the man had sympathy for you, “But I’m going to have to ask you to pour half of it out. If you refuse that, you’re going to have to give it away.” 

Every step towards the outside garbage felt like a punch to the chest. While you kept composed on the outside, pouring away half of your prized wash felt miserable. 

A dying rose. A dying star. Something dying slowly and surely inside. 

Now you’d have to get another one. Brand new packaging lost to your honest mistake. 

This sucked ass. 

You meandered through the security area again, more ghost than person and collected the rest of your belongings. While your voice wavered, you didn’t shed a tear, and simply walked along. 

Somehow, in the midst of all your wandering,  you ended up in the departure lounge. In front of you were an array of connected seats with their generic cushioning and the customary TV screens telling you what flight was taking off when. 

The glass paneled windows to your right showcased the hangar, and from your spot, you could see planes parked out in front. The sun set down in the distance, leaving a watercolor blend of pinks and oranges in its wake. 

You could almost call it picturesque. 

You leaned your suitcase against a wall for a moment, scanning the lounge for an available corner. Unfortunately, your plane was packed. 

The chatter of students was overwhelming, and without a choice, you settled into a seat at the far corner of the lounge next to a pretty-boy who you were certain wouldn't speak to you. 

They normally never did. Why should it be any different now? And honestly, you didn’t want to talk. 

“This plane is probably fully booked.” A voice (the perfect blend of warm and deep) said. You turned to meet the eyes of said pretty boy, a surprisingly lovely shade of brown. Light and bright and inviting. Almost like a mocha. Or a latte. 

“Tell me about it,” you laughed, slightly amused by the novelty of the situation. It wasn’t common for pretty boys to talk to you. Even less common for you to entertain any conversation, especially when you felt the way you did.  “When I waved ‘goodbye’ to my family, I wasn’t expecting this much of a crowd to tell them about.” 

“Yeah?” Oikawa smiled, the corners of his mouth lifting upwards invitingly. “I was more surprised at the lack of seats.” 

“You’d think they’d anticipate a college student stampede.” 

Oikawa laughed, the amusement lighting up his whole face. It was a simple laugh — chiming and lovely in the way that all laughs were, but you were certain you’d do anything to hear that again. 

His presence had a way of putting you at ease. 

The two of you coincidentally had seats right next to each other on the flight. As the plane lifted off, you snapped a picture of the city lights, twinkling their tiny goodbyes as they faded from view.

The cabin’s lights were dimmed, yet even in the haziness, you could make out the features of the boy next to you. 

High cheekbones. A defined cupid’s bow. Lips that seemed even softer than the lather of that soap you loved so much. 

You’d mourn your soap later. Even if it was an object, your attachment to it simply showed a care for your belongings. 

What could be more human than that? 

Oikawa turned to you, gaze friendly as the plane began its mounting ascent. 

“You know, the TSA can be real dicks sometimes.” 

What the fuck. Who was he? A psychic?

“What did they do to you?”

“They made me pour out half my expensive hair gel. I insisted it fit the requirements but they refused to accommodate me. So mean.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh at the pout he wore. It seemed even someone as vivacious as Oikawa couldn’t charm himself out of aviation regulations. 

Somehow the whole thing made you feel a lot better. 

You and Oikawa (Tooru as he later insisted) shared many conversations throughout the flight. Some revolved around human existentialism (with him quoting the “we were infinite” from The Perks of Being a Wallflower). Some revolved around space. 

Some even revolved around clubs, with him sharing high school volleyball stories and pledging your university’s team to greatness. 

When fatigue finally claimed you, the comfort of his shoulder was unmatched by anything you’d ever felt. He’d extended an invite for you to come and see them practice anytime, and laid his own head atop of yours. 

Of course, when you showed up for said practice, so had a bunch of other fans. He’d barely spared you a glance, let alone spoke to you when you’d tried to seek him out. 

A grand gym and an even grander boy. 

You just avoided him after that.

“Im really sorry about that,” Oikawa said. While his expressions were genuine, you weren’t sure how much you were going to trust it. Certainly, in all the time you’d spent apart, he must have changed at least a bit. 

To think he was the exact same boy who you met on the plane would be foolish.

“Yeah, water under the bridge.” 

“No, not really.” Oikawa paused to study your expression. Beneath all of your nonchalance was something fragile. Admiration? Loathing? He doubted it. “How long did you plan on avoiding me?”

“As long as I needed to.” You answered matter-of-factly. “Then again, that was when I thought you’d forgotten about me.” 

“How could I ever do that?” Oikawa’s expression morphed into a worried one, eyebrows knitted together and mouth downturned as if to say damn that’s an accusation. 

“Well-“

“Look I meant to seek you out after that day. I saw you there, wanted to come over, but at that point you’d gone off to continue chatting with Kuroo and met Iwa. And classes exist.”

“Okay. Water under the bridge for real.” 

His eyes lit up. “You mean it?” 

You nodded in approval, only to be dragged away by Kuroo, who’d suddenly appeared behind you. 

“What the fuck?” You yelled, not caring much for your use of profanities. Some of the nearby team members snickered as you were pulled to the corner of the gym, in front of an array of poster boards. 

“What?” Kuroo asked, “You and Oikawa seem to be fine now, so I thought I could ask you some questions about stuff that really matters. Namely posters.” 

You were met with various shapes and sizes of poster boards. Some were Elmers Tri-Folds. Some were the cheap foam boards you sometimes saw while grocery shopping. 

“If you want a design for your freaking booth,” you began, looking at Kuroo, “Give me some time.”

Oikawa was in the podcast studio. The room was secluded, plastered with posters and heart decals of all shapes and colors. Right beside the door was a framed picture of the volleyball team, with their silly faces frozen in motion. 

Shimizu Kiyoko walked out from behind the desk, nonchalantly acknowledging Oikawa with a nod. “Oikawa, what can I do for you?” 

“Hey,” he winked, unaffected by her lack of reaction, “Have any idea where I can find your host. I’d like her to do me a favor.”

“Advertising.” Kiyoko said bluntly. “I don’t think your booth needs any more attention. Our socials have covered it already.” 

“We always love the extra coverage.” 

“Doesn’t your friend help with all the designs? I think they’d be the perfect candidate to help with all this.”

“Y/N?” He asked, almost dumbfounded by how obvious that answer was. 

“Yes,” Kiyoko smiled. “They’re very nice. I’ve seen you talk a few times, though it honestly seems like they don’t like you very much.” 

“Not true.” He huffed. 

“Well it makes sense. Especially if the rumors are true.” 

People saw Kiyoko’s beauty and shyness and mistook her for a soft and innocent podcast manager. 

Anyone who’d dealt with her enough knew she was actually a force to be reckoned with. 

“The rumors are whatever you make of them. I’m simply an opportunist.” 

Kiyoko chuckled and for a moment, Oikawa felt accomplished. “You don’t need to tell me this. I already know.” 

He leaned against the door, and stretched out his arms in front of him before resting them at his sides again. “Would you at least consider telling the main host to help us out?” 

Kiyoko shuffled the papers in her hands, before meeting his eyes. “I won’t give any guarantees, but something tells me that if you do set up a de-stress carnival, your club will be the central focus of our broadcast.” 

“Thank you!” He beamed, feeling like a weight had been lifted off his chest. “I could kiss you for that.”

“No thank you,” Kiyoko declined, “I’m not interested in confirming the rumors.” 

As Oikawa left the studio, Kiyoko walked into the recording room, a tiny smile on her lips.

Your Canva page lay woefully blank before you.

You’d promised Kuroo a design if he gave you time and Kuroo, ever the considerate friend, actually stopped bothering you about the poster. He seemed to trust in Oikawa’s judgment, and it seemed that the rest of the volleyball club did too. 

As a token of thanks, you’d come to the library, your brain and Pinterest providing you at least a vague idea of what it was you wanted to do. However, when it came time to put pen to paper (or more fittingly, hand to mousepad), it seemed that your ideas had been wiped clean. 

Your disappointment felt like a leaky faucet. Despite the minuteness of the feeling, it seemed to pool the more you thought about the situation. While designing was never an obligation, you owed it to your friends. 

You sighed, placing your bag onto the hardwood library table and casting your eyes outside. A slowly setting sun was what greeted you, a medley of pinks and oranges appearing onto a slowly disappearing blue sky. 

How cliche. Considering one's disappointments next to a sunset. 

“Y/N?” A voice called, almost saccharine in the silence of your surroundings. 

And there he was. Draped in the setting sun like a painted figure, cloaked in a veil of sunlight that skimmed his skin like silk. Oikawa’s eyes were almost honey colored in that lighting, and beneath the darkened shelves, he was almost a mystical apparition. 

“Oikawa,” was all you said, cursing every possible force for him appearing now, looking like that, when you barely had anything to show for it. 

“Kuroo told me you’d offered to help us put together some signs for the de-stress carnival.” Oikawa walked over, stepping away from the sunlight and placing his bag down at your table, opting for a seat across from you. “Which, in case you were wondering, I got approval for. A lot of the other clubs are going to be there.” 

“That’s good.” You allowed yourself a glance at him. Your pettiness had all but dissipated, but you were still wary of looking at him for too long. He was like the sun, golden and lustrous and magnetic. You weren’t quite ready to be pulled into his orbit. 

“So,” Oikawa said, taking a glance at your computer screen, “Rough designing?” 

“Yeah. Inspiration has been hard to find and your club is counting on me.” 

“If it means anything to you, we wouldn’t have asked for you to do it if we didn’t believe in you.” You looked up to see Oikawa’s gaze set firmly on your own, as if tracking your expressions. Under his stare, you felt raw. Vulnerable. If you were a cake, and he was cutting you open. 

You weren’t sure what to say. 

A beat of silence permeated the space between you, and the two of you made no effort to stop it. It was somewhat comforting. Unsaid words of yours were understood by him.

“It feels like a lot of pressure,” you finally admitted, letting out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding. “I want it to be worth your while.” 

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Oikawa was closer. His breath was soft, fanning over the side of your cheek like a secret. 

“I’m not sure.” Your voice was nothing more than a whisper. 

Oikawa paused for a moment, as if contemplating something before decisively placing his hand on top of yours.

For a moment, you were startled by the warmth of his palm, grounding you in some way that didn’t quite make sense to you yet. Something about this was intimate in all the ways it shouldn’t be. Amidst a darkening sky and a slowly dimming library, you could almost consider this clandestine. 

You waited for the rustle of a book’s pages or the resounding footsteps of the librarian to break down the moment, but they never came.  

Oikawa looked at you, seemingly memorizing your features. He said nothing, but a slight smile appeared on his face the second he spotted a stray lock of hair by your ear. You could feel your face progressively heating with every moment spent in this proximity. 

Damn celebrity setters. Damn stupid stupid beautiful men who do this. Damn that Oikawa Tooru. 

Gently, as if touching something fragile, Oikawa smoothed down your hair, brushing the tip of your ear with his fingertips. He held your gaze fondly before suddenly, making an incredulous face. 

“What the-“ He said, looking at your hair again. “It’s back up again.” He looked at his hands in horror, as if their magic didn’t work. “Damn it, that’s not how that goes.” 

You couldn’t stop the laughter from erupting out of you at his antics, You swiftly flattened that pesky strand and looked back at him, feeling the amusement pool in your chest at his dismayed expression. 

“Sorry man,” you laughed, syllables coming out breathless, “Sometimes stuff doesn’t go to plan.” 

Oikawa seemed like he wanted to melt into the floor, and feeling the need for some fresh air, you dragged him out of the library. Upon leaving the double doors (and air conditioning), you were met by the lit sidewalk and found the wooden benches by the line of trees. 

You sat down, gesturing for him to join you. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen this one before,” Oikawa mentioned off-handedly, “I mean I’m here a lot, but I’m not sure when this was put here.” 

“It’s been here…?” 

Oikawa sighed, tilting his gaze to the now dark sky. “You do have an eye for good things.” 

You raised a brow. “What does that even mean?” 

“The stuff you make is adorable. And Kuroo’s always said that everywhere he brings us are all places you found.” 

“Really?” You leaned your upper body onto the bench. “I didn’t expect credit from him.” 

“He cares about you,” Oikawa said. “He gave a lot of shit when he realized that we’d talked on our plane and then not again. But I deserved that.” 

“I was petty. But it’s not like I can actually walk up to you.” 

“What?” Oikawa seemed puzzled, as if this was something impossible for him to fathom. “Why not? I don’t think I’m that bad.” 

“Iwaizumi says otherwise.” 

“Mean. But seriously, why?” 

You’d forgotten how refreshing Oikawa was. Even though you were sitting on a bench, you felt practically weightless. 

“Rumors,” was all you said, gesturing to him. 

Understanding seemed to flash into his eyes, and slowly, like connecting pieces of a puzzle, it all fell into place. He paused for a moment before meeting your eyes with a grin. 

“You know they’re just rumors right?” He smirked, “I went to a party a while back to kick off club season. There was this one girl who really wasn’t leaving me alone, so I ended up leaving. Turns out she’d told her friends that she and I made out at the party and gave me a whole lot more credit than I was expecting. Not that I mind making out, but I’m picky.” 

“Picky how?” You asked, words leaving your mouth before you even had the chance to think them over. 

“Picky as in there’s really only one person I’ve even wanted to kiss since I got here but haven’t got the chance to. I’m hoping they come to the booth. Just so I’ll get to know what that’s like.” 

You felt a subtle twist of something in your chest, though you weren’t sure what to make of it. Of course he had his eye on somebody. It was bound to happen eventually. 

“Why are you making a booth to do mass kissing then?” A valid follow up question. A guy like him could successfully pull whenever he wanted to. 

“Because I’m an opportunist,” he sighed, “And I’m not even sure if I can make a move properly. I don’t function like I normally do when they’re around.” 

“Of course you can. Anybody would say yes to you, Tooru.” 

With this, something in him seemed to snap and he immediately pulled you closer, your faces just an inch apart. His hands were firm around your waist, and the sensation was nearly searing. You could feel everything, from his hands to his breath to even the way his eyes seemed to scan your face. 

The way he looked at you now was like worship. 

“What are you doing?” You whispered shakily. With him all around you you could barely breathe, let alone think. 

“Making a move.” His eyes were on your lips. His hand gently left your waist to skim your arm before placing a hand on your cheek. “May I?” 

Your nod was nearly imperceptible before he captured your lips in yours. 

Soft, was your first thought as you felt his lips brush yours ever so lightly. You leaned into him, relishing the vaguely sweet taste of strawberry Chapstick on his lips as you swiped your tongue over his lips. 

Oikawa Tooru was a mystic. His fingers tangled in your hair and his lips searched for yours as if he was a lost man and you were his savior. He traced the curve of your waist and kissed you passionately, nibbling your lips when you pulled at his shirt. 

You could kiss him forever. You moved to nip at the tip of his ear, and his shaky breath had you considering if you should bite down harder. He pulled you back in and you melted into the feel of his lips and hands and the way his touch seemed to awaken something inside you. 

The way he held you was reverent. 

When you finally split for air, Oikawa held you close, his smile never wavering. He rubbed a thumb across your cheek, and placed a chaste kiss on your forehead. 

“That was magical,” you murmured into his shirt, and you couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit happy to hear the laugh you liked so much. 

You reckoned you’d be able to put together a solid design after tonight.

Oikawa had a skip in his step the following morning. He’d aced every assessment, finished all his homework, and made major breakthroughs at practice. His sets to Bokuto were so flawless that Bokuto could hardly believe he’d made those shots. 

Everyone on the volleyball team was certain that something had happened, but Oikawa refused to let up. 

He didn’t kiss and tell after all. 

“What is up with you?” Iwaizumi asked good-naturedly, tipping back a water bottle. “You’ve been in a surprisingly good mood all morning.” 

“It’s been a good day,” Oikawa smiled, offering no other details while picking up a few stray balls on the court. The gym floor seemed exceptionally shiny today. He’d be sure to thank whoever waxed the floor for their services when he could. 

“Something definitely happened.” Kuroo chimed in, scrutinizing Oikawa like he was something under a microscope. “The question is what.” 

“Am I not allowed to have good days?” 

“No you are,” Kuroo smirked, “But a day this good only happens after a sudden surge in popularity which —last time I checked— didn’t happen, or……did you make some breakthrough?” 

“With my sets, yes.” 

“No,” Kuroo smiled knowingly. “I’m gonna curse them out for not telling me anything.” 

Oikawa hid his surprise with a flash of indifference, though internally he cursed the middle blocker. It seemed that he was just as good at reading people as he was at read blocking. 

Iwaizumi caught on almost immediately, casting his eyes to his longtime friend, who all of a sudden, was acting like a deer in headlights. He found it odd that the nature of your relationship with Oikawa had transformed seemingly overnight. 

It seemed that you never truly harbored any resentment against him. 

Still, he resolved to approach you about it as soon as he could. 

The minute that you walked through the gym’s double doors, the entire team thought that they’d summoned you with all the prying they were doing. You hauled something large through the door and placed it against the wall, proud of yourself for the herculean effort it took to bring it through. 

The minute he registered your presence, Oikawa’s face looked like a puff of cotton candy. His cheeks were rosy with all the teasing and the memories of last night, and when he saw what it was that you’d leaned against the wall, he thought he should run over and kiss you out of pride. 

“Good morning guys,” you beamed, a smile so radiant that Oikawa had suddenly lost all the focus he’d had all morning. 

“Morning Y/N,” Iwaizumi greeted, walking over to greet you with a hug and a slight gesture to the object that was now leaning against the wall. “Is this it?” 

You nodded excitedly. “I got the inspiration to put it together last night. I think it captures the magic of the booth.” 

Iwaizumi leaned to flip over the posterboard and decided that he’d never seen anything more fitting in his entire life. 

The sign was a pastel wonder, a pale blue at the bottom and moving to a light pink at the top. Across the poster were small and light volleyballs, somewhat transparent against the background as if the pattern was a part of it. The borders of the poster were filled with various lip prints (and even funnier, some hidden Chapsticks).

The font at the center was a far cry from the scrawling archaic font that Kuroo had used on their initial flyers. It was a simple block font, a shade of pink with a glow filter and a pattern that made it look like a light-up sign on the part that really mattered.

The Volleyball Club presents, the poster read, written in a smaller font. Right below that, the light up letters spelled out The Mystic Kissbooth. Help kiss us to greatness. 

The team crowded around the board, marveling at both its quality and its thoughtfulness. 

“Y/N….” Bokuto trailed off, his eyes nearly bursting with amazement, “This is crazy!” 

“Yeah,” Semi added, “This is ridiculously good. Kuroo, where the hell have you been keeping them.” 

Kuroo simply crossed his arms and smiled with pride. He’d always believed in you. 

Oikawa stood shell-shocked at your work, feeling all the days of preparation finally coming together. He looked at you and smiled a smile so genuine, you were glad you’d finally pulled through. 

You looked to the floor bashfully for a moment before meeting the team’s eyes with renewed confidence. “Thank you. I’m glad to help.” 

Iwaizumi stood at your side, smiling fondly at you before turning his gaze to Oikawa. “Hey. Oikawa. What is the deal with the de-stress carnival? When is it, where is it, and where are we setting up?” 

Oikawa, still elated, looked around the gym at the team. “If you want details, I think we should call another meeting.” 

”That is a great idea,” you chimed in. 

“Wanna join?” Oikawa asked (hopefully). 

”I’m sorry, I don’t think I can. I’ve got a date with Kiyoko.” 

The team went silent. “You have a what?!”

The evening hues only made Kiyoko more beautiful. She was dressed casually, wearing classic blue jeans, a tank top, and a cardigan that only accentuated her figure. When she saw you approaching her, a smile appeared on her face instantaneously. 

“Y/N!” She greeted, “It’s good to see you.” 

You jogged up to her and pulled her into a friendly hug. “It’s good to see you too!”

You and Kiyoko fell into step naturally, opting to have dinner at one of your favorite places outside of campus. It was a quick walk from where you’d chosen to meet up, and in such good weather, it was a crime not to spend more time together. 

“I have a lot to tell you about,” Kiyoko began, “Starting with Oikawa Tooru. He showed up in my room and asked for the host. He’s got to know it’s me right?” 

“Yeah,” you nodded, “I know you use a modulator to stay under wraps so people take the podcast seriously, but he’s had a very good track record for being perceptive.” 

“That’s a pain” she sighed, “I hope he’s not going to spread it around.” 

“He won’t,” you assured her, “Oikawa can understand rumors better than anyone.” 

Kiyoko smiled relievedly, though she raised a brow at the mention of rumors. “Are those true?” 

You fought the heat that seemed to emerge onto your face the minute she mentioned that. You just hoped it would go unnoticed by her. 

Her blue eyes, unfortunately, were just as perceptive as they were pretty. 

She smirked, crossing her arms and stopping on the sidewalk path. “When did that happen?” 

“Don’t worry about it. Let’s keep walking.” You wish your voice had come out more strongly than a murmur. 

“When?” 

“Last night.” Damn Kiyoko for getting answers out of you. 

“And…?” She raised her brows expectantly. 

“Rumors are baseless but I confirm them. He is magical.” 

“I ought to say something about that,” she giggled, and you wanted to bury yourself into your hands to avoid her teasing. 

“Shush.” 

The two of you had a lovely dinner and opted to grab a quick drink from the speciality beverage store next door. Kiyoko grabbed a strawberry milkshake and you opted for a tropical fruit floater that they’d just created. Thanks to Kiyoko, both drinks were on the house. 

She nursed the straw between her lips and took a drag of her milkshake before meeting your eyes. “I have some information on the de-stress carnival.” 

You urged her to continue, and Kiyoko did. 

“Looks like Oikawa and the other members of clubs decided to officially name it the Cool Down Carnival. They’re just going to refer to it as Cool Down for ease. They’re planning to organize it the Saturday after midterms and they’ve been working on concessions like cotton candy, caramel apples, popcorn, and a whole boatload of stuff. Administration is also totally fine with this.” 

“Wow,” was all you could say as a response. You were honestly impressed with Oikawa. He put so much thought and care into a silly rumor that had transformed into one of the school’s biggest upcoming events. He was an alchemist of opportunities, taking a rumor of lead and transforming it to gold. 

“Yeah,” Kiyoko nodded, “I’ll get social media to cover it for me. So far, nobody doubts that I’m the manager of the ‘Cast, so it should be fairly reasonable for me to do.” 

“Out of curiosity, do you know anything about how they’re planning to do the shifts of the booth?” 

“All I know for certain is that Oikawa said he probably wasn’t gonna do a headlining shift…or a shift at all. A lot of the other members were perfectly fine with taking this on, but there has been some backlash.” 

He was planning on not headlining the booth?

Your heart was suddenly very warm and fuzzy in your chest. 

Kiyoko knowingly smiled at you before tipping at the front register and dragging you outside. The breeze was oddly pleasant, something a bit uncommon for this time of year. It was approaching colder weather, but it felt nearly spring-like. 

“The weather isn’t making sense,” you said, enjoying the feeling of freedom that came with nighttime out. 

“It hasn’t been making sense,” Kiyoko smiled, “We’re anticipating a fresh fair.” 

Springs and falls blended together. You found a beautiful leaf on the sidewalk and pressed it to your palm, preserving the feel and look in your memory. 

“I’m looking forward to it,” you’d finally tell Kiyoko as you parted ways, meaning each and every word.

When Oikawa had showed up at your doorstep in the morning, your sleep-addled brain could barely fathom the reason as to why he would do such a thing. 

That was, until he walked into your room carrying breakfast in a brown bag. 

“Good morning Y/N.” He said, voice still slightly raspy from a good night of sleep. (You weren’t going to forget how that sounded forever). 

You greeted him with a morning greeting of your own and sat on your bed, stretching your limbs and analyzing the boy who—at this present moment—seemed like the happiest guy on earth. 

“Feel free to help yourself,” Oikawa grinned, grabbing a bagel and a pack of cream cheese from the bag. “I have some updates for you.” 

“Does it have to do with the Cool Down?” You walked over to the bag and grabbed something you liked from the inside. 

“Wow. How did you know about the name?” 

“I have my sources,” you winked. 

Oikawa simply laughed. “I know it’s Kiyoko dumbass. She’s one of the sneakiest podcast hosts of all time.” 

“So you do know.” 

“Obviously.” Oikawa lounged on the chair in your corner. “Nobody else is ever working in that office. She should get some people to join her.” 

You nodded and shifted to sit next to him on the couch. His warmth was a surprisingly pleasant addition into the morning, and you found yourself leaning into him. He didn’t make any move to stop it, opting to pull you in and place his arm over you. 

“We have classes soon,” you said groggily, “But I don’t want to move.” 

“We don’t have to right now.” 

“Thanks Tooru.” 

“Of course, Y/N.” He smiled. “Though we do have an afternoon meeting on how to divide the shifts. I’m not sure what we’re going to be doing about me.” 

You suddenly felt a lot more awake. You shifted your weight onto your unsupported arm and looked up at Oikawa. “Are you planning to take a shift?” 

Oikawa shifted nervously in his seat. “I’m not sure. I may have to for the sake of demand. Everyone is expecting me to live up to the expectation. I think we would be less successful without my involvement.” 

You felt a twist of something. Not jealously, but not comfort either. Something between the two. You rose away from Oikawa, walking over to the opposite side of the room where your bed was and met his eyes. 

“Do you really have to?” you asked, feeling partially unfair. There was nothing official between the two of you at the moment, but you’d thought after the kiss two nights ago…..you thought you had a chance. 

“I might,” he gulped, “But you know you’re the only one I’ve ever wanted to kiss.” 

You sighed exasperatedly. “I know that you came up with this as a business opportunity and because you thought we’d never…get anywhere, but a long shift is going to be a lot of people.” 

“I know,” he sighed, meeting your eyes with an expression in his own that looked a lot like sadness. “But the fundraiser might just have to come first for now— no that’s not what I—“ 

“Please leave,” you said, voice wavering a bit, “I don’t want to deal with the whole priorities thing right now. We can say we kissed once for fun. Headline it if you must. Later Oikawa.” 

You turned away from him and walked towards your closet to find appropriate clothes for the day. You couldn’t even stand to look at him right now. Things would become too complicated for you to handle. 

“Y/N, I’m really sorry.” Oikawa said from behind you, “That is genuinely not what I meant.” 

You turned to face him again, not even able to meet his eyes. “There’s got to be some semblance of truth in what you said earlier. You love your team Oikawa. They are important. I don’t expect you to throw away opportunities for me. We’re not even dating.” You laughed dryly. “I’d like a bit of space. We can talk a bit later.” 

Oikawa seemed like he had a lot more to say, but he wordlessly slipped out of the door, leaving your room noticeably empty. 

Once he’d left for certain, you collapsed onto the floor and let loose the dam of tears you’d held in for so long.

When Iwaizumi found you in the library, he knew immediately that something was wrong. Your eyes were reddened ever so slightly, covered over by a splash of cold water to the face (most likely), and your usual cheerfulness when you greeted him was a lot less lively. 

He took the seat beside you, surprised by your lack of response. 

”Hajime,” you said softly, turning over to smile sadly at him, “Good to see you here.” 

Correction: something was horrifically wrong. 

“What happened?” He asked softly, wondering what was enough to dampen your normally resilient spirit.  

“Fucking Oikawa,” you laughed sarcastically, “Look at me saying I’d never get caught up in his web, and then doing exactly that.” 

Iwaizumi wrinkled his brow. That day on the bench, he’d known enough to discern that you and Oikawa had some sort of history. That much continued to be made obvious by Oikawa’s constant urge to see you and include you in everything that he and Kuroo didn’t think was important enough to invite you to. 

However, he wasn’t sure when you and Oikawa became more than a past set of acquaintances….and that stung a little. He understood your reasoning though. Especially if it was as complicated as you seemed to feel at the moment. 

“Were you guys dating?”

“No.” You turned to face him in full, and he was struck by the magnitude of just how magnetic you were. Iwaizumi was guilty of being stuck in your orbit. “Just a kiss. Because he sweet talked me into thinking he wanted something.”

“Knowing him, he probably did.” Iwaizumi said, “Oikawa has a tendency to be obsessive to get what he wants, but also be blinded by obligations. This was definitely about him headlining the booth, right?” 

You nodded, feeling a sudden tightness in your throat at the thought. You weren’t ready to confront the morning’s events quite yet. 

“That dumbass,” Iwaizumi groaned, “If he’d told us that he liked you and had actually managed to make a move we would’ve gladly taken his shift! Who gives a fuck about what the college body wants? Half of them thirst over everyone!” You laughed a bit at the truth of that statement. “Yeah, and Kiyoko told me she was also planning on making a little appearance.” 

At this Iwaizumi raised his brow. “Oh that’s about to be carnage.” 

“Absolutely,” you giggled, “Who knows? Maybe you’ll be the lucky person.” Iwaizumi laughed, a sound that was low and sweet and comforting. “I think I’ll leave it to some of the other boys. They deserve a chance after all.” 

The two of you grinned at the mental imagery of the team fighting for a chance to interact with your beautiful friend, and suddenly, Oikawa’s shittiness seemed like something far less relevant. 

Still, even with the humor of the situation came the very uncomfortable realization that you and Oikawa–-whatever you were–-were done if you didn’t come to some consensus. 

You shoved your hands into your face, wondering how the hell you’d managed to go from avoidant and unattached to too attached. Maybe the rumors had some merit. A kiss from Oikawa was all that it took to get so jumbled. 

Iwaizumi’s warm palm on your back was what brought you back to your senses. He rubbed his slow circles and sat there patiently until you emerged from your cover of shame. 

“What am I going to do?” you asked, voice raw and vulnerable and everything you’d rather it not have been. 

“Whatever you want to do.” Iwaizumi’s gaze was genuine, soft eyes studying you. “You’re entitled to your own decisions. Kuroo and I would never ditch you for Shitty you know.” 

“It’s for the team,” you whispered, feeling tears threatening to spill over your cheeks. Your vision was hazy, and you blinked slowly to clear the water from your eyes. “So then why do I feel like this?” 

“Because you care about him, Y/N.” Iwaizumi squeezed your shoulder affectionately, “You and him clearly bonded on some intergalactic level, so having that be suddenly shattered in favor of something seemingly less important is going to feel like shit. In fact, he is the real piece of crap here.” “The team matters.” “The team is all about relationships.” Iwaizumi said firmly. “I have a hunch there’s someone in this tournament that he needs to beat. That’s why he’s been obsessively orchestrating the perfect way to raise money to have a practice match beforehand. Still, I won’t deny it. Oikawa is an idiot for doing this to you. You have all the rights to move on with your life.” 

“I think I’m gonna take my space from him for a few days,” you eventually responded. “I think I’ll also not visit the booth. I’ll give Kuroo the sign in advance so he can help with setting up?” 

Iwaizumi nodded solemnly. “If that’s what you need to do, I’ll be your number one supporter. I’d still love it if you could stop by though. We love having you around.” 

You nodded at him. “I’ll be there for you and Kuroo. Always. And you guys can hang out with me at the Cool Down when you’re off shift.” 

“Of course,” Iwaizumi smiled, “For you? Anything.”

“How do you say, ‘I’m angry’ in French?” The ping of the recording microphone tapped on as Oikawa paced quickly around his room. 

“Je suis fâché.” 

“How do you say, ‘I like to go out with my friends’ in French?” “J’aime sortir avec mes amis.” 

“How do you say, ‘I went to my friend’s house’ in French?” 

“Je ne veux pas continuer.” 

“Oui Monsieur. À Bientôt!” His phone’s recording feature switched off, leaving him in a silent room once again. 

He was regretful, so much so that he paced around in his room in the hopes that it would give him some sort of clarity. As much as he wanted to approach you, he knew you weren’t ready to talk to him right now. 

“Shittykawa,” he heard from his door, opening with a subtlety and closing with a bang. Classic Iwa move. 

He turned to face his best friend, who at this moment, seemed to be quite irritated with him. He could feel the lecture as certain as one could feel a thunderstorm in the air. 

Iwaizumi stood, arms crossed in Oikawa’s room, leaning against the wall and pinning him with a look so strong it might as well have been a thumbtack. Oikawa felt rooted in place, and all the words he initially planned on saying left his mouth. 

“So Ushijima Wakatoshi happens to be at a school just a bit over,” Iwa started, “I did my research. Why not play a practice match with them to start to see their setting style? Break down their setter, practice receiving from a left-handed person, and maybe we can beat him, right?” 

Oikawa sighed, feeling all the fight leave his body. He made his way over to his pale blue rug and sat down. “I know. It’s ridiculous.” 

“What’s ridiculous is what you did to Y/N.” Iwaizumi glared at him. “If you’d said something about liking them and actually successfully getting them to like you, then we would’ve been perfectly capable of handling the shifts. Hell, even Kiyoko is coming. That alone will give people incentive to come and kiss us.” 

“I made a mistake,” Oikawa cringed. He didn’t even want to think about the morning. What was intended to be a romantic gesture ended up being a horrible memory. His attempts to distract himself were futile, and he couldn’t help but wonder how Iwaizumi had found you. “But they probably don’t want to talk to me.” 

Iwaizumi looked at Oikawa sadly. “They’re planning on skipping the booth. They’ve already decided to give their poster to Kuroo so he can help us with set-up. So don’t plan on seeing them.” 

He grimaced. “Not coming? Really?” 

Iwaizumi nodded. “I was pretty unhappy about it, but we’ve got to give them space to process everything.” The minute you’d smiled at him in the airport, talking about “college stampedes,” Oikawa knew he wanted nothing more but to know you better. He’d thanked every lucky star for the seats you had next to each other and relished every moment spent with you. 

He wondered why you avoided him for the next months, always daydreaming about what he’d say to you when you finally reappeared at practices. He’d searched for you in your classes, but he always missed you. 

When you walked into the gym on that fateful day, he thought he had a genuine chance. You were perfect. Your thoughts were exquisite, your smile radiant, and everything about you felt right. When he kissed you, he could’ve screamed to the heavens that his heart was yours. 

Perhaps that was why his heart seemed to tear a bit at Iwaizumi’s declaration. You wanted to move on from this. 

“Oikawa…you can still fix this you know?” Iwaizumi pulled him up from the rug, noting the reignited spark in his eyes. “You should probably get the fair set up, find Y/N, and explain yourself. I’m certain they’ll understand.” 

“It’s the least I can do,” he said solemnly, “And if they still decide they want nothing to do with me, at least I did my part.”

You found him at Kuroo’s place at night when you’d stepped through his door uninvited (like you did at times). In your hands was your laptop, a few pencils, and the sign you’d made for the booth. The last thing you’d expected was to see the person you’d been trying so desperately to avoid. 

Oikawa, for a moment, looked like he’d seen a ghost. He looked at the door, brown eyes concerned and scanning you as if you’d just walked in through the wall. 

Nobody said anything. You stood still, too shell-shocked to process the fact that a night before the Cool Down, Oikawa was spending time with Kuroo. In fact, you could barely believe Kuroo had ever allowed Oikawa into his place in the first place, especially when he knew that you were planning on popping in at some point. 

Kuroo’s eyes followed your gaze, finding it landing right on the floor next to Oikawa (as opposed to straight at him). 

“Well,” Kuroo began softly, “I didn’t warn either of you.” 

“You could have,” you said, looking back at Kuroo, “I would’ve liked to know before I got here.” “But then you would have never showed up.” Oikawa’s voice was clear, slicing through the silence of the room with a blade of decisiveness that you hadn’t heard from him. He looked you over, seemingly analyzing your health since the day he’d fucked up. 

“I wasn’t planning on running into you,” you admitted, finding the courage to meet his eyes. “In fact, I was literally just coming to drop off the sign for your booth, talk to my best friend, and then go to bed.” 

“Please let me explain myself.” Everything about Oikawa seemed pleading. His face harbored an expression of guilt so boundless that you weren’t sure how to react. 

You wordlessly sat down in the corner chair closest to Kuroo’s door, setting your stuff down on the surface closest to it. 

“I’m sure Iwaizumi must have told you what it was that we were raising money for.” 

You nodded.

“I never had the chance to tell you more about what I struggled with in high school," Oikawa said quietly. “I was surrounded by talented players. Some of them are so talented that I thought I never even stood a chance.  I realized at the end of my matches that I deserved to be on the court just as much as anyone else.” 

“You’re a damn good setter Oikawa,” Kuroo interjected, “And even Semi admires your sets. He’s from the same school as Ushijima too.”

“Thank you,” Oikawa laughed softly, but even the sound was sad. He turned to meet your eyes. “I was out of line trying to say the volleyball club mattered more to me than what we were getting to be. I was worried they’d be weird at me for flaking, but they’re my team. Iwa told me they’d always have my back. Happy setter happy tosses right?” 

You took a moment to process everything that he was saying, ultimately coming to one conclusion. He really did feel bad. 

“Why are you so obsessed with having a chance to beat someone you had a rivalry with in highschool?” 

Oikawa paused, contemplating your question. His brow was furrowed, and his hands clutched anxiously around nothing, seemingly finding the best words to phrase—whatever it was—that he was feeling. 

“It was to give myself the confidence to know I can still beat tough opponents,” he said quietly. “But it was never worth losing you.” 

You gently moved onto the floor, kneeling your way over to where Oikawa sat. When your fingertips skimmed his cheek, cool from the fall time air, he seemed fragile. 

You gently curved your fingers to tuck a lock of his hair behind his ear. “Are you sure you mean it?” 

“Every last word.” Oikawa whispers, and maybe against your better instincts, you pull him into an embrace.

As far as Oikawa was concerned, you weren’t coming to the booth today. 

Cool Down’s set up began bright and early, and despite last night’s emotional clarity, Kuroo was still the one who showed up with the sign. 

The booth was placed in a central location, but deep enough into the carnival so that after a sweet kiss, everyone could go and support the other clubs. He hadn’t been able to spot Kiyoko quite yet, but he was certain they were bound to cross paths eventually. 

He walked across the grassy area where the carnival was being set up, watching the glorious “Cool Down” sign being placed at the front of the admit area. Many sports teams and board members of academic clubs were helping organize their own booths. 

“Hey Oikawa! I can put up the banner!” Bokuto shouted from across the field, jogging up to their area with a rolled up “Mystic Kissbooth” backdrop. 

“Be careful!” He yelled back, “We can’t have one of our best spikers getting hurt. I need those cross court and straight shots in perfect condition!” 

Bokuto grinned so widely that Oikawa couldn’t help but grin back. “You can count on me!” 

He took a moment to slouch against the now filled bouncy castle by their stand, clutching his clipboard to his chest. He could practically sense the excitement seeping into the space as the nearby club members set up their stands. 

He’d had the opportunity to survey the space beforehand, and was quite pleased with the nearby stations. 

The art club created a paint gun bullseye game to win handmade trinkets and jewelry. The president stood proudly at the set up side, excitedly loading up paint into the guns. He could already predict the boyfriends who’d attempt to win there.

To the other side of them was the statistics club’s probability stand. They’d set up numerous games: cards, a wheel, and even ring toss for the chance to win huge prizes. At the present moment, Kuroo was inquiring about the legitimacy of the airpods in one of the member’s hands (and yes—they were legit). 

“This is pretty amazing, huh?” 

Oikawa snapped out of his reverie, only to see Mattsun sporting his classic smirk. He looked around for Makki, but didn’t find him. 

“Yeah,” he admitted, “I’m honestly surprised our little flier accomplished this much.” 

“I’m not,” Mattsun chuckled, “You’ve been like this since high school Oikawa. Everyone here is really grateful for the rumors. Speaking of which…think the culprit is going to show up today?” 

Oikawa snorted, momentarily horrified at the sound 

that escaped him. “That’s ridiculous. I’m not planning on being a headliner. Iwa’s got that covered.” 

Makki walked into view just a few moments later, looking thoroughly confused. “Where’s the rest of the team?” 

Kuroo walked over at the exact moment, clapping Makki on the back. “We decided to give them a little break, considering they’re going to be doing all the kissing later.” 

The group gathered together, and Mattsun pointed to the castle. “Who’s running this thing?” 

“Oh it’s just a free fun thing the school is putting up.” Oikawa smacked it for good measure. 

“How did midterms even go for you guys?” Kuroo laughed, “I pulled what I wanted in all my classes. Somehow. Orgo was a fucking miracle though. I genuinely thought I failed.”

“I was mostly fine,” Mattsun chuckled, “Though we won’t talk about history. Freaking liberal arts.” 

Oikawa’s midterms had gone more or less to plan, but the added emotional stress had made it much more difficult to keep cool. 

Standing there in that grassy field, he felt more at peace than he did the rest of the week. 

Maybe today would be okay after all.

You and Iwaizumi were in your room trying to devise a plan on how to attend the carnival. The cool wood of your desk hit your wrist as you spread out the makeshift blueprint of the event that Kiyoko had so graciously given you. 

Iwaizumi paced along the floor, inspecting outfits that you picked out while you devised a mental list of everywhere you wanted to go to maximize your enjoyment. Economic principles were literally designed off of utility, and you wanted to make sure all your contributions would have the best outcome for the clubs and yourself. 

Midterms had been stressful, and while last night’s talk had fixed most of what had contributed to that stress, you still wondered about Oikawa.  

Iwaizumi was the event’s new headliner, so what did that mean for Oikawa? 

You weren’t sure. 

The Saturday morning filled your room with sunshine that was comforting. From your window you were greeted with the multicolored leaves of campus, some floating down leisurely to hit the grass. 

Iwaizumi, it seemed, had finally picked your outfit. 

“Here,” he gestured, pointing to one of your favorites. “You rock this one.” 

“Why thank you,” you smiled, tossing him the blueprint. “I’ve finally figured out the order I’m going to tour the Cool Down.”

Iwaizumi caught the paper in one arm, muscles flexing ever so slightly as he did. You nodded appreciatively. He was going to generate a shit ton of money. 

He put a pen between his lips ever so slightly as he read the marks on the page. “Cotton candy. Art booth. Bouncy castle. Stats games. Chemistry lab. Apple dunk to win candy apples. Physics coaster.” He handed the page back. “That’s a pretty solid list. I think you’re missing something though.”

You pulled the pen out of Iwa’s mouth (surprised at your boldness) and smiled gently at him. “I’ll be sure to pop in at some point or be nearby to support you.” 

Iwaizumi nodded, “Of course. I just need to beat you at any and all games we visit after my shift.” 

You snickered. “Not a chance.” 

Iwaizumi simply smirked in response.

“Hey, I need two tickets!” A student hollered to her assistant, who at the present moment, was working on acquiring more admit tickets from the roll they’d customized for the event. “We have quite the line here.” 

“I’m working on it!” The assistant hollered back, jogging over with the entire row. 

The line for the Cool Down was large, and you were thankful you’d had the foresight to arrive early enough to avoid a majority of the crowd. Being friends with Iwa had its perks too–the minute that the admitting team had spotted him, they’d immediately ushered you to the front so you were in a position to visit him later. 

Soon enough, you were at the front of the line. 

“Well hello there friend of Iwaizumi,” the girl at the front smiled, “How many tickets do you need?” “Just one,” you said, surprised at the lack of prompt to pay the entrance fee. “What about the entrance fee?” 

“Oh, Iwaizumi took care of that already,” the assistant grinned, handing you a beautifully designed cardstock ticket and tying a wristband around your wrist. “So you can walk straight in.” 

You smiled graciously at the duo. “Wow. I’ll go find him and pay him back. Thank you guys.”

Stepping around the ticket distribution center, you walked straight through the decorated entrance area and walked in. 

For a moment, you were awestruck. The usually empty grass fields were filled to the brim with activity. All around you were the booths of various clubs, all with lines to try them out. You could smell the sweet and tart scent of caramel apples in the distance, and saw a couple trying out the physics club’s make-shift coaster with a cotton candy in their hands. 

The late afternoon was brisk and fresh, and you felt the possibilities of the evening unfurl around you. As the sky darkened its hues, the fair would begin to light up from the fixtures that trimmed everyone’s areas. Everything, from the food areas, to even the Mystic Kissbooth would create a movie-like scene. 

You decided right there and then that the Cool Down was the best fair you’d ever attended. You’d never seen anything as well thought out as what you saw today. 

You made your way to the popcorn area, finding new booths that you hadn’t seen on the blueprint. In front of you was a simple dart-throw, with the guarantee of winning a special edition Cool Down shirt if you hit within a certain range. 

This was intriguing. 

“Hi there,” you said quietly, walking up to the booth. “Can I give this a whirl?” The booth’s president looked up at you shocked for a moment before nodding. 

“Of course!” He said excitedly, elbowing his shift mate. “Y/L/N Y/N, right? We are huge fans of your work. Kuroo has told us so so much about you!” 

“My work?” You asked curiously as they pressed a dart into your palm. “Like my fliers?” “Hell yeah,” the president grinned. “Pay if you win okay? I honestly want you to get our design out of it. We were inspired a bit by your Mystic Kissbooth sign.” 

In the spirit of good fun, you aimed the dart as best as you could, so surprised when you hit a spot very close to the bulls-eye. 

“Hey!” you shouted excitedly, “I actually got in range!” The president smiled excitedly. “Amazing! What’s your shirt size?” You told him your size, tucking a good amount of money into the jar. As soon as the soft shirt fabric hit your hands, you were immediately overcome with a sense of pride. The design was beautiful and simple, capturing the essence in the fair in just an image.

“You’re the design club?” You grinned, “This is amazing!” “Ah thank you,” the president said bashfully, “It’s an honor to get a compliment from you. You’re more than welcome to join us. Canva art is still art we love.” 

“I’ll be sure to consider it!” You waved goodbye to the design booth as you made your way deeper into the fair, a t-shirt in hand. 

“Hey there! Want a chance to win a cool plushie? Come right over!” You turned your head to be met with the sewing club with something that looked a lot like “Bop-It” set up with sheets of papers next to them. Out of sheer curiosity you made your way to the booth, finding a larger crowd than you anticipated. “Okay,” one of the members began, “Here is how this works. You and your competitor will receive a pre-programmed Bop-It machine. Follow the color scheme as closely as you can and note the last color in each sequence on your sheet. If you don’t mess up before your partner, you win ANY handmade plush of your choice!” In front of you, you spotted a couple tucking money into the jar and competing against one another. The round was quick, ending when someone clicked the wrong color. The handmade plushie of the winner was adorable. 

Somehow, all your observations had led you to the front of the line. 

“Hello,” a student smiled, “Do you have a competitor with you?” You were about to share a response when you heard a voice behind you. “Yeah, they do. I’d like to play please.” You were pleasantly surprised to find Kiyoko grinning as she tucked a hefty amount into the jar. The student at the front seemed enamored, and so did the entire line. 

“Shimizu Kiyoko is here…” they all whispered. 

“Hey Kiyoko,” you smiled, placing your own money in the jar. “Planning to beat me?” 

“Of course.” She grinned mischievously, “I ran a volleyball team. I am competitive enough to beat you.” 

The game began as soon as the students got a grip of themselves. You frantically hit the colors and noted them down, only to tie with Kiyoko. You’d both walked away with adorable plushies, though Kiyoko had forcibly had to ensure that they didn’t hand her an extra. 

“I’m glad to run into you,” you smiled, walking with her further into the grass. “I had no idea what time you were planning to get here.” 

“I’m glad I found you.” Her smile was infectious, and soon enough, you stood in front of a candy apple stand. 

“Are you planning to visit the booth?” You asked her, watching her pay for her apple. 

“Yeah,” she smiled, “Oikawa begged me to cover, so I was feeling nice. Though he’s been sulking lately.” You raised a brow. When you saw him last night, you could feel his fatigue. You felt the stress melt out of him when you pulled him in for a hug, but you hadn’t realized the extent of his distress. 

“He hasn’t kissed today at all,” she smiled knowingly, “I think he’s saving an appearance for a special someone.” “He’s….not headlining?” You were shocked. After everything, it seemed that he really meant what he said. 

“Nope,” Kiyoko wiped some caramel from her lips. “And the booth’s sales have been spectacular.” 

Standing there in the field, you were hit with the intense urge to see him. “Go,” Kiyoko smiled, “They’ve been waiting for you to show up.” “We’ll catch up.” You smiled as you took off in a jog towards the booth. The wind swept your cheeks as you ran, and you could see the evening sun dip into different colors. Beautiful, you thought, feeling the adrenaline pump through your veins. 

He really had meant everything. You needed to see him. 

When you arrived at the booth, you were shocked at the line. So many students lined up, money in hand as they waited for their chance to kiss a volleyball player. You were shocked to see the crowd, watching someone hand Semi a particularly large bill before leaning in for a kiss. 

You surveyed the booth for Oikawa, but you couldn’t find him anywhere. You couldn’t stop the thrum of your heart in your chest from overpowering your senses. Where was he? What if you were too late? At that particular moment, Oikawa walked out from behind the stand, putting some Chapstick onto his lips. And then, he saw you. 

You stood in line, a large bill in hand and an expression that seemed almost desperate. Oikawa has never seen anyone look more perfect than you did right now. You held a handmade plushie and a shirt, lips flushed from biting them. 

You met his eyes, feeling your heart shock at the sensation. There he was. 

Before you even had a chance to think about what you were doing, you ran out of line to him, shoving the bill into his hands. 

“Tooru,” you said breathlessly, looking at him with an expression he’d never seen before. “Kiyoko told me you weren’t headlining. I was afraid I wasn’t going to find you. I’m sorry for not trusting you.” Oikawa could hardly hide his shock as the words tumbled from your lips. He studied your cheeks, and smoothed out your wind mused hair with a soft smile. “Hey, it’s alright.” You exhaled, looking at him like he strung the stars. “I thought I wouldn’t make it in time.” Oikawa simply grinned before pulling you in for a passionate kiss. 

This was different from the last time you kissed. He cupped your face softly and wrapped his other arm around your waist, tracing a small heart into your back. You could feel the curve of his lips as he kissed you softly, pulling you deeper when you smiled back into it. Everything about this was soft, almost loving. It felt like a truce. It felt like a confession. 

It felt better than both of those things. When you finally split for air, his smile was nearly blinding. He looked at you like you were a poet and he was your poetry, a product of your purest affections. 

“Go out with me sometime?” He looked nervous, standing there like he hadn’t just kissed you like you were the most special person in the universe. 

“Of course,” you grinned, pulling him down for another kiss.

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

if you got this far, thank you for reading <3!!

#nova scribbles <3 #oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa x y/n #oikawa x you #oikawa tooru fluff #oikawa tooru angst #oikawa tooru x you #oikawa tooru x y/n #oikawa headcanons #oikawa fic #hq oikawa #haikyuu oikawa #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x gender neutral reader #haikyuu x female reader #haikyuu x f!reader #haikyuu fic #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu angst #hq fluff #hq x reader #hq x you #hq imagines #haikyuu #kuroo testuro #kuroo tetsurou

[teamatsumu]

good enough.

Pairing: Oikawa Tooru x reader

Word count: 2,578

✎ Soulmate AU, Angst, Hurt comfort

You had always been a meek child. And it shocked everyone you would meet.

It had a lot to do with the fact that your parents were both extremely outgoing. They were loud, adventurous types who loved trying new things. It wasn't difficult to see how they were soulmates. They were practically cut from the same cloth. But you, you often made people lose the plot. You didn't act like your parents' daughter at all.

You had always been very shy. It had taken you forever to make friends in daycare, and even longer once you entered kindergarten. Kids were too loud and too messy. So you preferred to keep to yourself. The few friends you had were because someone else would take you 'under their wing' somehow.

You got better as you grew up, though you could still technically be considered an introvert. You hated that word. Hated how limiting it was and how it put you into a box. You weren't an introvert. You had friends that you loved hanging out with and spending time with. You didn't prefer being alone. You loved companionship.

You just didn't think you were interesting enough to deserve it.

So you stayed in your little circle of dedicated friends, girls you had met as a little kid and stuck by all through elementary and middle school. But towards the end of middle school, something happened that changed your life forever.

You met your soulmate.

Well, 'met' was a strong word. You saw him, from afar. You laid eyes on him, felt that electricity shoot up inside you, the mantra of 'soulmate, soulmate, soulmate' repeating in your head. It was the same pattern of feelings you were told your whole life that you would feel. Down to every last detail. Yet your brain couldn't accept it. You couldn't believe the obvious signals your body was sending you. It just couldn't be.

Your soulmate was…… Oikawa Tooru?

The Oikawa Tooru. Kitagawa Daiichi's star setter. The best player their school had seen so far. You had seen him while he was receiving the award for best setter. When your eyes had settled on him for more than 5 seconds, signaling to your body that you were looking directly at your soulmate. You were frozen in your spot, obscured in the crowd of students seated for the ceremony. Watching as Oikawa accepted his medal and his shield. The center of attention, the smile on his face bright and warm.

You in the bleachers, clapping mechanically, no different from anyone around you. Blending into your surroundings like you had your entire life.

It took you many, many weeks to get used to the idea that Oikawa Tooru was your soulmate. Your other half. It just didn't sit well with you. You had seen soulmate couples your entire life, including your parents. People with similar tastes, more or less matching personalities, so in love and so in sync.

You and Oikawa were worlds apart.

He had a gentle charm to him, easy going smile and bright, bright brown eyes, hair so casually wind swept, the color of warm chestnut. He was tall, lean, enough to command a room the second he entered it. It almost seemed like he had a spotlight on him at all times. As you watched him from afar, cracking jokes and laughing loud, annoying his friends and greeting his fans, you realized just how different you two were.

You were, in every sense of the word, average. You weren't confident, but you could speak your mind when you wanted. You weren't ugly, but you weren't exactly a head turner. You were so….. mediocre. Especially compared to someone as rare and wonderful as Oikawa Tooru. There's no way you could match up to him.

You didn't deserve him. And more importantly, he deserved so much better than you.

You never dared mention to anyone that you knew who your soulmate was. Your friends would hound you forever and your parents would be flabbergasted that you didn't tell him yet. You didn't have it in yourself to explain to them why you didn't. It made sense in your head, but you had enough awareness to know that other people would say it's utter bullshit. You didn't want to deal with that. Someday, Oikawa would give up on finding his soulmate and settle down with someone else. Someone who could fit into his shiny, busy world. All you had to do till then was stay out of the way. This was for Oikawa's own good.

You knew fate was testing you when you unintentionally ended up at the same high school as Oikawa. You had nearly done a double take when you saw him in the halls, talking to that spiky haired boy he was friends with, basking in the admiring looks of multiple girls that walked past him and waved at him. It made you sigh. It's like every time you saw him, you were reminded how much better he was than you. And all it did was strengthen your resolve to stay miles away from him.

You managed to successfully avoid Oikawa for many months, which wasn't hard considering your straightforward routine. You didn't like leaving class for no reason. You had lunch at your desk. You weren't part of any clubs so you would go straight home afterwards. Also owing to the fact that Oikawa appeared to be the busiest person in the world, it made your life much easier.

You should've known it wouldn't last long. It seemed the entire universe was conspiring to get you closer to Oikawa. And the universe had sent Matsukawa Issei to do the job.

Matsukawa was in the same class as you. He sat next to you in the back row and dosed off during most of the lessons. You thought he was incredibly amusing. Especially when he would sneak food into his mouth during classes and try to chew it without the teacher noticing that his mouth was moving. When you would try to hide your grin, he would wink at you and offer you food too, and both of you would munch on it while you waited for lessons to be over. He was very laid back and easy going, yet had a lot of confidence. In an ideal world where you weren't so anxious, you liked to think you would be a lot like him.

You never would've dreamed that someone so naturally lazy would actually be part of a sports club. Especially not volleyball. The thought never crossed your mind. Had you known, you wouldn't have touched him with a ten foot pole. But you made it a point to stay as far away from Oikawa and volleyball as possible, so you didn't know. Big mistake.

The midday sun was beating on your head as you stood waiting at the school gate. You tried leaning against the wall but the brick was burning up, making you yelp and jump away. You scowled at your phone, staring at Matsukawa's name before hitting Call. He picked up after only two beeps.

"Y/N-?"

"Where the hell are you, Issei? I'm getting cooked in this heat!" You whined, feeling your scowl deepen. You watched students bustle out of the gate, eager to get home and away from the sun. There was a short pause on the other end of the line before Matsukawa spoke again.

"Oh shit."

You groaned out loud at the words, knowing exactly what he meant.

"Issei, I need those notes! We have a quiz tomorrow and you promised me you would give them back after school."

You could hear Matsukawa panting on the other end, making your eyebrows furrow. Was he running?

"Listen, Y/N. I left my bag at the gym. The team is out on a run right now and I think we will be back in maybe ten minutes? Why don't you go wait at the gym and I'll give it to you when I come-"

"Wait," you cut him off. "What gym? What are you talking about?"

More huffing. "Oh yeah, you don't know. I'm in the volleyball club. Go wait for me at the gym."

You stilled, blinking once, before the implication of his words sank in and panic gripped your chest. "No, no, wait! I can't go there. I'll wait for you at the gate and you can just come give it to me-"

"Coach won't let me leave the gym during practice time. What's the big deal? It'll take two minutes-"

"No Issei!" You cut him off, feeling cornered. "Keep the notebook. I'll get it from you tomorrow."

"But what about the qui-"

You hung up.

Your heart was beating a mile a minute, thoughts racing. That was so close. So close. You had unintentionally become friends with Oikawa's teammate. And you had no clue. Panic gripped you as you realized what this meant. At any given time, Oikawa could've seen you. He could've walked into your classroom to talk to Issei about something and laid eyes on you. Then he would've known.

The walk home was shaky and disorienting. You felt frustrated with yourself at this game you were playing. Trying to stay away from the boy this universe was begging you to be with. Someone your heart also desperately wanted, but your insecure, anxious brain was constantly yelling at you to stay away from.

He's too good. His future is too bright. You'll ruin him.

You were so tired.

The quiz ended up being pretty easy, considering the fact that you didn't study for it at all and spent most of your evening crying, then watching some shitty comedy on Netflix that didn't make you laugh at all, going through your snack drawer like an madwoman and finally falling asleep, where brown eyes plagued you in your dreams for the rest of the night. You thanked the gods that you had nothing good to do in your life and hence spent most of your time studying. It meant you did pretty well on your test despite doing nothing to prepare for it.

If there was one thing about you that was way above average, it was your brain.

Issei was looking at you weirdly throughout the day, and he finally spoke up at lunch, something you had been dreading.

"You wanna tell me what the hell that was yesterday?" He crossed his arms, staring at you so hard you were afraid he could take a peek into your soul.

"What the hell was what." You deadpanned, avoiding his gaze.

"Don't be daft. You nearly had a panic attack when I told you to come meet me at the volleyball gym."

You cringed at the word 'volleyball', sighing deeply. "I just didn't want to make the extra trip, it was really hot outside-"

You stopped talking when Matsukawa abruptly sat up, eyes narrowed at you. "You're bullshitting me. Tell me the truth."

You felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. "I am telling you the-"

"I'll drag the entire volleyball team here if I have to." He drawled, a challenge in his voice. "You freaked me out yesterday. And it has something to do with my club. So tell me, or I'll find out somehow."

You felt your heart race. Dammit. You couldn't think of anything else. You couldn't think of a lie to placate him. And as you stared into his dark eyes, you knew you had lost.

Matsukawa Issei became the first person to know who your soulmate was.

He had dragged you out of the class after lunch break. There had been too much to unpack in that short amount of time. You hid behind the school overlooking the grounds, telling Matsukawa everything, like word vomit that you couldn't stop. You realized as you talked just how desperate you were to tell someone about all this. You had kept it in for so long that just saying it all out loud seemed to lighten your load.

A thick blanket of silence fell on you two when you finished, nearly out of breath. You watched Matsukawa intently as he stared out at the grounds, one leg pulled up to his torso and resting his arm on his knee. He sighed heavily, running a hand across his face.

"For someone who gets the best grades in our class, you have got to be the dumbest person I have ever met."

You blinked at his words, shocked. "Huh?"

He scowled deeply at you, shocking you even more. He looked almost angry.

"You think you know better than the universe? You think you're smarter than fate?" He raised his voice, looking pissed. "How can you think the gods were wrong when they paired you with Oikawa? And to make this huge decision, without even considering how Oikawa might feel-"

"How dare you." Your voice trembled, feeling tears prick at your lash line. "All I did was consider how Oikawa might feel. I put my own feelings aside-"

"What the hell makes you think this is what Oikawa wants?" Matsukawa raised his voice even more, nearly swelling up in frustration. "You don't know him. You don't know if he wants you. You can't make this decision for him!"

You reeled at his words, blinking your tears away furiously. What the hell was Issei implying? That Oikawa could actually make any alternative choice? It couldn't be. Why would he want you?

Issei's face was softening, watching the emotions flit over your face.

"Y/N," he continued. "You're my friend. I'd like to think I know you. And from what I've seen, I guarantee you that there is not one thing about you that Oikawa won't like."

"But I-" You drew in a trembling breath. "We're so different."

Issei snorted and shrugged. "Trust me, he needs that. Or his head would get too big for his own body to carry."

You two stayed silent for a bit, letting Issei's words wash over you like a cold shower after a hot day. Your heart was screaming at you to believe him, but your mind wouldn't let up. You heard him sigh and stand up, stretching his arms above his head. How long had you been out here anyway? It felt like hours. Was school over? What time was it?

"Alright, let's go." You snapped out of your thoughts at his words, blinking owlishly up at him.

"Go where?"

He didn't answer, waving your question off like he was swatting a fly before he grabbed your arm and pulled you up to your feet, not giving you a moment to breathe as he led you away.

"Issei-"

"Shut up. I've heard enough outta you." He didn't look back at you. You felt a sting of indignation, falling into silence and letting him drag you. You felt so burnt out.

You only tuned back into the present when you heard the squeaks and thuds on hardwood floors, tensing up when Issei climbed the three small stairs leading to the open volleyball gym doors. He tugged your arm when he realized you had stopped, turning to look at you. He gave you a soft look, almost pleading.

"He deserves this. Please."

You felt your shoulders slump in acceptance, mind stilling and slowing in its tirade of thoughts. With one last deep breath, you stepped inside.

Let me know what you think!

#haikyuu #oikawa tooru #oikawa tooru x reader #Oikawa x reader #oikawa toru x reader #oikawa tooru fanfiction #haikyuu fanfiction #oikawa tooru angst #oikawa soulmate au #soulmate au #oikawa x y/n #haikyuu oikawa #oikawa tōru #oikawa headcanons #oikawa fluff #Oikawa one shot

[dimepdf]

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐔𝐏 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐘𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐃. + 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐌𝐀 𝐊𝐎𝐙𝐔𝐌𝐄

masterlist. / taglist. / any request? synopsis. when your high school boyfriend broke your heart and destroyed your sense of self-worth, the last person you expected to mend it was some awkward scrawny gamer and his four-year-old son. video link inspo~

pairing. dlif!kenma kozume x fem!reader

word count. 4.1k

genre and warnings. +18 nsfw under the cut. minors dni, dilf!Kenma, ex!Oikawa, strangers to lovers, pwp, but the plot is holding on by a thread, black-coded reader, fluff, kid fic, cheating, toxic relationship, trust issues, Harue being an Ipad kid, hurt/comfort, clothed sex, biting, spanking, spit as lube, rough sex, light choking, finger sucking, underwear ripping, unprotected sex, creampie, slight nipple play, praise kink, whiny Kenma, slight femdom at the end, mentions of pregnation, domestic vibes, eye contact, not beta'd sorry bae | —  first anime piece, feedback is always welcomed & don't forget to reblog 🤍

You and Oikawa had been high school sweethearts up until the second year of college.

 You were a headstrong yet deeply hopelessly romantic type of person, the type to wear their heart on their sleeve, which was probably why you had fallen hard and fast for Oikawa’s charming charisma the moment you first met during your first year of high school.

 It was also the reason it took you six years to realize your boyfriend had been cheating on you with several different women behind your back since he left for college, and another year to realize he was not going to change after you had to officially let him go.

You discovered that during your relationship, you were constantly competing with other women who were just better than you at holding his attention.

Starting with transferring universities just so that you two could spend more time together, hoping that without the distance, he would pay you more mind or even fully pay the rent to your shared apartment in hopes that maybe, just maybe, he would come back home to you at night.

You had fallen to rock bottom trying to rekindle that light that you two once shared together, holding onto the dearest memories hoping that he would see how hard you were trying to change just to please him. 

To no avail, the night you came home early during your lunch break to find him in your bed with another woman had been the final nail in the coffin that buried all hopes of mending your love life.

 The first thing you did was kick him out, throwing all of his shit from the balcony window, and leaving him on the curb in nothing but his underwear trying to defend himself. In the same week, you decided it was better to just drop out of college and move back in with your parents, giving up on love completely.

Leaving your bedroom only to go to work or feed yourself, you had settled nicely into the single and bitter lifestyle for merely two years. Becoming an expert at dodging your family's questions that start with that special someone.

You had to admit that you had purposely not been seeking any type of inmate relationship with anyone since your ex. Discovering the still hollowing pit in your stomach seeing pictures of Oikawa seemingly with a new, different , beautiful girl on his Instagram account every month. 

You also understood that stalking your ex’s account was everything but the first step to moving on and going through acceptance, but your curiosity would just get the best of you every time you would scroll through your feed and flinch at seeing his posts.

It didn't help that while he was so busy living through his peak in adult life, you were stuck working the night shift, stocking up just to keep your side of the rent afloat.

At the prime age of twenty-one, your life felt so meaningless at the prime age of twenty-one even your parents nagged you about needing to stay out more and for better hobbies that didn't involve staying up for long periods of time with a PS4 controller in your hands. 

While most women your age were out doing hot girl shit, you were trying not to get back pain from squatting down to self things. You were lucky enough to get scheduled for the night shifts, only having a minimal amount of customer interactions at the twenty-four-hour Target.

The only people that would step foot inside the store around where you worked were usually guys looking to buy condoms or high school students looking to buy snacks.

The last thing you expected to see walking down your aisle was a lone child taking a look around.

Being in the book aisle, you had half expected the kid to have taken a wrong turn trying to get to the video games section, but to your surprise, the child seemed interested in the arranged literature that was stacked in front of him. 

Only being able to reach to the second shelf, standing on the tip of his shoes, reaching for a book, you couldn't help but smile at the adorable sight, side-stepping closer and grabbing it instead to help him.

"Here you go kid," just as you were about to hand the book away you froze at the bold printed title; Wine, Dine and 69 ways to get some: A Locker Room Guide to Scoring with the Beautiful Women of the World. Your smile dropped as your face fell neutral, glancing at the doe-eyed boy that came up to your hip in height in concern.

"Thank you, Unnie," he replied politely, taking the book from your hands with a slight lisp in his voice as his front teeth were missing, not being able to properly pronounce symbols yet still being able to shock you completely in how to handle the situation.

 "Don’t you think you're a little too young to be reading something like this?" You ask him with a quirked brow.

The little boy doesn't seem to understand the oddity in his choice of literature, holding out the book with both hands as his eyes scanned over the cover, not fully able to process some of the letters before nodding his head as if he had figured out something.

 "Oh, it's not for me, it's for my dad. I’m trying to help him get some." As if it were surprising enough, something about the child openly indicating that his father needed to get laid made you smack your hand over your mouth in the habit of holding back your laughter, struggling to keep your professional adult composer. 

"And just where is your dad?" You had just now realized how huge and bright the kid’s eyes were, almost a golden yellow shade as they widened, turning their heads frantically looking around the isle, finally realizing that he was without his guardian.

His lip poked out, his arms crossed with the book between him. You hadn’t got much of the ocussicanal baby fever hype. The need to want a clone of yourself was not really something that you had much in mind since breaking up with Oikawa, ruining your entire perception of growing up and starting a family with some other man.

"What a dick," He spouts harshly, "He left me again." as if it weren't the first time he had to call his father out; you weren't as lucky as the last time out, backing your reaction with a small "oop." passing through your lips before you could stop it.

"How about we go find him before he starts to get worried?" You offer to take his hand and abandon your station, starting to walk down the main aisle towards one of the intercom phones.

You hadn’t even fully made your way up a different section of the store before the kid jerked his hand away, passing by the video game section, his little shoes pattering against the tiled floors before engulfing an older man that was browsing the Nintendo games in a hug. "You said you wouldn't leave me again, you liar."

"I’m not a liar; you're the one who wandered away first." The man’s eyes glance at his son, seemingly unbothered by his frantic state, even grabbing the child by the top of his head and pushing him away to grab another Nintendo controller box from the shelf.

"You're supposed to look for me. What if a bad stranger tries to kidnap me?"

"Bad strangers only kidnap cute kids," he says blandly. The child, taking huge offense to his father's teasing, his dramatic gasp, and head turn, eyeing you in disbelief, made you stiff. Having both of them notice your existence while standing just a few feet away made you stiffer still.

You watch him stiffen up, completely clearing his throat and awkwardly setting aside the controller box before picking it back up once he realized that he needed a new one. 

From how easily he turned skittish, you were starting to understand why he needed a bit of help talking to women, to the point where even his son was struggling to find outside advice on how to help his dad score.

That had been your first introduction to the single father, the second time coming around that falling week when you had caught the pair during their day out.

The little boy was chewing his father out in the middle of the GameStop for murdering his Minecraft dog, so in revenge, he made him return the game entirely, claiming to be "scared for life." Then you were able to formally introduce yourself and have since formed a pretty odd relationship with the two boys.

Harue called you almost every day from Kenma’s iPad, just to tell you how his day went or ask if you wanted to come over and play games with him. Much to Kenma’s muttering protest, telling his son how you had more important things to do than come over, much to his surprise, you hadn’t.

During your first visit, you quickly realized how truly loaded Kenma was, meeting Harue outside in the lobby of the penthouse, the kid rambling the entire elevator ride up to the top floor.

It was also around that time that you found out they had been set financially for life because of Kenma’s microcelebrity status as a gaming review channel that harbored around six million subscribers as well as owning a huge percentage of big company stocks.

But despite their being extremely wealthy, the main reason you always came around was that they were genuinely charming because you thought the two had the most entertaining and most positive personalities that you've ever met.

You loved to spend time with the two, enjoying their constant bickering and debates on which game character was better than the other, which fast food place they should order dinner from that day, and even being the middleman on which sports car they should drive just to go to their local game store.

You have also learned that Kenma’s baby momma didn't even claim Harue. The two weren't even together when she showed up on Kenma’s doorstep crying about being a few months pregnant after ghosting him the night after their first date.

Once he had gotten comfortable around you, Kenma was very open about regretting having a one-night stand with the woman, but always made it clear to Harue that he would never change a thing if it meant he would end up being his dad.

As the year continued, you quickly realized the feelings you had for Kenma were more than friendly, and that fucking scared you. 

But Harue, being the master matchmaker that he was (along with using his dad’s credit card to purchase dating advice books), would always set up you and Kenma to fall into some scheme that would always leave you two alone and flustered in each other's company until you had gotten tired of the whole awkward talking phase and bit the bullet, leading to a shared confession between you two.

You had to admit it was odd getting back into the dating scene, but you were also a very petty bitch and made it known to everyone that you were practically dating a millionaire.

An evil smirk would always spread across your lips. Oikawa would always be one of the first people to swipe through your Instagram stories of Kenma and you spending the night at a fancy restaurant or view your Tiktok videos of you and Harue failing to attempt some new trend online.

Your lives had changed drastically in just a year of knowing Kenma. Spending another year dating each other felt like a dream waking up next to him every day.

★  .  .  .    !

As you continued to poke and prod at your braids, cursing yourself for thinking the thirty-inch locs were anything but practical for the poor, plain eight-dollar pack of hair scrunchies you had purchased from Target.

Some strands had managed to peek through when you were molding the bun into place on your head with two elastics. No matter how many times you huffed and leaned down, convinced you were going to pass out just trying to tuck them away. 

Leaning in closer to the mirror, humming at the sight of your hairstyle, your lips pouting as you tilted your head to the side before your eyes caught sight of your boyfriend through the glass, wanting a second opinion on how you looked.

Swaying towards the bathroom's wide door frame, you gave a small pose that had caught his attention, turning away from the YouTube video that played from the flatscreen mounted across the room.

Kenma’s brow arched in confusion, his eyes gliding down your figure before meeting your eyes once more, expecting him to at least compliment you, your arms failing, gesturing towards your hair. "Does this look?"

"It looks fine." He shrugged his shoulders, his face as neutral as the first day you had first met him.

Since you two had started dating, Kenma’s walk-in closet had gone through a drastic change, his usually neutral color shades expanding to warmer and brighter colors that were still in his comfort zone. 

It was like you had become his personal stylist, the way you would have to pick out his outfits for any occasion that was remotely close to formal in any way.

On the night of your anniversary, you had to convince him to take a shower and wear a dark gray sweater vest despite his claims of it making him look like a fucking nerd. You had paired it with a white collar button down that peeked from the bottom and covered the belt of his black slacks.

You could already tell he was itching to remove the layers, already yanking at the neckline of his vest and eyeing his gaming console from across the room.

In addition to trying your best to make the night as perfect as possible, you had to physically peel Harue away from his VR set with the bribe of McDonald's and make him spend the night at one of his friend's house just to secure as much time alone with Kenma as possible.

"Just fine?" you asked once more, earning a side glance from Kenma, his expression now blank as his arms crossed over his chest. You had known him long enough to understand every expression and gesture that the grown man made. You had considered it a curse at this point to be able to understand him so clearly.

"Ah!" you shout, snapping your fingers out towards him as if he were a dog caught doing something wrong. "Fix your face, you're too damn old to be whining about having to go outside." Then, you returned back into the bathroom to examine yourself once more, your fingers flattening the creases in your black cocktail dress as it stuck and shaped all of your curves perfectly.

"Now come make yourself useful and help me zip this please." Your request was quickly followed by a dramatic sigh, Kenma dragging his feet until he approached from behind you, with his hands guiding your hips still in place.

Your eyes rolled as he held eye contact through his thick lashes, teasing by biting into your shoulder. "We don’t have time for you to be kinky right now." With a hitch of your breath, you had managed to distract yourself by rummaging through your jewelry box, eyeing the different assortment of gold and silver necklaces that you thought would work well with the low cut of your dress.

Kenma didn't seem to mind your distaste, only continuing to trail small kisses up your neck, your thighs pressing together, his hand wandering down to the plump of your ass, winding his hand back and smacking it with an open palm as if he had owned it. "How do you expect me not to act up when you look so good?" he whispered in your ear, recognizing the dark gaze in his eyes.

You ignored it, holding up a single golden hoop earring to see if the design would clash with your dress as Kenma continued to fondle your ass through your dress. "You said I looked fine," you scoffed, smacking his hand away.

Kenma only chuckled, "So fucking fine," his long fingers reaching around to fondle your breast instead of guiding your hips back into his crotch, pushing against his erection. You allowed him to manhandle you into place, only sighing as you were quickly wrapped around his finger, caught in the web of his dorky charm that always left you leaning in for more.

"In fact," he hummed, using the hook of his fingers to drape the straps of your dress down your shoulders. "Let me show you how pretty I think you look." Already he had started to strip you, holding eye contact when his hand pressed against the middle of your back, bending you against the cold marble sink. 

His fingers trailed under the hem of the ass, yanking it over your ass, exposing your lace panties, and looking down at you like he had unwrapped the best present ever. With the sound of his belt struggling to get loose, you couldn't help but peek at his fingers eagerly trying to shake loose from the metal belt.

The sound of your chuckling reaction makes him glare up at you, yanking the leather from the belt loops and zipping his pants to release his cock, his fingers making quick work of your lace thumb, tracing over the material against your clit before hooking them to the side and tearing them. "My bad," he says half-heartedly.

"I’ll buy you another pair." Spitting in his hand and lathering his length in a mix of your wet arousal thrusting himself against your lips with a breathy sigh. 

His hand reaches out to grab around the front of your neck, forcing you to stand with your back pressed against his chest. "I want to see you." He mutters in your ear, a shiver running up your spine as he curved his thumb to tilt your head up to get a better look at your reaction in the mirror.

Your knees are almost bucking into the counter, smacking a hand against the surface to keep yourself from falling forward from the feeling of his fingers spreading apart your lips to press his cock inside of you with little to no ease.

His pace started off mercifully, as with every thrust you chased after the feeling of being stuffed so fully, "so pretty ___," Kenma sighs, his fingers pushing past your lips and into your mouth, your tongue instantly wrapping around the digit as his rhythm sped up into deeper strokes.

The squelching noises and the sound of skin on skin echo through the bathroom. Every thrust Kenma had to hold as you felt light-headed every time the head of his cock would rub against the spot that made all your muscles feel like jelly.

Practically an expert at knowing every nook and cranny of your body, "Ken, just like that–" you whine around his finger. He only replied in a low hum, his eyes focused on your body, entirely convinced that he had known your body more than you did from the way he would leave you feeling dizzy and your legs wobbling from an orgasm. 

His hands let you go free as you slumped against the counter in the new position. Kenma raises your thigh up by the hook of your knee to angle himself inside deeper, his fingers leaving an indent in the plush of your skin.

Even before you two were comfortable with having sex, he would always be too touchy. His fingers played with the bud of your nipples, grinding against you while spooning and even forcing you to crawl into his lap whenever you made out.

Much to Harue’s disgust, he walked in many times just trying to find where you had run off to, only to see his dad with his tongue down your throat.

To Harue’s luck, you had a strict "no sex while the kid is around" rule to keep any embarrassing and potentially scary childhood memories from forming at a young age.

But you had somehow gotten the worst end of the stick. His son seemed to have gotten the same homebody trait when he was always stuck in the home office with his private tutor.

After he had completed all his work, he never seemed to show any interest in leaving the comfort of his gaming setup. Kenma was left high and dry, usually for weeks until Harue’s friends would invite him over. Kenma suspected that their partners had caught on to his suffering and were practically throwing his son out when they came to pick him up.

He would always make up for the time that you two would spend alone together, eating you out to the point where you had been begging to take a break from how sensitive your cunt was, or making it a goal to fuck on every surface around the house that he possibly could.

"Shit," Kenma yanked the material of your dress away from your ass, his fingers spreading you apart to get the mouthwatering view of his cock sucked in, his length covered in a creamy white coat from your arousal. 

His controlled pace makes your thigh tremble, "you look so gorgeous like this angel." His compliments were almost tormenting from the way he had fucked even the gel from your edges, grasping onto your hips tightly as if you’d turn into putty and slip away if he weren't too careful.

"I’m so close," you plead as mascara-covered tears stream down your cheeks, the tightening feeling building in your gut.

The pleasure was unbearable as Kenma made it a point to fuck you like you were a personal sex doll custom made just for him to ruin. His name is constant on the tip of your tongue, moaning and gasping it like it was your favorite word. 

Your legs were wobbly like you had just figured out how to use them, planting them both back on the floor, leaning into Kenma’s front, too preoccupied with being fucked stupid to care about how your hips were smashing into the edge of the sink with every thrust.

It wouldn't be the first time Kenma had been the reason you would find questionable bruises on your body in the morning.

Your cunt clenched at the disheveled sight of Kenma who had been completely pussy drunk, his normally pale skin now flushed a light pink hue. 

His eyes squeezed tightly shut, with his canine teeth pointing from his lips as he bit in your shoulder to keep himself from whimpering out your name every time your pussy clenched around him so desperately. 

Leaning in and grabbing his chin to place a kiss on his mouth, like your lips were a reward. Kenma’s tongue was already poking from his mouth into yours. His fingers naturally gravitated towards your chest, as if he had found comfort in playing with your hardened nipples.

As his thumbs ran across your hardened buds, you shivered, your cunt clenching around him in response."You make me feel so good, baby," His hands gripped tightly against your torso.

His nails dug lightly into your skin, chasing his high, nuzzling his forehead against the back of your neck as he choked on the moan that threatened to pass from his throat.

"I wanna see your face, Ken-ken," you say, even with him plowing into you. You had still managed to sound so demanding.

Kenma was quick to melt into the little obedient boyfriend that he was, revealing his hazel eyes that glistened from the threat of shredding tears from how pussy drunk he felt. "Gonna cum in me, huh—ah, wanna get me all knocked up, pretty boy?" The praise affected him as expected, and Kenma grimaced at it, even ducking his head away as if turning away would be enough to hide his flushed reaction.

With the courage of a racing horse, he had delivered one more smack against your ass, which you thought was a nice finishing touch, apparently too nice as your end tumbled out of your walls, making his hips stutter, struggling to stay in sight at the sight of your orgasm.

The marble countertops were only being used to stabilize you as Kenma tugged out of you and released you on your backside with a low grunt.

There was a moment where clarity had settled in pulling away from his hands that groped at your ass. "I can’t believe your socially awkward ass just fucked me to get out of going to dinner." You hunched over the counter, trying to catch your breath as Kenma wiped your behind clean with a piece of tissue.

next part.

#[ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ ★ — t.wrks. ] #kenma kozume x reader #kenma kozume #kenma kozume smut #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #kenma x reader #oikawa tooru #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru angst #oikawa tooru fluff #oikawa angst #oikawa fluff #haikyuu!! #haikyuu fluff #hq x reader #hq fluff #haikyuu #hq smut

[nicohii]

in my room.

Pairing: Oikawa Tooru x Reader

Genre: Angst. Slice of life. Roommates to mutual pining. Timeskip. 

Tags: Oikawa haves a fit but works his way through it. 

Summary:  you're an exchange student. he's a foreign athlete who decided he needed a roommate. 11 months with oikawa: staring at ceilings and communicating through nods and heads buried in shoulders. inspired by in my room - chance pena and that one tiktok edit of fleabag confession.

You came into his unit sometime in the last month of the year. From a different country, with her suitcases and baggage. You both didn't really pay each other so much attention. Just enough to be civil roommates. The normal exchange student and her host spiel, the common tenant finding his unit a little bit colder and lonelier that he put up a lease for a new housemate kind of thing.

You tell him your name. A distinct accent in the last syllable. Something that you both differ, since his accent made it sound like slang, considering he, himself, came from a different country. But it’s your name all the same. He called himself Oikawa Tooru.

"Whatever feels best with you works." he smiles.

"Tooru sounds nice. Can I call you that?"

"That can work too." He offers a kind smile. A comforting one to a foreigner in a different land, scared to be alone for the first time. His smile is attractive. You can tell that it’s one that makes people fall to their knees with hands clutching their hearts and heat crawling up their cheeks. But to you, at that time, it was a warm welcome associated with a new home.

Shake hands. That is that.

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The apartment's wall was cream. A cozy off-white unit, with brown carpeting. Heavy black doors that made a distinct bang and latch sound when you let them close by themselves.

His studio -- which he was mostly in half of the day when he was not training, (he was an athlete, apparently – in the national team no less), had black walls. You just saw it once, when he asked for your help to set up the wiring under his table. He was too big to fit under it. His fingers though elegant and slender yet calloused from his years of battery as a setter, were still a little bit chubbier to fit in the small spaces between the edge of his table and the wall.

Your room had the same color as the apartment itself. Cream. Off-white. Bland. It often reminded you of your room from home, it's white though. With gray sheets and golden curtains. A hole in the window screen with uneven floors. This room though-- in Tooru’s unit, is smooth. Cream walls, white blinds, fluffy floors.

His room had blue walls. With silk sheets, sometimes they were cotton when the others were on the washer— with a white and teal jacket draped on one of the chairs. Aoba Johsai.

It's funny he said, he used to have red walls back home.

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Most of the time he was funny without even trying. There was one time he bought a television set and it took him three tries to get a functioning one.

You were not so sure, and maybe Tooru was too. When you started calling him not by his name but just a soft and sweet hey, or when he started hanging out with you a little more. When the soreness of his muscles or the homesick feeling in his stomach becomes a little less when he comes home to see you rummaging through the fridge, arranging the leftovers from your cooking in chronological order so he could take some with him in training or eat it in the morning.  When his usual alone walks during his day offs became linked arm slow walks with you in silence. Sometimes talking about which pubs to try next, which kind of liquor in your country fucked you up the most that you can’t wait to have him try. Or talk about the food he could not stand.

You were not sure how you found yourself in his room when he was having a fit. You learned that he had this thing when he gets frustrated, he explodes. In the times when he finds it unbearable and tiring to play the part of the loveable pretty boy and just wants to unleash all his frustrations and anger in the world, and when overworking himself isn’t enough, he just goes boom.

Yelling but not asking you to leave. He hates it, he thinks it’s an ugly part of him. Something that he had locked up for a long time even back at home. Only to be unleashed behind closed doors and shared with just his closest friends. He expects you to leave in the middle of it all. To pack your bags or to keep yourself in your side of the house.

But you look at him not with any tinge of what he expects. Not even with pity. You look at him with what looks like relief. Of what? He tries to ask. You just shrug, I would be more surprised if you didn’t, Tooru. C’mon, nobody’s that perfect. Besides, that rage deserves to be let out. And you don’t leave his side while he’s at it. You listen to all his angry musings, and you just sit there until he finally spends his energy yelling in rage, and he'll calm down. He'll curl up in bed and you'll leave, quietly with no judgment. Put the kettle on and make tea. He will drink it later when he’s feeling better.  For now, you will leave him with his well-needed space. You retreat to your room.

There is a fresh pot of coffee when you come out that night. Black, no sugar – just how you make it. With your favorite mug cleaned on the side.

Thank you.

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Most of the time, you wear black. Regardless of the fucking Argentinean heat. It is cold. Compared to your hometown’s heat--and even then, you drink piping hot coffee. It is a story that somehow comes and goes in his mind. It’s random, but somehow, he keeps on remembering that.

It is rare that you find yourself like this, in an outdoor café in the middle of the town square. Pouring rain, with Oikawa Tooru silent in the seat in front of you. Something is wrong you can tell. He likes telling you stories. Likes telling stories about this show he's watching, this new game plays the team is trying, upcoming games, crazy fan stories, his mom, his dad, and his friends –not today though. But it is fine, you'll wait until he is ready. For now, you'll settle with observing that he also likes wearing gray.

A gray sweater, in a gray café, in gray weather.

He moves to sit next to you, before the both of you decide to leave. It’s your umbrella, your sure. You can tell by the color. The heat from his arm seeps into you, you can feel it despite the layers of your coat. He does not want to talk, but he wants to stay close.

It's fine we can stay this way, you try to tell him as you nudge him with your arm. You doubt he knows what it meant, much less even feeling it in the first place. Given the size difference.

There is a light smile on his lips, and he nods.

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Most of the time, Oikawa Tooru is horny. A little bit oversexualized, but normal nonetheless. He makes sex jokes, and shares his experiences and you can only listen in shock, wonder, intrigue and sometimes in amusement.

But there are times... there are times you can tell when he's trying to pretend everything's fine. Because Tooru is your friend, and you know that you are far from what gets him going-- what gets him hard.

So, you know that something is wrong when the silent walk ends up with you in his room, his sheets in disarray. And the both of you sit together on the edge of his mattress. He is silent, in deep thought. He can't even look at her before he makes a move to take off his shirt and you grab his arm.

His shirt is never taken off, his lips never kissed, but his eyes teary.

"You know you can talk to me, Tooru Whatever it is, I can listen."

And you are reminded that the ceilings as well are colored cream. Cream with a light bulb and white cornice. You recount the details as you let him sob on your shoulder. Wrapping both of his long arms around one of yours.

Right. Right arm. So small compared to his.

You can't help but think how at this moment, he feels so small. You can't help but think that not even when she can feel his tears on her shirt. When it's bleeding into her skin. When he sobs, his deep voice in broken hiccups. Saliva almost mixes with snot. But it's fine.

The tears in his eyes become prominent against the collar of your shirt, cloth wet that it sticks to your skin. You just stay there and let him sob his heart out against your shoulders. He wonders how in the world did that happen, to find this deep level of trust to share this level of vulnerability between two beings coming from different ends of the world, meeting in the middle.

We can just stay like this, you try to tell him again...with a nudge.

The hug on your arms grows tighter; a nod against your shoulder.

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You are in the same town square as the café, on a bright day. When it's not too hot, not too cold. Not too sunny, not cloudy either.

And Tooru is doing better. You can tell. He smiles better now. And you know that even if he may have his fit every now and then, his smile tells you he can handle it now. Alone.

And maybe that is it.

Maybe that is why as you approach him, with snacks in your hand that you bought from a store that sold snacks from your country, ones you wanted him to try... you can't bring yourself to look at his eyes.

Even if he looks so happy and at peace now.

How can 11 months feel like a decade? How can you know someone for a while and feel like you've been with them for a lifetime?

It's a shame, really. Could have been a year.  You scoff at your idea. You deny it. It’s easier than telling him that what would happen next is hard for you too. Even more than him.

There is a suitcase beside the bench. He keeps looking at it the way you look at him. A forced smile, but understanding knowing.

Ah. We both can't look at each other's eyes.

"Want to go for a short walk?"  You try to ease the silence. Try to start a light conversation between two friends, praying out there that he does not hear the crack in your voice.

We can just stay like this, he tells you through a nod. Like those silent nudges before. No words. Both of you just seem to know.

He wears black now too. Similar to the ones you wore all those other times. A black coat, a black shirt, black jeans, and black boots. Well, would you look at that? This is the first time you saw him wear black... at a party... he was also saying goodbye. Was it a teammate who was switching teams? A retiring coach? You couldn’t remember. All you know is that he asked you to come with him because he didn’t want to be alone and he didn’t want to go with some random partner either. So, he brought you.

...and it finally makes sense.

Whose suitcase is it.

You sit on the other end of the bench, a space between. Just a suitcase in between. The gray cobble road, the black lamp post, and an alleyway in front between two establishment walls. The both of you just stare ahead.

Oikawa Tooru makes no attempt to move and touch you, you don't either.

"You can make it now." You say staring at the floor. Apparently cobbled stones look like their bursting, their convex tops embossing themselves.

"Yeah." Oikawa Tooru responds. Staring at the wall in the alleyway. He remembers this is where he took a picture and used it on his profile on a specific social networking site.

"I think...I loved you." You whisper. You almost don’t want to say it. Don’t want to admit it. But that's the thing, isn’t it? You don’t get to heal from something without first admitting that you're sick in the first place. You don't get to let go without admitting you had it.

You finally try to look at his eyes. Their brown. With thick brows and almost like a scar in between. His stubble and mustache are starting to grow again, not that thick but enough to make a silhouette of where they were before. But you— you know where they are even if they aren’t there, he let you shave them in the first place.  There's a faint smile on his lips.

"It'll pass," he says so softly. And you want to fool yourself if he's tearing up too, but you know that truthfully, you don’t know.

Because by the time he told you it'll pass, it's a blur. He is right.

You take the suite case.

The ceiling is white.

#oikawa x reader #oikawa toru x reader #hq oikawa #timeskip oikawa #timeskip oikawa angst #oikawa tooru #oikawa angst #oikawa tooru angst

[shisnhou]

MEMORIES.

pairing: oikawa tooru x gn! reader

genre: angst, heartbreak

cw: hints at a past toxic/unhealthy relationship, might contain errors

wc: tbc

an: i wrote this half asleep

you‘ve dreaded for this moment to come.

you‘ve tried to drag it out for as long as you possibly could have. but one can only do so much when something, had already been written down on your faith book. all that dodging goes down the drain when his brown eyes look you up and down while he stands by the door way.

"hey."

"oh,"

just by looking at him, you can feel all the memories hit you like a truck. all the things you‘ve done just to drag this moment for so long, falls straight to that hole, dragging you by your ankles.

"how‘re ya?" he smiles so sweetly as if he had not just broken your heart merely months ago, as if he hadn‘t ripped it into shreds right before your very eyes, speaking so casually as if he had not just left you there as a broken piece.

"what’re you doing here, oikawa?" you hate that you easily allowed him to walk into your life again just by ringing your doorbell. you hate how easy it is for him to walk back into your life and act so casually. you hate how easy it is for him to see your protective barriers dissolve into thin just because you saw him.

in short, you hate him.

"i just want to talk." oh, there he goes again, seducing you with his tongue as he did before. those words of his, they fall so easily from his lips. whether he knows it or not, it surely makes an impact on you. an impact you wish would not sway you.

"i don‘t want to. goodbye." is your stern reply before you shut the door out. there is no desire in you, nor does you brain allow you to talk to him. however your heart, it so deeply wants it, no matter how irrational it may seem.

and as if he had heard your heart‘s desire, he sets his foot between the frame and the shutter. his hand on the wooden door as he looks at you with his pleading brown eyes.

"please," he pleads. you hate it. "i‘ve— i‘ve got no one else to walk to. you‘re the only one i‘ve got left. i— i can‘t hold it in anymore."

you hate him.

you hate this situation.

you hate it all.

you hate it so much because you allow him to walk into your home with his face falling into the crook of his neck. you swallow thickly as you shut the door with your foot, feeling his tears fall unto your skin as his hands clutch your waist ever so tightly; like you‘d run away if he doesn‘t.

as you lead him to the kitchen with his sobs falling past his lips, you also feel your tears brim your eyes. all your efforts are gone, simple as that, within the blink of an eye, gone as if it had never existed in the first place. you tried so hard to move on. for months and months on end, actively distracting yourself so hard to get over him.

it was stupid of you to think you‘re actually over him when you know deep inside you‘d let him so easily walk back into your life like this.

"i can‘t do this anymore, (y/n)!" he cries. a bottle of wine in his hand as he curls himself on the corner. you wish to yell 'so can‘t i!' at him as well, but you can‘t. if you do so, you feel like you‘d break your fragile heart even more.

time passes just like that. and now it‘s quarter past three. you‘re intoxicated, and so is he. he‘s a sobbing mess, and you‘re no better.

"c— can‘t we just go back to the way it was? before.. before it was all so complicated..?" he cries, looking at you with pleading eyes. with those words, you only feel more tears bleed from your eyes as your skin grows warmer.

"tooru—" you stutter, clenching your fists as you wrap your hands around yourself. "we- we can‘t keep doing this, okay? i— i can‘t be your friend, we— i— we‘ve just gone through so much! and i feel that if we become friends again, it would just through away everything we had had. everything we kept so sacredly would be nothing."

"no! i— we can try again—!"

"no we can‘t!" you finally exclaim. fat tears are dripping harshly from your eyes as you put your hands on your head, clenching the roots of your hair tightly. "no matter how hard we fucking try it‘s never going to work out! the ending will always be the same because— for fuck sake— you and i were never meant to be in the first place!"

as much as it hurts you to say so, you have to say it. the truth hurts, and it always will.

"so please… don‘t make it harder than it already is. we can‘t keep doing this anymore, tooru." you mumble through your sobs and he looks at you with his tears already down his neck, flowing harshly like a river.

silence wallows you both. only the sounds of tears, sniffles, and sobs echo throughout the room. the smell of heartbreak reeks harshly in the air, evading the once cool air, causing it to go stuffy.

"i guess— i guess we‘re never going to be it, huh?" he bitterly says to himself, looking at the ground as he swallows hard. "there really is no going anywhere with what he had, right?" he grits through his teeth, looking up and swallowing as he holds back the sobs stuck in his throat.

"tell me, did me showing up ruin things for you?" it seems like he has become sober, as if all the alcohol he had downed went out of his body. "because when i came here, i couldn‘t get a grip on myself. i wanted to maybe see, see if you would still take me in. i wore the things you like so that i‘d make even the slightest appeal. but i guess— i guess it won‘t do shit." his voice falters with every line due to the emotions stuck on his throat.

you have no idea as to what you should say, because in truth, you‘re no better than he is. there is not a single bone in your body that‘s not telling you to run to back to him, but your mind seems to freeze your movements, saving you from the heartache.

"we- we never really went anywhere else, tooru." you shakily sigh, looking down at him as you bite your lower lip. "so, we shouldn‘t be eachother‘s reason as to why we can‘t fall in love with someone else."

you feel like dying as he nods, showing that he‘s agreeing. you don‘t want him to agree. no matter how much it hurt you and traumatized you to be with him, you can‘t just put him in the back of your head to be eventually forgotten.

"if— if this is then— let me— i—" he can‘t even comprehend a proper sentence. hands in his hair as he bawls his eyes out right there. you don‘t even notice it, when he runs up to you and hugs you so tightly. his hands are on your waist as he cries on to you, head above yours as he smells the familiar smell of your shampoo, hugging you tightly as he kisses your head. "i— i‘m sorry. we— i broke us off. i‘m sorry i broke your heart. but i can‘t let you go. my heart leads to you all the time, no matter where i am."

"tooru—"

"but if me clinging unto you will hurt you more, then so be it." he sadly whispers, giving you one last squeeze as he kisses your forehead lovingly, tears damping you up. "i won‘t drag this further. i‘ll set you free, set me in the past, and move on. i‘ll just take what i have left here so that you move on and forget about me."

you can‘t even respond, unable to move as he walks past you, straight to your room. it breaks your heart worse, hearing him rummage through the closet you both once shared. it‘d been left untouched, you left it be. maybe because a part of you really hoped to let him back in. yet it with the turn of events, it won‘t happen anymore.

you stand there for as long as he finishes. he finally has everything he owns. the book you both read, the stuffed toy of him that he gave you, his highschool jersey that you loved so much, the shoes he owns that matches with yours, and lastly, the photo album you had made for him.

"i— i‘ve got it all." he whispers, looking down as he clenches his full hands hard. "i‘m— going. i won‘t hurt you any longer." his eyes never failed to meet yours as he speaks and he doesn‘t dare take a step towards you, in fear that if he does, then maybe he won‘t be able to leave after all.

"so maybe, this is goodbye." he chuckles grimly with a forced smile, yet you cannot seem to return to him. not the chuckle. not the bitter smile. yet instead, the goodbye.

as the old saying goes, saying goodbye entails that you‘ll never see them ever again. you can‘t even bring yourself to speak as he walks away with a heavy heart, sobbing quietly before the door closes so loudly yet so quietly behind him. silence envelopes you as you fall to the ground before loud wails of heartbreak come from you.

now that he‘s gone, said his goodbye, he‘s no longer coming back, and now you‘ll be forced to let him stay merely in your memories.

content belongs to @shisnhou on tumblr! do not repost, copy, use, or modify!

#oikawa x gn reader #oikawa x gender neutral reader #oikawa x y/n #oikawa x you #oikawa x reader #oikawa angst #oikawa fluff #oikawa tooru x y/n #oikawa tooru x you #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa tooru angst #oikawa tooru fluff #haikyuu oikawa tooru #aoba johsai x reader #tooru oikawa #oikawa tooru #oikawa smut #hq oikawa #oikawa fic #haikyuu angst #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x plus size reader #haikyuu x imagines #haikyuu x gn!reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x gender neutral reader #hq angst

[yeahthatwouldbedark]

Yen per second

tropes: death trope, friends to lovers (if you have won a golden medal in squinting really hard), rivals to lovers, bully romance bestie, college au, friends with benefits, Oikawa and reader have known each other since childhood.

trigger warnings (for the entire series): child abuse, domestic abuse, sexual abuse, bullying, depression, child neglect, terminal illness at some point, broken home, mental breakdowns, panic attacks, anxiety, death, injuries (Oikawa’s bad knee for example), substance abuse. 

Chapter 6 

22.9k words 

December 15th

Her hands sting as she applies soothing cream on her palm on which there lies a network of channels of dry, inflamed skin. December is anything but kind. But is the weather to blame for forgetting to care for her body and appearance? Yet, it seems she is not alone in her suffering because the moment Rin starts rubbing his hand together after she has squirted some cream onto the back of Rin’s hand, he winces and cusses out loud. There is no one to hear them anyway. She doubts anyone would stumble upon them if they were to run around naked.

Y/n almost wonders why it was that they chose to sit down here of all places; on the grass when the sidewalk is right up the hill and a few kilometers to the south there is a convenience store where they could slurp some spicy ramen. I suppose they wished for the privacy of utter solitude, ruptured occasionally only by the cars rushing by, few and far between. They need the sporadic interruption to bring them down to earth when their conversations have soared too far above. There goes another car, the passengers utterly oblivious to their existence.

“So…” He starts, grimacing as he spreads the cream between his cold fingers. “You’ve made up your mind then.”

At first, she doesn’t understand what he’s getting at. But there’s only one thing she could be contemplating, that they would have caught wind of from Ayame.

Y/n shrugs and thrusts the tube inside her backpack among her books and pens.

“Pretty much.” She confirms. Beside her, Suna glances at her before looking forward to avoid being caught. “Why?”  

Rin sighs just as a gust of cold wind blows their way. Both of them shiver and look at each other as if to confirm they are not alone in the agony stemming from their unfathomable stupidity.

Successfully suppressing a smile, he says, “Not gonna tell you what to do but…

His trailing off has her staring intently as he expects her to simply guess the remainder of his sentence.

“But what?” Y/n tilts her head and places her fist near his mouth. “Speak into the mic, Suna-sama.”

Sighing, Rin rests his forearms on his knees. “You could move into an apartment in the building where I live.”

“Why?” She asks, lowering her fist on her lap.

“To keep an eye on you?” Upon meeting her gaze, he adds, “Someone has to.” 

Y/n rolls her eyes and is about to respond with a light-hearted jab at his irresponsible nature being far worse than hers, when his ringtone beats her to it as he fishes it out of the pocket of his black padded coat (they’re matching by the way) and grimaces at the screen. Breath coming out in puffs of steam, he brings the device to his ear.

“I’ve been busy.” He says.

In the meantime, Y/n pulls out blades of grass and starts dividing them into strips as thin as she can make them. She often does this when the silence is too loud, a silence that asphyxiates instead of alleviating the unease of the person that dwells in it. One by one, bit by bit, the blades of grass are as thin as individual strands of hair, something in which she finds comfort. Now the grass is something she can relate to.

Next to her, Rin tenses and presses his knuckles against his thigh, cracking them as if to provide some relief for the discomfiting conversation he’s been thrust into. At least, Y/n deduces it is discomfiting by the frown that has his face contorted in an expression of barely suppressed frustration. He could explode at any moment, Y/n thinks, and might go as far as to catapult the poor phone further down the hill.

“Yeah.” He speaks again. “Yeah, I’m coming.”

When she glances at him, Y/n meets his eyes. A small smile rises triumphantly on his lips. But it is gone as soon as it appears, leaving her less than two seconds to enjoy it, to respond to it with a tilt of her own lips.

“No.” He responds with a deadpan face, and the voice on the other end becomes louder, nearing a shrill cry, and Rin pulls the phone away from his ear as if to lessen the blow. “Because I don’t wan- okay fine, fine. Don’t yell. Your blood pressure’s gonna skyrocket. Bye. Yes, I will. Now, bye. See you.”

Rin makes no effort to conceal his discontent with how he sighs, grunts, shoves the phone in his pocket and viciously zips it up to the point where he has to check he hasn’t accidentally ruined the zipper. As soon as he calms down, Y/n abandons the blades of grass, leaving them at the mercy of the wind, wraps her arms around her bent legs, and lays her head upon her knees. She’s glad for the padded coat, as it serves as a cushion. Were it not for Rin seething with malcontent she would allow her consciousness to be swept off its feet, carried away by the wind. The cold be damned.

“Your grandma?” Y/n asks, knowing only his grandma could force him to do things he normally would never care to do.

He nods. “She wants to parade me to her circle of friends in hopes of getting me to settle down with one of their nieces.”

At this, Y/n makes a sound resembling the lovechild of a snort and a snicker.  

“Good luck to her.”

Only a few moments pass after which Rin turns to her with an expression bordering on… pleading? He reaches for her and sinks his fingers into her frizzy mane (the cold isn’t doing her any favors). The sensation of ice-cold fingers gently pressing into her scalp has her almost wanting to lean into his touch and trying to escape the soothing contact in equal measure.

When his words reach her ear, they sound just as pleading and annoyed as his bearing appears. “Can you do me a favor?”

Y/n’s eyebrows join in confusion.

“What kind?” She inquires.

Before every uncomfortable revelation, comes the comical pause.

“Come with me and pretend we’re dating so I can get my grandma and those hags off my back.”

Seeing as he has, for years, pretended to be her “boyfriend” during gatherings, his shouldn’t come as a surprise to her. Yet, she sits there, stunned and rooted to the spot. Even she can understand that what he’s asking of her is vastly different from pulling pranks or joking around. His grandma is not one of the douchebags at random parties or the waiters they lie to in order to get free couples’ desert. If he takes this thing a step further, it would be as if they are truly together. It wouldn’t matter that they knew the truth, because the person who raised him would be living in a separate reality.

She racks her brains for a satisfying response. All the while, Rin’s eyes roam her face in search of a definite answer.

“I think you’d have better chances convincing her you’re dating someone else.” Is what she settles for.

Exhausted, Rin presses on, “Because the people I’m fucking definitely wouldn’t start deluding themselves.”

For some reason, Y/n finds his exasperation funny.

“No, I just think they’re better actors.” She says, pausing for effect and watching as his curious gaze sweeps over her, “Seeing how they have to fake their orgasms nightly.”

Just as she predicted he would, Rin scoffs and laughs it off, letting go of her. On the other hand, Y/n is overcome by the desire to indulge him, to make good on her promise to him and herself; no more outside looking in. This is so far out of her comfort zone that nausea builds up in her throat at the mere thought of him being seen with someone like her. Because what if an acquaintance of hers spotted them roaming the streets? What would they say of Rin? Would they embarrass her in public, thus humiliating him? Suddenly, the cruelty of the cold seems unbearable. Around her legs, her arms tighten.  

“I don’t mind coming with you if you don’t.”

Her answer lightens the mood. A tilt of his lips is more than enough to light up his entire face. Contentment bleeds through his glittering irises. Y/n wishes for nothing more than to chase the sparkles in his eyes like fireflies, and she is given the chance to do just that when his fingers find shelter in her hair once more, pulling her ever so close.

Face less than three inches from hers, he whispers teasingly, “My favorite person.”

If she had any inkling of the ferity of his thoughts, she might be able to understand that the atmosphere is that of sexual tension. But she’s neither high, nor drunk, so this state of sobriety renders her incapable of playfulness of that degree. This and the fact that she doesn’t believe he would flirt with her with the intent to seduce her. It’s just to tease her, she convinces herself.

That’s why, when another gust of wind depletes the last remnants of warmth, Y/n finds herself rolling her eyes.

“Your favorite person is about to freeze to death.” She mutters, burying her face further into her knees.

His grip on the roots of her hair tightens for an instant before he lets go. “Better take you home then.”

And all of a sudden, she’s being hauled to her feet by two strong arms, and the hood of her padded jacket is thrown over her head. Feeling stupid for having forgotten to cover her head, she instantly buttons up the front, securing the hood so the wind can’t knock it back. Of course, Rin gives her small teasing smile, joining her in their journey up the hill.

“Yeah, before Ayame and Haru come back.” She mutters, hoping Rin won’t hear.

“I’m taking you to mine, baby.”

Her head snaps up at him. He merely takes her hand in his and begins walking faster to work up their muscles and generate warmth. Lord knows why he even brought her here. Rin himself is at a loss for how fucking stupid he can be to be honest. If she gets sick, he’s bringing her to his dorm and feeding her shrimp pizza to make up for it. Opportunistic and proud.

“We gotta rehearse all the possible scenarios my grandma could hit us with.” He can tell they’re close to the top by the sound of a car whooshing by. She tries to keep up but slips more than once, and each time he helps her back on her feet. “Let’s hope we don’t slip up in front of her.”

  December 20th

It should be noted that… Rin doesn’t like going home. By home I mean the place where he was raised by his grandma. All she does is pester him, smother him, and tell him he should settle down now that he is an adult. Her views on what constitutes virtue, a noble way of life, and a decent human being differ from his. In the end, they quarrel. He goes to his childhood bedroom as she begs him to listen to her because she only wants what’s best for him. Rin always refuses.

Yet, there is only so much running he can do before he once again succumbs to his grandmother’s wishes and returns to the hearth. Every time, he has been alone, listening to the other hags badmouth him to his face with a smile as his grandma watches on, eyes cast down. This time, however, he has an ally, a ride-or-die whose presence will surely make them hold their tongues. After all, he’s now “taken”. They can no longer force him to date their granddaughters.

During the train ride, Rin is aware of her flitting, anxious gaze that settles on a random part of him before once again relocating. Her behavior reminds him of the mannerisms of a skittish animal in a small cage, fighting against the slim metal bars, forever distrustful of the human observing it, fearing that the next moment will bring a fate close to death but far crueler. And Y/n is nothing if not distrustful of everyone around her. The only things she doesn’t seem to regard with dread are natural phenomena. Cloistered inside her room beneath at least four layers of blankets, there is no storm so rancorous as to shake the foundations of her peace. Even now, she sits in front of him, her gaze at last settling on the hail laying waste to crops as the train flashes past them. The sky darkens, and the sweat on her forehead gradually evaporates. The storms ravage the fields, and her breathing slows to a rhythm as serene as Christmas lights turning on and off at a drowsy pace. Without Rin noticing, his chest mimics hers.

They’re hauling their luggage out of the train when Rin decides to make a promise wholly unusual of him.

“One of these days I’ll take you dancing in a snowstorm.”

Fixing her scarf so it covers her pink nose, Y/n says, “Is that a threat or a promise?”

“I’ll make you dance until you fall.”

He takes hold of her suitcase before she has a chance to protest and leads them both away from the tracks and to where taxi drivers have parked in search of potential passengers. The trip is long enough to allow them some time to take in the sight of the buildings, the frozen buckets filled with water that has frozen entirely, people scurrying to find shelter in cafes and convenience stores… until the sky runs out of rain so that snow can pelt the streets again. Nothing impresses Rin (he grew up here anyway). What eats away at him is the possibility that Y/n might not like his childhood home, however slight it may be. To cope with these thoughts, he takes to scrolling on his phone before his eyes shift to where she sits with her head angled toward the glass, gloved fingertips trapped between her lips. A picture wouldn’t hurt, right? Not if she’s in the dark about it.

His childhood home is by no means small. In fact, his grandmother was so successful as a sex worker back in the day that she was able to purchase a home that could comfortably house four people. As a child, Rin had always found it odd that there were so many rooms when relatives rarely visited and never stayed the night. The two of them were, for lack of better circumstances, alone in the world. Now he understood, as best as he could, that there had always burned an inextinguishable yearning for a family within his grandmother. His mother and the rest had always looked the other way and let it burn alone. Rin was the only one who stood before it, soaking up its warmth.

So why is his voice nearly trembling as he wraps his arms around his grandmother’s shoulders? Why is he shivering inside a home so warm?

“How have you been?” He asks her, not having the courage to pull away from someone who is overjoyed to see him after months of being absent from home. So, he lets himself float in this uncertainty, glancing at Y/n. Their eyes meet. “You’re not overworking yourself, are you?”

His grandmother pulls away first. Her smile lines deepen as she cradles his face in her callused palms.

“I’m better now that you’re here,” She tells him and he could swear she sounds out of breath, “And that you’ve brought your girlfriend with you.”

To be clear, the entire world and their mothers know that Rin is not a shy person. Truth be told he’s perplexingly blunt and unapologetic about plenty of things. However, having a girlfriend and Y/n being that supposed girlfriend is nothing short of uncharted territory, especially when being labeled as such by someone other than the two of them. This is part of the reason why he is momentarily stunned upon hearing those words mentioned in the same sentence.

Shaking it off with a slight smile, Rin places his palm on his grandma’s shoulder.

“Grandma, this is L/n Y/n.” He introduces, watching the glint of contentment come back to life in the old woman’s eyes, “Y/n, grandma.”

Y/n gives a 90-degree bow. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

This time, his grandmother’s teeth can be seen as she finds it impossible to suppress a grin. Y/n takes the time to study her features. She can’t help but compare them to Rin’s. Kobayashi Tadame and Suna Rintaro, she determines look nothing alike. His features are angular whereas hers are round, be it their eyes or their cheekbones. His eyes are green while hers are brown like tree bark. His lips are full with a slight sharpness to the cupid bow and hers are small and pouty. He has to lean down to hug her for she is shorter even than Y/n. Where he is slightly unruly and direct, she is all ironed shirts and propriety. Overall, there isn’t much likeness to be found between Rin and his grandmother.

“The pleasure is all mine. You look lovely, dear.” The grandmother turns to Rin as if to help him remember what he could never forget, “She is lovely.”  

The compliment is received with a whispered gratitude on Y/n’s end. “Thank you, grandma.”

“Come on, the living room is warm. I got it all ready for you.”

Without further ado, his grandmother starts ushering them forward, the suitcases rattling from behind as they speed walk down the corridor. On the walls hang pictures of his grandmother and him throughout the years; the first time he ate cotton candy after his mother passed away, that one time he made a snowman out of dough, his first volleyball match, him and his teammates the night before they all set off to college, and so on. Y/n takes it in like wine, already drunk on the evidence of his experiences. One could say she perceives the world through the memorabilia of other people’s lives.

She is pulled back to the present when Rin points out the kotatsu in the living room, all but running toward it to sneak under it like a toddler being left off the parental leash at a playground. To Y/n’s surprise, grandma gently guides her to where Rin is currently lying on his back, scrolling through his phone. Unbeknownst to her or his grandma, he’s hyperaware of every bit of interaction between the two and is willingly excluding himself from the narrative. If he intervenes, he fears it will only be for the worse.

“My grandson has come home with the girl he loves.” His grandmother says, now making her way to the kitchen, “I want you to be warm and comfortable.”

Once the elderly woman has disappeared behind the curtain that separates the two rooms, Y/n occupies the space in the kotatsu next to Rin who puts his phone down and speaks in a low voice.

“I guarantee she’s made shrimp pizza from scratch.”  

Curious, she turns to look at him, “Why?”

Rin shrugs. “Because I told her that’s your favorite. Look.”

As if on cue, grandma pushes aside the curtain and enters the living room carrying two plates of steaming slices of godliness.

“She’s hell-bent on making you stay.” He elbows her on the arm. “You can’t leave me now that you’re being spoiled rotten by my granny.”

“Watch me.”

“Uhuh. Gonna give you a head start.”

After placing both plates on the table along with the two cans of coke, grandma relishes the two of them as they dig in.

“Here, are you two warm?” The kind woman asks, “Do you need me to bring you some more tea?”

The two of them shake their heads.

If you wish to know, I could tell you what is running through her mind at present. How could she be thinking about anything other than the fact that her grandson has finally found someone to care for in the way she wishes she had been cared for in her youth? Both the boy and the girl are deserving of these slivers of joy that companionship can grant them, far and few between though they may be. She can see it… the slivers coming to life as they trade slices, shoving them into their mouths, licking their fingers one second, and snickering about it the next. The moment turns turbulent when a knock comes at the door.

Their mirth dies down as the rapping of the knuckles at the door becomes more insistent. Rin looks at his grandma, trying to glean a response from his grandma. In turn, she avoids his gaze as if meeting it would brand the truth on her eyelids.

“That’ll be Mrs. Nakamura and Mrs. Fujimoto.” She mutters instead, wiping her hands on the midnight blue apron. “They insisted to know when you were coming. I will go let them in.”

She’s barely out of the living room when Y/n hears Rin groan exasperatedly.

“Fuck!” He curses under his breath.

Before she can ask him if these guests are the ones who insult him every time he comes home, she gets her answer as Rin takes to just punching random apps on his phone the moment the two women peek inside. Like most old women middle-aged women do when presented with fresh meat whose insecurities they can identify and exploit, these women are not even two introductions in, when they do what they do best.  

“She’s so petite.” Mrs. Fujimoto, a woman of stout build, chortles as she takes a seat next to Y/n. “Are you sure you can handle him?”

Frowning at the woman, Y/n shifts closer to Rin.

“Handle him?” She asks, conscious that her thigh is pressing against his.

“Oh, you know,” Laughs Mrs. Nakamura, waving her confusion off as something negligible. “When he gets angry at you, can you hit him back?”

No, I can’t. That is the first thing that pops into her head, her involuntary response. Ashamed that she would think to respond with that, she looks everywhere but Rin, whose gaze is trained on her side profile. It is as if he’s waiting for her to speak, to defend him, to make good on her promise. Yet her lips are sealed and her throat is clogged as if with blocks of cement. Now aware of the situation, Rin takes matters into his own hands.

“What kind of person do you think I am?”

Mrs. Nakamura’s eyes narrow with feigned mirth.

“Oh, come on,” She “jests”, “You’re young and you’ve always been an impulsive boy. It’s only normal that you would get angry from time to time.”

As if the insinuation that Rin is abusive wasn’t cruel enough, Mrs. Fujimoto picks up where her friend left off.

“My granddaughter is still heartbroken, you little rascal.” She says with just as much forced amusement, laughing as she reaches out to “playfully” smack Rin on the arm.

Finding her touch repulsive, he instinctively retracts his arm and hides it under the kotatsu, where he tries to erase her touch with the scrape of his nails. I shouldn’t have trimmed them, he thinks.

“What does that have anything to do with this?” He groans, “I never hit her.”

Mrs. Fujimoto doesn’t take kindly to being defied, “Do not-

“Rin doesn’t get angry at me.”

The words have passed the threshold of her lips before Y/n can think to stop them. She can feel Rin ceasing to rub his arm raw beneath the thick blanket, his gaze trailing up to her face once more. For the first time, she’s glad for the stubbornness of her thoughts.

“He asks how I’m doing even when I want to be alone, hugs me even if I can’t always do the same.” The more she speaks, the bolder she feels, “Only people who don’t understand him would assume he’s a violent person.”

A tense sort of silence settles in the living room. Each second is viscous, stretchy, refusing to fall down or clatter by all at once. The five of them are submerged in a substance akin to amber, preventing them from forging ahead, preserving the audacity of her words in their original state. Yet for her words to fossilize, they must first die in their ears.

“How rude.” Scoffs Mrs. Nakamura, her face turned up in distaste.

Before Y/n can say anything to make things escalate, Rin gently takes hold of her hand.

“Let’s go upstairs, angel.” He says, helping her to her feet.

So, they leave the two women to their incessant, ill-intended murmuring, as the desperate calls of Rin’s grandmother follow them up to his bedroom. He can only sigh, ashamed that Y/n had to witness all that, had to become part of the schemes of bored middle-aged women so dissatisfied with the life they have made for themselves (or the lack of it) that the most interesting topic they can bring up is the sex life of a soon-to-be nineteen-year-old. Truly, he wishes he could dig a grave and lie there naked in the snow, eaten raw by the winter storm.

The key is turned. Stars spill into the hallway from the aperture in the door before it opens wide and everything inside is awash in starlight. Inside they go and the door clicks shut behind them, dulling the sound of conversation in the living room downstairs. Mouth open in awe, Y/n gazes up at the ceiling, engraving the sight of fluorescent galaxies in her brain⸺ magenta, aquamarine, bottle green, silver, sapphire, neon pink, and baby blue. She swears she can feel the breath of the universe on her cheeks, the fog, and the clarity of it surrounding her. Her eyes swim in it.  

She thinks about how Rin must have stayed awake as a child to look at them. Ensorcelled by them. He must have been so adorable.

“Did you or your grandma paint this?” She says, her eyes glued to the ceiling.

“I did. First year in high school.” Answers Rin, who fishes his phone out of the pocket of his padded coat and places discards it on the bed. “Before there were only stars up there. The kind you see in cartoons. The moon was in the center.” Only when his finger comes into view, pointing up at the center of the ceiling, does Y/n notice him standing next to her. “Right there.”

As difficult as it is to tear her gaze from the work of art, she does so in favor of rendering her words as sincerely as possible.

“It’s ethereal.” She tells him.

In turn, Rin regards her with a look of bewilderment and amusement.

“That look.” He begins, hand tenderly resting on her shoulder as he leans down to her eye level, “It’s just like the first time I saw you.”

She can’t know in great detail how it felt for him to catch sight of her for the very first time. She’d been sitting on the front steps of her aunt’s house, scratching her ankle from time to time after a mosquito had bitten her. Summer shit. And he was looking from his cousin’s balcony, thinking that she looked high enough to invite a stranger into her home and stare at them until they confessed to having committed war crimes. To this day he doesn’t know how he was able to perceive her as anything but a Roblox character with him having just woken up from an afternoon nap. But he’d known then, that her eyes were piercing, scrutinizing, and so soft. Upon meeting her he’d decided that her lips must feel as soft as her eyes looked.

Even now, as she returns his gaze and cracks a small smile, he is glad to be proven right once again.  

“Leaving my mark on the world I see.” She jokes, moving toward the bed.

He follows right after, taking his shirt off. “And you weren’t even high.”

“Achievement unlocked.” She pulls the sweater over her head, giggling.

After changing into their pajamas which for Y/n involved more than simply putting their clothes on, meaning that skincare was mandatory and an absolute non-negotiable, they both sneak beneath the sheets. Instantly, Rin is the first to get close enough that Y/n can count the fleck of stardust in his eyes. Rin can tell… he can tell she wants to hold his face in her hands, more so because her hands twitch where she rests them on the pillowed space between them. Consequently, he decides to be the one to, once again, put himself forward like a sacrificial offering to an entity of unpredictable disposition.

“I think…” He whispers, resting his forehead against hers, “I think I would’ve been much happier had I brought you here sooner.”

A beat later she whispers back, her voice rife with nervousness, “Why?”

Her mint breath fans his lips and it makes him smile.

“We would have been able to do this every weekend if we’d lived in the same neighborhood.” Feeling more audacious than usual, he angles his face so that she can feel him too, “Even if your parents didn’t let you.”

Bold of you to assume they would notice I was gone. “You would’ve let me steal into your bedroom?”

Rin hums in affirmation, “And my bed.”

The way that line is delivered, teasingly and humorously, would have made anyone laugh. But Suna Rintaro is in no way joking. So, it is at once relieving and disappointing when he feels her breath on his parted lips and her precious giggle in his ears once more.

“You know?”

Her voice has his eyes fluttering open. Rin doesn’t have to try his hardest to look into her eyes. That soft, intrusive gaze is all that is required to transfix him.

The boy manages to get two words out, “Know what?”

“Your eyes sparkle.” She doesn’t miss a beat, “Like there’s this type of glitter in your irises. It makes your eyes look even prettier.”

This isn’t the first time Rin is complimented about his eyes and it won’t be the last. But he wants to hear it more. Wants her to look into him and gather all the glitters she sees in his eyes so that he can be as much in awe of them as she is. He wants that glitter scattered on her eyelids. He wants it painted on her lips. To help her understand, he takes her hand and rests the thumb on the corner of his eye. As if pulled by some gravitational force greater than that of Earth, his eyelids droop until he can see nothing and feel everything. The coldness of her skin. The light scrape of her nails as she runs her fingers across the lid and then his lower lashes. Her breathing as it slows down so it matches his.

 The following day, December 21st, they do nothing of importance except for helping Grandma around the house (things are still a bit awkward after the mishap of the night before but she always smiles at them) and run errands here and there. Other than that, the two of them spend their day lying on his bed wearing pajamas, scrolling through Pinterest for aesthetic pictures, listening to Lana Del Rey and The Weeknd, and watching movies on his laptop, namely the Avatar movies. It’s not like they haven’t watched the first Avatar movie before but it’s just one of those movies you don’t tire of revisiting time and time again.

Outside, it is dark when Rin drops an enlightening thought.

“Imagine if humans could do that too.” He says, pointing at Jake and Neytiri connecting through their hair, “Orgasms everywhere.”

Y/n nods, “Especially on all fours.”

Rin doesn’t let that shit go until they both fall asleep, his chest pressed against her back. Being her friend, he can’t help but want to be near her always, stuck to her skin like hardened wax. Isn’t it convenient that it’s December? Now he can sling his arm across her middle as they drift off, which she doesn’t seem to mind given that her fingertips lazily dance across his knuckles. Then they rest.

 It's December 22nd and they’re headed to Miya Osamu’s restaurant just 30 minutes on foot. Both of them are in their padded coats (since the other kinds just won’t cut it if the snow painting the sidewalks white is to be used as a criterion for judgment), thick scarves, and gloves so thick that neither of them can feel their fingers. Both of them are also lost because Rin claims to never have been to this part of the town.

“Are you sure you know the way?” Y/n asks for the seventh time (I’ve counted).

Rin groans and tries to figure out the bullshit on the screenshot of google maps he took prior to leaving the house.

“Cut me some slack.” The picture refuses to be zoomed in as he is wearing gloves. The snow isn’t helping either. “This is my first time visiting his place.”

Y/n mirrors his groan. “Well, now I’m embarrassed for both of us.”

“This isn’t a doctor’s appointment.” He peels off his right glove and wipes the screen on the inside of his pocket. “He isn’t expecting us to be there by 6 PM sharp.”

“But what if he’s upset because we ruined his schedule?”

Rin raises an eyebrow at her. “He isn’t like you.”

Scoffing, Y/n adjusts the scarf so that not even a quarter of an inch is exposed to the cold.

“I expect nothing less from an Aquarius headass.” She mumbles.

Confident that he finally got it right, Rin puts his glove back on and then grabs her by the shoulders, spinning her so they’re both facing the road.

“It’s right across the park after that condo building.” His mouth is right at her ear, “Do all of you Cancers mumble what you want to say or is it just you?”

“Shut up, what would you know about astrology?”

“Just your entire birth chart.” He shrugs. “Cancer sun, Virgo rising, Aquarius moon, Cancer venus, Virgo mercury, Cancer mars. That cancer stellium in 11th house isn’t doing you any favors.”

Y/n skids to a halt. “Stellium? What? How and when did you learn all this?”

“Heard Atsumu’s girlfriend talking about astrology while they were eating the ice cream I bought. So, I asked her to explain the fuck she was talking about in exchange for eating my food.” To piss her off, Rin links their arms as he whispers the following, “That’s how I learned why you’re the way you are.”

Scoffing, Y/n makes to kick him in the shin but he skillfully avoids her boot. “Shut up with your Aquarius sun, Scorpio rising, Aries moon, Capricorn mercury, Pisces venus, Aquarius mars ass.”

By the time they reach their destination, snow lays thick on their shoulders (they should’ve just taken a taxi or something, but Rin wanted to show her around while he could.). They dust the frost off their padded coats before they step inside the brightly lit restaurant so that it doesn’t thaw on the fabric, resulting in them reeking of wet dogs. Once inside, the warmth of the sizeable fireplace at the center hits them like a heatwave in July. Their nostrils fill with the smell of delightful food.

One of the waitresses leads them both to their reserved table, which stands by the window, neither too close nor too far from the entrance yet close to the fireplace. Osamu promised to book them the best seat there was and he delivered.

After shrugging off their coats and unwrapping their scarves, the two of them try to make boats out of tissue paper until Osamu joins them at the table. They take turns doing so, both failing equally miserably. The paper just won’t hold. It tears at the edges and then the fissures reach the heart of it. It frustrates them to the point that they just tear it in half.

At that moment, a voice can be heard that unshackles them from this annoyance.

“You look fried, Rin.”

His height is the first thing Y/n notices about the boy. He is almost as tall as Rin, with bleached hair dyed grey and an undercut that would look very Karen on someone whose head isn’t shaped like his. Unlike Rin’s, his arms are not inked with designs of any kind, at least none that she can see with how little upward he has rolled the sleeves of his black uniform. Most importantly… his eyes are equal parts tired and soft as he stares at Rin.

“Good evening to your greasy ass too.” Shoots Rin and the other boy pulls him into a hug.

And then… it’s her turn to greet and be greeted. It is her turn to be scrutinized and have her appearance and mannerisms dissected by this stranger, one of Rin’s closest friends and former teammate.

“Is this her?” He asks, bowing.

His voice is even; as if any and all personal judgment has been ironed out.

“L/n Y/n. Pleased to meet you.” She bows and then, as she and Rin sit back down and Osamu occupies the seat opposite them, she gestures at their surroundings. “I like your restaurant.”

He seems glad to hear that. Who wouldn’t be, really?

“What do you like most about it?”  Osamu asks, crossing his arms as he leans forward.

Y/n swipes her finger on the table. “Great hygiene and the whole place smells great.”

Osamu thanks her and they get to talking about random things. They’re in a world of their own and she’s locked out with no way of understanding its rules and inside jokes. Seeing as it is useless to understand anything at the speed that the conversation is flowing, Y/n takes to studying her surroundings; the light goldenrod yellow walls, the snow piling up on the sill outside, and the pictures on the wall. The subject of one of them is the Inarizaki High volleyball team.  

“Guess he’s always looked like Barry the bee.” She mutters. “Look at that smug asshole smile.”

Y/n doesn’t exactly try to hide the fact that she’s talking about his brother but she hadn’t thought his twin would actually catch her calling him Barry the bee, seeing as how he’d been so immersed in his conversation with Rin. So, it’s a bit of an amusing predicament when he turns to her, tilting his head. Well… amusing for them because for her she’s sifting through the million anxiety-born scenarios in order to choose the least devastating. What if he's upset? She had meant for it to be a joke gone unnoticed but what if?

“How do you know my dick of a twin?” Asks Osamu.

Somewhat relieved, Y/n straightens up but it’s Rin who speaks first.

“I lost a bet to him once,” He throws his arm around her shoulders and rests his head on hers for a second, “And he used my phone for an entire day.”

Staring blankly at Rin, the boy speaks in a low voice, “Don’t tell me he called her.”

“Rin knows I don’t like surprise phone calls,” Y/n says, glancing at Rin’s hand, fingers tracing lazy circles on her collarbone. “His name popping up on my phone screen at 9 PM was a clear indication that something was up.”

“Basically, he video-called her to mess with me. The entire time I thought he was just downloading porn to piss me off.”

“Instead, he kept pestering me until I stopped declining his calls.”

The state of the boy sitting opposite them is a curious blend of shame and being entirely unfazed. In every timeline, being born as Atsumu’s twin came with built-in emotional stamina, patience, and preparation for the unexpected. A full-time job really. Yet at last, Osamu lets out a sigh of exasperation, sweeping a hand over his face.

“So fucking embarrassing.” He drones, then casts her a glance, “Did he do anything inappropriate?”

“Honestly, I thought he would at first.” She nods, the weight of anxious thoughts now shaken off her shoulders. “But he was just asking for tips on how to talk to this extremely shy girl and telling me embarrassing stories about Rin.”

“Apologies for not boiling him like the egg that he is while I had the chance.”

Y/n shakes her head. “No, he was really nice when I visited.”

Osamu regards her with what can only be identified as doubt.

“Really?” The word ends more like a statement than a question.

“Even ordered food for us all. Besides,” Her fingers drift to Rin’s, the soft flesh of the tips pressing against his. “If it hadn’t been for Atsumu calling then I would never have learned that he dared Rin to wear his cumrag shirt or answer with truth.”

A grimace passes over Osamu’s face at the memory of that party and the events that preceded it. Rin removes his arm from around her shoulders and brings it to her lap, fingers laced with hers.

“Go big or go home,” he says proudly.  

Osamu doesn’t miss a beat, “Should’ve gone home.”

“And be grilled about my whorish ways by my grandma? No, thanks. Cumrag it is.”

While Rin has taken to idly caressing her thumb with his, Osamu takes a few moments to study the boy’s demeanor; how he seems most in his element around her, shoulders brushing, a hint of mischief glazed over his yellow-green eyes to mask the longing.

“Well,” Osamu starts, recapturing their attention, “At least now she has no reason to cross-examine you.”

  They’re walking side by side, hands in their pockets and scarves around their neck, when his voice comes out in puffs of steam, all the more visible as they leave one of the many lampposts behind.

“Why are people obsessed with the idea of setting people up with other people?”

The question has Y/n coming to a halt, only for a moment, then catches up to him before Rin can notice. She doesn’t know he already has.

“Beats me.” She shrugs. “Maybe influence. Power.” A car speeds by, then silence settles once more. Until she adds, “The satisfaction at seeing someone you love fall in love as well.”

Maybe it’s that they’re spent from all the talking they did back at the restaurant, engaging with Osamu in the most ludicrous debates over trivial matters from the past and the present. It could also be that the quiet of this area feels too innocent to pollute with nonsensical talk. Maybe they’re afraid words could poison whatever they cherish. No matter the reasons, the fact remains that they walk side by side, arms brushing, snow crunching under their footwear, and the biting wind mocking their attempts to warm their own breaths underneath the scarves.

Yet the words striving to be heard challenge the silence, and win.

“There’s something elusive about it,” Y/n says, just loud enough to be heard.

Rin turns his head to look at her. “About what?”

She expertly dodges his gaze, staring ahead into the traffic lights as they switch to green.

“The fascination with love.” Y/n breathes.

Well… he didn’t expect that from her. And he didn’t expect or appreciate himself feeling green with envy at the thought of him not being even a small part of the image at the front of her mind right now. Because, to his knowledge, there is only one person she’s had romantic feelings for, and that person is vile vermin that she never speaks of. He’s in the past. Rin is here, beside her. Still, he feels the need to vomit the words that have the contents of his stomach turning to poison.

“Didn’t you have feelings for that guy in high school?”

They cross the road.

“My personal sentiments seem… impersonal to me now.” She confesses, shutting her eyes for a second. “It wasn’t me. I must have imagined it for sure.”

“Imagined it?”

“Yeah, you know,” Y/n removes her hands from her pockets to paint some abstract concept in the air, “Hallucinations.”

She can’t see his lips curve upwards in that distinct smile of mischief he always uses to playfully taunt her with, but the round curvature of his cheekbones, as they peek above the scarf, tells her that he, at the very least, finds the conversation slightly amusing. The truth is… she doesn’t know whether to feel relieved or disheartened.

“Y/n I’m like 98 percent sure you aren’t doping up on psychedelics and shit.”

“And…” She wavers, eyes flitting between him and the pavement beneath their feet, “The other 2 percent?”

“That’s where this convo is headed.”

Well… that’s it, isn’t it? Every bit of her is like injecting drugs straight into your vein. An ephemeral, translucent, gossamer-like being, woven from ghosts and wraiths, she never feels real. Her words are odd. Each utterance is made obsolete by the sole fact that it is her lungs breathing life into them. Even Rin thinks so, doesn’t he? He cannot believe that she of all people would speak of love. Remember, this is all in her head.

“Yeah, it’s getting weird,” she mumbles, staring straight ahead.

For his part, Rin doesn’t think it’s odd that she’s speaking of love. Surprising? Without a doubt. But there is no way she could ever speak of love and sound like anything other than the flesh in which it resides. And he can feel it in the deepest layers of his skin, goosebumps beneath the padded coat, in his chest as it is weighed down by the regret at his choice of words, and in the way he has to swallow that same regret.

“Did he fuck around?” This is what he asks instead.

It’s almost comical how she almost breaks her neck to look him in the eye. He doesn’t break eye contact, and neither does she. Slowly, she nods.

“Was he any good?”

This time looking down, she nods again.

Sighing, Rin mutters, “He’s just like me for real.”

Y/n side-eyes him until neither of them can suppress the mirth. Eventually, the laughter dies down and they settle back into the quiet as they wait for the light to turn green.

“My bedroom and his were… they were separated by a wall.” Y/n can feel his gaze boring into her, “So, I could hear them going at it. Free lessons really.”

Rin’s eyes go wide. Then, gradually, they soften upon witnessing the emptiness in hers, how the blankness of her expression is betrayed only by the involuntary fluttering of her eyelashes as if she can bear neither the present nor the past. Having a mind of their own, his hands reach for hers. Slowly, he shelters them in his pocket.

But Rin, being too inquisitive and possessing little tact at the moment, inquires the following:

“Between him and I, who do you think is the best?”

Scoffing, Y/n makes to untangle herself from Rin but his fingers become a gauntlet around hers. She can only groan and submit.

“Well,” She begins, “It’s not like I know what it’s like to be fucked by either of you to be able to compare.”

That can be fixed, is his knee-jerk impulsive thought. If he were anyone else, Rin would lower his head in shame at the filth that infests his every imagined scenario involving her and him, especially at a time such as this, when she’s stripping layer after layer of vulnerability. But he’s the same boy he was at the age of 15; clueless as to how to connect with people in a way that isn’t carnal, careless, and crude in the way friends ought not to be. He has to justify the epithets he’s given, doesn’t he?

Wasn’t he being irrationally jealous some minutes ago? What was it that triggered his sexual urges out of nowhere? The boy can only look at her with slightly narrowed eyes as her lips start to move once again.

“But you’re not like him.” Her voice is soft. “You’re the sort of person who is pleasant to be around. It’s subtle. Understated. Like, if I were to compare… I’d say you’re like this intoxicating scent that you eventually get used to. Like when you enter the room, you know it’s safe to be there, to close your eyes, or to just exist.” She pauses and inhales deeply before continuing, ���What he has is overwhelming charisma. He is the leader of his friend group. People flock to him, listen to him, believe in him… trust him. His every word is received wholeheartedly.”

She doesn’t need to keep going, firing arrow after arrow, but she does. Rin listens.

“He inspires devotion.” Each word is a letter of resignation.

Pulling up his scarf to hide the blush dusting his cheeks, he swallows his pride.

“This entire time you’ve been talking like he still is all those things,” Rin points out.

“Because I’m certain it’s true still.”

It’s the immediacy of her response that shuts him up. Rin has never dreamed of being someone else as much as he does right now. It’s like her portrait of him has been washed out by the corrosive agent that is her description of a man that Rin doesn’t know yet loathes.

“Your charm is just as powerful.” She continues, fingers tightening around Rin’s. “True, people don’t bully certain people just because you harbor some sort of dislike for them. But they can rest assured that you won’t lead them astray. You put others at ease without realizing it. Like, if you asked me to play truth or dare, I’d probably say yes because I know you wouldn’t cross the line.”

Rin can’t help the lazy smile that takes over.

“Probably?” He teases.

“Who knows? Might make me make out with the toilet seat.” She answers honestly and Rin laughs because he knows it’s true. “Point is, you don’t weaponize your presence to hurt.”

Y/n gives him a small smile and then checks both sides of the street.

“You’re a good person when you’re not breaking hearts.” She jokes, intending for him to hear.

He laughs but it’s the kind of laugh that only serves to distract oneself from their most urgent thoughts and desires. Right now, Rin doesn’t care about the rumors, malicious remarks, or the hearts broken over the years. His only concern lay with how to best help her understand his gratitude towards her. How does he let her know she’s the first to have an understanding of him that exceeds his sexual escapades or smoking? How does he make her understand he feels the most cared for when in her presence?

“Y/n?”

Rin’s voice has always had that drowsy quality to it, like waking up from a nap on a Sunday evening, and it still is. Even if he swiftly pulls her toward the other side of the road without elaborating any further.

She can’t help looking up at him as he lowers his scarf.

“Yeah?” The scarf muffles the word.

His free hand finds itself on her cheek, slowly pulling down the worn fabric to reveal rosy cheeks. A bit lower and her upper lip peeks above the piece of cloth. As he contemplates whether to succumb to this gnawing need, his focus flits between her curious gaze and her lips. In the end, he decides to play it safe, convincing himself that this is a step forward.

The boy presses his lips against her cheek. It burns… having her so close, having his lips touching a part of her. It’s not the first time. He’s pecked her cheeks time and time again, be it under the effect of alcohol or drugs, sober, or hungover (when he wants no one to as much as breathe within a square kilometer as him). He’s held back for so long. So why does it hurt so bad trying to keep his lips from straying?

“For defending me.” He clarifies, still struggling not to kiss her very breaths, “I owe you one.”

What Rin doesn’t know is that her cheek burns too.

  December 27th

There is nothing quite like academic validation. Because when it’s all said and done, the numbers will be there to remind you that this is how much you’re worth, whether you deserve to eat and enjoy that movie, whether you deserve to step out into the balcony and just breathe in the chilly 3:00 AM air and the view of the bustling city. All of it is determined by how well you do in your classes, and how pleasing your opinions are to people whose words matter infinitely more than yours.

So why not be worthy of those numbers and wear them like a badge of honor? Why not toil away when others are putting their plates away? Why see yourself as remotely human, as if you have any right? How could Y/n give a second thought to the rumbling of her stomach when the buzzing doom in her head kept vibrating in all the wrong crevices of her mind?

“Hey.”

Being the narrator, I hear it. Not Y/n, though. Speaking to her right now is no different from trying to converse with an animated corpse in a tomb; the soil and the casket tune everything out.

Just as Chiharu is about to change her mind, her friend’s stomach decides to summon fire from the pit. Of course, Y/n still doesn’t notice she needs sustenance. Now Chiharu knows what to do in order to get the girl’s attention without having her draw further into her shell; dinner. It’s about 9 PM but it will be a welcome change of pace for both. Chiharu buys herself some more time to think and Y/n gets to eat something she didn’t “waste” time making.

Setting the plate beside the laptop, Chiharu tries again.

“Hey,” she says.

This grabs Y/n’s attention, who almost recoils at the sight of the sandwich, Caesar salad, and the girl hovering above her.

Removing her headphones, she responds, “Sup.”

In a room as devoid of lighting as Y/n’s bedroom, the only way for Chiharu to see is to squint. But she’s not about to do all that. Instead, she switches on the light.

“I know you don’t like wasting time so I’ll just cut to the chase.” She takes a deep breath, “Come to the New Year’s Eve party.”

Fingers tensing on the keyboard, Y/n answers, “Don’t know if I can make it.”

“We don’t have classes ‘till January and I know you took extra shifts before winter break started to make up for the hours.”

“Yeah, but-

“Ayame feels really bad, you know?”

And Y/n feels like painting her sight black and flattening the sounds that Chiharu is producing. The thought of someone feeling any manner of discomfort, anything remotely negative because of her absence, is foreign, a cryptid. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t understand. Therefore, she is as much afraid as she is intrigued. Looking back at the screen, she absentmindedly types “a” after “a”.

“She can’t look you in the eye without feeling like bursting into tears.”

Well, that sounds familiar. It isn’t like Chiharu to guilt trip others into bending over backward to fulfill her wishes. However, the girl has known Kuroo for a long time. They’ve been at each other’s throats, tussling since they were toddlers barely on their feet, and adopted traits of each other over the years they have spent making fun of those same traits. Kuroo is a phenomenal guilt-tripper. Full stop. The worst part is that in most cases his way is the way that works best, even if he has to seek Y/n’s input beforehand.

“Is it guilt-tripping I detect?” She asks, already knowing the answer.

Chiharu smiles sheepishly.

“Maybe? Look,” She says, shaking her head, “I just think it would be a nice change of pace. Beneficial for everyone, not just me or Ayame or that obnoxious hellcat.”

Y/n’s fingers come to a halt, the cursor still pulsating on the screen.

“Who else is coming?” She inquires.

“Tooru gave a vague answer so I don’t know if he’s planning to join us.” Chiharu answers and Y/n hopes that the girl isn’t able to detect the small relief washing over her, “But Rin is and so is Kenma. Kenma, if you remember him, has been asking about you by the way. Haven’t you gotten his texts?”

Rolling her eyes, Y/n mutters, “You know I have. I just don’t know what to say.”

“Bingo!” Chiharu exclaims, “If you come with us, you’ll be halfway there. Once you see each other I’m sure conversation between you two will flow like period blood.”

That’s enough for one night, Y/n decides as she turns to properly face the verbal massacre on her screen. Chiharu’s similitude of choice was simply too out-of-pocket even for her.

“I’ll come if you promise never to use that comparison again,” she says.

“Great!” She can feel Chiharu raising a triumphant fist. “Finally, I did something right. Okay, so I’ll leave you be now. Night- night!”

Shutting the door behind her, Chiharu lets out a sigh of contentment. This might just be her greatest achievement of the year.

“Chiharu,” She whisper-yells to herself, a smile on her face, “You dumb fucking bitch. You made it.”

On the other side of the door, Y/n carefully picks up the sandwich. She brings it to her lips and the first bite tastes like food that is neither exquisite nor too bland, merely meant to stave off the hunger while not tasting horribly too much like hay. The second bite is a log in her throat, hard to swallow. The third tastes like ‘loss’.

“Mama, your belly is so pretty,” she says.

They’re sitting on the sofa in their old apartment, the fabric of the cover soft to the touch, like the fuzz of the peaches that her auntie has just sliced nicely and placed on a plate for them to enjoy. It’s summer but the evening is caressed by a beautiful breeze. The day is hot enough to remind everyone it’s still the hottest season of the year but not so much so that they have to wipe off their sweat every two minutes.

Her mom is near her, gently rubbing her belly and smiling down at it. Y/n thinks her mom is very beautiful. Her light brown eyes are always so much prettier when she smiles and sunlight adores her hair. How Y/n wishes she could be like her.

“It’s true, baby.” Her auntie lifts her up and sits Y/n down on her lap, “Mama is so pretty.”

Her mom laughs and kisses Y/n on the cheek. The little girl can’t help but giggle. Then her stomach rumbles; a noise that can’t go unheard in a house as quiet as theirs, especially with the TV turned off. Her mom and auntie look at one another before shrieking with laughter.

“Is my little girl hungry?” Her mom asks.

Y/n nods and quietly says, “Yes, mama.”

“Okay, sit here, baby. Auntie will make you a sandwich.”

Just as her aunt is about to lift Y/n off her lap, her mom gets up, one hand supporting her back and the other on her belly still drawing soothing circles.

“No, stay there.” She says, making her way to the kitchen. “You must be tired of cooking and cleaning since dawn.”

Her aunt sighs. “It’s nothing. You’re the one that’s pregnant.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t make my little girl a sandwich, does it?”

While her mom prepares her sandwich, which will undoubtedly make her eat less at dinner, her auntie takes to tickle the life out of her. Tears pool in her eyes as she tries to wriggle out of the woman’s hold, giggling all the while. Then, finally managing to do so, she throws her arms around her auntie’s neck and asks for a piggyback around the living room. So, the woman does and Y/n feels safe and content at the speed at which her auntie is marching and with her head buried in the crook of the woman’s neck. She could just doze off.

“It’s readyyyyy!” Her mom calls as she walks out of the kitchen.

Instantly, Y/n asks to be let down (which her aunt doe) and dashes across the living room to where her mom is, wrapping her arms around her legs. She feels her mom’s hand rest atop her head as they both head toward the dining table. Y/n climbs on the chair, eager to taste the sandwich.

It has everything in it that she likes; ham, arugula, pesto sauce, peanut butter, cherry tomatoes, cucumbers, and walnuts. Her mouth is assaulted by the flavors all at once. Every bite is a bit of worldly joy reserved for her alone, even the crumbs. She listens to her mom and auntie talk about the dinner planned for tonight, one in celebration of her dad’s promotion at work. An invitation has been sent to her dad’s superior, who is also his friend.

There is too much happiness in her heart because everyone is happy and she’s just had her favorite meal. I guess the universe decided she’d had too much of it. A few months later, they were on their way to a different prefecture. And the fault, they had decided, was hers. No longer was the sandwich made for her. Her mom didn’t kiss her cheek, whether she was blissful or blue.

But years down the line she’d make this sandwich for her friends at her auntie’s house during summer break. For one month, she’d take a bite out of joy with them, have her fill then starve again.

Even now, with that awareness in mind, Y/n devours it all.

   December 31st, New Year’s Eve

Her eyes cannot stand the light that bleeds from the lampposts so she squints, hoping to catch a glimpse of Kuroo’s apartment. Chiharu and Ayame walk ahead of her, careful not to leave her too far behind. The elevator is filled with their giggles and the mirror is a movie. Y/n watches on with a smile as they tug on each other’s arms and reapply their lipstick. Then they’re out and walking towards Kuroo’s apartment (a penthouse really).

The door swings open and there stands the host in all his rabid glory. He pulls Ayame in for a kiss then wrestles Chiharu for a hug. At Godspeed, his eyes land on Y/n. A maniacal smile that would incense anyone that isn’t his friend grows on his face at the sight of her.

“Y/n!” He exclaims, crushing her in his embrace, “Where have you been loca? It’s been ages!”

Patting him on the back, she immediately starts to tease him.

“Do I discern the absence of a comb, Jacob?”

Kuroo kicks the door closed. “I am ever so poor, Y/n!”

“Positively destitute.” She shoots, rolling her eyes.

He laughs and leads the way to the living room.

“Without you around to bully me lovingly?” He whines theatrically, “Of course, I’ve been destitute! Forlorn even!”

He hugs her a bit tighter before finally letting her go.

“Kenma’s in his room.” He tells her. “The sly bastard promised he would join the party. I should have known his words were but sweet deceit.”

Y/n laughs softly at his words. She’s always loved Kuroo’s theatrics. He never means for his jokes or dramatic displays to be malicious. Though, he does lack the tact to say the right things on a day-to-day basis. Nevertheless, he always apologizes, practically begging on his knees for forgiveness. Kuroo is someone everyone needs in their life. Y/n realizes she wants to make him feel like a friend that she wants in her life. It’s time she stopped treating him like a stranger.

So, she keeps the conversation going. They talk about their health, studies, movies they’ve watched, and books they’ve read. They gossip about everything and everyone, laughing at each other’s jokes until Ayame joyfully pulls him away to dance. Y/n waves at them before heading toward Kenma’s ‘hideout’.

Rapping her fingers against the door, she waits for the sound of his voice. After the second time, she hears him yell ‘I’ll be there in a bit, Kuroo!’. She hasn’t been here in a while. The atmosphere is one she’s not used to and usually, it wouldn’t be something to shy away from. But it’s Kenma and everything about him used to be familiar, like every time they talked their planes of existence found a common solution.

Grabbing the door handle, she tries to silence all the chastising voices in her head. In his chair, Kenma remains unmoving, clicking away with his mouse. This leads her to believe that he’s still unaware that it’s her standing in his room, not Kuroo. Did they forget to tell him? Could it be that he’s purposefully acting like she’s not even here? Is she overstepping by entering? Has she ruined everything?

Then, something seems to snap in him. Maybe it’s the silence that follows the pattern of her footsteps as she halts in the center of the room. It might be the hope that she hasn’t flaked on her promise to show up for her friends. It could be the hope that his friend is finally back. Kenma spins in his chair and his eyes widen at the sight of her. Before she can even raise her hand in a greeting he springs from his seat and wraps his arms around her shoulders.

“Missed you.” He breathes.

Her chest feels heavy as if loaded with stones and there’s a noose around her neck as she says, “I missed you too.”

Somewhere between her being scared of being turned away and him lunging for her, the fear of rejection had turned into confusion. But it’s okay because as she and Kenma sit at one of his desks, what came seems like a foggy memory. The first thing he asks about is whether she’s okay, whatever that means. Y/n responds with a shrug and a ‘better’, recalling the past few weeks; her fight with Oikawa, her departure from his apartment, and the visit to Rin’s childhood home. She asks him the same question, which he answers with a slight smile and a ‘better now’. After that they talk about random things; the plant they ‘adopted’, how Kuroo keeps blasting phonk music through the speakers at 7 in the morning, how Chiharu talked to Kenma about wanting to make things right, and so on.

“How are things going with your company?” Y/n inquires while munching on a tangerine.

“Smoothly for now.” Kenma takes another tangerine from the bowl and peels it. “We’ve been developing this game but we can’t seem to get the designs right.”

“Can I take a look?”

“Sure.”

He clicks on the file the designer emailed him. She scans the entire document, tilting her head in thought.

“A bit repetitive.” Y/n concludes, popping another slice in her mouth, and Kenma nods. “Tell me more about the lore within the game. I know you kept what we discussed at the beginning but Rin told me you’ve expanded on it.”

He tells her all about it, fishing the old sketches and diagrams out of the drawer. They go through it one more time before he tells her about the additions to the lore. She, in turn, offers advice on how to apply these changes to the characters’ dialogues and designs. If things remain as disjointed as they are at the moment then it will only be detrimental down the line.  She jots down everything for him to keep in mind and discuss with the designer when at their next meeting.

Just as the dust of their efforts begins to settle, Kenma hits her with a most befuddling question.

“What would you do if your best friend confessed to you?”

Y/n frowns. “Best friend? Confession?”

“Yeah, like…” His Adam’s apple bobs up and down and his nervous gaze flits between his feet and the screen. “How would you react if they disclosed their feelings for you?”

“As in… romantic feelings?” Y/n asks and Kenma nods shyly. “I haven’t given it much thought.”

Kenma turns to her, eyes roaming her face. “But you’ve had feelings for someone before.”

“He was never my friend. Never wanted to be.” She shrugs. “Sorry, I can’t help you.”

There’s a beat of silence, during which Kenma can’t decide whether to look his friend in the eye or zone out. Ultimately, he decides to tell her the truth of it.

“The guy I like is in a relationship with someone else.”

Confessing is like cutting of the straps of a bag loaded with stones and letting it fall to the ground. His shoulders feel light and his lungs can finally fill with air. It’s not like coming out is a big deal in their friend group. Chiharu is asexual and Y/n, Rin, and Oikawa are bisexual. Only Kuroo and Ayame seem to be straight (Kuroo not so much lol).

Y/n’s frown deepens. “Why would you fall for someone who looks like he has hellcats style his hair on the daily?”  

Kenma holds back a gasp. He hadn’t imagined she’d figure him out so easily.

“How did you know it was him?” He groans in embarrassment, dragging his hands down his face.  

“Kenma, you and I barely go out.” Y/n points out. “I don’t think people in relationships, other than Kuroo, are a common sight for you.”

Defeated, he mouths. “Brutal.”

After gorging on tangerines some more, Kenma decides to make good on his promise to Kuroo and the party. The hellcat wastes no time in dragging the unwilling gamer to the dance floor. If the taller boy takes notice of how his friend at once flinches at and melts under his touch, he doesn’t give it away. Instead, he spins the boy around and gather’s the boy’s hair in a ponytail. Before Kenma can make his escape, Kuroo throws his arm around his waist and pulls him toward a group of guys dancing their worries away, 100% under the influence.

In the kitchen, Y/n finds Chiharu shoving a rolled slice of pizza in her mouth with zero concern for the choking hazard she has created and Ayame encouraging her in true cheerleader fashion. The latter waves Y/n over and hands her a slice of the shrimp pizza she’s been keeping an eye on since it was delivered. For the next 20 minutes or so, the three of them chatter by shouting over the music and can only manage to grasp about half of what the other is saying.

“Tooru-kun is coming, isn’t he?” Ayame asks at one point, having had to repeat the question for the third time.

Y/n notices how Chiharu slows down, only taking a small bite of the pepperoni after the daredevil atrocity she swallowed before.

“He said he’d think it over.” She says, blowing a wisp of neon green and black hair away from her face. “He’s been really busy with practice lately. Which is fine, I guess. As long as he’s not drinking.”

Ayame’s face twists with concern, “Is he getting any help?”

“Don’t think so.” Chiharu sighs. “He’s so stubborn, claiming it’s just a passing phase. That he can quit whenever he wants but just chooses not to.”

Y/n looks away from the two. This conversation couldn’t be further from what she wanted it to be. It only serves as a reminder of how insensitive she was with regard to his alcohol dependency the last time she saw him, how she’d cornered him because of how cornered she’d felt herself.

“What about you?” She asks Chiharu and when she turns to look at them the girl looks almost surprised to hear her ask.

“I’m tired, to be honest,” Chiharu answers with a sigh, the beginning of a smile detectable in her voice. “I just want to fly to Iceland and sleep for a year. So many fucking assignments piling up that I can’t see over them.” She shakes her head. “I almost asked for your help.”

Y/n holds back a scoff. “As if I would have been of any help.”

“No, but you would have been there to listen to me ranting while I look for the brush I’m holding.”

“I would have let you look for hours until you finally realized.”

Ayame and Chiharu laugh at that, already drunk off their wits. Y/n briefly wonders whether the jolly and spirited girl would remain as such if Kenma’s feelings for her boyfriend. Their friend group would certainly crumble. Nothing would be the same. There was no reason for her to be in the know since Kenma had no intention of confessing to Kuroo anyway.

Suddenly, Chiharu nudges her with her elbow. “Rin was looking for you before he decided that hotboxing in Kuroo’s bedroom was a good idea.”

Y/n looks at the crowd in the living room, past which lay the stairs to the second floor where Kenma’s and Kuroo’s respective bedrooms are.

“Is he still there?” she asks.

Ayame nods. “Yeah, I think so.”

Y/n nods and finishes the slice of pizza in her hand.

“Tell him to get his ass over here!” Chiharu yells over the music as Y/n heads out of the kitchen. “There’s pizza!”

None of them are coming down to eat and Chiharu knows that.

Y/n navigates around the sweaty bodies and takes the stairs. Once she’s in front of Kuroo’s bedroom, she knocks, then knocks again. Before she entirely surrenders, the door is thrown open and the face of Suna Rintaro looms over hers. The smile is slow to grow but once it does, there is nothing quite as inviting. Though even if he were frowning that wouldn’t change how he tugs her into the room, turning the key so that nobody dares disturb their peace. In but a few seconds, she finds herself in his embrace as his arms wind around her shoulders. Fabric softener and the earthy tones of his perfume curl inside her lungs and, in turn, her insides curl with a feeling that isn’t altogether unfamiliar.  The same is happening on his end.

I hope you can understand my frustration when I tell you that they each believe themselves to be utterly alone in this flurry of sensations. But it gets bearable, both for them, me, and you, once they plop down on the bed beside each other, ruffling Kuroo’s silky bedsheets as they get comfortable.

Y/n turns her head to the right to look at him only to find him already gazing.

“I was expecting to find you passed out,” She confesses.

Rin crosses his arms beneath his head. “Felt like lying to people for fun tonight.”

“Finishing the year strong.”

“Now that you’re here looking like this? Yes.”

As if his words weren’t enough to fluster and confound her, he turns and, supporting his weight on his elbow, brings his other palm to her face. Rin has always been observant. Always scrutinizing. Always picking up on what others can’t be bothered to spare a second look at. It’s no surprise that he’s able to tell she didn’t do the makeup herself, save for one thing.

“Did Ayame do your makeup?” His thumb rests on her cheek, careful not to press too hard on the artwork.

Y/n’s eyes try to search his but they’re someplace else. “Not all of it.”

“Figured. Your eyes have your touch.” Rin’s eyes shoot up to meet hers. Picking up on the bubbling self-consciousness, he adds. “In a good way.”

He wishes he could kiss her eyelids, the glitter painting his lips with the same brilliance that it has bestowed upon her eyes. Rin thinks that she looks much like what he imagines the universe to feel; the galaxies scattered above and below, within and around it, feed something lonely, and a black eye that beholds and consumes them. Her gaze feels like the joy of adolescence come to life, only better, more thrilling, and intimate. He wishes he could kiss them because he desperately wants to. Because he can’t look into them for too long without losing himself completely.

“I was kinda afraid to enter.”

Rin’s eyebrows shoot up. Then they furrow. His hand, on the other hand, stays still.

“Why would you be afraid?” He asks.  

She shrugs. “Thought you might be with someone.”

His chuckle, though inaudible to everyone else, bounces inside her skull. Not even the music coursing through the veins of the entire building (Kuroo has paid good money for the neighbors to tolerate this level of acoustic pollution) can drown it out. Y/n can feel his chest vibrate. It’s as if each gulp of air has him drawing closer.

“That’s not a reason, angel.” He finally says.  

“What would constitute a reason then?”

“You’re the only one that doesn’t need one.”

Her reluctance comes out in the elongated but fading. “Why?”

Well, what should he say to that? What would be considered a response that wouldn’t have her shutting down right before his eyes; face turned away, lids shut tight, feed padding across the floor as he watches her leave? How can he prevent that from happening while telling the truth? Because you’re the only part of me I can’t reject. Suna Rintaro is observant but words often fail him when it matters most. The stronger he feels about something, the more excruciating it is for him to express it. If I had to describe it, it would be; the truth of his soul is the flesh beneath all the misperceptions and alter egos. He never bares it, never lets it bleed.

“If you hadn’t shown up,” He leans down to whisper in her ear, I’d have spray-painted 2012 Tumblr poetry on your bedroom door.”

Y/n groans and pushes him away, face scrunching in disgust at the stupid tilt of his lips. “That’s torturous, Rin. I’d rather you choked me.”

If she weren’t too busy cringing at the flashbacks of 2012 Tumblr poetry, she would see his eyes darken by small degrees until the final sparkle in them is replaced by a glint of mischief and lust. Never before has he felt the urge to tease someone so primally. It’s either he gets to touch her in some way or his dick hardens in his jeans and he has to look for some stranger to spend the night with.

His breath catches in his throat as it occurs to him that this might be it. If this worked, it could end up with them kissing. Worst case scenario, he could play it off as teasing.

“Like this?”

Bringing his fingers to her neck, he watches her questioning eyes flit from his hand to his eyes. The pad of his thumb relaxes on her vein, feeling it pulsate. Slowly, his gaze travels upwards to her lips. They part with a sigh just as he applies a bit of pressure on both sides of her neck. He alternates between slow caresses, teasing, little scratches, and using ���force’, a combination that builds up anticipation even amidst puzzlement. It’s a rhythm he doesn’t care to create with anyone else truth be told, as it is too intimate. But she is aware of none of this.

Then her hand clasps around his wrist, putting a stop to his ministrations. For a moment, he thinks she’ll tell him he’s getting ahead of himself.

“Why do you touch me like the people you sleep with?” She asks instead.

There it is… obliviousness. He can take confusion. He can understand not being used to having your friends kink-choke you. What he won’t stand for is mentioning others while he’s literally dying to get a taste of her mouth.

“You don’t know how I touch them.” He states.

Her grip relaxes around his wrists but his touch doesn’t abandon her neck. The skin tingles from his earlier attentions, sending intervals of want straight to her lower regions.

“Maybe not while you fuck them.” Y/n adds, “But I’ve seen you flirt.”

“Is that so?” Rin raises a brow. “Tell me how I touch them then.”

The encouragement isn’t all that convincing. So, she hesitates at first. But the expectant hum coming from him urges her to try and describe to him how his sexual encounters are filtered through the perception of the one person that mattered.

“You rest your hand on their thighs. Rub your thumb in circles.” She begins, “Like this.”

Before she can even lift her hand off the covers, Rin’s fingers have already left her neck in favor of her thigh, making sure to slide smoothly across her torso. If only she wasn’t wearing tights, he thinks, I could feel the warmth of her skin seep into mine so much faster.

“Go on.” He says, rubbing circles on her covered thigh, just where her black corduroy skirt ends.

“Then, when you pull them toward the dance floor, your hand goes around their middle.” Her breath hitches as his actions follow each gasping word, “Sometimes your fingers press into their sides.”

Getting above her, Rin uses his knee to part her thighs. Her skirt rides up a little as he does so, though not nearly as much as he wishes it did. Therefore, he takes matters into his own hands and lifts her thighs off the bed enough for his fingers to slide the skirt further up a few more inches. His nails then dig into her supple flesh only to abandon the area for her waist, settling there as he leans ever so close. Barely 3 inches stand between their lips now.

“And when you kiss them…” Y/n trails off, unable to decide whether to stare at his lips or into his eyes.

Rin hums, nodding. “When I kiss them?”

“You wrap your hand around their neck, lifting up their chin.”

Having been desperate for an opening, Rin doesn’t hesitate to make his way up to her throat, ‘forcefully’ cupping her jaw, eliciting a small gasp from her. One hand on her waist, the other on her face, he goes in for the kill, his own lips parting in response to hers. Fuck’s sake he can’t wait to have her at last, to feel her all around him, be intoxicated by her touch, drowning in her sighs and whimpers as he takes from and gives to her again and again and again. With the way her hands come up his shoulders, holding on for dear life as if he’s about to turn into thin air. As if he’d so much as think about replacing the feeling of her around him for the mindless snogging with someone random.

Rin has always imagined he could take it slow with her when the time came. But the present is unfolding quite differently. Two seconds in and he can’t handle the way their lips are simply touching, as if his mouth isn’t dying to devour hers, as if his teeth aren’t suddenly sharper in want of her lips. So, he initiates a deeper kiss by being the first to introduce his tongue, sliding it into her mouth and waiting for her to reciprocate. Y/n does so soon enough, getting to feel it toying with hers just for a second or two before it draws back to get a taste of her lips. After flicking her lower lip, he starts to nip at it, tugging and releasing as she moans in response. Then he adds tongue again, this time bringing the hand resting on her waist up to her chest, fondling her breasts as she leans forward for more.

The moment he stops the kiss to smile down at her with his eyes closed in bliss is the moment Y/n unwittingly spoils the mood.

“Then you disappear.”

Rin peers down at her in confusion but doesn’t draw farther from her.

“Do I disappear when I’m with you?”

“No.” But it comes out more as a question.

“I see no crowd here.” His jaw flexes. “For all our friends know, I’m currently fucking the shit out of you right now.”

He wishes his dick didn’t twitch at his own words and so does she. But more than horny, Rin is frustrated and, somehow, hurt. That’s why he can’t help but draw back, kneeling between her thighs as he contemplates asking an extremely risky question.

“Why do you think I don’t disappear with you?” He asks instead.

She looks to the side before he cups her jaw to redirect her gaze to him.

“Because,” She says, swallowing, “You don’t see me that way.”

There it is, Rin groans internally, that stubborn need to assume everything about me. If only she could stop thinking I don’t desire her, just because she believes no one else ever has. If she were to ask me straight-up, I would tell her. But how can I convince her that I want to kiss her, fuck her, and be with her, if she hasn’t understood it by now? I literally had my tongue inside her mouth two seconds ago. Even now, I’m kneeling between her legs with a boner I can’t tame.

“You don’t understand how I see you.” He mutters, relinquishing her.

Her chest burns as he moves to sit at the edge of the bed, seemingly in thought as he stares at the door.

“Are you leaving?” Why is her voice suddenly so small, she wonders.

“The party? No.” Rin answers, getting off the bed and heading for the door. “Just this room.”

Rin knows he feels the most cared for in her presence. What he doesn’t know is the feeling of being that one item at the store that is no one’s first, second, or final pick because it’s at the very front. The item is some random person’s final resort when there is no one they can turn to. Then discarded without a second thought. He doesn’t know that speaking his mind would put an end to this agonizing wait for his feelings to be perceived in their purest form. He doesn’t realize that he wouldn’t be disposed of by someone who knows what it’s like to be treated as such. And because none of this occurs to him, he shuts the door behind him and joins the mindless mayhem in the living room, feeling none of the joy and excitement, and all of the disdain and exasperation for himself and the way things turned out.

Y/n’s chest still burns, even as she rubs her palms raw over her thighs to make her brain think it’s her hand that hurts.  

   Tooru is one lousy bastard to come here unfashionably late, knowing well and clear that he’s about to slink away from the party just 30 minutes after his arrival. Even that’s being generous. This is neither the time nor the place for him to be all smiley and shit. All he wants to do right now is pop a can open and drain his poison of choice. It’s the final night of the year after all. Aren’t they all supposed to get irrevocably wasted and make decisions they would loathe to make while sober? At least, that’s what he tells himself as he turns off the engine and steps out of the car with a sigh.

He doesn’t catch the anxious murmurs at first as he locks the car doors. But as he takes to the steps a voice, small and whispery, seeps into his ears. If it were anyone else, he might have hurried over and asked if they needed any help. But it’s her voice and the thought of her turning him away once again is daunting, to say the least. Reluctant, however, he makes for the benches among the trees lining the perimeter of the apartment building. Here, Tooru notices, the wind beats the earth much more gently.

“Fuck, I messed up.”

His eyebrows come together in confusion. Because there she’s standing, crouching with her palms planted on her face as if she wishes she could skin it alive, one strip of skin at a time. Tooru has no time to take in her outfit⸺ the knee-length gray wool coat, the black corduroy skirt from before, the iron-grey turtleneck, and the black shoes⸺ because her tirade goes on, becoming more hurried by the second.

“Hey.” He says, making his way to her. At the sound of his voice, she flinches and immediately stands, wiping at her cheeks with the back of her hand. “Hey, what’s wrong? Why are you out here in the cold?”

Tooru tries to sneak a peek at her face, but she pushes him away.

“Leave me alone.” She mutters, waiting for him to leave.

But Tooru is nothing if not stubborn.

Taking hold of her elbow gently, he asks, “Y/n what happened?”

Y/n groans and shakes him off of her.

“You happened.” She bites out and pushes against his chest, forcing him to stumble back a step. “Go away.”

“Y/n-

“No!”

The breath catches in his throat, and for a few wintry moments, in which she glares at him with incomparable loathing, Tooru dares neither to inhale nor exhale. He can only stand still, wishing he could reshape the course of time, remodeling history so she didn’t have to hurt. But he only waits for her to carry on.

“Ever since-” She begins, eyes shut tight and words cut short as it physically pains her to speak them and look at him as she does. With a newfound ache, she glares at him again, forefinger digging into his chest. “Ever since you showed up everything is all wrong. It’s all wrong! I was okay. Everything was okay. It was over. I was- I had left you behind! And now you won’t disappear! Why won’t you disappear? Go away.”

It's clear to Tooru that he has absolutely no right to be hurt, and that he deserves every manner of abuse in existence. But he’d be lying if he were to claim that her wanting him out of her life isn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened to him for quite some time. The Tooru from before, the one always in denial and going around laying waste to everything in search of refuge from his fears, would have been ecstatic. Right? Yes… and no. But that is a matter reserved for later.

The concern of the present is her breaking down in front of him, face crumpling like a wet shirt as her eyes fill with tears and she crouches again, covering her ears as if doing so will lessen the gravity of what she believes to be true. Unable to take it anymore, Tooru crouches before her, wrapping his fingers around her wrists. But she shakes her head and continues.

“I messed up. It’s my fault. I messed up. Messed up. I’m sorry. I messed up. I’m-  

“Hey, hey, look at me.” He soothes the girl, rubbing circles on her skin. “It’s fine. Here, sit with me. Let’s regulate your breathing. Breathe with me, won’t you.”

They stay like that for some time, 10 minutes or so, until she finally opens her eyes and slowly removes her hands from her ears.

“Can you speak now?” Tooru asks when he feels it is safe to do so. She doesn’t answer so he tries a different route. “Do you want to?”

She stands and, too ashamed to meet his worried gaze, looks at her shoes. By now, he’s released her wrists and she’s free to run away if she so wishes. Though he can’t promise he won’t follow her as he’s worried sick her state of mind might be too muddled to trust her to look at both sides of the road before crossing.

“Do you not want it to be me who listens?” He tries again. Y/n nods and he glances up at the building. “Let me go get Suna or Kenma.”

Before he can bolt for the entrance, she grabs onto his coat.

“No, I, ngh.” She turns her face to the side, wiping at her nose with her coat sleeve (which would be disgusting if she hadn’t just broken-down minutes before). “I just- I hate that you found me.”

Tooru takes in her facial expressions. The way she averts her eyes, utterly ashamed of what he had witnessed and the way she was holding onto him. He places his hand on hers and her eyes shoot straight to where they touch.

“Do you hate that you want to tell me?” He says, all too aware of the answer.

Again, she looks away, this time nodding slowly.

“It’s okay. I understand.” Tooru faces her fully, acting as if he doesn’t want to crawl into a hole and eat dirt. “I’m not leaving unless you’re leaving with me.” He smiles even though she still refuses to look at him. “I would flip the coin again but I’m not certain I’ll be able to accept whatever fate the coin chooses for us. I’d end up sitting here, by your side, until the very end.”

She looks at him now. It’s nothing more than fleeting glances at first. Then their gazes lock and Tooru has to fight the urge to dust the snowflakes off her cheeks and melt the frost, which is steadily settling on her lashes from all the crying, between his gloved fingers.

Instead, he takes her by the hand and leads her toward his car and for the first time Y/n doesn’t question his motives. Tooru drives them to a quiet café that has yet to close as it wants to milk whatever customers might be wandering about the city of Tokyo at this hour. She doesn’t seem ready to speak yet so he takes the liberty to place both of their orders. Coffee would be downright catastrophic to her mental state at the moment. It was known for worsening symptoms of anxiety and the last thing she needed was a repeat of what had happened not even half an hour ago. So, he orders tea for both; peppermint for her and chamomile for himself. He pays and joins her at the table near the air conditioner.

After the waiter has served the tea, it takes a long moment for Y/n to look up from the crumpled napkin currently being picked to shreds.

“I messed up.” It comes out like a whimper and her face crumples up again. “I really did. Like I always do.”  

Tooru doesn’t know where to begin. Truly, he doesn’t know.

“Why do you say that?” But this question seems like a decent place to start.

Her fingers work faster at picking apart the napkin and she says, “I went there, thinking it would be like nothing had happened.”

“And it isn’t?”

How could it be? Kenma had only stopped texting under the assumption that she needed a break from what had happened, not because he’d thought the damage irreparable. Kuroo missed the way she would argue a point to the finish line (the line being Kuroo either smiling at the depth of information or admitting defeat with a theatrical sigh of exasperation). Chiharu and Ayame were wicked anxious about how things might turn out between them if she decided to go through with the whole moving-out thing. Which was more than likely by this point. Suna would do anything for her, that much was clear to anyone. And Tooru… he would do anything she wanted. He’d be anything she wanted him to be. Even if that meant he’d be gone.

All any of them wished for when it came to Y/n and her relation to the rest was for her to let herself be cared for. But as he watches her try and fight back tears, Tooru says none of this and just hears her out to the end.

“Kenma has been trying to meet with me and this is the first time I’ve seen him since then. And none of them will ever forgive me for that night.” Abandoning the napkin, her hands come up to her ears scratching at the skin behind the shell. “I ruined everything. I want to run away. Never see anyone I know ever again.”

Suna won’t forgive her. She is sure he won’t because she’s repulsive, stupid, and cowardly. If only they knew each other’s hearts and their own the way that I do.

“Iwa-chan said he hopes you see none of us again.”

His voice, a careful and soothing voice, is filtered through the scratching noise that so provides her comfort. But the words are as confusing as this version of Oikawa Tooru, the one that doesn’t seem to mind her presence.

“Although now it’s impossible since we’ve already crossed paths.” He lets out a humorless chuckle. “But yes. He feels responsible for your situation even though he knows it’s not his fault. He thinks of you like family, the same way he considers me his brother. So, it’s complicated for him.”

Noticing the crinkle in her brow, he smiles a little and clarifies. “I think he’d love to see you again, to know you’re not going to run away because of mistakes that aren’t his to bear.”

Her hands relax but stay put.

“Why are you telling me this?” She asks.

Tooru wastes no time providing ample evidence.

“Kuroo made sure to buy your favorite snacks.” He begins counting on his fingers. “Ayame and Kenma picked your favorite songs. Chiharu convinced you to come. And Suna… I trust I don’t need to explain.” He ignores the grimace that passes over her face at the mention of the boy. “You’re mistaken in thinking you’ve laid waste to everything. They may not know and therefore not understand everything fully, but they wouldn’t let your absence dictate the way they see you.”

But that makes zero sense. She isn’t there, hasn’t been part of their lives for weeks, and hasn’t deigned to ask what has happened in her absence. Even then, that doesn’t explain how Iwaizumi is in any way related to the new life she has made of herself and her convoluted relationships if you could call them that.

Y/n brings her hands to the table, toying with the napkin before shooting a glance at the steaming cup of peppermint tea.

“How could Maki, Mattsun, and Iwa not hate me?” Her gaze snaps to him. “You do.”

His chest tightens. His throat constricts. All of a sudden, the air conditioner is bringing his lungs to a boil and the high-quality fabric of the turtleneck makes him itch. He wants out. But that would mean failing to succeed in being let in by her.

Tooru pulls at the fabric around his neck to let the skin breathe.

“Even if that were true, that doesn’t mean it should be their truth.” He hopes he sounds reassuring but knows he doesn’t. Seeing the distrust in the way she slightly purses her lips and the barely noticeable narrowing of her eyes, Tooru tries to plead his case. “I am trying to make up for what I did. Please, believe me. I’m aware it might prove futile. Still… it’s not the only reason why I’m in this café with you right now.”

Her expression tells him that he has yet to make himself understood or appear trustworthy in her eyes. Tooru leans back in his chair and places his left hand on the table, drumming his fingers to a ghostly beat.

“I’m here because you shouldn’t have to turn your back on everything a second time.” He says in one breath. I don’t ever want to look at your back while you run away again. “Because I don’t want you to think it’s your fault.”

The thing about blame and guilt, Tooru begins to understand as her face scrunches once again and she looks away in shame, is that they’re obsessive lovers. Please, have me. I’m all yours. I won’t ever leave you. Everyone says we’re meant to be. What would people think if you divorced us? Please, don’t let go.

Tooru’s fingers still and he reaches out and takes her left hand in his. Y/n flinches but doesn’t pull away.

“It isn’t your fault.” He repeats.

The young man doesn’t expect his words to be the cure, however much he wishes that were the case.

“You’re here trying to lie that I’m not to blame.” She uses her coat sleeve to wipe her eyes, now all red and swollen, with traces of mascara on her waterline from the smudging. “But it’s easy for you to say because you’ve always known that if not your mom, then your friends would have your back. And if your friends abandoned you, you’d still have a place to crash-land softly into.”

His thumb traces the outline of her knuckles. Once Tooru has fully processed her words, a thought occurs to him. He decides to be brave.

“From now on, each time you make mistakes let me be the one you crash-land into.” He looks at her with hope and sincerity in his eyes. “Second by second, I’ll try to make it all better.”

Y/n sniffles. “A part of my brain keeps telling me it’s too soon to trust you.”

“And the other part?” He smirks. “What does it whisper?”

“It says that you are kind.”

His breath hitches. Her dark eyes are too honest, too straightforward for him.

“Which one are you going to put your faith in?” He asks, slowly but playfully still.

Y/n tucks her hair behind her ear and looks to the side. “I don’t- I don’t know.”

While vague, the answer is decidedly honest. Tooru can’t ask for more than that.

“Can I be honest with you?” He says, pulling his chair a bit forward so he can comfortably rest his elbows on the table while still holding her hand.

“Might as well.” She mutters. “Since you already brought me here.”

Tooru clears his throat.

“I had planned on asking you to move in with me. But then.” He smiles sheepishly. “Then I thought about how delusional I was being, how illogical it would be for me to assume you would even consider my offer. I thought ‘Are you that selfish’, ‘Are you that stupid’. Yet, when I told the others, they immediately thought I was being strange but kind.”

Y/n tilts her head as if considering him and everything coming out of his mouth, then looks down. She doesn’t seem surprised, almost as if she’s heard of this before.

“You say that as if you think they’re wrong.” She points out the distrust in his tone. “People have always believed you to be considerate… generous.”

He lets out an awkward chuckle. “I was just desperate. Selfish too.”

The good thing about the silence that ensues is her hand in his. There is no protest as he caresses the back of it, following the curve of her bones. They’ve always been thin, delicate. Each time he had yanked and pulled at her, the fragility of those bones had filled him with instant regret. Yet, every single time, he’d managed to hold on a bit tighter, anxious to keep her there at any cost. Now, he can’t help but shoot furtive admiring glances at the slope of her nose, the delicate arch of her eyebrows, and the dainty cheekbones. All too afraid to so much as gaze at them for too long, lest she catches on and perceives his presence as threatening.

But he wants to say so many things, and they’re all locked in his chest like one big sigh begging to be released.

For more than a year, I’ve been thinking about how it must have been for you when you helped Emiko paint those posters for my games, only for her to follow my lead and hurt you in the end.

When you took care of your little brother after he got scraped his knees playing outside, only for him to emulate my behavior toward you. When you got Maki’s number for that one girl only for her to laugh when I said that you ate disgustingly. When you helped that guy with the chemistry problem only for him to purposely smash his ball into your face. And countless other cases such as this.

I was always the enabler. It fills me with rage.

Tooru shuts his eyes and says, “I’m sorry I ever let the world believe I am the kind one of us two.”

He wishes she would speak, say anything, only not subject him to that unforthcoming silence that follows his apology. Her hand, which until then had remained still and soft under his hands, stirs to life once more. Tooru feels her fingers clench and, instinctively, he gently drags his digits across the back of her hand.

Then, she begins.

“But you are kinder than me. You’re nice to people.” Y/n says with a voice that betrays no uncertainty. “You’re just not kind to me.”

Tooru winces, and when his eyes trail up to her face, the breath in his throat turns to stone. The look on her face is one of resignation as much as it is of self-loathing. It makes him want to shatter something, makes him want to drive his car off a cliff and drown at the bottom of the sea.

Careful not to startle her, he eases her fingers and threads them with his as he moves to sit on the chair to her left.

“I am so, so, sorry.” He confesses, “So sorry I let you believe it was your fault.”

He means every word. He wishes he could make her believe them.

Y/n eyes him skeptically. “How can I be sure this isn’t a long-term prank?”

All Tooru can do is chuckle and offer her an apologetic smile.

“I would beg you to have faith in me,” He says, “But that would be blasphemy.”

Before she can digest his words, an idea blooms in his head. His fingers tighten around hers, which catches her attention; dark eyes flitting from where their hands are touching up to his grinning face.

“What if we treat this as a little experiment?” He proposes with a mien that is almost hopeful. “A project. Treat me like a test subject. Dissect my intentions. Lobotomize my conscience. Bring everything to light and do what you think is best.”

Y/n considers his proposition in silence, holding his gaze as she does.

“Projects have a due date.” She points out.

It doesn’t take Tooru long to think of a deadline. What matters is that she’s taking him seriously.

“How does one year sound?”

“Are you sure you can make up for twelve years in just one?”

His faith in himself wavers at her words. “Do you think it will take longer?”

“I want it to take less. I don’t like-

“Wasting time on things doomed to fail. It’s inefficient.” He nods. Then, as if injected with a lethal dose of dopamine, Tooru makes a gesture as if flipping his hair. “I, however, am unfortunately enamored with what you call failures. I can’t help but want to tend to wounds. So,” He says, leaning closer so that their knees are brushing against each other, “Is a year fine with you?”

Nervous, Y/n brings her other hand to her wrist, scratching at the soft skin.

“A year and a day from tonight.” She tells him.

Tooru fake pouts, “Are you so certain I am going to fail? You wound me, pretty.”

“I don’t think it’s possible for me to hurt you. But just in case… you know.” She shoots him a look as if everything she’s saying is supposed to make sense. And, surprisingly, it does. “I don’t want to ruin New Year’s Eve for you. For all I know, that could be the first time you find yourself on the receiving end of rejection.”

Tooru makes as if to swoon. “So, you do think I’m doomed to fail.”

“Well, yes.” Her response is so deadpan it makes him bark out a laugh.

Though, on a more serious note, this is her trying. Just the fact that she’s willing to go through with this says enough about her commitment to what she had previously agreed to do with Rin. But he hates her now. He doesn’t want to experience everything as it happens in the continuum of a moment. All of it is her fault. But if she can have it with someone else, someone that, until a few hours ago, she would much rather steer clear of, then so be it. What she doesn’t understand is that she doesn’t have to choose. She doesn’t know that Rin could never leave her behind.

The two of them take their tea with two packets of sugar. Over the years, they’ve picked up on each other’s taste; Tooru all the more oblivious to his penchant for observing her whenever she was in the room. He takes in the sight of her as he urges her to talk about random things. He breathes in her scent as she wraps the green scarf, all frayed and spotted with lint, around her neck.  

“Why won’t you throw this thing away?” He asks when they’re out in front of the café.

“Listen, Oikawa-

He tuts, shaking his index finger. “Not if you keep calling me by my last name, I won’t.”  

He sounds playful and his brown eyes sparkle with childlike curiosity. So, she thinks, he’s not being malicious?

“I was supposed to give this to you on your birthday. Well, not supposed to because nobody made me buy it.” She hesitates in divulging the rest to him but ultimately decides to go with it. Her fingers feel the cloth around her neck. “I heard you say you prefer winter over summer because in summer it’s harder to practice, and… I thought you’d like it. And that it would make you hate me less.”

But she hadn’t given it to him and he had continued to believe that for him to be at peace she needed to disappear. Even if she’d chosen differently, Tooru is almost certain he would have found a way to trample on her attempt to befriend him. It would have been no more than wasted effort.

He speaks her name softly, so tenderly that even Tooru himself can barely hear it. But Y/n catches it and looks up at him. She recoils when he takes hold of the scarf and looks away.

“Trust me.” He angles his head so she can see him without having to look up.

Slowly, Tooru unwraps the worn-down fabric and does the same with his thick midnight blue scarf. He then wraps the thick, expensive (believe that it is) cloth around her neck. He can feel her gaze on him as he does the same with her scarf. He can tell she’s more than confused.

“There,” He says, patting the soft material that conceals her lips from view, “Now this feels right.”

Unable to formulate a proper sentence, Y/n simply nods and follows Tooru who immediately heads for his car. The scarf smells too nice for her to argue with him and have him yank it off of her. She breathes him in the entire car ride to the nearest park. His scent settles in her lungs like oxygen and Y/N loathes the moment she’ll have to remove it once she returns home.

Leaning against the railing, they watch the fireworks light up the sky and their reflection in the water mirroring the Big Bang of the New Year.

  Age 17, the night of Tooru’s Birthday

“You should sleep here tonight sweetie.”

Truly, Tooru’s mother shouldn’t have said that. She should have left it well enough alone so Y/n could have worked out some plan of how to evade her mother’s blows and, most importantly, prevent others from bearing witness. But now… now that the offer has been made, it’s like a shroud has fallen over every piece of furniture and every speck of thought.

It shows plainly on Tooru’s face; his stare, the way he sucks in his cheek, his arms crossed over his chest. It would be ridiculous to presume he is anything other than displeased. She’s learned to read him to an extent. Without a doubt, that stance promises that nothing good would come out of staying the night.

“No.” Y/n asserts as politely as she can. She can spy Tooru raising an eyebrow at her words, “I don’t need to. I can just climb from his balcony into mine.”

Yuiko sighs and rubs her soft hands up and down Y/n’s arms. “Sweetie, we already discussed this. That’s extremely dangerous. Just sleep in Tooru’s room tonight. Okay? In the morning we can have breakfast and you can go home after that. Hm, how does that sound?”

“It’s fine.” Y/n insists, placing her hand above the one Tooru’s mom is gently holding her arm with. “I can do it. I’ll be careful not to slip.”

“See, that’s exactly what I fear, sweetie. What if your carefulness isn’t careful enough?” Y/n makes to respond when Yuiko cranes her head in Tooru’s direction, who looks infinitely more cheerful than he was five seconds ago. “Tooru, help me out a little. Convince her that it’s dangerous.”

And that’s the final nail in the coffin. How she wishes something would pulverize her where she stands, that her ashes would be scattered by a storm. Because there is no way Oikawa Tooru, the same person who told her just hours ago that she’d be lucky enough to die while scaling the building before her mom learns of her mistake, would be able to feign any utterance in favor of her continued existence. “Just sleep in my room tonight.” Those words, coming from him, shock her and it shows candidly on her face. He pushes himself off the wall with a smile and reaches for Y/n’s arm, separating her from Yuiko, who returns his smile with one of relief and gratitude. “It’s dangerous to do what you’re thinking of doing.”

As she steps from the security of the living room into his domain, Y/n is the only one not smiling. He releases her the moment the door clicks shut and heads toward the mini-fridge beside his studying desk without casting even a glance her way. The entire time she stands in the center of his bedroom like a stupid bitch, Tooru drinks from a bottle of water, pulls out two cans of beer, and then turns on the TV.

She takes the opportunity to sneak out into the balcony. She tries to make as little noise as possible yet he catches on anyway.

“In a bit, mom will bring you clothes to sleep in.” He stares her down as if to challenge her. “Do you want her to realize you’ve risked your life despite her begging you not to?”

Refusing to back down, Y/n says, “Don’t you want me to leave?”

Before he can answer, there comes a knock at the door. He gestures with his hand for her to answer it. She opens the door just enough to smile briefly at Yuiko.

“Here you go, sweetie,” The woman hands her a baggy, short-sleeved white shirt and a pair of grayish purple shorts along with panties to match. The last item has Y/n’s eyes flitting from Yuiko to the side to make her understand she can’t undress with her son in the same room. “Oh, I don’t think Tooru will mind. He can just turn the other way as you change. Besides,” Yuiko opens the door a little wider and motions to the wall next to the shelves where his numerous figurines stand, “You can use his bathroom. You can even take a shower if you want. Tooru always keeps spare sponges on hand.”

“Alright.”

That is all Y/n says and Yuiko smiles and wishes the two of them goodnight, leaving Y/n with the obvious choice to change out of her garments in the bathroom. Tooru says nothing but she can still perceive the tension emitting from him; penetrating her skin, crawling under it like maggots, rushing through her blood vessels like a substitute for blood. It has sweat pooling at her brow and along the length of her neck. Yet her goosebumps rise all over her arms like rashes that refuse to go away unless treated with some poultice. It’s a disease, this tension. No more, no less. So, she enters the bathroom in order to alleviate the symptoms, if only for a short while.

The clothes don’t exactly fit her. Tooru’s sister, Sayako-san, was much curvier than Y/n when she was her age. But that’s not the issue here. The problem is that Y/n, like any sane person, never wears a bra when she sleeps, and she doesn’t know what he’ll have to say about it. But, like her aunt always says, the need for comfort should always surpass the need for approval or the fear of prejudice.

Obviously, she exits without taking a shower. That would only make him angrier at her and all she wants to do is sleep and pretend he’s anything but furious.

“Out already?” His voice startles her just a little, “Why didn’t you take a shower?”

Walking towards the foot of the bed, Y/n looks at him (seated on the small blue couch and wearing glasses that would look ugly on her). He pauses whatever he was watching before her emergence and makes his way to her. She can hear the gears turning in his head at an inhuman speed, and dread drops in her stomach like a boulder into the sea; heavier than anything she feels when not in his presence.

“I didn’t think you’d appreciate me using your stuff.” Y/n answers.

Stopping less than a meter from where she’s sitting, Tooru scoffs.

“You’re already using my room. Might as well clean up after yourself. Besides,” He draws nearer and she instinctively stands as if to defend herself from any manner of attack. Before she can move out of his way, he yanks her by the arm so that she’s standing in front of him once again, “You’re used to lusting after everything that’s mine.”

“I don’t want to take anything away from you, though.” Her response is bland yet immediate, like a knee-jerk reaction. It’s all she can do to convince herself that she doesn’t need to convince him of anything, to make him understand that she’s not the enemy. “Your mom is just ni-

He clamps his palm over her mouth and grins while leading her to his closet.

“If you want me to treat you better than you deserve even for just one night, you have to stop acting so innocent around me.”

Y/n tears his hand off her face as gently as she can so as not to arouse suspicion that his actions fluster and terrify her.

“You’re wrong.” She says, and he glares down at her. “I’m not-

Tooru shoves two towels in her hands.

“Go shower.” She looks at the back of his head as he sits on the couch, “Hurry. I need to shower too.”

That makes her feel even worse about staying the night; such a burden, a useless log that is tossed from a home that is dismissive of her existence to another that half-wishes she didn’t exist at all. To escape the turmoil, she does as he says; showers using his imported shampoo, shower gel, his extra blue sponge, and spare toothbrush. She’s like 1546385% certain he’s going to chuck it straight into the bin the moment she’s out of his house, perhaps even earlier.

He pushes past her before she’s even completely out of the bathroom.

She scans the bedroom for any place to sit that wouldn’t displease him. If she were to sit on the couch, that would undoubtedly leave room for remarks such as ‘What makes you think you can watch TV with me’ or ‘Why aren’t you asleep’. As for the latter, she doesn’t know where she’s going to sleep. She very much doubts he’s letting her sleep in his bed. Should she sit on the chair beside his desk? Should she stand with her shoulders against the wall? Y/n opts for the last option.

He's towel-drying his hair when he says, “What are you doing?”

Y/n doesn’t bother answering and instead asks a question of her own, “Where am I going to sleep?”

Tooru doesn’t tear his eyes away from her face as he approaches her, brushing his damp hair all the while. She can either hold his gaze and irritate him, or she can look literally anyplace else. The outcome will remain the same. Obviously, she opts for the latter.

“Where do you think?” He asks, no emotion detectable in his voice.  

“Any spare sheets?” She asks, “Since I’m taking the couch-

“Ever the martyr, aren’t you?”

“But you don’t want-  

Tooru no longer bothers to veil his displeasure with frayed niceties. He takes a step in her direction. She stays rooted in place as if his words have cast a spell on her.

“Why?” He sneers, “So that you can tell mom about how mean I’ve been to you? Is that it?” Y/n makes to answer him honestly. He tilts up her chin as if to urge their gazes to lock. “Fucking look at me while I’m speaking to you.”  

She does no such thing, choosing instead to speak with her stare piercing his collarbone.

“I’m not a martyr and-

This time he grabs her jaw and forces their eyes to meet. “I said look at me.”

Now, it’s not like she doesn’t try to yank herself free of his hold, and pry his fingers off her face until she’s no longer tormented by the deprecation and doubts swirling in his brown irises. But admittedly, it would be unrealistic for someone of her physique and athletic ineptitude to overpower someone of Oikawa Tooru’s caliber. Not to mention that he seems to meet her efforts with resilience. Determination makes his eyes gleam with something so feral in nature, so unlike his public image, that she ceases her attempts to liberate herself.

“I’m not a martyr and I’m not going to tell your mom.” Trying not to let on how defeated she feels, Y/n holds on to his forearm (a futile gesture of defiance), “I just want to sleep.”

To keep her mind off the fact that the space between their bodies keeps diminishing, she focuses on literally everything else; the almost imperceptible birthmark on the left side of his jaw, the slope of his nose, the wet strands that are beginning to lose some of their wet-glisten, the curve of his parted lips, and the breaths slipping in and out from between them. It doesn’t work out well. His presence becomes even more overwhelming.

“Well then,” He says, putting some distance between the two of them, “I think this is the right time to tell you I am no brute. You can sleep in my bed, especially now that you’re clean. But if you think I’m going to let you sleep so early,” The look he gives her, as he removes his hand from her jaw to pull her toward the sofa, is nothing short of a warning, “You’re severely mistaken.”

What happens after seems unreal to both of them. Tooru is baffled at himself when he pushes one bottle of beer after another her way at the same time that he’s draining his own. He doesn’t know why he trusts her at this very moment, nor why their hushed laughter makes him feel the vastness between their faces so severely. Their bodies reel from the sheer stupidity of the people in YouTube compilation videos making a fool of themselves in public. At one point he has to stop himself from laughing because he’s afraid he’s going to piss his pants right then and there.

He can sense her hesitation when he offers to microwave some pizza, but he doesn’t understand why that could be. It doesn’t occur to him that it might be because of him or the fact that the noise could wake his mom. Putting his finger in front of his lips in a shushing gesture, he assures her that his mother sleeps like a log and that, for good measure, he’s going to stop the microwave before the beeping sound.

It becomes obvious that she’s starving when he sets the plate on the low table and she all but inhales a slice. At first, he’s worried that she’s going to choke you know. But then she looks closes her eyes and smiles as though she’s having the nicest of dreams. Tooru leaves it be.

It's in the early hours of the morning that they have calmed down somewhat, each of them staring off into space as though the trophies or the buzzing TV screen will provide answers that they cannot get from having a sincere conversation.

As usual, Tooru is the first to speak.

“How do you manage to be alone?”

Under normal circumstances, they would be holding their breath. But they are so… lethargic and drunk that such behavior doesn’t even present itself as a possibility.

Depending on the dose of sincerity and the form it was served, her answer could be either poison or medicine. Even in her inebriated state, Y/n takes a few seconds to answer him truthfully.

“Silence is a good amplifier.” She tells him, and his eyebrows comically climb up on his forehead. “I can hear my heart beating, and everything around me and about me comes alive. I remain invisible to anyone but myself.”  

Sensing that there is more that she wishes to express, he waits for her to finish.

“In silence, I find the strength not to die.”

Her words send tremors right through Tooru’s core, so much so that the can of beer almost slips from his hands (it doesn’t help that his palms have gotten clammy). So, a good minute passes until he’s ready to elaborate on his understanding of her perception of solitude.

“By your logic, the will to live can only be found in solitude.” He settles for looking at her arms as he asks the following question, “People make you want to die?”

“No,” Her answer isn’t immediate but neither of them pays any heed to the belatedness. “Not all the time.”

Resting his head against the couch, Tooru groans.

“Solitude would kill me.” He confesses and takes a sip, “I want to be around the people I care about and never be parted from them. I want to be surrounded by those that adore me, admire me, and never see the end of their idolization of me.” The silence that ensues puts a strain on the otherwise peaceful atmosphere. Still refusing to spare her a glance, he says, “Go on. Say what you have to say.”

This time her response is prompt.

“Sounds a lot like you’re desperate for belonging.”

Tooru’s eyes go wide and he scoffs to emphasize his incredulity at her assumption. His hands are now clammy from the bottle sweating in his hold and itching to search despairingly for some reprieve.

“I do belong. With my friends, my mom, my sister, and my nephew.” His gaze settles on her shoulder as he continues, “Where do you belong?”

Y/n chuckles and Tooru can tell she would rather avoid answering his question.

“Not here.” She answers.

His gaze slowly travels up her neck and cheekbone, finally meeting her eyes in a room where the only source of radiance is the TV screen and the moonlight barging in. What is there to say, he wonders, about her? What is the best thing to say at this very moment? While she sits beside him⸺ cheek propped up on her folded right knee as her left foot rocks back and forth almost imperceptibly, her face tinged a mellow shade of red from the alcohol that just an hour ago used to fill the many bottles that now stand hollow⸺ he doubts he should say anything whatsoever.

But he does so either way.

“Is that how you feel?”

Because not speaking to her feels like a crime against his nature.

She shoots right back. “Isn’t that what you think?”

Now they’re both engaging in a battle of gazes that they are trying to saturate with some manner of temerity. It takes an absurd amount of courage not to flee his own home in search of something insignificant, vulgar, and utterly deplorable just to get the chasteness of the moments spent in her presence to flee from him. It takes several moments of breaths scarcely drawn for him to set his foot down and tell this urge ‘tonight I’m going to stay’.

While he’s mustering the courage to stay where he’s happiest, his hands have a mind of their own; slowly inching in the direction of her left hand until the tips of their fingers are touching just barely. It is stronger than Tooru, the desire to flip their worlds upside down. So, he settles for her hand, his fingers now caressing the hard skin camouflaging the softest of flesh.

Unsure whether to smile or solidify his poker face, Tooru tells her, “Your hands are callused.”

She isn’t far behind. “So are yours.”

Being the narrator has its perks and curses. I get to witness the gradual growth of their affection, which is still too great for their bodies; it spills through the cuts and cracks, bleeding light into a room otherwise washed by the dark. I get to watch him smile as though he’s found the one home that truly feels like one, that ephemeral thing called comfort that slips through the gaps of time, from one heartbeat to the next, that singular thing humans call belonging. I get to see the tremulous dawn of something similar peek above the curve of her lips, as if she’s a little afraid, a little nervous, and a little bit overwhelmed. I get to register his intangible regret and her contented confusion. I get to remember this night as it slips from their minds entirely, the defective record player refusing to let the joy take root… bloom. I get to regret remembering while time flies by, content that it has conquered their misery.

But for now, in the dead of night, he clings to the feeling of familiarity⸺ the scent he adores and forgets time and time again, the rhythmic pattern of her breaths and the rise and fall of her chest⸺ like a child clinging to his birthday balloon. He lets the warmth of her balance the shivers of the 3 AM breeze, because it is, as he slowly begins to understand, the easiest thing to be in her presence. He doesn’t have to pretend, to set his standards for himself so high that he sprains every aspect of his being in the climb to reach it. He can… exist.

He can show her all the memes he has on his phone and she can do the same. He can let her in on jokes his friend group cracks on the daily, revel in her laughter, muffled though it is. He can, in his drunken stupor, twirl strands of her hair around his forefinger, relish the smoothness of it, and let it fall only to repeat it over and over and over again.

She, too, can bask in his beaming smile. The gleam in his brown eyes is genuine, as pure as a candid picture of a raindrop about to plummet into the earth. As if the joy she’s experiencing was not crafted for her, a pang comes where her heart resides, and then another.

“I’m sorry, you know,” Her words invite confusion, but she does not allow him the opportunity to give voice to it. “For being here.”

Tooru knows not how to respond, so he lets his smile speak for him. And when she falls asleep at 3:52 AM, he allows himself the luxury to lie with his back turned to her.

You should know, reader, that the day he learned she’d left home for good wasn’t the first time he’d curled up in bed like a small child afraid of the dark. This isn’t the first time either. If it’s to hold back guilty tears, to suppress apologies that he thinks are either beneath him or above someone as vile as him, he’s more than willing to assume the demeanor of a four-year-old. He’s much too stranded on the mud-like admixture of arrogance and self-loathing to say things like ‘It’s fine’ or ‘Goodnight’. Every bit of his cowardice replenishes his strength to send a drunken prayer; that he might forget he ever felt at home with her.

In the afternoon, when his mom questions him about her whereabouts, she is nowhere to be seen. He thinks he is glad she has gone, so in a way, he got his wish. He believes himself relieved that the evidence of her warmth on his sheets has given way to coolness. But I know how dismayed he is to see her at the playground, sitting on a swing as she converses with Iwaizumi next to her, looking every bit like the girl that he has alienated yet toward whom he keeps gravitating. I know that the discomfort roiling in his chest is nothing but a mixture of fear and shame wound around his lungs like pythons around their prey.

  The music is a drowned thing. Utterly insignificant in comparison to the scream jammed tight in his throat. Barbed wires press insistently against his muscles, shredding his skin. Rin needs someone he can share them with, wrap them in his hurt so they can both be secure within the sky-high fence. What better person to do this with than a stranger? They wouldn’t mind if he were to leave, never to show his face again. They certainly wouldn’t care if he was thinking about anything else while pleasuring them.

As he wraps his fingers around the girl’s neck, angling his head for better access to her lips, he forgets to factor in that people aren’t cutouts of one another.

She breaks away slowly, taking in the distressed look on his face as she asks, “You’re not thinking about me, are you?”

Rin scoffs and leans in once more.

“What does it matter?” He says, lips merely an inch away from hers.

“It doesn’t to me.” The girl shrugs, placing her hands on his arms, which has him halting to look where she’s touching him and then back up at her face. “But you’re not enjoying this.”

Shaking her off, Rin seethes, “How the fuck would you know?”

The girl rolls her eyes.

“I’m just saying you’re not present.” She leans in. “No need to be a little bitch.”

In a second, they’re making out again, but this time Rin is strangely stiff, rigid in his movements. This has never happened to him before. She breaks away, putting some space between them.

“See?” She says with a soft laugh, but Rin refuses to open his eyes. The girl pats him on the arm. “Happy New Year.”

Rin doesn’t say it back because she leaves. Although, there’s a very small chance he would have actually mustered the patience or ability to speak. It’s only after the song ends and ‘house of balloons’ starts playing that gathers the courage to tear his own eyelids open. Everything is painted with splotches of color and it takes a few seconds for him to see clearly. As clearly as he can see in a room lit only by an imitation of a mirror ball.

His mission is to search the house for her. Maybe she’s still where he left her?

“Out.” He tells the couple that’s about to hotbox in Kuroo’s room. “Only Kuroo’s close friends can be here.”

They do as he says, apologizing before stepping out of the room with blunts between their fingers. Rin’s search doesn’t stop here. He trawls the crevices of the penthouse and hounds everyone for any possible sliver of information that they might have on Y/n’s whereabouts. To no avail. She’s no longer here. And if he were to bet on something, it would be that she left almost immediately after he left her there alone and would probably rather not lay eyes on him for the time being.

So, Rin returns to Kuroo’s room and sits on the right side of the bed, feeling the place where she had lain before.

“It was meant to be you.” He mutters, his throat wound tight around the words. “This year was supposed to start with you.”

He watches the fireworks pain the night into day, all the while trying to resist the urge to text or call her. He lies to himself saying this is what has to be done if he wishes for them to remain as tightly knit as they’ve been since they met. His lips throb with want for the feeling of hers as he deceives himself into cowardice because doing otherwise would mean risking everything all over again.

Remember when I said they’d never kissed before? Yeah, I lied so they didn’t have to. 

Taglist: @kurookinnie​ This is so late I’m sorry! 

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#haikyuu #oikawa tooru #oikawa fic #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa tooru angst #oikawa tooru x y/n #Suna Rintarou #suna x reader #suna x y/n #suna rintaro angst #yen per second #bully!oikawa x reader

[satoujo]

!disclaimer none of the works featured on this blog belong to me. all reachable creators were asked for permission to have their work linked on here

main directory

OIKAWA TŌRU

➵ series: story consisted of multiple chapters

➵ one-shot: a single piece of standalone work; can be any length, such as from 1k to 80k words

➵ drabbles: short piece of writing; typically under 1k words and usually around 100 words

➵ blurbs & others: small short description, headcanons, etc.

❀ = fluff ⋆˚ ✧ = angst ⋆˚ ♡ = smut ⋆˚ ✄ = crack

SERIES

tba

ONE-SHOT

tba

DRABBLE

tba

BLURBS & OTHERS

HEADCANONS

oikawa with a sibling dating ushijima // dating kageyama (❀) by @luvring

PROMPTS

first fight (❀) by @augustinewrites

updated: dec 02, 2023

#oikawa tooru angst #oikawa tooru smut #oikawa tooru fluff #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa tooru x you #oikawa x reader #oikawa x you #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you

[kurosukii]

𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐚

a/n : surprise 👁👁 i just had to because when this song was released, this idea was all i could think of 😩 (dw this o&e oikawa au has a happy ending i'm just too lazy to write it HHHH) um yeah pls accept this offer of my return-ish here 🫶

☀︎ MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY — angst (shocking i know 👀), loss of virginity, pregnancy (not super explicit and detailed but still not meant for below eighteen). 519 words. (really just testing if i still got it tbh)

oceans and engines was made for you and oikawa tooru as he was about to leave you and everything behind for argentina.

it was the song that was playing in the background, where it was just the two of you and no one else mattered—pretty big feat for sendai international airport that carries the weight of thousands of footsteps on the daily.

two things were very blurry that day—both yours and oikawa’s eyes that were caused by the tears and the whole ordeal of walking him to the entrance of the departure area, him leaving you with one last salty kiss as he walked away from you and what you had, his back ramrod straight as he dragged his feet through the doors.

you could feel him returning everything to you in that kiss. all the memories, pain, laughter, kisses—his love.

your last night together was as cliché as it can get to any two eighteen year olds who have to end their relationship—not because they want to but because distance and uncertainty required you to.

memories of his lips tracing over every inch of your skin, deft fingers holding you as if you were the one leaving him for a country across the globe, leaving him for a future he wasn’t—isn’t a part of.

it was bittersweet, in all honesty. the sharing of two bodies, all entangled in between the sheets as you held on to his shoulders, pulling him towards you, for him to melt into your body so he wouldn’t leave, leave you and everything that was ever familiar—safe—to him.

but you’re brought back to reality when he thrusts one last time, his groan lost to your lips as his hands squeeze yours so hard that you whimper both from the pain and pleasure, legs squeezing his lithe waist as you orgasm around him.

the tears cascading down your cheeks are hot, as hot as his cum that’s filling you up. but the thrilling sensation of being careless isn’t enough to deter you both from knowing that this is the first and last time that you’ll be doing this—basking in each other’s love and pain and wonder.

not when he reluctantly pulls away, not when he cleans and wipes you down, not when he’s kissing your thighs and belly with a gentleness that’s only meant for you, and certainly not when you see his silhouette disappear amongst the throng of nameless people.

you’re only deterred by what you and oikawa have done when the answer is given to you in two weeks, in the form of two glaring red lines, and the sense of dread as the sky practically falls over your head and entire being as you slowly sit yourself to the floor, the feeling of the cold bathroom tiles being the only thing piercing through the numbness coursing through your body.

when both of you said that you’ll always be a part of each other, you didn’t think that fate would play her sick and twisted game—weaving yours and oikawa’s threads so tight and coiled that the end is the same as the beginning.

#oikawa angst #oikawa tooru angst #oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa tooru drabble #oikawa x you #oikawa tooru x you #oikawa drabble #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu drabbles #haikyuu x reader #cant put smut bc it's not grr #[ 🁤 ] – drabbles #[ ❃ ] – aoba johsai

[rosze-v]

birthday boy

pairing: Oikawa Tooru x Reader

synopsis: Celebrating his birthday all alone, or so you thought

tw: fluff, MANGA SPOILER (but only like a place spoiler), slight suggestive theme but really minor, little bit of angst

w.c: 1.3k

a/n: Halu! I don’t really know what to feel about this one, but I was just bored, and needed to write something. I don’t think I did well here but, its okay! I’ve been playing Valorant a lot lately, and it has been fun, I wish I have someone I can play with. Anyway! have fun reading this!

text: happy birthday tooru, take care of yourself.

And sent. You stare at your phone, head empty, and not believing you just sent that. It has been 3 months, since you broke up with the volleyball player. 3 months of living in auto pilot in the morning, and complete breakdowns at night. You have loved, and maybe if you weren’t ignoring your heart, you could admit you still love him.

You met Oikawa when he came over to Argentina, and walk into the bakery you work at. What you noticed from him first was the proud smirk on his face, and his tall build. You immediately knew to steer away from him because the first thing he did when he saw you at the counter was to say, hi pretty can I get your number?  

But what you didn’t know at the time was that he had been watching you for so long. He had his eyes on you the first time he saw you giving out bread samples outside of the bakery. Oikawa thought you were so cute, but he didn’t want to mess it up by being greedy, so he observed you. Yet the result of his observation was replied with how can I help you today sir.

And ever since that day, Oikawa had tried his hardest to take you out, and you gave in. You gave in, and said yes to the best date you have ever went. Oikawa brought you to a beautiful restaurant for your first date, and you guys talk so much, the restaurant have to chase you guys away. You never expected the flirty, cocky-looking man you detest so much, had so much in common with you.

So that was the story of how you dated Oikawa, the man who kept your heart in cages.

Remembering your time with him send a striking pain through your chest. The beach was quite cold, but the starry night is comforting enough for you. You glance at the clock in your phone, and realized that its 12.10. You turn to your right, and take the box of cake, placing it on your lap. When you open the box, you could see a simple white cake, with blue writing of Happy Birthday. Birthdays were always special to you; well, it became special when Oikawa introduced it to you. Growing up, you didn’t celebrate your birthdays much, because no one really cares. So, when Oikawa found out that he missed your birthday because you couldn’t care less to tell him, and he found out the reason why, he made sure that all celebrations be it birthdays, Halloween, whatever it is, will be celebrated.

So, here you are, trying to place the candles in the cake, trying to celebrate the birthday of your ex. You were trying to lit up the candles when a voice startles you.

“You’re gonna burn yourself that way”. You immediately turn around, eyes wide, and body freezing. Though your body relaxes immediately when it was the birthday boy himself.

“Tooru…”. You whispered as Oikawa sit down beside you, taking the cake into his lap, and lighting up the candle himself. He was silent, and you were silent as you take in the sight in front of you. Oikawa’s hair was much longer now, he had it tied. There were stubbles, and little moustache. He looked thinner than before, and yet you couldn’t help but breathe him in. He still smells the same, his voice still sounds the same, and you could only stare at him.

He turned around to face you, placing the cake back into your lap. He was trying his best to not meet your eyes, but he couldn’t help it, he missed the way your eyes misses his. Slowly, Oikawa looks up, and immediately his heart thrums loud in his ears. He misses you so much, it took everything in him not to squeeze you in his arms. It was silent again, the both of you gazing into each other, wondering, what the hell happened.

“happy birthday to you”. You sang suddenly, as you lift the cake up in front of Oikawa.

“happy birthday to you”. Oikawa’s lips who were straight, and emotionless before, curled up slowly.

”happy birthday to my Tooru, happy birthday to you”. Oikawa blew the candle, closing his eyes, pretending to make a wish, when in fact, he was trying his best to hold onto his tears because you called him, my Tooru. When he opens his eyes, he notice your wet cheeks, and you trying to wipe away your incoming tears.

“I'm sorry (y/n)”. Oikawa blurted, and you could only shake your head.

“It was my fault Tooru”.

“No, it wasn’t your fault! I was just not listening to you.” Oikawa admits, as he slowly took your hand into his.

“But I wasn’t understanding enough.” You said, remembering the reason the both of you broke up. It was just something silly, you realize that you and Oikawa have not spend any time together, and he was ignoring your texts, and calls. When you demand answers, he got angry at you, and telling you that he’s too busy. You, of course, apologized first, but then it continues happening, and eventually, the both of you broke up.

“No, baby, I was just…”. Oikawa sighs, rubbing his face in frustration. “I was only looking at myself, and thinking that you will be alright”. He whispered.

“And, I was such a dick to you, and I…, I let you go”. Oikawa couldn’t hold in his tears anymore, he was feeling such intense emotions, and he just wants, no he needs you back so much. Seeing him so broken claws into your heart, as you squeeze his hand. You were going to speak up when Oikawa continues again.

“Please (y/n) … I really want you back. These 3 months were utter hell, I- I need you. I’ll do anything for you to come back”. You peer into his eyes, honesty, and determination were clear in his eyes.

But you can’t help but think of how lonely, and terrible it felt when he ignored you. “But Tooru… what happened was a huge problem you know”. Oikawa nodded in agreement.

“I completely understand that you’re busy, but I really don’t like it when you just ignore me, and the things I said. It felt like my words, and feelings don’t mean anything.” You whispered, looking down at your lap.

A hand extended in front of you as Oikawa places his hand on your chin, and held it up, so you were looking at him again. Gently, he places his hand on your cheek, rubbing circles on it. It felt so soothing, and you could feel yourself melting into Oikawa again.

“I’ll change for you. I’ll learn to listen, and I will learn to communicate better. Please… just give me another chance”. Oikawa pleading voice shakes your weak judgement, and after a few seconds you nodded. Immediately, Oikawa hug you, tight and strong as he sighs in delight.

“Fuck, I miss this baby”. You could only chuckle as you rub his back, and inhaling his scent.

“I miss you too my Tooru”. Oikawa unlatches himself from you as he shows you his grin.

“So, I’m your Tooru?”. Oikawa said, pulling your hand up to his cheek, as you rub his cheek, and then his head. You pull his head to you gently, letting your foreheads touch.

“You’re my Tooru”. He giggles, elated at your words, and getting you back. He stares at your lips, a desire burns in him, but he shakes his head, which confuses you. He quickly pecks your lip, wanting to hold onto his desire, that’s for later, he thought.

“Can we eat my cake at home?”. Oikawa stood up, holding onto the cake box in one hand, while the other held out for you to reach.

“Who said that cake is for you?”. You teased, as Oikawa pout, his lips jutted out, and eyebrows scrunched. You laughed, as you held onto his hip while he naturally places his arms around your shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s your cake birthday boy. I made it for you.”

“Hell yeah! We boutta get cake wrecked baby!”. The both of you laughed out loud, hearts connecting once again, and under the stars of July, you celebrated another birthday.

#oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #oikawa tooru fluff #oikawa tooru angst #oikawa tooru x y/n #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu angst #oikawa tooru imagines #oikawa tooru drabbles #rsz.w

[spencerrxids]

peace means i love you

moonlight ( chapter 6 )

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series summary : in which izumi akari was supposed to be the star player in women’s volleyball history. she was a prodigy. she had her future set in the stone or so she thought. the once player from kitagawa daiichi ended up being a manager for the team she have found family in, karasuno. just when she thought her story was ending, a certain orange-haired boy appears along with a very familiar face as the new addition to the team. or in which akari meet faces that once was a part of her past along with the ones that would become a part of her future. the story of the second year manager of karasuno.

pairing : oikawa tooru x izumi akari (oc), kuroo tetsuro x izumi akari (oc)

chapter summary : a late night quite angsty interaction between the two past lovers

based on : set on during season 1, episode 14 [ a formidable opponent ]

tags : angst, oikawa confusing akari with his feelings cause man changes mood in a blink of an eye

wordcount : 2.1k

a/n : short chapter here. sorry for the late update. but this one is kinda angsty. although it is short, this chapter is kind of important to akari’s and oikawa’s complex relationship that we will get into later on in the storyline. also I recommend listening to sign of the times by harry styles when you read this

Akari found herself roaming around the familiar scenery of a park. A sigh comes out of her mouth, tired of the fact that she couldn’t get herself to sleep, no matter how hard she had tried to. She sat on one of the benches, dressed in her pajama pants, an oversized shirt along with a black unzipped hoodie to cover her arms from the chilly wind of the night. She looks up to the sky to find it completely dark with no sight of the moon at all, hidden behind those dark clouds. Or perhaps, it's getting itself a nice rest of the night. If that's the case, then Akari is jealous of the moon.

It's only days behind The Inter-High Preliminaries. Time does pass without her noticing at all, it’s been almost a month since their practice game with the Nekoma team. A month has passed since the last time she saw Nekoma's captain. Inter-High Preliminaries are right in front of their eyes now. The day that all of them have been dreading to come. The day they all have been preparing to face with all of their strength. Akari found herself to be busier than usual because Michimiya, the captain of Karasuno’s girl volleyball team, had asked for her help with the team.

She still remembers the day when they first met. The older girl recognized her almost immediately and was surprised to see her in Karasuno instead of other schools. She practically begs her to join the team. However, of course, Akari refuses her offer. In the end, she revealed the reason why she had decided to stop her career. It was quite uncomfortable to reveal for her but thankfully, Michimiya understood the situation.

Sometimes she found it sad how half of the girls’ team could instantly recognize who she was and yet none of the boys’ team did. It’s not about them not recognizing her, she couldn’t care any less about that. But the fact it happened shows how girls are less to be spotlighted in the world of sports. No matter how hard they work, they would always be overshadowed by the men. She supposed some of those men do deserve the attention, however that doesn’t mean for the media to lessen their attention on the women who deserve those too.

Earlier that day, the lineup for Inter-high Preliminaries had been revealed. Karasuno would be facing Date Tech once again if they won in the first round and if they won against them. The team would face Aoba Johsai. There’s a part of her that immediately worried about the ace of the team, knowing what happened the last time they went against the Iron Wall team.

She zoned out a little bit, covering her face with her palm as she leaned her elbow to her thigh—thinking about the team and herself. To say that she is nervous for the team is an understanding. This will be their first official match. During her first year in Karasuno, the team wasn't exactly the best or as serious as they are right now. It felt more like a gathering of friends who enjoyed volleyball occasionally during their free time. That was until the original coach Ukai came back to the team.

Some of the members resigned, not completely comfortable with the thought of going to matches and others. The atmosphere changed into something far more serious than before. It was supposed to be what a sports club was supposed to be but everyone seems to be so tense at the idea during that time.

The elder guy recognized her after some time, the question of why she didn’t join the female team instead came out of his mouth. I can’t, she said that day. She never explained why but he was more than welcome to her in those days. There was a part of Akari that considered the idea of stepping down as a manager. She couldn’t get herself to actually do it. Didn’t have the heart to.

"Huh? It seems that the fates want us to be together. What a coincidence." Akari immediately opened her eyes—head snapped towards the voice direction. To the boy who was standing in front of her. An innocent smile on his face as he greeted her.

Why? Out of all the people in this world, why would you send Oikawa Tooru here? Her eyes stole a glance at the dark sky before falling back to him, who still stood tall in his place.

Both of them held a gaze for some seconds—neither said anything. "Hello, Ri-chan." He said, a grin adorned his face as he waved his hand to him—a form of greeting.

***

The next thing she knows, both of them are seated on the outside of a minimarket, facing each other. Oikawa opened a can of coke and put it in front of her before he took a sip of his own can of coke. "So how is Karasuno’s preparation for the preliminaries?" Taking a look at the girl seated in front of him.

She raised her eyebrow slightly, not making any move to drink the coke anytime soon. “So this is your plan? Getting all of your opponent's information from me? It’s not going to work, Oikawa-san.” She looks to the street beside her, looking everywhere but him. She could feel his eyes burning holes on the side of her face as he refused to look away.

He puts down his can. ”Okay, then how's Kage-"

"Oikawa," The boy stopped in the middle of the sentence. His gaze stays on her. "Stop it." She knows that he's just trying to avoid the obvious tension between them. As if, she, herself, was any better than him and not trying to do the same. If anything, Oikawa was the better one for trying to break the unbreakable ice. Akari leaned her head on the table, closing her eyes as she did so.

Silence

What used to be a comforting silence between them has now become something heavy that weighs both of their hearts, it was so heavy that the two can’t hold their feelings steady around each other. Akari felt a weight on top of her head. She was about to tell him to get his hand off when he opened his mouth.

"Do you know how late it is right now?” He said, then paused for a second. “Were you having a nightmare? You should be sleeping in your room instead of wandering around at such an hour.” He runs his hand through her hair, she can’t seem to reply to him. He said those words so softly with what sounded like sincerity flowing in his tone. As if they were still something. As if he cares for her. As if he ever cares for her. As if she still meant anything to him.

His hand untangled itself from her hair as she looked up at him, a look of tiredness filled her eyes. She has no time for any Oikawa Tooru games tonight. “What do you want?” She asked him. Memories of them together flashed in front of them as their eyes connected once more.

“I just want to spend the night here with you. Is that a sin?”

“Of course not. I just need to know why?”

“You know why.”

Oikawa turned his gaze to look at the can of coke in front of him as his finger trailed on the top of it. Akari looked at him with her mouth slightly opened, not wanting to reply to his words but at the same time she thought of that—the words rolled out of her mouth. “No. I don’t. I don’t know why.”

“Do I really need a reason to be here with you? I missed you, that's all.” He answered.

She scoffed, “I found that very hard to believe.”

Her hand hovered above the can that he put in front of her, silently debating whether to grab it or not. Lowering her gaze away from him, she stands up, the can is now in her hand. “I should go back home now.” Oikawa’s gaze stays on the now empty seat in front of him, not sparing any glance at her. “Is there anything you would like to say while I’m still here? Any truth that you want to throw out there in the meantime, Oikawa-san?” She stood there, waiting for his response.

She could’ve just walked away from him. Walk away from reality at that moment. But instead, she stood there, foolishly waiting for him to answer her. Her feet were glued to the ground, refusing to move despite the screams in her brain, telling her to go.

“Tooru.” He looked up at her. “Why won’t you call me Tooru?” That voice. That tone. Oikawa has ditched his cocky setter persona. For a split second, during that moment, he sounded helpless as he asked that question to her. “Does my name disgust you so much that you refuse to even say it?”

“You make me sound like a mere stranger to you.” He continued, once again.

“Isn’t that what we are?” She questioned. “I never actually knew you, right? If that doesn’t make us strangers, I don’t know what would.”

He knows what she is referring to. Both of them knew that day all too well. Akari put her tongue on the roof of her mouth, tearing her gaze away from him as she tries to suppress her emotion, not letting it out for she refuses to look ‘weak’ in front of him, not again. While Oikawa just sat there, she hated the fact that she couldn't read what he was thinking about at that moment. Hated the fact that she can’t trust the words that went out of his mouth. Can’t decide if it’s a lie or the truth.

Seconds later, she looks back up at him as he suddenly stood up, eyes still downcasted to the ground. Was it a smile on his face? She can’t really tell. He said nothing but walked past her. Akari could swear a scene from their past flashed right in front of her eyes as he did so, a memory of him doing the same thing, on that wretched day. The fates love to put them in the same scenarios all the time, each time with differences inside their heart. They’ve been here before. Yet, somehow never learn to escape from the ill-fated ending.

She felt him stop a few steps behind her. “Akari.” He called out her name, making her turn around to face him. His eyes went up to look at hers, however, her gaze was stuck on the two fingers he held up in the air. To say that she wanted him to vanish into the air at that moment seems to be an understanding. A look of disbelief went up to her face as her gaze fell back onto him. Her mouth opened, trying to utter any words. “You’re being cruel.” She said, finally.

“I’m being true.”

Then he left. Leaving her with nothing but the aftermath of his actions. Teardrops fell down to the ground as she looked down, a shaky breath escaped her mouth. Somehow him hating her would’ve been far less painful than this. It would’ve been easier for her to accept.

“Let this be our sign language then.” said a younger Oikawa Tooru, holding his index and middle finger in the air, a grin forming on his face. Akari had just explained that it is not the right gesture to proclaim love in sign language. He had been doing it wrong. Mistaking the peace sign as the ‘I love you’ sign this whole time. Which means every time he held up his two fingers to her who was watching him from the audience, this whole time she just thought about it as a peace sign rather than a form of how he shows his love to her. I love you, that’s what he was saying every time his eyes fell onto her during each of his game.

Akari could never decide if the words that fell out of Oikawa’s mouth were lies or truth. She said that before and now she said it again. However he did not actually say the words, did he? I still love you, he didn’t say that, not directly. Instead, he holds his two fingers up in the air, practically forcing her to swallow what he called as the truth. If there was a part of her heart that beat for him then why does it hurt so bad? If there was a part of Akari who still feels deeply about him, then why does it hurt to see him returning those feelings.

“I hate you.”

She lied at the end of the night. Saying it as if it’s a spell that would make it come true. That would actually make her hate him. Convincing herself that there are no longer space for him in her life.

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#oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa tooru angst #kuroo tetsuro x original character #oikawa tooru x fem!reader #oikawa tooru x oc #kuroo tetsuro #kuroo tetsuro x fem!reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo tetsuro fanfiction #oikawa tooru fanfiction #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #kuroo imagine #kuroo x you #haikyuu fanfiction #moonlight by spencerrxids

[theglitterypages]

A major (?) Spoiler for next chapter of Fly High

#haikyu oikawa #oikawa toru x reader #oikawa x reader #oikawa x you #oikawa x y/n #oikawafic #oikawa fic #oikawa tooru x you #oikawa tooru x y/n #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa angst #oikawa toru angst #oikawa fluff #oikawa tooru fanfiction #oikawa tooru fluff #oikawa toru scenarios #oikawa toru x you #oikawa toru x y/n #oikawa hcs #oikawa tooru angst

[strwbrryeyes]

𖦹°｡⋆ haikyuu boys as my breakup playlist

⟡ featuring: suna, oikawa, tsukishima, atsumu

⟡ cw: angst, idk still bad at these

⟡ an: i found my old breakup playlist from three years ago and took inspiration from that so these songs are old lol. writing this was silly because im in a loving relationship but it was like i felt all the pain of a breakup again </3

⟡ part two, part three

⟡ suna rintarou: you broke me first - tate mcrae

suna would be the one to break things off with you. when you first started dating he genuinely thought he loved you but as time went on and he became more distant, you started to feel like he was losing feelings for you so you asked him about it. in his words, "i think you were just the first girl to give me attention after my last relationship" and "im not ready for a relationship". a week later, he starts talking about all the girls that have come to him after the breakup and started talking about his hookups to you. this bothered you and hurt you deeply so you decided to cut things off with him completely and he was not a fan of this. so he tried everything to try to get you to talk to him again saying that he misses you and that he wants to get back together. you couldn't care less though, he's already broken your heart too many times for you not to notice his pattern of wanting your attention just to make you jealous or upset. in the end, it actually did end up hurting him and made him realize what he lost. he knew he fucked up but there's no going back anymore.

⟡ oikawa tooru: over breakfast - ellise

it's been a few months since oikawa left for argentina. it's been hard for the both of to be apart for so long and in completely different timezones. you could feel the connection fading but neither of you wanted to admit it because you both loved each other so much. but the longer you guys try to keep the relationship afloat, the more frequent you end up arguing over text or facetime. but you both decided that it could be something to figure out when oikawa visits for the holidays. well, the holidays come around and you finally have time to see each other and talk in person. from the moment oikawa entered your apartment, you both knew it was over. you could tell so many things have changed over the course of the last few months but instead of facing it, you just decide to spend one more night together just to have one final time to say that you tried. it was bittersweet and it hurt a lot but you didn't want the night to end. maybe you could fix this over night? in the morning everything will be better and you can set aside your differences! unfortunately, that morning, nothing had changed and you and oikawa finally came to terms with the fact that maybe you two just maybe weren't meant to be.

⟡ tsukishima kei: high definition - waterparks

when tsukishima was still part of the sendai frogs, he traveled a lot. it's not like he was off in another country like some of his old teammates and rivals, no, you lived with him. even though you two had been dating for quite some time by this point, tsukishima still had trouble expressing his love for you. he tended to push you away whenever he was stressed even though the one thing he wanted the most was your comfort and loving. he was just worried he would end up snapping at you and making you hate him. he didn't know that you'd end up upset with him regardless. you loved him so much but you don't know how long you could going on like this. i mean come on! tsukishima was always away for volleyball matches and even when he's home...it's like he's still not even there. tsukishima knew that you were starting to slip away from him so one day he sat you down and explained how he was feeling and it was finally then that you understood why he acted the way he did. you tried protesting his decision to break up with you but he kept insisting it was for the better. by the next week tsukishima had moved out leaving you alone in the once shared apartment, wishing and hoping he'd come back one day.

⟡ miya atsumu: better off - ariana grande

everyone knew that atsumu could be hot headed most of the time when it came to volleyball but what they didn't know is that it would sometimes affect your relationship with him. much like tsukishima, he would close himself off from you whenever he was mad at the world or whatever else there is that could make him upset. it was starting to get tiring for you. you felt like you had to walk on egg shells around him just so he wouldn't snap at you (wether he meant to or not- his mind would always fog up). towards the end of your relationship, you could feel yourself start to get numb in regards to your feelings towards atsumu. atsumu couldn't really tell at this point that you were losing hope for the relationship. if anything he thought everything was normal but that was only because half of the time he was too much into his own thoughts to notice any flaws between the two of you. it wasn't until he came home one day after an away game on the other side of japan and found that all of your stuff was gone along with you, that he realized nothing is what it used to be. he found a note from you that explained that you weren't happy in the relationship anymore and that you felt trapped. you also stated that you hope he figures out his issues and that you'll always be there for him if he needs but that right now you just needed space. atsumu spent that night crying and angry at himself for letting your relationship get to this point.

#𖦹°｡⋆ 𝓃𝒾𝓃𝒾 #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x reader angst #haikyuu angst #suna rintarou x reader #suna rintarou angst #suna x reader #suna angst #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa x reader #oikawa angst #oikawa tooru angst #tsukishima kei x reader #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima angst #tsukishima kei angst #atsumu miya x reader #atsumu x reader #atsumu miya angst #atsumu angst

[oreosmama]

Voicemails After the Breakup (Haikyuu!! Headcanons)

*GIFs not mine*

A/N: I pity the fools who ignore this a/n bc WARNING, these are hcs without those stupid bullet points bc I have suddenly emotionally decided that they fucking suck. Anyways, I hope y'all enjoy the light angst, for all those survivors who are still vibing in this fandom. Enjoy!

Word count: 1968

Tooru Oikawa:

“I’m totally and completely over you.”

That’s how the message starts. 

Part of you wonders if you missed something, or accidentally skipped ahead. It’s so immediate, like Oikawa could barely wait for the beep before tearing into you. Like he needed to spit poison the second he had the chance. 

And it’s one of those biting remarks that he wants to let fester—for a while, evidently; he doesn’t say anything else for another five minutes. 

All that follows is a loud thud, like he’s thrown the phone away from him. And then footsteps, like he’s pacing, pacing, pacing back and forth, trying to think of more scathing words by burning holes into his carpet. 

You hit a point where you think you should delete the message, maybe try and not care about whatever else he may or may not say after waiting for so long. You nibble on your nails and tug at the snarls in your hair. You pick four pieces of lint off your sweatshirt and seventeen more off the blanket draped over your lap, and you know how many there are because you line them up and count them afterwards as you wait, anxious, listening to your ex-boyfriend’s panting. 

But a small rustle stirs at that five-minute mark, right against your ear. And a sniffle. 

“Fine.” Oikawa’s voice cracks. “You win.” 

You suck in a breath. 

“What do you wanna hear? That I miss you?” He sniffles again, then scoffs bitterly. “That I miss you so fucking much I can’t sleep at night? That my bed is so fucking cold now I can’t even stomach sleeping in it? That every girl I see I automatically compare to you because I have to—I just fucking have to, all because she’s not you. And it makes me sick.”

His chuckle is sour and crackles harshly into your eardrum. “Am I stroking your ego enough, sweetheart? Because you win. You fucking win.

“I want you back.” 

He sighs, and it sounds like he’s rubbing his forehead. 

“I need you back.” 

More beats pass in the silence. More sniffles, too, but stretched out, like he’s trying to steady his breathing. 

You don’t think it’s helping him any. As you wipe the cuffs of your sweatshirt underneath your eyes, his voice returns, thoroughly raw and wounded. It squeaks out of him, barely above a whisper. His voice is so loud and tender, like he’s cradling the phone against his cheek. 

Your hand against his warm cheek, curled over that pink skin, fingertips inches away from brushing through those soft strands, wiping tears. That’s what you wish it was. 

“I didn’t know…” 

A shaky breath. You hold yours in return. 

“I didn’t know anything could hurt this bad.”

He swallows thickly. 

“Those last few moments after you left—I thought that would be the worst of it. When you just walked out. And I keep seeing you do it, over and over and over, in my head like I can’t help but torture myself with it.

“I never knew it would get so much fucking worse.”

He whimpers a little, and your heart constricts unbearably. You tear at the damn thing buried underneath your sweatshirt, massaging the skin like it can soothe that phantom ache. 

Oikawa must hate you. Maybe he hates you like you hate him: not because of the breakup, but because you can go for weeks without seeing him, holding him, kissing him, and everything still hurts like that last time. 

“Thing is, I could’ve sworn you weren’t always in my life. It’s been two years. Only two years. And yet I can’t remember a damn thing before us. It feels like it was always us. Some fog, and then you, and then everything afterwards. Everything that was us.”

“And I hate that we had it so good, YN. I really do. Because missing you has been the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.��

The frustration in his voice is familiar, a sickening sense of deja vu around it, and you latch a hand over your mouth at how vividly the image comes to you: Oikawa tearing his fingers through his hair, teeth gritted, cheeks flushed and shiny. Like when he lost a game, but different somehow. 

Like this was something he didn’t even know he could lose.

He’s crumbling in a way he doesn’t know how to stop. That ugly part about having something wonderful and new—the moment it’s gone, what the hell are you supposed to do then?

“I just—Goddamnit, I can’t stand how badly it hurts anymore. I can’t,” he cries, desperate and aching, like his hand is fisting at his heart. You can hear the breath hitching in his throat, the hiccuping breaths after his sobs. You can hear every tear, feel it against your own cheeks, a soreness building at the front of your skull. 

Too many tears. Your body is screaming at you, too many fucking tears. 

But it’s him and he was yours and you were his. 

Were. 

You were his. 

You had no idea how much that single thought could make your entire chest throb. 

Oikawa inhales, and it makes your heart race against the thick wall caging it in, squeezing against it. 

“I need to see you.” 

He says the thought like it’s just slapped him across the face. 

“I need to go see you, I—I have to.” 

He mumbles to himself unsteadily, like he’s rocking back and forth. Debating, really, what he’s supposed to do, if he should do it at all, if it’s right after everything.

You should probably think he’s wrong.

You probably shouldn’t be curled over your phone, eyes wide, mouth open, not making a fucking peep. Waiting to hear what he’s going to do. 

Maybe—just maybe—you shouldn’t be telling yourself that as the voicemail counts down to its final seconds, if he decides he’s not going to go to you, that you’ll definitely be going to him.

“I can’t just sit here. I can’t stay in here, without you. This isn’t right, I—”

Your breath hitches when you hear the frantic jingle of keys. 

Then the sound of a door slamming. 

His footsteps racing down his apartment’s stairwell.

A car engine revving. 

“I need to see you.” 

And the voicemail ends. 

_________________________

Satori Tendou: 

The message begins with a scoff of utter disbelief. 

“Is that what we’re doing now?”

He pauses, almost like he thinks you’re going to respond. 

“Heard from someone that I suddenly have syphilis. Yesterday, I had herpes though, so I guess I’m gonna have a tough week.”

A rustle like he’d shaking his head, like he can’t fucking believe it. 

“And sure, okay, I figured that’s fine. You can say all that shit, and it won’t really stick because everyone knows it was us and that it’s you and you’re hurt.”

He sighs. 

“But I saw it, sweetheart. I saw it.” The phone whines like he’s adjusting it against his face, and his voice is suddenly lower, darker. 

“You don’t get to have it both ways, you know. You can’t spread all that shit—all those rumors about how shitty everything was and how we didn’t have anything going for us—and then turn around two days later wearing my sweatshirt. And you don’t get to wear that necklace I gave you for our anniversary and then run away from me the second you see me. That’s just not fair—you’re not playing fair anymore.”

Something swishes around like loose clothing, and a large huff greets your ear from what must be Tendou collapsing into a seat. When his little sounds become quieter, that relentless humming and the excitable clicks of his tongue against his teeth, you figure he must have put the phone on speaker and balanced it on his knee like he always did. Mid-conversation with Ushiwaka, he always used to spin his phone with those long fingers, or bounce the damn thing up and down against his frantic leg. 

And the voicemail came through late last night, one of those dead hours where the only ones awake were Tendou, his scrambling thoughts, and the moths flitting back and forth outside his glowing window. He was always awake, always thinking, always doing something. 

When you’d first broken up, after one long, wrenching fight where you’d both lost your voices and the frustration welled so high you just couldn’t breathe anymore, you’d been thankful for the idea of sleeping soundly for the first time in months. 

You’d been wrong. You weren’t even sleeping anymore; just long, slow blinks where your phone screen would magically turn from 3:45 a.m. to 7:25 a.m., and in five minutes you’d have to get up and slug your way through another day. 

Tendou had been the same. Those naturally wide eyes sagged under the pressure, and the curve of his spine had deepened like he’d been hauling the lack of sleep everywhere he went. 

He must be sitting at his window now, at this moment in his message, pale skin aglow with wispy tendrils of moon. And he’s calling you. And he saw everything you’d done. 

“Not fair. Not fair at all,” he whines, teasing. Always, always teasing, and if you hadn’t heard the slight cripple in his voice on the last word, you’d have gone on thinking he viewed it as one big joke. 

You’re sure he heard the same thing you had—that he couldn’t keep acting like it was all fun and games. His usual, cat-like smile surely fell into a pert little frown, pale lips twisting like he’d sucked on a lemon. 

No fun, no fun, no fun, he must have been thinking. 

“Ya see, I thought we had a little deal,” Tendou drawls. “You’d talk smack and start dressing all pretty just to spite me, and then–and then I’d go ahead and delete all your pictures and put your name as ‘Bitch’ in my phone. And in, like, two weeks, we’d just be two ships, whoosh, whoosh, passing each other on the high seas of life, ya know?”

He breathes a ghost of a laugh. 

“But, sweetheart, you look like shit.” He chuckles for real this time, and it’s disgustingly hollow. “I’m not even kidding. Like someone ran you over three times every morning—it’s horrible, really.”

You curl into yourself even further, and you’re smiling, grinning, lips peeling with how much you’ve cried and how little water you’ve drank after. You hate him; God, you hate how he can make you laugh and cry at the same time. 

“But that’s okay, I’ll give you a pass just this once. I haven’t deleted your pictures yet, so I botched my end of the deal, too.” Tendou tsks his tongue. 

“I won’t go easy on you, though. Here–here, how’s about this: for every day you stop wearing my clothes—because they look horrible on you, sweetheart; really, you’re painful to watch—I’ll delete one of your pictures, eh? That means, in about–uhhdivideby365daysinayearignoringleapyearbullshit–ah, seven years, I’ll have held up my end. S’that good with you?”

You lean your head back, letting the tears flood your hair as he chuckles to himself. 

“Fuck it,” he says after a pause. Hopeless. Breathless. “Fuck it.” He must be gnawing on that pale lower lip, biting and nibbling until it bleeds. Because he lets something go to sigh again, and he must have smacked his head against the wall, and then you think he sniffled. 

“I still want you. I’ve always wanted you. And I’m tired of missing you and wanting you. Doing both hurts too much.”

Tendou soughs.

“So I’m still your Chicken Tendy, baby. Always. And I’ll be here when you're ready, syphilis and all.”

#haikyuu x reader #oikawa x reader #tendou x reader #tendou satori x reader #oikawa tooru x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyu x reader #satori x reader #oikawa tooru #tendou satori #satori tendou #tooru oikawa #haikyuu x reader angst #haikyuu headcanons

[ilylovelyz]

haikyuu boys when protective of you

most likely gets into a fight, does throw the first punch, and dramatically whines afterwards, forcing you to be his personal nurse ATSUMU, TANAKA, nishinoya, terushima, IWAIZUMI, hoshiumi

so insulting and almost degrading to whoever is threatening you that the offender ends up leaving out of embarrassment TSUKISHIMA, shirabu, KUROO, kenma, sugawara, daishou, akira, SUNA, kageyama, ushijima, futakuchi, hanamaki

YOU'RE the one who is protecting them SAKUSA, hachi, bokuto, YAMAGUCHI, GOSHIKI, asahi, tendo, AONE, oikawa (somehow), koganegawa, LEV

does his best to diffuse the situation, but ultimately leaves angry and mentally hexes them KIYOKO, akaashi, KITA, DAICHI, hinata, yaku, hirugami

spends the night in jail KENTARO, semi, yamamoto, mattsun, OSAMU

#haikyuu angst #haikyuu breeding #haikyuu smut #haikyuu texts #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu yandere #haikyuu pregnant #haikyuu headcanons #haikyu x reader #haikyū!! #haikyuu fluff #oikawa tooru #iwaizumi hajime #kageyama tobio #hinata shouyou #tsukishima kei #daichi sawamura #sugawara koushi #asahi azumane #yamaguchi tadashi #bokuto kōtarō #akaashi keiji #tanaka ryuunosuke #nishinoya yuu #kiyoko shimizu #kyoutani kentarou #kuroo tetsurō #kenma kuzome #sakusa kiyoomi

[yeahthatwouldbedark]

Yen per second

tropes: death trope, friends to lovers (if you have won a golden medal in squinting really hard), rivals to lovers, bully romance bestie, college au, friends with benefits, Oikawa and reader have known each other since childhood.

trigger warnings (for the entire series): child abuse, domestic abuse, sexual abuse, bullying, depression, child neglect, terminal illness at some point, broken home, mental breakdowns, panic attacks, anxiety, death, injuries (Oikawa’s bad knee for example), substance abuse. 

Chapter 5 

13.7k words 

Age 16 

Going to the movies is as much a tradition to their friendship group as Christmas is to… well the Christians. Every break is that time of the year that drains their pockets, squeezes their bank accounts (Kuroo’s parents), and leaves them out to dry by the end of the month. It’s a religion, a cult if you will. All those worthy of respect, says Chiharu with a triumphant smile that says her words rise victorious against all rebuttals, must worship the cinema. In the world of art, what Chiharu says, goes.

The truth is that Y/n enjoys going to the movies. She enjoys it, not because she especially appreciates the world of cinema with its elements of script, cinematography, or music score, but because they provide a respite that she refuses to admit she needs. She can sit back, no eyes on her. She is paper thin, translucent in the dimness of a theatre lit only by the screen; the jagged edges of her displeasing presence are shorn to the point that she’s smooth enough for everyone to become submerged in the atmosphere without finding their senses lacerated. She is neither happy nor sad, not that it mattered.

Though her ears prick up at each and every sound⸺ the sound of spit being swapped two rows down to her right, the muffled moans, the yawns of boredom, the sighs of disappointment⸺ never do her eyes stray from the screen. Not even as her friends urge someone over in hushed tones, someone who was supposed to have been here 30 minutes ago. An older woman, probably middle-aged and wearing small-rimmed glasses, shushes them. The new guy doesn’t seem to care as he just takes his seat and stuffs his face full of popcorn, munching loud enough for the crunch to creep into the woman’s ears. A look of unadulterated vexation has Kuroo and Chiharu snorting like piglets. Kenma does his best to paint himself as unassociated with their kind.

Rin, to his credit, stops being a nuisance to the other people in the theatre and just focuses on the one person who seems dead set on capturing every single fucking moment of the picture. Her eyes aren’t even wide open, but the intent is written in the utter disregard toward his late arrival, the way she sits with her shoulders flat against the back of the seat when the rest are gesturing at the screen or trash-talking the characters they find annoying. His eyes flit over her hands, how she licks her fingers once the popcorn passes her lips, the way she pulls at the end of her yellow shirt now and then as if to convince herself she’s here too, she’s here still. There’s something else too. He can’t pinpoint what it is. All he knows is that it doesn’t make her better or worse, just distinct. 

Before he knows it, the credits roll and the spectators trickle out like glass beads out of a pocket with holes in it. As if in a trance, she sits there for like two more minutes. It’s an eerie sort of peace, the liminal space between past and present. The latter was what she had to return to. And she does.

At the bar, Ayame and Kenma pay for their drinks, except for Y/n’s (at her insistence). Kenma hands it to her personally, knowing if he were to leave it up to Kuroo, Chiharu, or Ayame, they would throw their arms around her and have her hang out with them immediately and for the next three hours. What she needs is a few more minutes to herself in order to be with the others again. She thanks him and slinks off to the front steps of the building, where she sits with her elbows planted on her knees.

As fate would have it, Kuroo finds her and plops down next to her. The new guy sits next to him.  

“Hey there, hermit.” He says with that stupid grin, an omen of stupidity about to be spilled.

She takes a sip of her strawberry milkshake. “The dawn has yet to come, rooster.”

“Mind if we sit here?” As if he’s actually asking.

“It’s not like I own the stairs.”

“What are you wearing?”

Y/n sighs. “The same thing I’ve been wearing all night.”

Next to her, Kuroo cringes, sobs, internally throws up and rolls on his back. That’s exactly the energy she gets from his reaction to her very much harmless outfit.

“But it’s so ugly, Y/n!” He whines, tugging at her sleeve, “So ugly I can’t even.”

She slaps his hand off and pushes him so his shoulder knocks against the other guy’s, the latter having just pulled out a cigarette from the packet.

“Don’t look at it then.” She says.

“Introductions!” The change in subject would be alarming if she weren’t used to his absurd antics. He gestures to the guy, trapping his chin between his thumb and index. “This is Suna Rintaro. You might have seen him around the neighborhood, transcending planes of existence by means of pot.”

The boy’s confused, green eyes, which until two seconds ago were boring holes on Y/n’s side, now pierce Kuroo through like a sack of flour.

“I’ve only smoked like twice.” He says in a low voice.

Creases of fake concern appear on Kuroo’s brow. “Just trying to ruin your reputation here, why are you mad?”

The new guy shakes his head, flicking on the lighter and placing it at the tip of his cigarette. Did he not realize he was contradicting himself by embodying the stereotype Kuroo had just shoved him into? Or was this just one of the occasions when one would find him having a smoke? Maybe it just so happened that she was there and he needed to destroy himself a little that night. Maybe he just needed a little bit of a courage boost to talk to the one person who had ignored him, not out of malice or repulsion, but because just like him she found it difficult to immerse herself in conversations with strangers. Maybe, just maybe, he could offer her a cigarette too.

“L/n Y/n.” She introduces herself.

His mouth lifts. “Yeah, I know.”

“Oh, hey I’m just gonna check on my girl real quick.” Kuroo stands, gesturing at the two of them as if he’s pointing at some slimy creatures. “You two talk. Or send brain waves. Whatever it is you introverts do.”

And that’s it. Kuroo is out of the picture. For the next 30 minutes at least. Or at least until the rest of them bore him to death, Ayame wants to go home, or Chiharu and Kenma call him something mean that makes him come and sulk near Y/n.  Rin is curious, if not a tad eager to get the girl to talk to him, to listen to what she has to say. Y/n is reluctant to speak, afraid of botching the whole thing upon uttering a single word.

He exhales the smoke through his lips.

“So, like,” He starts, “Do you like action movies?”

Y/n glances over at him. “Not my favorite to be honest. I prefer historical dramas, romcoms, tragedies.”

“Yeah, thought so.”

He keeps on peering at her through his lashes, waiting for her to keep the conversation going. Luckily for him, she does.

“Kuroo said you play volleyball.”

“Yeah,” He answers. “You like it?”

She shrugs. “Not really. I suck at it. But I suck at most team sports so.”

Rin draws closer, sitting just a bit farther from her than where Kuroo had previously sat.

“Not a team player, are you?” He urges.

This time she does look at him, and I mean really look at him. She must not have noticed him shift, because her eyes widen just the slightest.

“It’s just easier to do things on my own.” She mutters. “Team sports are difficult.”

“What do you find most difficult”

“Basically everything? Sets, serves, receives. Forget about spikes.” She pauses and he makes to speak, but then she adds, “Maybe I’m just dumb.”

“That’s not what the rooster told me.”

She leans forward, her elbows once again planted on her knees. “My grades are good I guess.”

“Couldn’t be me. I’m failing four classes.” The revelation has her head whipping around at a breakneck speed. Rin shrugs just as she did moments before, “Yeah, I don’t study. Or like- I study enough to stay on the team.”

She regards him with eyes that betray reluctance. He’s seen it many a time before, whenever his grandmother would ask his mom whether she was still drinking, if there was enough money for food, or if the electricity bill had been paid. He spies it in the eyes of this girl who doesn’t know him but secretly wishes to. He suspects his eyes are no different.

Gaze straying to the fingers trapping the cigarette, Y/n poses the question at last. “Are you thinking of leaving the team then?”

No one has considered the possibility that volleyball might be something he no longer enjoys. That Suna Rintaro feels alone, isolated among friends that would raze the world to the ground for him. That when he’s burying himself in the crook of someone’s neck, fondling their breasts, or getting drunk in their cologne, he’s just losing himself in the numbness of the moment as he waits for it to transform into ecstasy.

He takes another drag of his cigarette before casting it down and stomping on it.

“Maybe.” He answers, “Or maybe I should pay you to tutor me. That way I can stay.”  

She inches away as if to size him up. “Are you sure?”

“Wouldn’t be asking if I wasn’t.”

“Should I give you my number or-

He cuts her off by stealing her phone which sits in the pocket of her knee-length olive green shorts. The action surprises her, as does the audacious smirk on his lips when he sees there is no pattern or password necessary to unlock the device. Rin types in his number and asks her if she has credit so he can call himself. Seeing her nod, he does just that. But then sees her gaze gradually shed its apprehension. She stares at him like she’s trying to call him by a name or stamp a label on him.

“You’ve seen me around before.” He affirms, handing her the phone. She slips it back inside the pocket. “I’m spending the summer at my cousin’s. You might have seen him running like literally every evening.”

Her lips part. “The skater boy.”

Rin raises up his hands.  “Guilty as charged.”

After that, they talk about volleyball, music, films they’ve watched as of late, and their current obsessions. An hour or so flies by with them sitting side by side, submerged in a world at once dissimilar and mundane. Never once does he tell her to stop talking, but the fear that he might bubbles to the surface from time to time, making her repeat words and phrases as if she’s giving a rushed presentation.

At one point they just sit in silence, watching the vehicles speed by, listening to the laughter and shouts of strangers or the sound of empty plastic cups toppling down the stairs. It’s too good, Y/n realizes with dread settling in her belly. She has to leave before the mood sours and she becomes rancid in his eyes.

“You heading home?” He asks as she stands, looking up at her with eyes like laser beams, “I heard they’re going to the arcade after this.”

There’s not much left for me here, is what she thinks.

“Yeah, I don’t know.” She tells him and finishes what’s left of her drink. The plastic sweats in her grasp. “I mean I’m glad I came but at the same time… I’m kinda-

“Tired.”

Y/n looks down at him, nodding. Then she starts to walk down the stairs, but halfway down she turns to look at him.

“Text me when you want to schedule that study session.”

Her reminder has his lips itching to smile. He hadn’t thought she meant it when she offered to tutor him, had thought it a way to inadvertently ask for his number. So, she hadn’t been playing a part then. She was genuine in wanting to help him stay on the team. High in confidence, Rin stands and makes it a point to look her up and down.

“Yellow looks good on you.” He says, and lets her go.

 November the 25th 

“Just answer your grandma, bro.”

Atsumu has this uncanny ability to get on Rin’s nerves entirely unprovoked. He’s naturally a bit annoying, with how he gets all up in people’s personal bubble, poking at it until it explodes, and then laughs it off as the offended party is left seething, or at the very least perplexed. But right now, when Rin is trying to watch the goddamn movie and ignore his grandma’s persistent calls, Atsumu pointing it out isn’t helping. It’s evening, and it’s raining cats and dogs outside. He just wants to chill for real.

“Mind your business.” He says under his breath.

But Atsumu, being Atsumu, refuses to drop the subject. Instead, he prods.

“She still feel bad about all the girls you’ve fucked?” He asks with a snort.

This has Rin’s blood reaching an almost boiling point. He stares ahead into the TV, where some poor sucker is shown getting his teeth knocked out of his mouth.

“How’s it going not being able to get the girl you like to like you back?”

Atsumu spins to face him, his face contorted in shock.

“Hah?!” He exclaims. “She likes me! We’re going on a date on Wednesday.”

Rin raises an eyebrow, now facing him too. “Okay but like… why on Wednesday?”

“She has a midterm to study for.” Atsumu sighs in contentment as he pulls the blanket up to his chin, his features shifting into a look of pure smugness. Good thing Rin was sensible enough to bring a blanket for himself. “You should have seen the look on her face when I asked her out. Her glasses make her look so cute I could moan and die. Also, she said Mercury will no longer be in gatorade by then.”

The day has come for Suna Rintaro to admit defeat and yield to the supreme forces in the universe. It is simply impossible for Atsumu to have a chance with a girl as smart as her. Fucking absurd man! She is orderly, great at managing time, and rigid with a capital R. How could she look at this bona fide dumbass and think ‘let’s give this salivating dog a shot’. But maybe that was it. Maybe Miya Atsumu was just that much enamored with this girl that she could sense it in everything he said or did.

Maybe Rin needed to prove to himself he could do it too. That’s how, seconds later, he finds himself typing the first thing that comes to mind while Atsumu continues to pour his heart out.

You: save me (19: 44)

You: atsumu is talking about the girl he likes (19: 44)

He thinks he’ll have to wait a while until he hears that familiar notification sound. He hopes he won’t have to.

Dandelion: wait (19: 47)

His prayers are answered. The timing is godsent. He could even kiss Atsumu right now for prodding the damn subject because he now has an excuse to talk to her. Not that he has to have one. Mouth tilting at the corners, he suppresses the urge to type before she’s finished saying what she has to say.

Dandelion: he actually managed to pull it off? (19: 47)

Dandelion: or just dreaming about her (19: 47)

Her offhand insinuation that Atsumu might just have failed to meet that girl’s standards almost has Rin showing his housemate the text. If only to get him to shut up and sulk in his room for like an hour.

You: believe it or not (19: 47)

You: he did (19: 47)

You: and he wont stfu about it (19: 47)

This time she takes a while to respond. Like 10 minutes, give and take. He begins to suspect she might be studying and is considering leaving her be when he receives another text.

Dandelion: tell him I said congrats (19: 58)

You: you studying rn (19: 59)

The exchange happens in rapid succession. He might or might not congratulate Atsumu on her behalf. He doesn’t care about that at the moment. He has this gnawing feeling that he’s intruding on something.

Dandelion: uh yes (20: 01)

Her response sours his mood not going to lie. But it’s not her fault for being swamped with assignments to the point of not having enough time to sleep, let alone make time for friends. Not that she’d agree to meet up again if the rest were there too.

Dandelion: I’m studying with Oikawa at his place (20: 01)

Dandelion: he has this huge jar of sour candy (20: 01)

His eyes narrow at the second text. Did he read that right? She’s at his apartment? At this time? How is she going to get back home? Is he going to take her? Could it be that she’s staying the night? I mean, it doesn’t matter to Rin seeing as they all know each other a bit by now and they’re just doing that project of theirs but… ye know. Jealousy is a disease. And Rin is bedridden. Not that he’ll ever admit it even to himself.

He makes a mental note to get a huge fucking jar of sour candy. She’s never explicitly said anything about her undying infatuation with the product, but it’s clear as glass from the text and from how her eyes linger a tad longer on the jars at the store.

You: are you free tomorrow (20: 03)

At times like these Rin mentally prepares himself for an excuse, a rejection of some kind on her part. It doesn’t always happen this way but she’s become more self-contained, or rather, isolated these past few weeks. It’s as if she wants to see him but doesn’t know she does until they’re doing something that has her smiling into her cup of warm chocolate. He even lies back, hand on his lap as he runs the other through his hair while staring at the ceiling.

Dandelion: I think so (20: 04)

Dandelion: I can do some reading at night (20: 04)

The moment he takes in these texts he mentally raises a triumphant fist. Convincing Y/n to go out for once is an Olympic sport and Suna Rintaro is winning.

You: lets go somewhere (20: 05)

Dandelion: where? (20: 05)

You: won’t tell you (20: 05)

He enjoys the fluidity of the conversation. He waits a few seconds before seeing her type and sending another text to rile her up.

You: think I’ll keep you on your toes (20: 05)

She stops typing and then starts over.

Dandelion: sigh (20: 05)

Dandelion: aight what time (20: 05)

What would the best time be for a date that is not a date. A date that lasts for hours but feels like seconds? Maybe it’s not so much the hour as the place that matters. Or both. Fuck if he knows!

You: around noon (20: 06)

Rin can almost hear her groaning on the other end. He bites his lower lip to repress a chuckle. It almost hurts.

Dandelion: your vague descriptions make me want to jump (20: 06)

Rin leans forward once more, fingers firing away.

You: into my arms (20: 06)

Dandelion: might as well (20: 06)

Dandelion: its an early death all the same (20: 06)

Blood rushes to his groin. That was an excellent comeback. She could write Hamlet but Shakespeare couldn’t write her response. This is just me, the narrator, putting Suna Rintaro’s thoughts into words, his horniness included. On second thought, horniness is a state of being… but I’ll allow it.

He tries to get comfortable under his forest green blanket and clenches his fist around his cell phone so it doesn’t wrap around his cock. But there’s this headache going by Miya Atsumu that calls out his name, tearing him away from his fantasies.

“You’re not even listening to me, man!” He whines.

Rin groans internally, his face expressionless as he fixes his eyes on the TV. “Yeah, yeah, mercury is in gatorade.”

“Retrograde man!”  

   December the 7th

That Oikawa Tooru is diligent is no overstatement. It is common knowledge that everyone has come to accept as a virtue of his, one that he has cultivated and used to his advantage in almost every area that has piqued his interest throughout the years. He knows how important it is to be consistent and to give it your all when you feel that you already have. He also knows that she is no different. It’s what makes their teamwork so great, to begin with. At the same time, it is what makes their teamwork pathological.

They don’t know when to call it quits.

Every day for the past week and a half, they have been meeting at the library to revise and edit. When it comes to projects, they are on the same wavelength; if it isn’t perfect, it is rubbish. Which in and of itself is an extremely detrimental mantra to perpetuate. But it becomes far more destructive when the slightest mention of an inadequacy paves the path for a lot of fidgeting, nail-biting, and lip-picking.

Both of them are brimming with anxiety, but she’s the one on the verge of bursting at the seams. The average audience wouldn’t be able to pick up on the details. They haven’t spent most of their lives engraving every mannerism, gesture, or characteristic of her while pretending not to look. They don’t know that her clenching those fists isn’t a display of barely contained rage. She’s trying not to bolt.

Luckily for both of them, Tooru is able to appear calm even in most nerve-wracking situations. Which is what he is doing at the moment. Seamlessly, he takes the lead when it is crystal clear that she is close to stuttering or fidgeting. When she reclaims some degree of self-possession, it is then her turn to help him cool down. This can only be achieved thanks to hours of training, advice shared (more like him telling her how to appeal to an audience), and a mutual understanding that they really fucking need this to work if they want to solidify their status as the best students of their year.

Once they conclude their presentation, he can’t help but look at her instead of the professor and their peers. Her hands are no longer folding in on themselves. The class continues and they sit to listen. Or at least the rest are.

“Excellent work you two,” Their professor remarks while they’re trying to trickle out of the auditorium with the others. They stop in their tracks to face the professor, Tooru with a smile, and she with an indomitable mask of neutrality, “Miss. L/n, your oral delivery of the material has significantly improved since the last time I asked you to explain concepts to the rest of the students. I trust it was Mr. Oikawa who schooled you in the art of public speaking?”

The way her mood sours is like a flash of lightning. It electrifies every fiber of his being, sends his nerves on overdrive. Nothing is shown outwardly, but he’s spent enough time with her to know the particulars.

“Yes, professor.” She confirms, her mouth hardly moving.

Before the professor can process her reaction, Tooru intervenes with a smile, “I just gave her some tips. The rest was all her.”

The professor nods and, just like Tooru thought he would, returns the gesture. People tend to respond to smiles perceived as genuine.

“The cooperative nature of your teamwork is embodied in the reaction that it coaxed out of the rest of your peers.” The man’s comment has Tooru relaxing just a little from within, “Keep up the good work.”

“Thank you, professor.”

Only his voice rings out. She remains silent all the way out of the building. Usually, Tooru doesn’t have to put much effort in order to catch up with her, but it seems that today she is fiercely determined to leave him in the dust. One would go as far as saying that he’s slightly out of breath by the time he’s close enough to clamp his hand on her shoulder. But that might just be the nerves.  Or perhaps the drizzle that is getting just a tad more violent as seconds pass.

“What is it?” She doesn’t even look at him while spitting the words out.

What have I done? What do I do to fix it? Can I fix it in the first place? Nothing is more urgent than the events unfolding at this very moment. He releases her elbow.

“Let’s go to my house.” He tries to sound as cheerful as he had anticipated he would be after the project. Her cold stare almost deters him. “I need some help with physiological psychology. There’s this chapter that just won’t cling to my brain cells.”

“Why should I care?”

His brain is so scrambled that Tooru doubts there is a way for him to revert it back to its natural shape. But if he doesn’t present a valid enough reason, his efforts will all have been for naught. He can discern a lack of expectations in her eyes, the dull quality that so often makes him want to pull his hair out. She expects all the worst things of him, and neither of the good, while managing to assume nothing at all. One of his greatest fears is proving her dearth of hope right.

“Because I can pay you and feed you sour candies,” Is what comes out.

All he can think about is tying a noose around his neck and end it all. An agonizing death is precisely what he deserves because that has to be the lamest excuse in the history of pathetic excuses. She won’t agree to that, the voice in his head jeers.

Just when all hope seems lost, she faces him fully and says, “We’ll negotiate the price once we get there.”

Chuckling, Tooru places a gloved hand on her shoulder, ushering her towards his car.

“As you command, my lady.”

The best way to describe the ride back home is a nebula of silence and tension. It’s like they backtracked to two weeks before today, the cassette playing the same screeching yet quiet tune of discord. Try as he might to diffuse it with music blasting from the radio, she seems dead-set on leaving whatever grievances she has to fester. This, in and of itself, is something he cannot abide. That is why, once the door clicks shut behind them, he demands the following.

“Tell me what upset you.” He says, unbuttoning his coat. He can sense her incipient denial, “Don’t deny it. I know it has something to do with what the professor said, but I can’t pinpoint what it was about his words that… frustrated you to this point.”

He watches her place her backpack on the sofa.

“Will you stop acting like you give a damn?” The words shock him, but she cuts him off before he can refute her assumption, “What? Are you going to give me tips on how to open up now? Because you’re an expert on the matter, right?”

It’s not just the words that have him rooted on the spot. It’s the way she glances at his bedroom, full of judgment and derision, that weighs on his stomach. Nausea is a familiar sensation, but Tooru wishes it wasn’t frothing within him at this moment.

If he were a more innocent man, he would call this a low blow. Her allusion to Tooru’s dependency on alcohol and the way she used it to strike a chord in him… is something he would have done. He would have grinned, tipped up their chin to observe the festering humiliation, pat their heads as if they were dogs, and felt regretful the moment he was certain no eyes were on him. She has learned from the very best.

The sound of her unzipping her backpack brings him back.

“Let’s just get on with what we came here to do.” She says, “What is it you don’t und-

“I wouldn’t be so adamant to know,” He begins once again, “Considering everything if I didn’t have a feeling that your frustration somehow has an indirect relation to me.” He pauses as she shoots him a glance while leaving through the pages of her book, “Just tell me what it is so I don’t jump to conclusions.”

Y/n lets out a long sigh, then turns to look him in the eye.

“You’re a volleyball player.” She drawls, “Jumping is part of your job, Mr. Oikawa.”

And then, just like with a glass and a windshield, everything becomes ever so clear. The professor’s comments throughout the weeks in relation to her public speaking skills, the bland look on her face as she hears the same things their high school teachers used to say reiterated time and time again, the way her shoulders slump as soon as she returns to her seat. It isn’t that the professor is unkind. It’s that she believes she is incapable of fulfilling the expectations he has for her, the brightest student in their year. It is frustrating to be told you are great. That your greatness could be perfected still. It is humiliating to be told that the improvement comes from pieces of advice provided by the person who spent his every interaction with you demeaning you.

She is frustrated because she is ashamed to have needed his guidance, to have been told it served her well. But that is exactly the truth.

Tooru hangs his coat on the back of the couch. Planting on hand there for support, he gives her an assertive look.

“As much as it might hurt you to acknowledge, it is true that my social skills are far superior to yours.” Despite his best efforts, his voice comes out tinged with frustration, “The professor was only pointing out that you have improved. It’s his job to provide you with feedback. That often includes criticism.”

Y/n looks down swiftly, pretending to focus on turning the pages. She is about to turn her back on him, but being the mischievous little brat he is, he decides to tease her by stealing her book. He finds the chapter he told her he had difficulty grasping, and hands it back to her with a lopsided grin.

“But my, who would have thought the day would come that you’d feel inferior to me.” He jokes.

Internally, she feels like she could set his house on fire, tear him to shreds and pulverize all hope of him becoming the volleyball star he’s always worked tirelessly to become. She wants to push and punch him until he crouches and falls to the floor in agony. And then she wants to pummel him until his black and blue. She’s unaware of these ugly emotions, these gruesome momentary desires. So, she reacts the only way she knows how.

“And you’ve always felt inferior to Kageyama.”

Tooru’s grin disintegrates. To swallow back tears and scathing remarks, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He proceeds to remove his gloves and turn on the AC. He can feel her eyes on him as he does so, as though she’s waiting for him to snap. As if she’s waiting for him to confirm her fears.

“The professor didn’t mean anything malicious by what he said. Neither did I.” He runs his fingers through his brown locks, “I was just… teasing.”

“You were patronizing me.”

“I wasn’t.”

She rolls her eyes, “And now you’re lying.”

“No. Lying would be to tell you that the way you act doesn’t do you a disservice. Do you want me to lie? Would I earn your trust then?” Tooru takes her hand in his, feeling the cool leather on his warm flesh. He tries to convey his sincerity, “When I said we could learn from each other, I meant exactly this. I teach you how to be more socially aware. More in tune with the values and needs of others. In return, you teach me how not to let myself be carried away by other people’s expectations and opinions.”

At first, she was taken aback by his display of skinship. Now, she holds his gaze seemingly without trepidation.

“That’s going to be a hard one, isn’t it? Mr. Oikawa embarking on a journey to discover some semblance of authenticity.” She pulls her hands free of his, “And selfish, cruel, cold Y/n learning to be human.”

“No, I didn’t- will you just listen? I really don’t-

Lowering her eyes to the page, Y/n sits down and says, “Which part don’t you understand?”

The conversation is over, he realizes. She’s put an end to it. All he can do now is sit down, tell her what she doesn’t understand, and set bring his jar of sour candy to the table. So, that’s exactly what he does. He changes into his sweats and hoodie, sets the jar on the table, and smiles gently as she reaches inside it.

His throat tightens and his eyes burn with unshed tears. Tooru wishes he could just sob to his heart’s content like the night he learned she had left, and the many nights after that. He wishes he could just let rivers of alcohol carry them out to sea so he could drain them both. His body would crumble in on itself. His mind would be but a blank slate. He would be at a hellish sort of peace.

  December the 8th

There is something about the final days of March that has a person looking out the window. The object on which they spent minutes and hours gazing could be a pile of leaves carefully swept to a moldy corner by the janitor, the lilac buds straining within the boundaries of youth, the laughter carried in the moist breeze, the dew clinging to the fragrant petals of a blooming rose, or the paper planes spearing through the yard to land on some drooping branch. There is something altogether peculiar about these days that has everyone’s spirits soaring almost too carelessly. Perhaps it's the beginning of a new semester. Maybe it’s all that I have mentioned, none, or more.

The point still stands. The world is high on expectations, and Tooru is no exception. His muscles are a bit more defined than before Spring break and he has also grown 2 centimeters. The results must be apparent because one of the prettiest girls in school, an underclassman, kept touching his arm while speaking to him upon arrival.  It was an ego boost, to say the least.

It would have been perfect if Y/n weren’t in his class. Tooru has always hated it when she was only a few feet away from him. In middle school, he made it his business to either pretend she didn’t exist or to pick on her until the rest did too. It was one or the other. But every time, he has to have every classmate on his side.

Then again, he always hated it when she wasn’t in his vicinity. He would find himself flirting with the girls in her class (making them believe he cared about them), or chatting with one of his teammates. All so he could sneak glimpses of her going about her day. The pattern was identical; whenever the two of them were in the same room, admiration gravitated toward him while she remained a one-woman island. The only exception was when Iwaizumi, Maki, or Mattsun were her classmates. They would always speak to him where he couldn’t reach her. It infuriated him. After all, he didn’t always ‘visit’ for the sole purpose of picking on her.

This semester, however, there is just them. No outside interference. He can stare, glare, mock, jeer, all at her expense. He can pull on her shoulder-length hair and pinch her arm. All so he can get a reaction out of her. It is cruel, and it inspires others to be the same. But because he is the charismatic, intelligent, attractive, diligent, ambitious Oikawa Tooru, every unkind gesture of his is the bastion of goodness. It’s what keeps him going. It makes him sick.

It is 10:30 in the morning, and he’s been sitting at his desk, his hands clenched, for the past 8 minutes looking without truly seeing what goes on around him. Yesterday’s practice has left him sore, exhausted, and overall cranky. He could barely swallow his breakfast and now he’s hungry.

“Hey, do you know how to solve this?”

The voice in and of itself isn’t one that piques his interest. No, it’s the sight of what is unfolding 2 desks away from his. Sato Kaoru, a member of the handball team, places a hand on the desk at the very front, looking down expectantly at the girl sitting there. In turn, she looks up at him with zero emotion on her face.

“Cuz I’ve been trying and I still can’t.”

After staring for a couple of extremely uncomfortable seconds, during which the boy slowly starts to lose his patience, she says, “I can explain it to you. So that you do it well on the test.”

There she goes, misinterpreting other people’s desires and expectations. Making more trouble for herself seems to be her specialty.

“Yeah, fine.” The boy says after swallowing an insult.

She does explain it alright, thoroughly and clearly. It’s obvious she practiced a lot to be able to say it in front of someone else. Sato nods along with every new concept she expounds upon. In the end, he’s able to solve a similar exercise on his own. Before he departs for his desk, he mutters a reluctant ‘thank you’ to which she responds with an ‘it’s nothing’. Tooru watches everything unfold like a story the events of which revolve around a ghostly girl, the fabric of her existence almost see-through. It makes him want to reach out just to make sure she’s tangible, real, not a figment of other people’s ephemeral imagination or necessities. As if it heard him, the softest breeze sweeps her hair to the side, exposing her neck. Tooru gulps. His fingers loosen.

What would she say if he were to run his fingers through her hair? Would she let him trace shapes on the back of her neck? After all, he just wants to make sure she’s not a mirage.  

The bell ringing makes him jolt. Rubbing his neck, Tooru looks around to see if anyone caught him in the act of staring. No one is looking at him funny. All he has to do is be normal. Yes, that’s it. It’s the hunger and exhaustion that has him pondering the silliest things. Once he has lunch, all will return to normal.

By the time PE rolls around, he’s a new man. During lunch, he ignored her. Throughout their classes, he did the same. With some luck, they won’t have to interact during this joint lesson either. He silently prays they’re not partnered together, letting out a sigh of relief when his prayers are heard. His partner is Ikeda Yua, a girl of average height and ample bosom. That’s enough to get teenage Oikawa Tooru’s juices flowing.

“Okay, so for today you boys and girls are going to warm up and play against each other in mixed teams.” Professor Masuda says, her eyebrows furrowed as always, “But first, you’re going to warm up in teams of two.”

“No way,” Says the boy next to Tooru. “Do we really have to?”

It’s the guy from before, now donning an expression of exasperation. There is no need for Tooru to wonder who his partner is, as there is only one person who is hopeless when it comes to team sports. It’s the person standing at the very edge, a tad farther from the other girls. Looking on impassively, Y/n appears as though she couldn’t give a quarter of shit even if she tried. Occasionally, her hand will drift to her forehead, tucking the strands ruffled by the breeze behind her ear, likely because she forgot her hair tie.

“Yes, it is decided.” Asserts professor Ueda.

Pointing in her direction, Sato groans obnoxiously, “But she’s so bad at this.”

Some of the students try to suppress their snickers. Others, not at all bashful, laugh at the boy’s display of displeasure. Tooru considers joining the circus. Before he can let out a chuckle, he takes in her face. The way she looks around as if she doesn’t understand they’re laughing at her, the palms rubbing at her gym shorts in a way most wouldn’t be able to tell. She probably just wants this to be over.

“Pack that displeasure up and send it straight to hell, Mr. Sato.” Professor Masuda’s frown deepens. Y/n might not be one of her favorites, but there’s too much to do and so little time, meaning the childish complaints of a teenager are at the very bottom of her list of things to give a fuck about. “Come on, everyone! Girls and boys in rows facing each other! Make sure it’s your partner that’s standing before you!”

And so, it begins. Tooru and the Ikeda girl pick up one of the balls in the basket and begin to do some passes. Now and then, he throws in a flirtatious remark, and they both laugh. It’s all going smoothly. Everything goes smoothly when he’s not thinking of her. That is until the time comes for the boys and girls to stand in their respective lines and demonstrate how much their passes have improved.

“I knew it.” Sato next to him bites out, “You suck at this.”

Y/n is tired. She truly is both physically and mentally tired. All she wants is for this class to finish so she can go home and lock herself inside her bedroom. Nobody will be able to see her. She won’t be the butt of anyone’s jokes or insults, things she has difficulty picking up on let alone reacting to. She will be so safe, so tranquil. But first, she has to do her part.

Instead of passing the ball to Sato, she holds it.

“I’d do better if you showed me how to do it.” She means it, even though she hates the idea of being lectured by someone who has been dumping expletives on her from the moment they were partnered. When she looks straight at him, however, she is met with a look of contempt. That’s why she passes the ball to him, “I’ll call the professor over so she can-  

It’s too fast for Tooru to understand what’s happening. One second Sato’s arm stretches and the next Y/n is face down on the floor. For a couple of seconds, complete silence engulfs the gymnasium. Everyone looks on like an animated scarecrow. There comes the sound of balls dropping from hands, gasps from open mouths, and a snort or two. Someone sets out looking for the professors, who are at the moment absurdly nowhere to be seen. On his end, Tooru keeps waiting for her to stand back up. When ten seconds have passed, he takes a step forward, and then another. Just then, she whimpers and rises to her knees. Hair conceals her face from view, so he can’t get a good look.

“Sorry,” Tooru hears Sato say, the amusement in his voice laced with what can only be a concern for the consequences of his actions, “I’m used to playing handball.”

“Shut up for a second.” Whispers another, a girl this time, “Nobody believes that.”

Tooru watches her plant both of her palms on the floor, but that’s not what grabs his attention. It’s the crimson trail her hands leave behind when they almost give in. It’s the dripping sound origination from where she remains hunched over. The echo of it almost has him dashing for the exit.

“Oh, god, she’s bleeding.” Squeaks a girl, “What do we do?”

“The professors are coming!” Announces the one who went looking. Footsteps come to a halt. “Fuck, is that blood?”

The following is the cruelest, albeit true, “Her nose is fucked, isn’t it?”

Besides himself with shock, Tooru places a hand on her upper back. Her shoulders tense.

“Are you alright?” The question in and of itself is idiotic, but he can’t think of anything else to say. It’s the fucking blood, he’s sure of it, “The professors are almost here.”

Slowly, she rises to her feet. Exactly as he thought, there’s a small puddle of blood on the floor. He attempts to get a good look at her face, to check the damage done to her face, but she swats his hand away as if it were a pest. If he were his normal self⸺ dramatic and full of energy⸺ he would be responding to her attitude with a jab at some aspect of her being. Yet, he is none of those things today. That is why, when she walks out the door⸺ swaying and righting herself⸺ he does no more than watch her leave.

The class goes on, but now there are two fewer people among them.

At practice, Iwaizumi bombards him with questions. Maki just sits there with a poker face of otherworldly boredom, conversing with Mattsun about the current developments in the field of Oikawa’s douchebaggery. Tooru’s protests that he’d been minding his own business ring loud and clear across the court yet still they go unheard. No one believes him, which… fair I guess. But all their justified lack of faith does is incensing him to the point that he all but rushes back home with the firm purpose of bringing her mood down to a brand new low.

He even waits for her to join them for the dinner his mom has invited the L/ns to. Her absence only serves to send his heart racing in frustration. First, she treated him like a bothersome insect when he was unwittingly trying to inquire about her state. Then, she became the reason his friends were pissed at him for the entire practice. As if this wasn’t enough, his mom won’t stop pestering him about her. Is Y/n doing well at school? Are you still friends? She looks up to you, so lend her a hand, okay?

Tears of frustration prickle at the edges, but if he smiles wide enough his eyes crinkle and they just make his eyes shine. But there’s no need for such tricks once he’s out on the balcony of his bedroom, where he catches sight of her sitting with her knees to her chest.

“You’re such an eyesore.” He mutters.

Y/n doesn’t jolt or scour her surroundings for the source of the insult. She’s in so much pain, that his words feel like petals in comparison.

Tooru’s grip on the railing tightens until his flesh turns white.

“Just like in middle school.” He spits out, “Ignoring people when they talk to you. Either staring like a creep or looking away. Doing the most to set yourself apart from the rest when you’re heads and shoulders below them.”

His words are ignored once more. Biting into his lower lip, he racks his brain for something that might make her tick.

“Even now, while your family is dining with mine, you choose to remain alone.” He sees her glance out the corner of her eye, arms tightening around her knees, so he presses on, “A recluse.”

“They didn’t want me to come.”

Whatever he might have had to say dies in his throat then and there. His lips slightly part and his hands loosen around the metal.

“I already know I’m not good. And I’m not mad or anything.” Her voice is slightly nasal. She stands, finally giving him a full view of her face. Her left eye, cheek, and upper lip are harrowingly bruised. Her nose, undoubtedly broken, is covered in a white dressing. “I just don’t want to be hit anymore.”

With that, she leaves him for the safety of her bedroom. The wind blows, making him shiver and seek the warmth of his house as she did. Once he finds himself out of everyone’s sight, he darts to his bathroom to vomit the contents of his stomach, his three meals flushed down the toiled in the span of a minute. Even then, he continues to dry heave while hunched over the toilet seat.

It’s too much. His academics, practice, his need for perfection, his influence on others, the craving for it, and the consequences of exercising such power. He might not have done anything today, but all his actions have led to this point. This, he only realizes years down the line. For now, he soothes himself with rationalizations of his deeds.

If you’re wondering how he sleeps at night, I can tell you. Sometimes he sleeps in a shirt and boxers, other nights topless. He looks up at the ceiling, thinking of spaceships and UFOs. His thoughts drift off to volleyball techniques and strategies. He sleeps hyperconscious of any sounds from the other side of the wall. And when the sounds do come, he pays close attention, anticipating with bated breath the music that would float from her phone.

They both have similar descriptions of it, and each time they find a new way to define it.

It was like breathing while your chest weighed at once too little and too much as if the pressure couldn’t decide whether to exist or scatter across oblivion. It was like facing a great expanse of sea or land, simply sitting with your knees folded against your chest as if to shrink the vastness of your deserted landscape to the size of a walnut. And in this petite universe, of which they were eternal residents, they were separated merely by the thin divide of fear. Fear of being cared for. Fear of touching and being touched. Fear of everything that shouldn’t have to be feared. It was the hardest barrier to breach.

Eventually, meaning the following day, she returned to school. In his most sober moments, Tooru thinks that perhaps she shouldn’t have. Perhaps she should have left since then. That way, she would have been happier sooner, and he wouldn’t have had the chance to say the things he’d said. She would have known spring.

Tooru jolts up. Air rushes in and out of his lungs as if pumped by an external force. In his chest, his lungs feel heavy, almost stone-like. He doesn’t know what else to do other than frown and clutch his damp shirt while his lips part only to gravitate towards each other like magnets of opposite poles.

To think that a recollection can have a far more harrowing effect on a person than a nightmare. But there’s more to it than a few memories of a spring day. It’s the weeks gone by without a drop of alcohol. His pathetic attempt to put the cork back on the bottle seems to have caught up to him. His mood swings have worsened. The healthier he becomes, the weaker he feels. His bones anchor him to the ground and won’t let him make his way to the bathroom without significant effort. The pigmentation under his eyes has darkened a few shades. In short, Oikawa Tooru is at his worst acting like he couldn’t be better.

For all his fidgeting and overly artificial charm on this sunny yet chilly morning, his act is convincing. Although, his success would be better attributed to Y/n’s overall disregard for her surroundings as well as her resolve not to look at him for longer than three consecutive seconds.

Tooru’s shivers, the scratching behind his ears, and the tapping of his foot go unnoticed as he asks her if she slept alright in the guest room, if she still enjoyed her eggs well done, and if the temperature in the room was ideal. Every question is met head-on with a ‘yes’. Whenever she speaks, the cadence of her voice makes his head hurt a little less. Yet it never lasts. She’s not exactly enthused to make conversation with him (especially after the argument). And as frail as this might make him seem, it makes him wish he were invisible. A see-through, wingless bird.

As they cut through their eggs, her phone rings. She wipes her hands and picks up the call at once.

“Hello? Who’s calling?” Her tone might even be called ‘hopeful’. She nods along as the person on the other end of the call gets to talking. “Ah, yeah. Of course, I’ll be there tomorrow at 5:30 PM. Thank you.”

Breakfast is all but forgotten as she takes one look at the time on her screen and starts packing. Slowly, Tooru raises the fork to his lips, watching her wrap her frayed scarf around her neck. Isn’t it too soon? Is it perhaps too late? Has he already run out of time?

Whatever the case may be, he’s lost his appetite.

“Is it a date?” He asks instead, injecting some of that teasing attitude into his voice.

Looking at Tooru wrapping the dishes in foil, she scoffs, “I’d rather date a rat than a landlord.”

Laughter breaks free from his chest. He almost drops a plate while he’s trying to open the fridge.

“Careful, cutie,” He cautions her jokingly, “You might trample on the feelings of the elderly.”

“Not that it matters but the landlord is middle-aged.”

Tooru leans against the fridge. “So, you’re saying that if weren’t a middle-aged landlord, you’d give them a chance?”

“You’re insufferable and not making any sense.” She rolls her eyes when he shrugs at her words. “She called to let me know that she’s still looking for someone to rent out her apartment to. Other than me, there’s another person who’s interested. She decided to ring me first.”

Many people claim to have experienced, at some point in their lives, the sensation of time coming to a halt. Many of them are lying, or maybe it just feels different for them. In Tooru’s case, it’s less about time and more about his mind and body’s relation to it. He can count his heartbeats, sense the thrumming of the fridge, and lose himself in the scant sunlight spilling from the windows of the living room, but the seconds ticking by lose their acoustic quality. By shedding their nature, they become heavy, sticking to his extremities like anchors welded into his bones. He cannot bring himself to speak his mind.

What would happen if he did? She might think him condescending, patronizing, another obstacle in her quest for peace. For all he knows, she could leave for good and he’s not so sure he can follow this time.

“Are you leaving because of me?” His tongue loosens without him noticing. Her hands halt where they’re slinging her backpack over her shoulder, “I know I shouldn’t presume to be at the center of your decision but I can’t help thinking that maybe I’m not far off the truth.”

She doesn’t avert her eyes. “You’re part of the reason.”

How uncomfortable must he make her for her to go as far as to choose isolation in place of the company of those she cares about? Does she not know they are grateful and enjoy being around her? Does she not care that her abrupt departure would only drill a hole into their wounded friendship? But who is he to speak of healthy friendships and the preservation of such bonds? Did he not, some time ago, all but eviscerate his friendship with Iwaizumi? Oikawa Tooru should know his place.

Still, he can’t help but approach her. Somewhat trembling, he secures a strand of hair behind her ear. His hand cradles the side of her head, the heat from her skin seeping into his.

“You don’t have to leave your friends behind.” It’s almost a plea.

“Everyone leaves everyone behind at some point. It’s just a matter of time, seconds you have to spend dreading the very moment it happens. The only difference is that I have no such fear.” She pulls away and frowns. “That look of shock on your face. It’s hypocritical.”

Tooru can just stand there, hand burning as if electrocuted, and watch as she scans the surfaces of his place for any items she might have forgotten. He is no more than a bystander in his apartment.

“Now that we’re finished with the project… after you leave,” He can tell she’s stopped looking from the way her head isn’t moving from side to side as usual, “Are you never going to speak to me again?”

Taking one last look around the kitchen, she says, “Improbable. Kenma and Suna still want me to join you guys. Ayame too.”

“But there will always be an excuse to use.”

And then she sighs. Knowing she’s about to abandon her already defective filter, Tooru preps himself for all the truths he’s about to have hurled at him.

“I don’t know why you want me around all of a sudden. Why you’re being decent to me? What I’m feeling right as I’m telling you this? I don’t know that either. I’m not saying this to be edgy or anything.” Her shoulders drop. It’s almost like she’s frustrated with herself, with him, with just about everything that has led to her having to explain something that in her head doesn’t need to be out in the world. “It’s been a long time since I’ve cared to examine what happens to me, with me. The reasons why they happen, elude me. Sometimes I wonder why I run away, but I always seem to forget.”  

Speechless, Tooru stands with his hands planted on the counter for support.

“Or something like that.” She says, and when he doesn’t make a sound, “You’ll see me, Oikawa.”

  It’s in the early hours of the morning that Tooru, after hours spent with fingers hovering over the number, decides to rip off the bandage and make the much-dreaded call. If he hadn’t lashed out at his closest friend, the only thing he would have to fear is a fit of rage on the other end, to which he would respond with teasing, wheezing laughter, or an immediate thought born of pure 3 AM mind-fuckery. Now, he’s not so certain.

“Who is it?”

Tooru’s blood freezes. How he wishes he had pondered this call a little longer.

“Iwa-chan,” He tries the usual teasing tone, but it comes out dejected, “Do you really want to help me?”

Iwaizumi groans into the phone, “It’s 3 AM, you bastard. The fuck I wa-

“Y/n,” Tooru cuts the case, “Do you still see her as a little sister?”

There is a moment of silence, not enough to have Tooru ask if the man is still there, but it has sweat gathering at the creases of his palm.  

“How is she?”

Tooru sighs, throws off the blanket, and sits at the edge of the bed. “She’s hurt.”  

“What’s wrong with her?” This time he can hear the notes of urgency in his friend’s voice come to life. “Did-

Before he can accuse Tooru of a crime, the latter states the purpose of the call. “I was just thinking maybe you could reach out to her first, reconnect and-

“Are you fucking serious?”

This time, Tooru gets a little pissed, glaring ahead and out the window, where the city is in full view.

“Yes, actually,” He enunciates, “I am.”

“Well, you’re a fucking idiot too, then.” Comes Iwaizumi’s bite, “You want me to call her or something? And remind her of how we always roped her in humiliating shit that you orchestrated?”

She doesn’t hate you, is what Tooru wants to say. But if he were to, he’s not sure he’ll be able to hold back the sobs clogging his throat. Iwaizumi, to his credit, doesn’t bark out a second reminder. Not immediately, anyway.

“I’m not calling her. It’s a good thing she left. I hope she never sees the likes of us again.” Then, venomously, “I guess it’s too late to hope for that.”  

Yeah, you’re right.

  Suna Rintaro is late to many things. In high school, he would take his sweet time walking there, his surroundings so sharp he just couldn’t be bothered to give up the blaring of car honks, the giggles of toddlers who couldn’t wait to meet their kindergarten buddies, the wind stealing touches at the leaves, the water rushing down the drain, the smell of freshly baked jam-filled buns, or the sound of his shoes chafing against the pavement, for the dullness of morning classes. As an adult, he is no different. Lectures come second, and sometimes sex does too. He is late to countless things. But he is never late for her.

He remembers that one time he was over a half hour late to some restaurant their group was set to dine at, and the look of relief on her face when he ran towards the table, taking a seat beside her, was enough to make his lips tip at the corners. Though he hasn’t been late since the temptation is real.

Even now, as they sit opposite each other at KFC, far enough from the main road not to be distinguished or overheard (not that the fogged-up glass would allow that), savoring the amplification of silence in the night, he is tempted by something he can’t put his finger on. It’s been like this ever since he picked her up. At first, he thought she would perk up once they plundered the pastry shelves and kitchen at KFC. Yet she remains resolute in her quietude.

Rin takes a bite out of his jam-filled bun, and says, “So, what’s up?”

Hands buried in the pockets of her coat, Y/n leans back on the couch.

“Just assignments. Keep piling up like haystacks.” She says, clearing a path on the fogged-up window. “This weather sucks.”

Her pitiful attempt at evading his question is almost endearing. She’s so bad at it that Rin can’t bring himself to be sarcastic.

“Look, if you don’t wanna tell me… that’s fine.” He reassures her and before he can scarf down the remainder of the bun, he says, “No reason to lie.”

His words lift the burden of having to open up and leave her feeling just a little more at ease around him. This doesn’t mean she fails to realize the importance of asking him the same question he had aimed at her. It’s normal to inquire about the lives of those close to you. It isn’t a crime. So why does it seem like theft, like some kind of extortion? Whenever she’s the one asking the questions, it is as though she is stripping people bare, removing every last piece of their dignity before flaying them down the final strip of skin. It is grotesque, disconcerting. Rin calls her his favorite girl, his best friend. It doesn’t make her less of a thief.

“What about you?” She asks, hand falling to her lap.

Rin licks the jam at the corner of his mouth.

“There must be things I want to talk about. But I can scarcely recall them. I’d much rather be present.” His gaze pierces her through. “Look forward to the next moment and move on.”

At this moment, Y/n is the one being disrobed. It may look like harmless staring, just a friend conversing with another, but the truth of it is that Suna Rintaro wishes he had sat by her side, trapped her between his body and the wall in a way she wouldn’t notice. He wishes he were fiddling with the edge of her almond brown corduroy skirt that she he beneath that thick umber coat he’d gifted her three years ago against her expressed wishes. That their feet were knocking against one another now and again.

She gives no indication of having picked up on his ‘lecherous’ behavior. All she knows is that her body burns yet feels like ice. Perhaps she’s coming down with a cold?

In a trice, she’s leaning forward and dipping a fry in the sweet and sour sauce.  

“You know how Hans and Gretel left behind breadcrumbs to find their way back home?” She asks, and Rin leans forward as he nods. “Yeah, I did my best to make sure this wasn’t the case.”

He squints. “You seem disappointed.”

“It seems I’ve left enough for my home to find me.” Y/n sighs. “Or for my sleep to find its way back.”

She shivers all over when fingers come to rest on her face, inching away in just a matter of seconds.

“Just this.” Rin clarifies, showing her the fallen eyelash. She rubs at her cheek, barely meeting his expectant look, “Aren’t you going to wish?”

Not thinking twice, she blows on it. He does the same. This back and forth only last for a few seconds, after which they pick a finger. The victorious digit is the forefinger, which soon presses on her jugular. It catches her off guard nonetheless. She feels utterly idiotic for freezing up at the barest touch of Suna Rintaro. He’s the same boy who walked directly behind her to prevent others from seeing her blood-soaked shorts. Every now and then, when they’d go to some sad high-school-runt summer party, he would joke that he’d be her boyfriend just to fend off the vultures that threatened to steal her. He even knew her bra size. His touch shouldn’t be prompting an increase in blood pressure. Yet here she is, hands accumulating sweat like there’s a drought, blood rushing to her cheeks and neck, and the itch at her fingertips to scrape them raw.

You may be thinking it affects Rin less than it does her. Or you might be a person of culture and instantly envision his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down with each gulp, the air leaving his lungs slowly because that’s how hard he’s trying to act nonchalant, and the shivers marching up and down his body like an army of rogue neurons, shivers only the heat of her skin can provoke.  

“So,” He begins again, bringing his hand to his plate like it’s nothing, “Is it home?”

Y/n places her hand on the glass, looking beyond the condensation. “Who knows?”

For a few moments, during which she does nothing but occasionally munch on fries and sip on her warm cocoa drink, she thinks this is how it’s going to go. They’re going to sit in silence until Rin gets restless and asks to call it a day (now nearing night). This way, she’s going to brand herself in Rin’s memory as a boring bitch. She probably is. Probably not. Definition varies.

When the thoughts get too much, she decides to glance his way only to choke on a snort.

“What?” The food in his mouth distorts his words. “What? Why are you snorting?”

She bites back another snort, and fails, “It’s just you have this way of munching on food. Like your cheeks puff out like round little globes. It’s comical. Like a cartoon.”

“Not the girl who licks her fingers talking.” He shoots, his oral cavity about to burst at the seams.

Y/n’s eyes widen as the words leave his mouth.

“Are you ever going to let it go?”

“Never.”

“Oh, my fucking-

Rin pretends to suck on his fingertips one by one. “The way you licked them back when we first-  

“I thought nobody could see me.” She slaps her hands on her face to bury the embarrassment. “Fucking hell.”

“Well, I’m glad I did.”

Behind her palms, her eyes widen. Rin can pin down the moment her breath gets glued to the inside of her mouth. He waits for her hands to flop back to her lap. Better yet, why not on the table where he can admire them, reach for them?

“It had been a bad day.” He goes on, the edge of his mouth tilting when he sees her index and middle fingers part. “You made it less so.”

The statement puzzles her. Their first time having a conversation had been a tomfoolery of awkwardness. Her convo skills have always been cloddish and nothing short of embarrassing. True, it had worked out but it doesn’t make the idea of her improving his mood any more plausible.

Not wanting to disrupt the flow of the dialog, Y/n allows her face to breathe, flushed as it is, and grabs a fry which she then dips in garlic sauce.

“Did granny scold you?” She asks half-jokingly.

“Something along those lines.” He mirrors her movements without noticing, eyes stalking her hand as it curls around the cup. “I was just… happy to finally meet you. The girl who never said hi. The best thing Kuroo has ever done is bringing you into my life.”

Y/n chugs down the rest of her drink. “I remember avoiding you like the plague at first.”

He’s cautious enough to set down the cup before acknowledging the ‘shameful’ truth.

“Understandable. With my fuckboy reputation and all.”

“Not that.” She wipes the back of her hand across her mouth. “I knew you wouldn’t be attracted to me. Or want to have sex with me.”

When Rin invited her to go out, he didn’t do it with the anticipation of such a revelation. From the night they’d first spoken up until this very moment, he had been suspicious about the authenticity of her nonchalance regarding the subject of how attractive she believed herself to be in the eyes of others. He knows people can be mean to others, even if they don’t know them. Especially if they don’t know them. Maybe it affects her more than he realized. That pissed him off.

It's senior year, and he’s just finished hooking with Hanae, a girl in his year who already had a boyfriend. Rin knows that, of course. He doesn’t care. They were fuckbuddies weeks before she found herself a very hot boy to keep around just enough to satiate her desire for romance, something Rin can’t give a fuck about. She came over, they fucked, and now he lay on top of the ruffled sheets damp with sweat, scrolling through his album. In truth, he’s just going through all the pics and funny videos Y/n has sent him.

She loves everything aesthetic. She’s capable of putting together different pictures to convey an emotion. Sometimes what he feels is drastically unlike hers, but there are also days when it seems as though he can tap on the picture on his screen and leap through time and space. Just to find himself still in bed, shirtless and sporting only a pair of midnight blue jogging shorts.

Out of nowhere, Hanae snatches his phone away. It shocks him, but he does no more than glare and demands that she stop fucking around. It’s evening and he has no time for her theatrics.

“No way,” She snickers, thumb scrolling down. He lunges for her, but she literally twirls away before he can yank her by the arm. “I have to know what has you so distracted that you can’t even listen to what I’m saying.” Her face falls, a sneer replacing her smirk, “What’s this?”

Rin grabs her by the wrist with such strength that she drops her phone. It lands on his right hand.

“None of your business.” He says, releasing her.

He sits at the edge of his bed, almost flopping back on his bed. Practice and sex have worn him out, especially since he partakes in both more or less every day. Apparently, his words did not suffice since she feels entitled to try to repeat the same mistake.

“Who is that,” She asks, making grabby hands at his phone. “It’s not a model so who is that? Tell me.”

Rin doesn’t even bother to look up at her. “My tutor.”

“You don’t have a tutor.”

“Is that so?” He drawls.

Hanae is red in the face. He’s impressed by the fact that she hasn’t broken out in boils yet.

“Yes, I know you don’t. So, who is that? Are you fucking her, too?” At the end of the last sentence, she stomps her food like a child. Rin decides not to entertain her, but that only serves to spur her further into her monologue of accusations, “You wouldn’t touch someone who looks like they’ve been run over by a truck right? Maybe you can’t tell but her nose is crooked and she-

“Your boyfriend wasn’t nearly as noisy or nosy after I railed him for two hours.”

That brings her rambling to an end. Rin’s hands are planted firmly on the mattress. He tilts his head just for her to be able to see how disinterested he is in anything she has to say.  

“Get the fuck out.” He drawls.

The girl leaves as if in a daze. Rin waits for the dramatic door slam before he can sigh and fall back on the bed.

As if to make the memory dissolve, Rin shakes his head. Desperate to do something other than overthinking the ‘whats’ and ‘whys’, he begins to roll up his napkin.

“Then, why were you afraid?”

Y/n considers lying to him, to pass it off as a tasteless, self-deprecating joke. But he would just tell her not to lie to him. He’s intelligent like that.

“You reminded me of someone.” She breathes out a last. “You looked like someone everyone liked. You were charming, talented, and attractive. I guess I was scared of you finding me… unpleasant. Because then the rest of them would too.”  Her chuckle redirects his focus back to her face, the napkin now long forgotten beside the red tray. “Also, you just have these really piercing eyes. Like those of a lynx. And well it was a movie night I guess but I felt you looking at me-

“Yeah, and you kept looking away.”

Y/n supports her cheek on her right hand.

“And I kept looking away.” She repeats. “I thought you were appraising me, judging how much I was worth. If I deserved to be there.”

Rin thinks carefully about what his next words should be. It doesn’t take him long though, because less than 3 seconds pass before he mimics her position, his right forearm serving as a pillar of balance for his head.  

“I’d seen you before you know.” This is no news to her, but what follows is quite different, “From my balcony. You were alone but you didn’t look lonely.”

“Classic me. Making the best first impressions. Or second ones I guess.” She almost tears a muscle rolling her eyes. Tapping her fingers against her cheekbone, she divulges another unexpected truth, “You also were like completely out of my league. I mean, Chiharu and the rest befriended me. I never would’ve had the gall to reach out to them. They’re the quintessential popular kids, you know. Same with you.”

Rin can’t believe his ears.

“I was high as a kite. Had a hoe phase that has since only slightly gotten milder. And I was failing four classes.” He balls up the napkin and throws it for her to catch, “The only league I was part of was the ligmaballs.”

Y/n dodges the ‘cannonball’ as laughter bubbles out of her chest. When she’s done, and Rin can just barely hold back from pinching her cheeks, she brings her shrimp burger up to her mouth.

“Sometimes I hate that you’re funny.” She says before taking a huge bite out of it.

Juice runs down the side of her mouth, which she licks off at once. Rin can only smile at the turn this day took.

“Yeah? I’m funny, am I?” He says, trapping her puffed-up cheeks between his fingers and pulling until she groans. “Say that again. C’mon.”

Grumbling, she leans backward and her cheek stretches like a mochi. “Stop, it hurts you slut.”

The downpour drowns out her protests. One last pull and he releases her, an action that would have her falling if she were standing. Instead, she brings her cold knuckles to her reddened cheek, all the while scowling at him in a way that makes it obvious that she is putting tremendous effort into the displeased look. Rin is entertained, relishing the theme of this afternoon.

The whole aesthetic was made for those who wished days would turn to nights while the hour merely struck 3 in the afternoon. Trickling down slanted rooftops, trekking in rivulets up windows of cars leaving the storm behind, sliding down the glasses of new customers seeking a warm meal and shelter from the thunderous weather, the rain imparted an aquatic feel to all that it fell upon to bear it. They catch glimpses of people riding home on bikes, the hoods of their vibrant raincoats on the verge of bending the knee to the wind, and of two couples making out in their respective cars. The latter they peer at through the peepholes on the fogged-up window. It seems as if the world is swimming in some undefined emotion. Or perhaps the storm has concentered every emotion felt into a singular, never-seen-before phenomenon that human brains can’t decipher. They are far too busy swimming in it.

It's much like when you’re a kid and you go to the beach and no matter how much time passes, you never want to stop lying afloat. Letting the saltwater carry your body to the mermaids you spend the night listening to from within your shell. That is why they don’t notice how late it’s gotten until the clientele thins for the day and she points it out to him. Rin sighs, regretful that he has to say goodnight, fearful about the number of days that will pass until they next meet.

After 4 hours of relentless violence, the storm has grown as feeble as a wet twig. They step out and begin their walk out of the parking lot.

“I hate that you thought I would find you unattractive.”

He means for her to hear it, and is glad to have her attention on him as she processes what he’s just said. Her eyebrows dive to the point that they meet, such is her befuddlement at the statement. But then the corner of her mouth tilts, as though he’s just said something mildly moronic and amusing.

“What? You’re gonna say you thought I was gorgeous now?” She rolls her eyes, “Please, Rin, you wouldn’t stop looking m-

“And that meant I thought you were ugly?” He shakes his head. “So, you’re telling me if you saw me staring at a girl all night long, you’d think I didn’t want to talk to her?”

To flee the feeling of being put under the microscope, her eyes shift from one object to the next. Cars, bicycles, payphones, shopping carts from the supermarket just next to KFC that edgy teens have abandoned near dumpsters⸺ all so she can avoid having the truth pierced by his eyes. Just like a blood bag, it would spill and the stain would be difficult to wash out.

“No.” She drawls out, “But those girls are-

“That girl,” He holds onto her elbow gently, catching her by surprise nonetheless, “Was you.”

And she looks up at him, eyes sparkling with emotions the decryption of which Rin had yet to master. Perplexity, wonder, astonishment, nervousness, gloom… a bit of everything as he will later learn. The corners of her mouth seem undecided whether to tilt upwards or swoop down. So, to mask the state she’s in, Y/n glances from his fingers wrapped around her arm to his green eyes. It’s a game of back and forth.

“Can I be honest?” He asks.

Y/n almost recoils when his other hand reaches for her jaw. His words come out in a whisper, like the brisk wind from this morning, before the storm took over. What she doesn’t know is that the truth is fighting tooth and nail to come into the moonlight, to envelop them both in the uncertainty of what awaits. Perhaps then she would see into his head, every thought he’s had about her since he set his eyes on her. Every impulse he’s had to fight⸺ stopping himself from planting his mouth on hers during their many tutoring sessions, fingers curling around his phone before he could rub his knuckles against the vein on her neck, holding his breath as she asked him embarrassing questions. Every time he’s succeeded, the only diversion has been to seek attention from people he didn’t like talking with. Because nothing can be ruined that wasn’t desired. And while most desired things could be ruined by lies, they could persevere in secrecy.  

“No more inside looking out.” Says Rin.

“Huh?”

He always looks so bored. Everyone says that he’s been cursed with a face to be kissed and feared, that he smells of cigarettes and weed. But his hold on her, the proximity, and the look of urgency paired up with the smile that’s about to bloom tell a vastly different story.

“Tonight, we don’t think of home. Everything around us? Just pure energy without boundaries. I know how it scares you. But,” His breath is warm, coming out in puffs of steam as the night grows cold, “No inside looking out. All of this, the here and now, is where we need to be.”

As if a thread has snapped within her, she faces him, “The entirety of the cosmos.”

“The multiverse.” He follows.

Y/n is a novice to the art of desiring. She doesn’t know what it means to want the moment, to reach for it in this cosmos, and to never attain it. She has never coveted the ability to live. She has never imagined daring the ambition for expansion through the senses. Tonight, she feels compelled to try.

“A peek into the ‘everything’.” 

#oikawa tooru #oikawa fic #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa tooru angst #oikawa tooru x y/n #Suna Rintarou #suna x reader #suna rintaro angst #suna x y/n #yen per second #haikyuu #bully!oikawa x reader

[chimielie]

oh my god, they were roommates

part 2 to and they were roommates. no cws, just silliness.

you're not talking to tooru.

he's not sure how you manage it so effectively. you eat all your meals in your room while he's home, except for when you manage to sneak from there to the door while he's in the bathroom. his only clue that you've gone out is that you leave your bedroom door open when you do, really hammering home how empty his life suddenly is.

"even when we're in the same room," he sighs, resting his cheek on his fist. "it's like trying to grab a fish out of the water. i turn around or blink and poof! gone!"

"your sleeve is dipping into your drink," says his date. "and i really think you need to discuss this with your roommate. at home. alone."

tooru waves goodbye forlornly as they stand up and walks out of the restaurant, leaving behind a half-eaten ball of rice and a broken man.

"you are like a sad, sad," akaashi says, pausing to really linger on the word sad, "wet cat. please stop bringing your dates here to mope about—to them. you are forming bad associations between our business and your terrible romantic etiquette."

akaashi keiji is a mangaka now, or an editor for one, anyway; he works at onigiri miya (tokyo location) on the side because it's the only way he routinely leaves the house; tooru brings his dating drama here to brighten up what must surely be a terribly boring life.

"what would you do without me, akaashi-kun," tooru stretches his arms high with a languid sigh that makes akaashi worry that he has comprehended none of his words. "wouldn't you be so miserable if you didn't have me to bring romance and excitement to your life?"

"i have a boyfriend of several years," akaashi says, which is rude to remind tooru of while he's in such a vulnerable state. "i have plenty of excitement with him in my life."

"inconsiderate!" tooru snorts. "please break up with him to show me solidarity."

"i will not be doing that." akaashi picks up the nameless and now-vanished date's plate and takes a bite out of the leftover food.

"understandable," tooru nods, "that's very reasonable. i just don't know what to do, or how to fix it, or what i did wrong."

"you come in here every other night to whine about what you did wrong."

"do not."

"do too," akaashi sticks out his tongue at him. there's a grain of rice stuck to his lip. "you spent several months going out on dates trying to make your friend-turned roommate jealous—during which, I'll note, you basically exclusively talked about the person you were and continue to be obsessed with—then initiated... romantic physical contact, then ran away. because you have the attachment style of a stray cat."

"ah, akaashi-kun," tooru says. "are you saying i get around?"

"i am saying you are lurking outside the window and begging for attention and then biting the hand that feeds you when you get it.”

“oh.” tooru is quiet for a moment. “can i get the check?”

“it’s on the house if you’ll just go home and talk to your roommate and never come back here with another date.” akaashi says, finishing off the onigiri.

“deal.”

your room is empty, your bedroom door ajar when he comes home. mournfully, tooru sits on the bed, reminiscing over the hours he'd spent gossiping with you here.

he'll just wait for you to get back. when he used to take you dancing—with your other friends, but you'd wind your arms around his neck and he'd run light hands over your waist, your hips, and you would look at him like no one else even existed—you always wanted to leave before midnight. it's ten-forty-nine now, according to his watch, so he's sure you'll be back before long.

you get home at two-oh-four. you had never seen the point in staying out longer when going home and chatting over a bowl of cheesy noodles with tooru was so much more appealing—you didn't want to dance with anyone else anyway. now, though, you don't want to be home, and you have something to prove. to who, you're not sure, but you find yourself staying out later and later.

even though you always return home alone. you'd thought about really upping the ante, about moving on as abruptly as possible, but you couldn't. it felt like going too far in this petty revenge game. after all, you still—

you stop short, dropping your shoes on the floor. the devil is in your bed, lying on his side, knees tucked to his chest to fit his absurdly long frame. his breaths are even and deep, his face peaceful.

"oh, tooru," you sigh, and climb over him to tuck yourself against his warm side.

you blink your eyes open slowly, sleep still gleaming in the corners of your vision. there's a weight on your hip and something that smells really, really good surrounding you, nearly lulling you back to sleep.

"oh, please don't," says a voice you haven't heard in days. "my arm's circulation has been completely cut off. i may never serve again."

you jolt away from the soft source of warmth, which you realize belatedly is oikawa's chest.

"what happened?" you say, swiping at your face with the back of your hand.

he looks frustratingly perfect as always, brown hair rumpled, eyes soft like you aren't in the biggest spat of your friendship.

"i was waiting for you," he admits, leaning on his side and casting his eyes down, his lashes shadowing his high cheekbones. "because i wanted to apologize, to be clear. i must have fallen asleep, and then i woke up, and it was like—"

"yes," you cough. "i see. um."

"i'm sorry," he says. "hey, look at me. i'm really sorry."

"for what, oikawa?" you laugh nervously.

"for being stupid," he rolls one shoulder in a shrugging motion. "for trying to make you jealous and instead just being, like, a complete fucking clown during all of it."

"make me jealous?" you say, blinking at him.

"please don't look at me like that," he says, scrubbing over his face with the hand that's not propping up his head. "it-you make me nervous."

"we've been friends for years," you say, still apparently lost. "how can i make you nervous?"

"you always will," he laughs, but it's strained. "look—i like you. probably more, but i'm trying not to scare you—any more than i already have, i mean. i'm not sorry for kissing you, is what i mean. i should just—i should probably go."

"wait," you say firmly before he can untangle himself from your sheets. putting a hand on his shoulder and pushing yourself up to meet his lips, which are soft and dry and parted slightly with surprise.

the kiss is warm and lingers, even after you pull away. tooru stares at you with dazed eyes that make you shy, dropping your own. his voice is quiet but hopeful, contrasting his words in tone when he speaks.

"what the fuck?"

#haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #hq!! x reader #oikawa x reader angst #oikawa angst #oikawa fluff #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa toru x reader #oikawa x reader #oikawa x reader fluff #oikawa tōru x reader