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It starts with a phone call.
Oikawa isn’t in the habit of answering calls from numbers he doesn’t recognize, but it’s a local number and he isn’t fully awake yet and something compels him to pick it up.
“’Llo?”
At first there’s just static. He pulls the receiver away from his ear to see if he did actually answer. The display lights up showing an active call.
A voice trickles out of the speaker as he brings it back to his ear.
“Oikawa? Can you actually hear me?”
Cold washes over him, that distant, deep voice jarring him awake in an instant. “What the hell do you want, Ushiwaka?”
He grinds his teeth as there’s another pause. He should have hung up immediately. He needs to finish getting dressed and packing his bag for the day.
“I don’t know where I am,” he finally responds.
Oikawa squawks. “Call your stupid friends, then. Or your mom. I assume even a robot like you must have one. Why are you calling me?”
Oikawa can’t tell if his insults land. It’s like they’re talking through syrup, the words taking forever to travel through the airwaves. Wherever he is, Ushijima’s signal must be terrible.
“I cannot seem to get through to anyone else.”
“Well that’s not really my problem, is it?” he huffs. “I’ve got to leave. Best of luck Ushiwaka-chan!” He has no way of knowing if Ushijima catches the sarcasm in his farewell because he hangs up immediately, his mood soured for the whole day.
“Who pissed in your cereal?” Iwa-chan grouses when they meet at the corner where their streets intersect a short while later.
“Ugh!” He shoves his hands deeper into his pockets, vainly attempting to protect them from the early fall chill. “Ushiwaka called me this morning because he was lost. Can you believe that? How has he survived this long?”
Iwa-chan frowns at him over the scarf wrapped around his nose. “Who?”
“Oh, very funny, Iwa-chan. Hilarious.” He stomps his feet for a few paces, then pauses. “Actually, no. You’re right. Who indeed? No one! He doesn’t deserve a single spare thought! I have too many other important things to be focused on!” He throws his arm around Iwaizumi’s shoulder and puts on his most insufferable grin. “Like making sure poor Iwa-chan’s face doesn’t stick like that some day, forever ugly and alone because no girl will ever marry him with a scowl like that!”
“Oi, Shittykawa!”
He dances away from Iwa-chan’s pointy elbow before it can connect with his side, giggling to bury his irritation over the rude awakening he’d begun the day with. The familiar banter lightens his mood, but the phone call niggles at the back of his mind all through morning practice.
He’s almost forgotten about it by lunch, but while he’s waiting for Iwa-chan and Mattsun and Makki to meet him at their usual spot, he gets another call.
The afternoon sun is warm, and it’s probably one of the last days of the year they will be able to enjoy lunch outside. He’s soaking up the rays when his phone vibrates for the second time.
He has half a mind to ignore it. Let it ring and go to voicemail.
But again he finds himself compelled to answer.
“I’m shocked the great Ushiwaka-chan is such a delinquent to be calling people during the school day,” he hisses when he picks up the call.
The connection is worse this time. When Ushijima replies, he sounds even more distant, like he’s put the phone on speaker and walked away. “Is it still the middle of the day?” Static fizzles in Oikawa’s ear. “Forgive me, I cannot seem to get my bearings. It is dark.”
“What, are you in a closet or something? Why do you keep calling me?” He was starting to get a headache. What did Ushijima expect him to do, anyway?
“You are the only one who answers.” Was that a hitch in his voice? “I do not know what to do.” I’m scared, is what Oikawa’s mind translates that to.
Except that can’t be right because Ushijima Wakatoshi isn’t scared of anything. He doesn’t believe in ghosts or the supernatural, and he’s almost always the biggest man in the room. If they were merely beasts, he would be the apex predator, the king of the jungle. No one is hunting him. And no matter how many times Oikawa has tried to take him down, he has always failed, further cementing Ushijima’s legacy as top dog. So what could he possibly have to be scared of?
Oikawa’s growing ire burns away the ice that had begun forming in his stomach with the second bizarre phone call. He chooses to ignore the nagging dread clawing at his neck in favor of anger. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but I’m not playing it. If you’re really lost, I’m sure your friends will find you soon enough. Don’t call me again.”
He jabs his finger on the END CALL button on the screen and shoves the phone deep in his pocket as he stews. He barely registers as his friends join him in the courtyard, too busy playing both brief conversations over and over in his head, trying to find some rationale for the calls.
“I didn’t know the forecast called for rain today,” Makki chirps as he settles on the ledge next to Oikawa.
That jolts him out of his spiral. He shields his eyes as he looks to the clear, blue sky. “Huh?”
“Your face, dumbass.”
“Yeah man, you look like you’ve got a thundercloud over your head with that scowl,” Mattsun elaborates.
“He called me again,” he explains, taking the bento Iwa-chan hands him and unwrapping it with little care. “Seriously, doesn’t he have anything better to do than harass me?”
“Same dude from this morning?” Iwa-chan asks around a mouthful of onigiri.
Oikawa hums as he nibbles on his own. “Mmm, Ushiwaka, yeah.”
“Who?” Makki asks.
Oikawa coughs as he inhales an errant grain of rice. He throws a murderous glare at his so-called friend. “Oh you’re in on it too?”
“In on what? Who the hell are you talking about?”
He’s an incredible actor, Oikawa thinks. Pretending like he doesn’t also hate the giant jerk who squashed their Nationals dreams last year. Oikawa could almost believe him, but he knows better so he barrels on.
“My arch nemesis? Shiratorizawa’s ace spiker who has been tormenting me since middle school? Ushijima Wakatoshi!”
Three sets of eyes exchange a silent communication. Oikawa hates when they do that. He hates more that he can see them talking about him telepathically like he isn’t sitting right there.
“Good one,” Mattsun says, clapping a hand against his back.
“You guys were literally teasing me about him last night when I was complaining that his spread in Volleyball Monthly was bigger than mine.” He scowls and crosses his arms over his chest. “You also made some crude comments about his “spread” that I will not repeat.”
When they continue to stare at him like he’s suddenly grown an extra head, he throws his hands up in exasperation. He brings his bag around and digs out his copy of the magazine and flips through it. “See, right her...,” he trails off as he turns to the page where Ushijima’s profile should be.
The claw digs into the back of his neck, sending spikes of ice through his veins.
Instead of Ushijima, the feature is on Bokuto Koutarou of Fukurodani.
He thrusts the magazine towards them, his fingers gripping so tight the edges of the pages crimp. “What is this?”
“Volleyball Monthly,” Iwa-chan deadpans. “You’re literally the one who pulled it out.”
“No I mean why is Bokuto in here and not Ushijima?” He points with his free hand at the wild-haired Tokyo spiker, as if they couldn’t tell who he was asking about.
“Are you feeling ok?” Mattsun’s nose scrunches in concern. “You’re getting kind of sweaty.”
Oikawa runs a hand through his hair. “This is a prank of some sort. I don’t know how you did this, but I am not laughing. Ushijima! My biggest rival!” His voice is starting to border on hysterical. They’ll crack any minute, make fun of him for getting so worked up, and they’ll call Ushijima and tell him the joke is done.
“I thought your rival was Kageyama,” Makki muses.
Oikawa gawks at him. “Please, Tobio-chan isn’t a threat. I can take him and his crows down any day.”
“Crows? I thought Shiratorizawa’s mascot was an eagle.” This from Mattsun.
He swallows, hard, and says like a mantra, “Tobio is at Karasuno.” He has to be. Him and that ginger shrimp with their freak quick attack. They’re tenacious, sure, but they’re not Ushiwaka. He can and has beaten them, and he’ll do it again.
Iwa-chan eyes him askance, bemusement writ all over his face. As if Oikawa is the one playing a prank. “No, pretty sure he’s at Shiratorizawa.”
His stomach lurches. Iwa-chan may be a brute whose favorite pastime is abusing his best friend, but he’s as honest as they come. He’ll tease and prod, but he won’t lie, not even to get under Oikawa’s skin.
“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” Mattsun repeats his earlier question.
“Maybe,” he pauses, licks his lips, his mouth suddenly feeling dry, “maybe I do feel a little under the weather.” It’s not really a lie. He feels sick. Like the world is tilted and he can’t find his balance. “I think I’ll skip practice today and get some rest.”
“Oh yeah, he’s definitely sick.” Makki scooches along the ledge, putting some distance between them to avoid whatever plague he fears Oikawa is carrying. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you willingly skip practice before.”
A firm hand squeezes his shoulder on the other side. Iwaizumi frowns at him with genuine concern. “You want me to walk you home?”
Oikawa shakes his head with a shaky laugh. “Someone needs to run practice today. And I refuse to leave the team in their hands.” He jerks his head towards their taller friends, ignoring their half-hearted cries of protest and abuse. It’s not that he doesn’t trust them, it’s just...well okay he doesn’t trust them to be responsible leaders.
The other reason he doesn’t want Iwa-chan escorting him home is that he doesn’t plan on going directly home. He needs to see the truth for himself, and he has a feeling Iwaizumi would keep him from storming the proverbial castle, in light of his apparently delusional mental state.
He dares to hope he gets another call before the end of classes. He’ll listen this time. Ask questions. Anything to ease the pressure of worry at the back of his skull.
There is no call.
He calls the number back on his way to the station.
The number you have dialed is not in service.
He tries the number twice more to the same result en route. Cold grips his heart the closer he gets to Shiratorizawa. He knows what he’s going to find there.
Or rather, what he’s not going to find.
The campus is huge, and Oikawa has only ever been here a handful of times for practice matches. The bus usually brings them to the sports complex, but he’s on foot this time, unsure of his bearings. He remembers the corral with the fancy dressage riders, and makes his way towards one of the many gyms once he finds it.
He can hear the distant squeak of sneakers on parquet, the echoing smack of volleyballs being spiked, shouts of “Nice kill!” and “One more!” pouring out of a building just ahead of him.
Before he can make his way inside, to confirm his wide-awake nightmare, someone obstructs his path.
“Long way from home, aren’t you?” Tendou Satori leers at him, the setting sun behind him casting his sharp features in shadow, making him look almost sinister as Oikawa glowers up at him. “What could the great Oikawa Tooru want with our little old school, hm?”
Oikawa’s hands curl into fists at his sides. He straightens his back, attempting to diminish Tendou’s height advantage over him. If anyone would remember Ushijima, certainly it would be his best friend, right? “Where is he?”
Tendou’s eyes twitch, narrowing slightly. “Where is who?” There is a sudden wariness to his posture. He knows something.
“Cut the crap,” Oikawa snarls. “Where is Ushijima?”
He sees as his words slice through the red-head’s façade. And it was a façade, Oikawa realizes belatedly, as Tendou steps closer to him, placing trembling hands on Oikawa’s shoulders. Closer up, Oikawa can make out the dark circles under his wide, bloodshot eyes, the pallor to his skin. “You know Wakatoshi-kun?” he whispers.
The words should bring him relief. Someone else remembered Ushijima Wakatoshi. But that someone was acting as if he was alone in his knowledge. As if no one in the gym beyond remembered their mighty ace.
“Of course I do!” he snapped. “Why wouldn’t I? He’s been the biggest pain in my ass since I started playing volleyball!”
Tendou’s hands slide off his shoulders as he folds his arms across his chest and looks behind him to the gym. He looks as off-kilter as Oikawa feels. Like he’s holding himself together through sheer force of will. His lower lip is chewed raw, Oikawa notices as it disappears between his teeth again.
“What happened to him?” he asks. If anyone knows, Tendou would.
The middle blocker’s slender shoulders lift in a shrug. “Last night we were up late reading Shonen Jump and I fell asleep in his room. This morning I woke up and he was gone. I figured he’d just gone ahead to practice, and was gonna scold him for not waking me, but when I got here things were wrong.”
Oikawa swallows, knowing what some of things probably were.
“Usually Shirabu and Semi-Semi are bickering over warmups, but Shirabu wasn’t there either.” His eyes slide unnervingly to the side. “Who do I see instead but your little kouhai? Wearing purple. A little King of the Court, as they say. He stands talking with Semi-Semi like he belongs. As if he isn’t out of place at all. He even bows to greet me as if I’m his actual senpai. As if he does it every day.”
He sighs, running a hand through his hair. It’s already a bit disheveled and Oikawa wonders how many times he’s tugged at it already today. “So of course I ask what’s going on, if we did a setter swap with Karasuno, where is Wakatoshi-kun, etc. And they all look at me like I’ve gone crazy.” His lips curl up in a self-deprecating sneer. “Which I admit, is a look I’m familiar with. I know I can be a little off-putting and even embrace it most days. But this wasn’t like that. They truly had no idea who I was talking about.” His grin falters, becomes sad. Wistful. “It’s like he never existed at all.”
The cold dread that has been chasing him all day finally catches him, dowsing him from head to toe.
“You know Oikawa, if we didn’t know any better, we’d say you had a big, gay crush on Ushiwaka,” Makki grinned.
Oikawa dropped his milk bread as his mouth opened and closed like a fish gulping for water. “I do NOT!” he finally spat out.
“There is definitely some serious UST between you two,” Mattsun added, his lazy smile veering towards cruel. “You should just seduce him and get it over with.”
Oikawa took comfort in the full-body shudder that washed over Iwaizumi at that nightmarish mental image. “You read way too much fanfiction, Matsukawa,” he said. Oikawa nodded vigorously, feeling very much in agreement with that assessment, until Iwa-chan opened his mouth and added to his horror. “He’s not entirely wrong though. Ushiwaka is about as obsessed with you as you are with him. Something’s gotta give, Shittykawa.”
“I cannot believe you!” he shrieked. Him and Ushiwaka?! “Nuh-uh. No way. Never. Not in a hundred million billion years. I am not harboring secret feelings for that overbearing jerk!”
They could never know about the dreams that plagued him some nights, his hand finally catching that broad back before it can get out of his reach, the thrill of those sharp, olive eyes focused solely on him as Ushiwaka falls to his knees and looks up at him. He hoped the setting sun hid the red he could feel burning his ears.
“He’s a thorn in my side! My life would be so much better if he never existed at all!”
Oikawa remembers how the dark seemed to settle over them suddenly, the streetlamps flickering noisily to life. To his relief, his awful so-called friends immediately dropped the subject, changing the conversation to something that happened in the latest chapter of One Piece.
“But I didn’t mean it,” he whispers.
Tendou’s head snaps to him. “What?”
Oikawa stares beyond him, to the gym, to the darkening horizon. “Last night, I said— I was just— It’s not possible,” he stammers. He feels dizzy. “I didn’t mean it.”
“Didn’t mean what?” Tendou’s voice is low. Flat. Dangerous.
“I was just venting!” he cries. “They were making fun of me! There’s no way I’m the first person to have wished someone didn’t exist.” He tangles his hands in his hair and stares, wide-eyed, at his feet. A nervous laugh bubbles out of his chest. “I’m dreaming. I must be. This is just a very weird, very vivid lucid dream. I’ll wake up and everything will be back to normal.”
If he wasn’t so manic, he might have seen the shadows falling back over Tendou’s face or noticed the way Tendou’s fingers curled into fists. He might have seen the hit coming and avoided it.
Stars dance in his vision when Tendou’s punch glances off his cheek. He staggers backwards, uttering a string of curses before leveling a glare at the taller boy. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Guess you’re not dreaming,” the red-head says in an eerie sing-song voice, shaking out his fist. “If you were, that wouldn’t have hurt, and you’d bring my best friend back right now.”
Bring him back? Oikawa didn’t even know he had sent him away. “I’m sorry,” he says, and this he means. “I don’t know how.”
Tendou stares at him for a long minute, eyes shiny with angry tears Oikawa doesn’t blame him for. He kind of feels like crying, too. His cheek throbs, but his chest also aches. A missing piece he hadn’t ever known was his to lose is gone.
He should be ecstatic. He won. Ushijima is out of his hair forever.
But that was never really what he wanted.
The hollowness inside him is proof of that.
“You should go home, Oikawa.”
It’s not really a suggestion, and Oikawa doesn’t take it for one. It’s after hours on campus and he’s technically trespassing. Plus Tendou is right, there’s nothing here for him. He nods farewell, not meeting Tendou’s glower when he turns to make his exit.
Outside of the gates, he tries calling one more time.
The number you have dialed is not in service.
It doesn’t really surprise him, but the sinking dread seeps into the hole in his chest all the same. He listens to the dead tone, wondering if maybe Ushijima could still hear him anyway, wherever he is.
He speaks into the growing dark.
“You’re a real piece of work, you know that Ushiwaka-chan? Calling me all day instead of your best friend. Who definitely misses you, by the way. I guess even you have people who care about you.” He shakes his head. No, this isn’t right. “I suppose I know why, now,” he says. “You’re gone because of me, so of course I’m the only one who can still hear you.”
Except Ushijima isn’t answering him now. He can’t reach him anymore. He brings his hand to cover his eyes before any tears can threaten to fall. Iwa-chan always tells him what an ugly crier he is, and he doesn’t want any random passers-by to see him like that. He probably should have waited until he was home, but that same compulsion that made him answer those calls earlier in the day urges him to speak now. He’s afraid if he doesn’t do it now, he’ll never get the chance to later.
But anger is easier to deal with than fear, so he keeps up his scolding tone as he continues.
“Hey Ushiwaka, did you know? How much you frustrate me? You’ve always frustrated me. You have always been two steps ahead of me, looking down on me and questioning my choices. But you know? That only pushed me to be better. To be stronger and fight harder. If I wasn’t always looking up, looking to our next fight where I could make you see my choices weren’t wrong, I might not have honed my skills so fiercely. Don’t get me wrong, I have never doubted my choices, and I don’t need to prove myself to you or anyone, but no one gets under my skin quite as much as you do. No one pushes me to my limits quite like you do.”
He lets out a shaky exhale as the litany spills off his tongue. Words he never thought he could say, words he’d never intended to give voice to because of what they would say about him. They were dangerously close to a confession he was not prepared to give.
“Don’t tell Makki this, but he might have been right about me. I was too scared to acknowledge it though because I can’t admit those things, can’t let myself feel them, not until I’ve beaten you. Ah, but I guess I can’t do that now. I can’t beat you if you’re not here.” He chokes on a sob that might be a watery laugh. “I can’t believe I’m saying this. I need you, okay? I need to beat you so you’ll look at me, see me, not whatever false ideal of me you hold in that big dumb brain of yours.”
He swipes his hand across his eyes, pulling the tears away from them. He’s pathetic. Stupid Ushiwaka. Leaving him behind after all. “I’m sorry,” he whispers into the static. Into the dark. He wishes he never made that careless wish. But it’s too late now, so there’s only one thing left to say. “Goodbye, Wakatoshi.”
He ends the dead call and puts his phone in his pocket, turning towards the station. The sun has fully set and his mood has sunk along with it. He wonders if he’ll be cursed to always remember Ushijima, if he’ll have to go on with his life pretending like Kageyama is his greatest rival or if his own memories will eventually be overwritten like those of his friends and the rest of Shiratorizawa. What other changes had he effected by accidentally erasing Ushijima from the world? Would he ever know the full extent of it?
Lost in his thoughts, he doesn’t hear the footsteps approaching from the other direction as he rounds a corner. He collides with a solid wall of a man. He braces for impact with the ground, thinking he deserves this on top of everything else he’s been through today.
Strong hands grip him before he can fall down though, and a familiar, deep voice lifts him out of the dark he’d been spiraling into.
“Oikawa?”
Oikawa’s heart does several acrobatic things at once. “Ushiwaka!” Again he thinks maybe he’s dreaming, but Ushijima’s hands on him are very solid and warm and real, and his face scrunches like it always does when he calls him that and Oikawa doesn’t think he’s ever been so relieved to see him.
“Must you call me that?”
Oikawa lets out a breathy laugh. “I’ll stop calling you that when it stops making you mad.”
Ushijima tsks but helps him steady back on his feet before taking his hands away. Oikawa’s arms are cold where they leave him. “What are you doing out here?”
“I—,” Oikawa fidgets with the strap on his bag. Did Ushijima not remember either? He decides to take a different approach. “Have you talked to Tendou today?”
That was not the question Ushijima was expecting. He tilts his head to the side and considers. “I usually talk with him every day during practice, but I can’t seem to remember going to practice today.”
Oikawa sags a bit with relief. Maybe his secret was still safe after all. He would take it as a small mercy if Ushijima really didn’t remember anything.
A calloused hand brushes the small cut on his cheek, causing him to flinch away. “You are hurt.” There is genuine concern in his voice, and it catches Oikawa by surprise.
Maybe he isn’t the only one who’d built up a false image in his head. Maybe his friends are right and the feelings are mutual.
Not that he’s going to say anything about that now.
He offers Ushijima a genuine smile though. “It’s nothing,” he says, and really, in the grand scheme of the universe, it’s such a small thing. “I’ll tell you all about it when I beat you some day.”
Ushijima considers him for a long moment, searching his face for a hidden agenda. Maybe even for a hint of his missing memories for the day.
In the end he returns Oikawa’s smile, a shared secret and a promise all in one. “I look forward to it.”