Archive of Our Own

“Fight me,” Oikawa said, three months into their first year in the same university.

He had never spoken to Ushijima before this. In fact, the last time he had spoken to him was in high school. Oikawa had ignored his existence ever since, until now.

He stood with bent knees, hands on said knees and eyebrows furrowed above a pair of focused eyes.

“What?” Ushijima’s incredulity was clear in his voice. He stopped pushing the cart towards the locker rooms and turned around.

“I said fight me,” Oikawa said once again, spreading his arms out in front of him, as if he was expecting to receive a ball any moment from then on.

“We can’t have a match with only--”

“I didn’t think you were one to back down from a challenge,” Oikawa said, with just the right amount of simulated surprise and disappointment. “That's a shame.”

Ushijima always welcomed challenges, and he told himself that today was no different. If anything, Ushijima decided he’d win this the way he had always won everything: by brute force, pushing and tearing walls down until all that was left was--well, nothing.

-

It lasted for a while. The only sounds filling the gymnasium were those of the ball slamming hard against the floor and the occasional grunts breaking their the pattern of their panting. Ushijima thought, as he threw the ball in the air and eyed it carefully, swinging his arms behind and running forward, that this was the opposite of a good idea; it was, at best, a messy serves practice.

Without a setter to toss the ball, spiking was impossible, so all they could do was serve and receive which was in no way a fair assessment of one’s abilities. They had agreed that the first one to score fifty points would win.

Ushijima was as familiar with Oikawa’s serve as much as Oikawa was with Ushijima’s. While Ushijima possessed a greater deal of strength, Oikawa could fill the gap with his control of the ball. Often times Ushijima could not predict the trajectory of the ball as accurately as Oikawa could. Ushijima, looking back at a ball as it bounced behind him, thought that he ought to work harder on two things that Oikawa seemingly mastered by now:

1. Controlling the ball.
2. Receiving.

Ushijima was well aware of the fact that he was paying attention to things he shouldn’t pay attention to; like the faint, pinkish bruises blooming on the inside of Oikawa’s forearms as he received Ushijima’s serves like his life depended on it or the way Oikawa’s eyes were ablaze with determination and pent-up rage.

-

At that time, the difference between them on the court was simple: Ushijima simply didn’t want to lose, but Oikawa absolutely wanted to win.

The ball hit the floor, and they both straightened their backs, hair sticking to their foreheads. Their chests were heaving up and down with the effort.

“Are you happy, now?” Ushijima asked after the stretch of a heavy silence between them.

Oikawa’s eyes widened for only a split second before his lips curled into a smile, dripping with venom. Ushijima couldn’t see his teeth, could only see the strained curve of his mouth, the twitch of a muscle in his jaw and the white spreading over his knuckles as Oikawa balled his hands into fists.

“Don’t insult me,” Oikawa said, breathless, as he took up his university jacket from the ground where it lay and left, slamming the door of the gymnasium behind him with enough force to rattle the closest windows.

Ushijima eyed the ball on his side of the net, a testament to Oikawa’s win. He bent forward and picked it up, heading for the cart.

He distantly thought that for their very first interaction since high school, it hadn’t been a good one. He tried to ignore the bitterness in his mouth.

-

The way his fellow spikers talked about Oikawa didn’t surprise him in the slightest, neither did the amount of time they talked about him--generally when he wasn’t present, for reasons that eluded Ushijima.

He was quietly removing his sweat-soaked jersey, pulling it off above his head when he heard two of his teammates exchange words. Their voices were quiet enough for Ushijima to understand they didn’t necessarily want to be heard, but not enough for Ushijima not to hear them anyway.

“Oikawa-kun really is amazing,” one of them stated, wonder in his voice, “I’ve never had a setter ask me so much about my preferences. It’s just--” A pause, during which Ushijima realized that he had stopped pulling off his jersey when it reached his elbows. He felt heat creep up behind his cheeks and he quickly got back to the task of changing, embarrassed at his own momentary obviousness. “--that I wouldn’t have expected that from him, I guess?”

“Yeah, I understand,” he heard another voice say after a light chuckle, “he just comes off as self-centered and pretentious. You wouldn’t guess he’s devoted to his spikers.”

“Yes!” his friend exclaimed. Ushijima heard him clap his hands, once. “The truth is, and I’ve never said this about anyone else before, but,” Ushijima unconsciously slowed down as his teammate lowered his voice, “I’ve never felt more alive than when standing next to Oikawa-kun on a court.”

“I hate to admit it because of how annoying he can get sometimes out of the court, but I know exactly what you mean.”

Ushijima also knew what they meant. He had known before they did. He had known before standing on the same side of the court Oikawa stood on, even. He knew even without experiencing it with the same intensity as they did, because he knew Oikawa reserved a special brand of treatment for Ushijima. It was a treatment reminiscent of their days as opponents, filled with stubborn antagonism despite them being allies now.

Of course, Oikawa gave him the high, clean toss he was most comfortable with. Ushijima remembered the first day Oikawa set for him, he remembered that Oikawa had never come to him personally to ask about what kind of toss Ushijima liked best. When Ushijima looked at Oikawa after slamming the ball down, the echo of it resounding between the walls of the gymnasium, he was already fetching another ball to set to the next spiker.

Of course Oikawa had known what kind of toss Ushijima liked best. Ushijima had almost forgotten that for all the six years he had spent observing Oikawa, Oikawa had spent just the same amount of time observing him back. Maybe, Ushijima thought, there were things Oikawa knew about him that Ushijima himself didn’t, because while Ushijima was good at assessing people’s skills, he didn’t possess the gift of bringing the full potential of someone out with that knowledge.

He didn’t find the idea of it distasteful even if their relationship had always been strained.

If he were honest with himself--and his honesty was something he prided himself in--he’d say he’d comfortably entrust those facets of himself unknown to him to Oikawa’s experienced hands and knowing, sharp mind. He wouldn’t mind if Oikawa came to him and suggested another kind of toss that he thought would help Ushijima better.

It wasn’t like Oikawa would do that anytime soon, but entertaining the idea of him and Oikawa discussing the way they could play together was nice.

Ushijima was tying his shoelaces when his teammates left, and as he looked at them go after bowing one last time, he became aware of the odd tightness around his chest.

‘I’ve never felt more alive than when standing next to Oikawa-kun,’ one of them had said, and the echo of that sentence only made the tightness painful. It wasn’t jealousy.

It was something a little more vulnerable and quiet: longing.

-

“What time is it?” Ushijima asked, arm slack around Oikawa’s shoulder. He could feel Oikawa’s grip around his wrist, keeping his arm there.

“A little over 2am,” Oikawa said, the usual sharp end in his voice surprisingly absent, “I’m surprised you drank, I’m even more surprised you drank until you got drunk.”

“Yukio-senpai and Uotsuri-senpai insisted--” he abruptly stopped and let out a disgraceful and loud burp, felt Oikawa’s muscles tense under his arm and against his side.

“I swear to God if you’re going to be sick--”

“--and said it would be disrespectful to refuse.”

He felt Oikawa turn his face to look at him. Ushijima’s head was dropped down, he was frowning at his shoes. He found it extremely hard to look at Oikawa because he was too busy focusing on his own breathing. His throat was burning.

Their walk from the party to his dorm was silent save for the cricket sounds and the sporadic hooting of an owl hiding in the trees around the campus. Even drunk, that left him wondering why Oikawa wasn’t taking advantage of this entire situation to make even more fun of him. Oikawa had always attempted to rile him up whenever the occasion presented itself, and Ushijima found himself realizing that this was the longest time they had shared a silence in over seven years of knowing each other. It wasn’t bad. Ushijima probably would have appreciated it better if he were sober.

It probably wouldn’t have happened if he were sober.

Oikawa’s hair was soft against his temple and Ushijima felt bad for leaning most of his weight against Oikawa, but he couldn’t walk straight without Oikawa guiding him. He closed his eyes, he felt dizzy and hot.

He opened them again when he felt one of Oikawa’s hands slip in his backpocket, and if he weren’t drunk Ushijima would have straightened his back so fast at the shock of electricity that ran down his spine that he was sure he would have strained something.

Oikawa visibly noticed the tension in Ushijima’s body.

“Relax,” he said, and his tone was quiet and almost soothing, “I was only looking for your keys. You had your eyes closed and you wouldn’t answer when I asked.”

Ushijima only kept his half-open eyes on Oikawa as he let him open the door for him and guide him inside.

The next thing Ushijima knew was the feel of a comforting pillow under his head and Oikawa’s distant “God, you’re so heavy” as he rolled his shoulders back and forth to relieve some of the strain Ushijima’s weight had put on them. He then felt Oikawa undoing the first buttons of his shirt before leaving.

There was the sound of a light switch flipping on and off, and then Oikawa was back again with a bucket in his hand.

“I’ll put this here,” he said as he put the bucket down on the floor next to Ushijima’s single bed, “in case you feel the need to--”

“You’re overwhelming,” Ushijima blurted the words out like he couldn’t help them, “And I don’t understand you. And I want to. Badly.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Yes, I am. It doesn’t make you any less overwhelming.”

He could discern the shape of Oikawa’s mouth parting and then closing again. His hair was light under the moonlight. He remembered how soft it felt against his temple moments ago and found himself reaching out to touch it, chasing the closeness of the memory, still fresh in his intoxicated mind.

Oikawa stood up suddenly, said, “Water.”

He came back with a glass of water that he set on the small bedside table.

“There,” Oikawa said, “I’m leaving now. Before you do something irresponsible.”

He had turned his back and was heading for the door when Ushijima tried to grab the glass of water and hit his hand against the corner of the bedside table in a loud thud instead. It made Oikawa jump and turn around.

“Sorry about that,” Ushijima said. Under Oikawa’s gaze he felt like a child caught doing something embarrassing. “Help me, please.”

Oikawa loudly sighed as he went back on his steps and took hold of the glass, sitting down with his thigh alongside Ushijima’s flank, knee bent underneath. “Sit up,” he quietly ordered.

Ushijima almost winced as he tried to rest the weight of his upper body on his elbows. It looked like the room had started spinning.

Oikawa held the glass to the cup of Ushijima’s mouth and tilted it slightly forward. Ushijima only covered Oikawa’s hand with his own to guide it better--which, given his state, was probably not the brightest idea--but he found that he liked the feeling of warm skin underneath his better, that he didn’t mind taking the risk of breaking the balance of Oikawa’s hand holding the glass firmly against his lips and making water slip and soak his shirt if it meant he could experience the warmth under his hands at least once. The alcohol had really, really, really gotten to his brain.

The glass of water emptied too quickly.

Oikawa set it down on the table again, and before Ushijima could help it he spoke.

“Why aren’t you making fun of me?”

“Why would I?” Oikawa snorted almost, Ushijima couldn’t see but he was sure Oikawa rolled his eyes, “You’re smashed. There’s no fun in it if you’re not aware of the fact that I’m making fun of you.”

“Thank you,” Ushijima said as if Oikawa’s words had never been spoken, “for walking me back. And for the bucket. And for--”

“Be quiet.”

“--the water. You didn’t have to.”

“I did it because everyone knows we’ve known each other for a long time so they thought it would be best to leave you with me,” Oikawa said, defensive even to Ushijima’s ears, because Oikawa certainly didn’t have to help him drink or bring him a bucket, “I didn’t do it out of sheer kindness. Who do you take me for? You and I--we’re not--we’re not friends.”

Ushijima let the silence between them settle, and he felt like Oikawa was waiting for a reaction as he hadn’t moved to the door yet.

“I thought things would change after you won against me that day,” he said after a few minutes, his voice was uncharacteristically low, almost a murmur in the air of the room.

“You think you’re being funny?” he saw Oikawa’s hands curl into fists on his knees, “What do you even want? You’re getting tosses like the rest of the team is. What more do you want?”

Oikawa was breathless with the beginnings of anger, bottling up.

“I--” Ushijima’s head hurt, the words fell on him like an avalanche, freezing him to the bone, “I’m not asking for anything. I simply wish for the--misunderstanding between us to go away. I don’t want you to toss to me if the thought doesn’t please you.”

“Oh, really?” one of Oikawa’s eyebrows quirked up. Ushijima felt like Oikawa was mocking him, for some reason. “I might be petty, but I’m not an immature fool. I won’t let my personal feelings get in the way of me being the official setter next year. If you thought you’d make me lose against you that way, then try again.”

“But I don’t.” Ushijima raised his voice and it came out sounding like a whine. He didn’t mean for it to sound that way at all. “I don’t want to get rid of you. I don’t have anything against you. I’ve wanted to play with you since--since high school. Maybe even before. I want--” he stopped and swallowed the sand in his throat. “I want to understand you. Help me.”

“Are you trying to tell me you care how I feel? Since when did you start caring about other people’s feelings?” Ushijima could tell the question was not genuine, his tone dripping with sarcasm, “Or are you only saying this because you’re drunk?”

“You’ve never questioned my straightforwardness, why do it now that I am drunk? I thought it made people more honest.”

That seemed to take Oikawa by surprise if Ushijima judged right by his expression. But then again, he was drunk. He let the silence bleed out between them again. He was tired and felt drowsiness overcome him.

“You’re insufferable,” Oikawa said, “It’s even worse when you’re drunk.”

Ushijima didn’t have time to react before the weight on his side had disappeared, the mattress slightly swelling up with it. His flank felt cold.

-

The next time he saw Oikawa again was during morning practice, two days later.

Ushijima had assumed he’d run into Oikawa because Oikawa was at the gymnasium before everyone else and left it after everyone else.

What he didn’t expect was to find him with somebody else. He was about to open the door of the locker rooms when he heard voices. Ushijima, being a man of integrity and honesty, never thought he would ever lower himself to the level of eavesdropping and shoving his nose in matters that were not his, but he heard his name being spoken and couldn’t, for the love of everything that is Holy, move away from the door.

“I’m afraid I don’t quite understand what you mean by ‘tension between you and Ushijima-kun’, Daisuke-senpai,” Oikawa said with an overly innocent voice.

Daisuke was the official setter and captain, a third year whose plays were absolutely consistent and reliable, serving as a solid foundation for their current regular team. Ushijima appreciated his presence on the court whenever he played with him.

“I know you’re smarter than you’d like to pretend right now, so I know you understand me,” he heard their upperclassman respond, a chuckle in his voice, “I know that when I’ll leave, or maybe even before, you will take my place. You’re a leader, and you easily make a team a unified unit whatever players you are with--except with Ushijima-kun.”

“I give him the tosses he wants, just like the rest.” It sounded like a question and an affirmation all at once.

“That’s not what I meant,” there was a pause, as if to let Oikawa think about it. “Part of why you act as the glue of any team you’re in is your accessibility as both a setter and a leader. You lead even when you’re not captain because they trust in you. You make it easy for them to trust in you. You know them. Learning that someone else has observed you and figured you out without you even knowing is very scary, and you’re aware of that, so your authority is never exerted by force and the extent of your knowledge is never made obvious. It’s never used as a threat against them. You celebrate with them when they score, and you comfort them when they feel down. You ask what they want, give them advice when you see fit, and work hand in hand with them. They revolve around you, you are the playmaker, and you excel at bringing out their full potential and putting in equal effort into each one of them. Except Ushijima-kun.” Another meaningful pause. “Do you perceive his strengths as a threat?”

“I--” knowing Oikawa couldn’t finish his sentence made Ushijima feel uneasy. The thought of Oikawa perceiving Ushijima as a threat instead of an ally didn’t sit well with him.

“You keep him at a distance even if on the surface you do perform just as well with him. It’s a slight disturbance in the perfect motion of the machine,” Ushijima felt criticized even if the critic was not directed at him, “Personally, I like playing with him. There’s a feeling of reliability he inspires in others by just being a strong presence on the court. Sometimes when I feel cornered I find myself entrusting the ball to him instead of entrusting it to one of my fellow third years. It’s something you can’t help. It’s kind of like a promise. It’s very exciting.”

There was silence again. Ushijima smiled slightly, he couldn’t help but feel proud at that.

“I think that if you reached out to him, and that if he reached out to you in return, something magical could happen on the court. Something very rare, very beautiful and very powerful. You’re both very--unique.”

Ushijima felt the skin on his nape tingle. He thought of Oikawa asking him about his toss, and thought of turning around to look at Oikawa after scoring. He thought of tentatively fitting his palm against Oikawa’s after a win. Maybe even hugging him.

Oikawa didn’t say anything in return, so their captain spoke as if to relieve the awkwardness that settled with Oikawa’s lack of a response. “Oh well, in the end, it doesn’t really matter,” Ushijima could almost picture the shrug of his shoulders. “It’s good as it is right now, your performance as a setter is great. I guess there are spikers with whom you will never sync completely. I just saw the potential for something far greater than what our volleyball currently possesses and thought I’d let you know.”

A locker closed, Ushijima froze, then he heard Oikawa’s voice as he said, “Thank you for your advice, Daisuke-senpai. I still have a lot to learn from you.”

“The feeling is mutual. You’ll go far, I can see it,” he said, and then, “Let’s have a good morning practice.”

Ushijima calmly thought that he had nowhere to hide and that if he did somehow manage to find somewhere to hide, it would be troublesome to explain his sudden arrival later on since he wouldn’t be able to physically enter the gymnasium again, so he decided to just stand there and wait for the door to open. If he was going to be scolded, he told himself he deserved it. Oikawa had such a low opinion of him already so this most certainly would only make him grin, delighted.

He could hear steps already.

When the door opened, Daisuke blinked, surprise blooming on his face. And then he smiled, an easy, warm smile. “Good morning,” he said with laughter in his voice, placing his palm on Ushijima’s stiff shoulder, “I knew Oikawa wouldn’t be the only one to wake up at ridiculous hours in the morning to get the gymnasium to himself. Go change.”

Ushijima simply bowed and stepped inside the locker rooms. “Good morning, Oikawa.”

He was feeling nervous. This was the first time he’d seen him since he got drunk. He felt he ought to apologize for the trouble he must have caused Oikawa that night.

“Well if it isn’t Ushiwaka-chan!” he exclaimed, as if surprised, although he didn’t turn around to look at him. Ushijima stared as he put his jersey on, “Before you even ask let me get it aaall cleared up for you. The mean Oikawa-san right here didn’t take advantage of you when you were drunk and--”

“I have never suspected you did and I do not think that you are mea--”

“Don’t cut me off,” his voice lost the fake cheeriness of it and had dropped low, spoken with such seriousness and authority it made Ushijima close his mouth, “I didn’t take advantage of you when you were drunk, and I’d suggest you don’t ask me about the things you said when drunk because, well, guess what? I won’t tell,” he turned his face around to pointedly stare at Ushijima. “So let’s both save our precious time since we’re both very busy people--or at least, I know I am a very busy person.”

“I remember,” Ushijima confessed, “I--some of the things at least. You don’t need to tell me.”

Ushijima felt Oikawa’s tension rather than saw it. The air in the room changed.

“Good for you, then! Remember what I said about being a very busy person? That statement still stands. Bye!” Oikawa shoved his bag in his locker and forcefully closed it.

Ushijima set his own bag down in front of his locker and watched Oikawa leave.

-

To his surprise, Oikawa left at the same time everyone else did at the end of practice. Ushijima stood there alone. He kept thinking about Oikawa’s serves being better than his own, and Oikawa’s voice when he had spat ‘Don’t insult me’ wouldn’t quiet down.

He picked another ball up, threw it in the air before slamming it down with all the pent up frustration that had bottled up inside him.

-

A week later and he and Oikawa still hadn’t ended up in the gymnasium together. He decided to take the matter in his hands and attempt to resolve it the best way he could: head on. He didn’t like feeling frustrated, and he didn’t like the words left unsaid hanging over him like a heavy cloud, blurring his thoughts.

That was how he had ended up in front of Oikawa’s dorm room’s door, knocking three times and wishing he could physically untangle the knot in his stomach. He kept thinking about what he had to say, and when Oikawa opened the door he found the words ribboning out of him straight away.

“I didn’t insult you, back then.”

“Why hello to you too, Ushiwaka-chan,” he crossed his arms against his chest, looking disinterested.

Ushijima realized he had been impolite, “Sorry. Hell--”

“That’s sweet but I absolutely don’t recall asking? How very Ushiwaka-chan of you to think you can just randomly pop up at someone’s living space to talk about how you feel.”

Ushijima cringed internally at Oikawa’s words, but he couldn’t leave. Things had to be cleared up and Oikawa would never make the first move.

“I didn’t insult you. You scored more because you’re better at that than I am,” Ushijima easily said, admitting defeat in a certain aspect, “In fact, there are a lot of other things you are better at than me because I’m not perfect. There are things I need to work on, and even then there will always be things you will do better than me. You’re a setter, but you can spike, you’re an all-around player. I’m a spiker and my sets will never be as precise and good as yours.”

“Ushiwaka-chan, I thought you at least had the decency not to come to my door drunk.”

“I’m not drunk.” He wanted to get closer to Oikawa, make him look at him with something other than plain disinterest without using force; it resulted in him taking a step forward, Oikawa stood in front of him, unflinching. “I didn’t insult you. I lost. Be honest with me, do you really think I hold you in such low esteem that, when facing you, I wouldn’t give it all I’ve got?”

Oikawa’s eyes widened and his lips parted as a silence settled in between them. The shock in Oikawa’s face startled Ushijima. He looked as if realization had finally dawned on him. “I--” he said, choking on it, as if it hurt him to admit it, “No. I don’t think you do.”

“Then why do you always have to--” Ushijima spoke the words like the beginning of an accusation and realized that it was a mistake when he saw Oikawa’s expression change, a thin layer of skin strapped onto it again. Another mask Ushijima couldn’t pry open. It was too late.

“Oops! Time is up!” Oikawa said then, the fake cheeriness in his voice back again with its usual sharp edge. He had a hand on the door already, “I have an important assignment to work on. See you around, Ushiwaka-chan!”

Ushijima was left staring at a closed door. He forced himself to think about his father teaching him that good things eventually come to those who are patient.

-

Weirdly enough, some of the heaviness of whatever tension between them got relieved after that day.

Whenever they’d share the same space afterwards, it was in an almost comfortable silence, and if it was uncomfortable then it was only so because of the awkwardness that often comes with the process of learning how to share the same space without bouts of animosity.

One evening, long after everyone had left, Ushijima had found Oikawa in the locker rooms, sitting on the floor against his locker with a book in his hands.

There was a volleyball next to him. He looked up at Ushijima and answered the question in his eyes, said he couldn’t concentrate in his dorm room, that being here helped, that he had an important test and could not focus on reviewing.

Ushijima sat down next to him and looked at his book. He offered help, and Oikawa took a moment to consider him, as if fighting an internal battle against his own person--Ushijima had a fleeting thought about pride, and decided not to voice it and let Oikawa decide for himself. Oikawa ended up nodding.

When, a week later, Oikawa had struggled to say ‘thank you’ after talking about how his grade would make his mother happy, Ushijima’s chest swelled with pride and something even warmer, something that made him entertain the foolish thought of pressing his lips to Oikawa’s forehead and congratulating him with a whisper against his temple.

-

“I was there,” Oikawa said as they were stretching after a practice match, “when you lost.”

It made Ushijima freeze in place, hands on his thighs.

“I told Iwa-chan I wouldn’t go because I’d be pissed no matter the outcome,” he continued, looking at the net that hung in the middle of the court, “but I went because I couldn’t stop thinking about what kind of face you’d make after losing. I thought about it so much. I went for that alone.”

“Did I disappoint?” Ushijima said, remembering his reaction to his loss and thinking that it was probably not the kind of reaction Oikawa was hungry for.

“Yes, you did,” Oikawa smiled, but Ushijima couldn’t figure out why, “You’re always so--above everyone. With your excessive honesty, your unshakeable confidence, your inability to bear any ill-intent even against me--especially against me.”

“What did you want to see?”

“I--” Oikawa frowned, as if he hadn’t expected Ushijima to be curious about it at all, “I wanted to see what kind of loser you’d make. I was hoping you’d make a sore one. I wanted you to lose your composure, to show that you were unhappy and I--I wanted to see you being petty. I wanted to see you get down to my level instead of always being above me, but you wouldn’t--fucking--get down. You walked out with dignity. It made me angry.”

“But you and I are on the same level already,” Ushijima easily said, sounding confused.

“What?”

“You and I,” he repeated, “we’re equals. We have always been.”

Oikawa stopped stretching as well, and his attention focused from the net to Ushijima’s face--honest as it had always been, as if it didn’t know how to be anything else.

“I thought you were aware of it.”

Oikawa looked away, ignoring what Ushijima had said. “What did it feel like?”

“What?”

“Losing.”

“I realized my behaviour had been immature,” he said and realized he had no trouble talking about it even now, “I wouldn’t say I underestimated them but--they pissed me off. Hinata Shouyou in particular. I couldn’t--stand him. With his superfluous--” he paused to think of the word, “--confidence without anything tangible to back it up. His unwavering trust in his arrogant setter. His--”

“I know,” Oikawa said, and it was calm, almost comforting in its quietness, “I know how you feel.”

For the first time, he felt like he and Oikawa grasped each other’s feelings accurately. He felt like the pain of the blow they had been dealt by Hinata Shouyou and Kageyama Tobio was shared, that it brought them closer than they had ever been before.

The silence between them was one of deep understanding, it was comfortable in a way Ushijima had never experienced with Oikawa in the past.

It was, as if, after all these years, this was finally a silence that happened because they had nothing left to tell each other because, at last, everything that needed to be said had been laid out before them. It felt like the different roads they had both taken throughout the years had finally converged into one single point, and that from here onwards there was one single path.

“I told them I’d beat them, next time.”

It made Oikawa focus on him again. He raised one of his eyebrows, the shadows of a smile playing along the corners of his pink lips. “Did you, now?”

“Yes.”

“I told Tobio we’d meet again, that he shouldn’t let that win get to his head,” Oikawa stretched his arms above his head, sighed with it, “I plan on winning.”

Ushijima glanced at the net, and then at the cart full of volleyballs next to them. He felt nervous at the idea of voicing his thought, but he wanted to share the vision he had in his mind with Oikawa so badly that he couldn’t help it.

“You will win,” he finally said, full of conviction, “We will. Together, we can.”

It startled Oikawa and Ushijima noticed. He felt unsure, thought he had maybe been too direct once again, but then he saw Oikawa’s shoulders progressively relax.

“I must be getting sick because that doesn’t sound too bad,” he finally conceded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. A smile Ushijima found himself mirroring.

-

“I think,” Oikawa whispered as he leaned in close to Ushijima’s ear, “that you would make a good decoy.”

Ushijima shuddered at the hot breath that hit the skin below his ear. The proximity sent his mind spinning.

They were sitting on a bench, watching the upperclassmen practice. Their movements were in-sync. Anyone would have been able to guess they had spent years playing together, all the members becoming intimately familiar with the different playing styles involved.

Ushijima had been eagerly studying their forms as they played and had been trying to guess each team’s next move. It was something Oikawa was better at: sometimes he’d predict a move out loud as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, and right afterwards Ushijima would watch it all unfold before him. Oikawa had looked unimpressed from the beginning, leaning his weight backwards on his hands, fingers curled around the edge of the back of the bench.

Ushijima turned his face towards Oikawa to show he had his attention, an invitation for him to continue.

“I think your presence in and of itself is a weapon,” Oikawa said. “Remember Shrimpy-chan? People focus on him a lot because he’s unpredictable. One of his weapons is his anonymity. But people focus on you a lot because of who you are--because of your name, and your fame. People are overly aware of you. We could use that to our advantage.”

“Yes,” Ushijima said almost immediately, helplessly, and he couldn’t even think that him being a decoy could mean that he’d spike less and would consequently play a lesser part in the game--he trusted Oikawa. Trusting Oikawa came to him so easily.

“‘Yes’? That’s it? You don’t have anything else to say?” Ushijima felt terribly fond at the genuine confusion in Oikawa’s eyes, as if he had expected a little bit of resistance. Ushijima found that he had rarely ever resisted Oikawa, and the times that he had were when there was a net separating them, making him wish he didn't have to at all.

“Yes. That’s it. I’m willing to act as a decoy. I don’t have anything else to say.”

“Even if that means you won’t be the one to spike then?”

“Yes.”

“Even if--”

“Yes.”

“I told you not to cut me off.”

“Sorry,” he found himself smiling, “But yes. Even if anything. Yes.”

The look Oikawa gave him lingered, and his eyes shifted from Ushijima’s eyes, to his nose, to his lips and then his neck only to go back to his eyes again, as if still unsure that Ushijima had submitted the reins to him completely.

“Okay,” he finally said.

“Okay,” Ushijima echoed.

-

It’s easy to get lost in one’s irrational thoughts and fears before an important match. Ushijima was aware of that.

There were countless occasions where, in the locker rooms right before the beginning of a match, he couldn’t control the slight tremor in his hands.

It was never when he was playing for Shiratorizawa during matches in the prefecture--the name on his back let him breathe with ease, walk into the court with confidence and walk out of it successful most of the time--but it was something he experienced whenever he’d reach the National stage: when he’d know that he’d be up against Kiryuu, Sakusa, or even Bokuto, next.

It was something he always experienced when his jersey was different: when it was heavy with the expectations of his country, with the desire to be the pride of a father he hadn’t seen in years and missed dearly.

Around him, his teammates were getting ready as well; some of them were telling jokes in hopes of easing the tension off, others were more cautious and preferred to discuss strategies and combos that had been practiced before.

To Ushijima, it was all a blurry noise. Most of the first years were going to play; the fact that this was a match to assess their abilities and choose the ones fit for a definite spot on the team was left unsaid, but it was well understood. There would be competition.

Truth be told, Ushijima wasn’t scared. He was, as always, confident in his abilities; even more so now that Oikawa was by his side.

The thought made Ushijima turn his head to search for him with his eyes. He found him sitting, a few feet away, on the long bench stretching throughout the center of the room, facing his still open locker.

He had one leg drawn up, foot resting on the edge of the bench as he focused on the task of tying his shoelaces.

Oikawa let his foot fall gracefully off the bench after he was done and looked to his side where his bag was. He pulled tape out of it.

Ushijima moved before even processing his own reeling thoughts. Oikawa looked up at him when he stood next to him, a question in his eyes. Ushijima was suddenly very still, awkwardly standing there as if with no purpose at all.

“I can’t believe this,” he began, clasping a hand over his mouth in an overly dramatic gesture, and Ushijima knew by the tone of his voice only that he was going to make fun of him again--except that this time there would be no bite in it, it made Ushijima want to smile. “Could Ushiwaka-chan be--wait for it--nervous? Did he run out of advice to give people and decided to come to me for some? Well, Oikawa-san is merciful after all, so he’ll bless simple Ushiwaka-chan with valuable advice: if you’re going to hit it, hit it until it breaks.”

Ushijima fought the urge to smile and sat down next to him, swinging one leg over the other side of the bench so he could fully face Oikawa. He noticed the sudden stiffness in Oikawa’s neck as his brown eyes followed the movement of Ushijima’s body.

“Let m--” he started, then frowned, and Oikawa tilted his head. He thought about it, decided to settle with something else--something that could come off as less patronizing to Oikawa’s ears. “Can I?” he gestured to the tape in Oikawa’s hands with his chin.

Oikawa followed his gaze and seemed to think about it for a short moment, then he handed Ushijima the tape as he swung one leg around the bench to mirror Ushijima’s posture. Their knees bumped against one another, and Ushijima tried not to think of the heat that was slowly spreading from the point of contact through his thighs, crawling under his skin up his torso and stubbornly clinging to the back of his neck, burning him up.

It was ridiculous that he suddenly felt lightheaded when Oikawa didn’t look bothered at all; Ushijima thought that Oikawa probably wasn’t even aware of the brush of skin against skin.

Oikawa fit his palm on top of Ushijima’s like an offering.

Underneath Ushijima’s fingers, the beating of Oikawa’s heart made itself obvious. Ushijima, in a moment of self-indulgence, let himself believe that it was because of this --whatever they were doing, whatever they were going to share. Then he shut the idea down with the reality of things: this was Oikawa’s first important university match as the official setter after all.  Unlike Ushijima, Oikawa had never played an official match outside their prefecture. He was probably nervous.

Ushijima would have told him he had no reason to be, but he wasn’t sure of Oikawa’s reaction to the statement, so he kept quiet and focused on pulling at the tip of the tape.

He started with Oikawa’s index finger, as gently as he could, wrapping the tape along its length while pressing his thumb into Oikawa’s palm. He hoped the gesture would soothe him, that it would coax the stress out of his body.

Halfway through doing the same to his middle finger, Oikawa spoke. It sounded a little breathless, as if Oikawa had exerted himself. Both of them knew he hadn’t.

“I usually only do until my ring finger--”

“I know,” Ushijima said, because he did. He had observed Oikawa’s habits while getting ready in the past.

“But I want you to do my pinky, too. Do the same for my other hand,” Oikawa added, and when Ushijima looked up, surprised, he was only met with Oikawa’s bangs falling over his eyes, hiding them from Ushijima’s hungry, curious own.

Ushijima gulped, murmured, because his voice was strained, “Yes” and got back to the task.

-

Ushijima was not nervous. He had played far more important matches in the past, he was still one of the best spikers in Japan, and his position as a starter was an evidence to him--only a matter of time.

When Oikawa walked slightly ahead of them before stopping, they emulated his motions. They all stood still, with Oikawa eyeing each and every one of them before settling on Ushijima. His lips curled up only slightly, and he said “I believe in all of you.”

Ushijima felt it again--the tremor in his hands, the one he could never control, the one that came from a jersey carrying the expectations of an entire country and a desperate desire to make a father proud.

This time he felt it so strongly that he had to ball his hands into fists and take a deep breath to calm the wild fluttering of his heart, the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

-

31  |  32

This was their fifth set, the last, and they needed one more point.

Ushijima landed after a missed block, immediately looking up as the ball flew up, blinding one of the lights hanging high in the ceiling.

His blood was drumming in his veins, he could feel the sweat all over him, sticking his hair to his forehead and his jersey to his skin. His breath was shallow and his legs ached with the effort and continuous strain he had been putting on them.

The ball went up after a clean receive, but the pressure was only suffocating them more and more as the ball moved. A clean receive going back to the setter, Ushijima thought, and his eyes focused on Oikawa.

He remembered being a boy with a ball between his hands, one he couldn’t even wrap his arms around yet. He remembered the gentle warmth of days spent outside in their backyard, playing, with the sound of his father’s voice filling his ears, the chirping of the birds nestled in the trees surrounding them. He remembered his father talking about an ace--the only one he ever talked about--and he remembered him describing a very exciting feeling the ace used to inspire in his father’s team.

‘It’s kind of like a promise.’

When Oikawa’s eyes met Ushijima and widened for only a fraction, Ushijima swore it’d be a promise.

‘I believe in all of you.’

He’d promise Oikawa, over and over again. He’d swear it, times and times again.

When the ball touched the tips of Oikawa’s fingers, Ushijima was running already, swinging his arms behind him, ready to fly, as if he had never been more certain in his life that the next ball would be his--that Oikawa would set it for him not out of some sense of reluctant obligation but because he wanted to, because Oikawa believed in him. Because Oikawa believed that if he’d just toss the ball to Ushijima, then it would all be okay because Ushijima would find a way.

Because it was a promise.

The ball slammed hard against the ground, forcefully knocking one of the blockers down in its wake. The sound of the impact was loud, loud enough that the noises filling the gymnasium paled in comparison; it was loud with finality, with fulfillment. Like a promise that’s been kept.

When he searched for Oikawa’s eyes, he discovered, delighted, that they had already been on him.

Someone was hugging him and ruffling his unruly brown hair, and he was staring at Ushijima with his chin resting on top of one of their teammates' shoulder, speechless.

Someone else jumped on Ushijima’s back at that moment and he felt the air get knocked out of him under the impact, but he couldn’t move his eyes away from Oikawa, he simply let people congratulate him and hold him while he held Oikawa’s gaze across the court.

They were in a court full of people, and they were being embraced by their teammates, but for some reason Ushijima felt that this was the most intimate they had ever been. He felt that it was shared.

‘Something very rare, very beautiful, and very powerful indeed’ Ushijima thought and smiled. When Oikawa smiled back, his eyes sparkling, Ushijima’s heart ached with it.

-

The celebrations followed them to the locker rooms.

This had been their very first official match against a strong team full of experienced players, some of them older and more experienced than them, and their coaches had decided to take a risk and use the occasion to test the strength of what would be described as a baby for a team. And yet, they had been successful. This was the start of something new.

Ushijima let his teammates and coaches hug him and rub and clap his back. He said “Thank you, but everyone gave it their all” and watched as Oikawa underwent the same treatment, celebrating with a team that he unified and led forward because he was him and nobody was as radiant and charismatic and reliable as him.

The excitement died out after a while, but only because of the promise of a proper celebration later on.

Oikawa and Ushijima hadn’t been able to change at all. One of their coaches had said “We’ll be waiting for you in the bus, tonight we’re celebrating so hurry up!” as he closed the door behind him.

Ushijima looked at Oikawa again, found Oikawa looking back at him. He liked it--looking only to find that Oikawa had been looking, too--liked the novelty of it, the feeling it unfurled in his stomach each time.

The room was suddenly quiet.

Oikawa was the first one to move. He closed the distance between him and Ushijima and then stood very still. Ushijima could feel the heat emanating from his body, could see the strands of hair sticking to his forehead, the droplets of sweat that his towel didn’t quite catch. Oikawa stood in front of him in all his glory, and he made a conscious effort not to reach out to pull Oikawa against him and break whatever fragile thing they were sharing at that moment.

Oikawa seemed to look for something in Ushijima’s face. Ushijima let him. Then, he moved his right hand and curled his fingers around one of Ushijima’s wrists. Ushijima couldn’t help the tension in his body, the slight stiffening of his spine, pulling him taut like a bow. Oikawa tugged slightly towards him, walking back with his eyes never leaving Ushijima’s.

He sat down on the bench, thighs spread, and made space for Ushijima to sit too.

“Let me,” Oikawa said, reverential, as he tenderly cradled Ushijima’s left hand in his right one, gently pulling at the base of the tape around Ushijima’s index finger. Then, he started leaning forward, slowly, until his forehead hit Ushijima’s shoulder.

Ushijima had to close his eyes at the feeling, at the closeness of it, and his hand, in Oikawa’s, twitched of its own accord. It made Oikawa laugh. It was quiet, genuine, and absolutely beautiful to Ushijima’s ears.

This time, when Ushijima felt the beating of Oikawa’s heart underneath his hands as they worked on unwrapping the tape, he was sure it was not because of the nervousness the idea of an important match might bring.

He helplessly turned his face to the side, only slightly, to nuzzle against Oikawa’s hair, breathe its rich scent in. The sweat didn’t bother him at all. He wanted to press a kiss there.

He let himself bask in the feeling of Oikawa’s soft hair against his neck, the soft skin underneath Oikawa’s ear and against his lips, the feeling of Oikawa’s fingers playing with his, the press of Oikawa’s thumb against his palm like an echo of Ushijima’s ministrations before, the feeling of every shared point of contact between them--from their feet, to their calves and knees, a forehead against a shoulder, a bruised hand in another, and two hearts beating as one.

Oikawa’s face shifted, his hair tickling Ushijima’s flesh, Ushijima’s mouth dragging across Oikawa’s neck as he moved, and then Ushijima felt a press of lips, feather light and shy, against the juncture where neck and shoulders met. Ushijima’s fingers dug into the skin of Oikawa’s hands instinctively, and the breath Oikawa released because of it hit the wet spot on Ushijima’s neck. Ushijima felt like he was going to burst.

“Tooru,” he said Oikawa’s name for the first time. It was completely vulnerable and abandoned. He felt Oikawa shiver at the sound of it.

Their breathing was shallow. He thought it was overwhelming as he let himself surrender to the sensation of it, and he found that Oikawa thought so as well because he had settled his forehead against Ushijima's shoulder again, rubbing slightly against it.

Ushijima smiled, an explosion of warmth and happiness in his chest when Oikawa’s still taped fingers slid between Ushijima’s now bare ones, endlessly pleased with where he was, and who he was sharing this with.