#ushioiweek
Text
Afterdate | UshiOi
Pairing: Ushijima Wakatoshi x Oikawa Tooru
Genre: Fluff, first date
Rating: SFW
Words: 6900+
A/N: This was for UshiOi Week (@ushioiweek2020) but I wasn't able to make the deadline. I wrote Ushijima and Tendou scenes on a writer's block, phew. Thank you to Risa for beta reading this! I owe it all to you!I have quite a number of Haikyuu one-shot ideas, including thrillers and angst, I still need to write. But uni is taking a lot of my time and I haven't fully surpassed my writer's block yet (hence, why I've been posting less and less). If you enjoyed it, don't hesitate to comment. See you on the next! Nevertheless, I hope you love the story as much as I loved writing it!
Masterlist
Ushijima stared at the slightly breathless wonder in front of him as he skidded to a halt. His eyes twinkled, just a bit—in a way they usually did when he was amused but tried hard not to be. Oikawa looked spectacular. Utterly and completely spectacular. A little stiff on the edges, but spectacular
It was a terrible date. Until it wasn’t.
The usually loud metropolis was quiet as a wraith as Tendou and Ushijima waited for the bus home. The kiss of smooth, cold breeze enveloped them both, making Tendou shiver.
Tendou rubbed his hands on his arms as the condensation of his breath blew against the low temperature before whipping his head to the side, only to see Ushijima dart his gaze to the road, patiently waiting. He didn’t care at all about the freezing temperature, standing still as the bus finally arrived, making Tendou frown at their differences.
He would always find himself beside Ushijima as it seemed they always came in a pair. And he knew how different they were. Tendou was the lively one, while Ushijima remained as composed as ever. For a moment, he thought he’d never outdo the captain of the team, but Tendou had a girlfriend waiting for him, waiting for a message regarding his whereabouts.
That alone was enough to make him think he was ahead of the stoic captain. And as a serial dater, Tendou knows how girls turn into something else when their boyfriends don't text back in two minutes.
But when he took out his phone, it was dead.
So the horror that produced sweat on his forehead cascaded down from his neck, even in the temperature, was accompanied by a hammering chest. He knew he needed to shoot his girlfriend a message.
He was left with no choice but to ask Ushijima to borrow his phone. As he fumbled through his friend’s phone after he had no choice, something piqued his interest.
Tendou paid a short glance beside him and his mouth formed a sly smile. The shock mixed with amusement on his face was inexplicable when he saw the Tinder app on his best friend's phone. He covered his mouth to stifle a snort, careful not to wake passengers in their slumber in the back row, late at night from volleyball practice.
Ushijima directed his attention at Tendou, who was looking at him maliciously. The moment his eyes landed on the phone, he understood why.
He tried to hide his surprise, but failed miserably as he quickly tried to retrieve his phone back from Tendou.
Thanks to all the blocking techniques Tendou learned from the team, he held the phone as high as he could out of Ushijima's reach. There was no way Ushijima could retrieve his phone without pushing Tendou over and making a scene since he sat on the window side.
"Hm," Tendou teased. "Since when did you have this?"
"I don't know why it's in there. Give it back," Ushijima argued with a straight face, but the falter in his voice was enough to prove that he was lying. And he wasn't a good liar.
Tendou wiggled his brows, tilting his head. From Tendou's above peripheral, the app successfully loads, and he immediately turns his attention to it, raising it further from Ushijima's grasp.
He pressed on Ushijima's profile. Gods above, did it make him cringe, not to mention the photo Ushijima used for his profile taken about four years ago.
Ushijima, 20
Miyagi Region
"Ugh," Tendou released a sigh. "Have you ever dated anyone from here?"
Ushijima sighed, sitting straight as he set his head down, "No, I don't understand it. I only swiped, and then nothing."
So nobody swiped for him, Tendou thought, feeling both sorry and amused for his friend at the same time. He should change his picture on the app. He looks like an annoying know-it-all, 15 year old. Nobody would go for him.
"Well, that's why you have me," Tendou grinned and head-locked Ushijima. "I'm going to help you get a date!"
The volleyball captain slowly looked up at his friend, "How?"
Tendou only smiled, "Leave it to me."
All Ushijima could ever do was sigh and look over the window as the bus moved further away. He kept his eyes on the bright and warm lights of establishments outside that elongated from the bus’s movement.
He knew that fighting Tendou was futile. In all these years, he had known how the redhead always did whatever he wanted, and how he was good at getting all that. Besides, Ushijima felt too tired to argue anyway.
The continuous clicks of the camera brought his conscience back from almost spacing out. Immediately, he turned his head over to the source beside him to see a smiling Tendou holding his phone as if he’d just come up with something interesting of some sort.
“Did you know it's rude to take photos of somebody without their knowledge?”
The redhead only rolled his eyes with a grin, turning the phone over to Ushijima to show the new profile he’d arranged. "And did you know I only did that as a favor?"
His new bio now read:
Ushijima, 20
Miyagi Region
I must be in a museum because you are a work of art
The four year old photo he once had as his profile picture was now replaced with the one Tendou took.
It was Ushijima's side profile looking outside over the window. The lights of the establishments they passed through created a nostalgic aesthetic along with the slight blurriness of the photo, but never missing his straight, high nose and the sharpness of his jaw. Oh, and that aura of both seriousness and mysteriousness that Tendou knew would catch the attention of anyone who’d look at it.
Ushijima stared at the phone closely, reading the new bio Tendou wrote for him, "That doesn't feel like me at all."
Tendou ignored his friend's remark, giving the phone back to him. "Now try swiping again."
Ushijima took his phone back, observing what buttons to press as he had forgotten how to use the app between the long months since he used it. Finally, the profiles load and he's greeted with a certain boy with light brown hair looking rather cheerful in his picture.
Oikawa, 20
Miyagi Region
If nothing lasts forever, can you be my nothing? ;)
Ushijima scrunched his nose, making Tendou roll his eyes as he grabbed the phone back from him.
“You don’t just stare at it, okay?” He swipes right and a match appears, “See? You swipe and then that will appear if they like you too.”
“Why would they like me if they don’t even know me yet?” the captain asked, tilting his head to the side.
Tendou grimaced, looking a little funny at the innocent question asked of him. “They like your face, okay?” he replied. “Okay?”
*
Oikawa couldn’t remember how long he’d been talking to the brunette he met on Tinder. Yes, Ushijima was a dry texter, but for some reason, for some reason, he couldn’t stop himself from talking to him. Not even when every topic shifted to thinking if they’d ever had milk from the same cow. Because Ushijima took him to a place where he only knew two things: that he couldn’t stop smiling and couldn’t stop looking forward to all his replies.
The smell of sweat and the sounds of bouncing balls and shoes scraping against the gym floor sang around Oikawa as he made himself comfortably seated all alone on the bench, taking advantage of the fifteen-minute break the coach lent the team.
He laced his phone around his nimble fingers while the other danced around the clean, white towel he used to wipe his forehead before setting it down beside him, placing it along various colored tumblers that belonged to his teammates.
Iwaizumi watched Oikawa from a distance, gulping down on his tumbler, rivulets of water running down from his lips to his Adam's apple, all the way down to his chest. He narrowed his eyes at the flamboyant big shot as he lowered his drink.
He didn’t know why exactly, but there was something different about Oikawa today.
One could say that there was something quite off about the confident captain of the team. Usually, he’d be socializing with the team, or annoying Iwaizumi during breaks, but today he chose to confine himself in the corner, craving what little quiet the noisy gym could offer. Of course, underneath the winks, smiles, exaggerated swagger, and childish antics lies a much more serious persona for when a situation demands it, channeling all that bravado in his pursuit.
But what was so important that could possibly bring Oikawa’s tenacity and attention completely locked on his phone, which he hasn’t put down since the first minute? What could possibly have Oikawa on edge that he couldn’t keep his right heel from lifting and dropping over and over, restlessly?
Oikawa couldn’t stress how long he’d been waiting for Ushijima to ask him out. He wished to have Ushijima beside him, wished he could inhale his scent—and how he probably smelled of dark wood with a hint of vanilla, wished Ushijima’s fingers threaded his hair, and how he wished they were something more.
Truthfully, he couldn’t explain why he’s so intoxicated with the man. He couldn’t determine or distinguish the weight of various reasons why, as if translating them into words would be translating symbols into letters.
Perhaps, the first time Oikawa let himself be swayed by the awkward and dry texter was after he had only slipped into his blanket. Ready to go into a deep slumber after reviewing tapes of his enemy team a day before the match to chalk out strategies, when his phone lit up, the light coming from the screen illuminating a halo around the corner.
From: Ushijima (sent at 9:43pm)
No. You’re the only one I talk to.
His breathing hitched, and he rose as quickly as he laid on the bed. In the small light, his bronze eyes glittered. A corner of his mouth twitched upwards and he wondered, Only me?
Oikawa had teased Ushijima about staying up late to reply to others. Vague, but just the right words to get the exact answer he wanted from the male: if he’d been talking to anyone else other than him. But he found himself kept up by the lingering messages from Ushijima.
A few weeks after that conversation, and at the mention that Ushijima also played volleyball, here he sat anxiously alone on the gym bench, trying the same scheme yet again.
Another word, another hint that he was interested in meeting Ushijima.
To: Ushijima (sent at 4:30pm)
Yeah, volleyball is good! But I miss hanging out sometimes >_<
Oikawa bit his bottom lip, anxiously staring at his phone that had just shifted to a black screen as he waited for a reply. He sighed, dropping his eyelids as he slumped his shoulders back from all the tension he didn’t know had been building up.
His phone pinged, almost sending his body into a full gallop, immediately raising his gaze to the screen. His heart jumped at the sight of the text preview, Do you want to…
This is the moment. He’s finally going to ask me out. Oikawa smiled to himself, regaining his composure as he sat upright. He inhaled slowly, swiping his fingers to unlock the message. Nevermind the smell of sweat. This is the moment.
From: Ushijima (sent at 4:32pm)
Do you want to play volleyball?
Oh. The corners of his mouth dropped just as soon as they pulled upward at the reply. His shoulders sagged, setting his head down in disappointment. Oikawa couldn’t quite make it up, but sometimes, Ushijima seemed to be out of place.
Sometimes, he’d read signals as fast as he misinterpreted others.
This is hopeless, Oikawa laughed to himself. The array of possibilities he set for himself and Ushijima smeared like oil in the air, drowning out his suave as he tried to shut them all down. Then he tipped his head back, breathing in deep. Breathing in the disappointment, taking it into his head that Ushijima was most likely not at all interested in that way. Anxiety and embarrassment mingled into his chest.
But his phone pinged another time, and it sent his body into another jolt.
From: Ushijima (sent at 4:33pm)
I mean, do you want to go on a date?
And for a moment, he couldn’t breathe under the crushing weight that pushed in on him.
*
“Are you going on a date or to a Sunday morning service?” Tendou cackled as he watched Ushijima put on his necktie over his deep violet long sleeves he paired with black slacks, sitting comfortably on the bed.
Ushijima reciprocated Tendou's gaze through the full body mirror, his eyes squinted, fingers securing the knot of his tie, “What's wrong? Isn't this presentable?”
“Formal. Too formal!” he said as he raised his hands up to stress his remark, barely unable to stop the wide, malicious smile.
“Then tell me,” Ushijima sighed in defeat, realizing that his friend might be right. “What should I wear?”
He was so hopeless that Tendou wondered, What would he do without me? What would have become of him if it weren’t for me guiding him in the big world out there?
Tendou could go on and on about teasing Ushijima with the kind of clothing he chose to wear. Who goes to a date wearing a church outfit? But he saw how Ushijima needed genuine help and pushed his remarks to the side, lending his friend a helping hand on his first Tinder date.
Actually, his first date in general.
“You sound like that time when you finally asked your match out on a date,” Tendou chuckled. “Oh, it was thanks to me.”
Ushijima turned to face Tendou, “I thought it was obvious.”
“Obvious?” Tendou’s hand reached for his stomach as he laughed at his best friend’s words. “How is asking someone to play volleyball flirting? How is that considered flirting?”
Thanks to Tendou, Ushijima was able to make a correction. He was fast to take the latter’s phone in his hand and send another reply. The shock that reverberated into Tendou’s body only dispersed once they received an enthusiastic reply. A feeling that Ushijima would never have felt because of his inexperience.
“But I don’t just ask anyone to play volleyball,” Ushijima replied, tone low and neutral, completely clueless. If he was embarrassed, it didn’t show. Rather, his face remained distant as usual.
The red-haired cleared his throat. It was one of those rare moments when he thought he should be honest with Ushijima before he ventured into a world he hadn't stepped into: dating.
“You’re hopeless. But there’s one thing I can tell you,” Tendou clicked his tongue, eyes shifting left and right trying to search for the perfect words.
He weighed in the list of possibilities that could happen to Ushijima and his date. Of course, there was already a high probability that both of them would be as awkward as ever. But Tendou took notice of the amount of emojis Ushijima’s date uses, so he couldn’t be that boring.
Sometimes, there are just people who could make everything boring. Unfortunately, Ushijima was part of that.
Tendou chuckled inwardly at his thoughts.
Ushijima was intimidating, and he doesn’t speak much. But when he does, he can come off as blunt. He was the kind of man who spoke no lies. He didn’t hesitate to speak what’s on his mind. He didn’t have any concerns. Only that he disliked things he didn’t understand.
He had the oozing air of confidence and reliability about him. He was a fantastic player on the court, but he was just a regular person outside of that. And sometimes, Tendou wondered if Ushijima had any fun at all.
His scrutinizing gaze brought Ushijima’s eyes to meet his through the mirror as the lad unbuttoned his shirt to change. “Have fun.”
*
Oikawa’s blood pumped through him in a strange rhythm. With every step he took, his feet felt heavy, lightweight, soft, and hard all at once, dragging them to move. He was tizzy as he approached the cinema—where he and Ushijima agreed to meet, biting down on his bottom lip.
The man walking in front of him paid him a short glower as if he’d been suspecting Oikawa for his stalking gait. Oikawa reciprocated the man’s hostility with an apologetic smile, halting his steps and embracing the frigid weather around him.
He took in a few deep breaths as he closed his eyes. Then he opened them, and the big ‘CINEMA’ sign glowed red in the light of the dark and the busy streets and youth passing by.
The first snow still hasn’t touched the ground, but it was felt in the frigid cold. He posted himself beside the entrance. He could feel the warm temperature coming from inside the hall whenever the doors opened. There was that burning need to invite himself in, but he stood outside, patiently waiting in the cold.
All around him, there were laughs and smiles from people around his age. Mostly couples, but he spotted friends who came in groups. Some were buying tickets from the booth manned by a straight-faced fellow, who impassively bid goodbye by saying, “Enjoy your movie.”
Some, he guessed, were waiting for someone. The restless tapping of their foot against the ground, the constant checking of time, and the biting of their lips. All of which Oikawa recognized. Because he was doing the same thing.
He raised his left hand, pushing aside his long, blue sweater sleeves to reveal his leather watch, “6:47…” he whispered.
There were still thirteen minutes left to see Ushijima for the first time. Thirteen minutes to hold on to his dear sanity.
He tapped his foot restlessly against the pavement once more, releasing another breath that condensed in the air, making him push his khaki scarf upwards to cover his mouth.
As soon as he raised his gaze towards what’s in front of him, he saw the man he’d been yearning to see. Behind the screen. Behind all those words. Behind all the smiles. And on that cold night, he saw him for the first time.
Oikawa’s eyes widened as he watched Ushijima from only eight feet away.
Ushijima’s body was turned to the side, giving Oikawa only the picture of his long coat, cropped light-colored trousers, and loafers. His side profile boasted that high nose and that brown hair—and Oikawa wondered if it was as smooth as it looked.
It’s literally unfair how attractive he is, Oikawa groaned in his thoughts. He knew how strange it was to look at Ushijima. But he found difficulty in not staring at him. He couldn’t find the courage to tear his gaze away from him. Not when Ushijima had that mesmerizing aura about him.
He was all too aware of how cliche he sounded, and he smiled like a fool when he realized that, maybe, he liked it. And he was still smiling like a fool when Ushijma whipped his head in his direction, locking their gazes.
Ushijima narrowed his eyes, making Oikawa’s smile drop as soon as he realized. But Ushijima was already walking toward him, and Oikawa couldn’t breathe.
“Good evening,” Ushijima greeted as soon as he was in front of Oikawa. If he was nervous, if he was shy, it didn’t show.
Oikawa noted the aura Ushijima emitted. He was, perhaps, more than what he had expected. A little too unreal, maybe. He swallowed, but his throat was too dry. “Hello…”
Ushijima’s lips twitched a little upwards. Even as he smiled, there was still something serious left in the air. “Have you been waiting long?” he checked his watch then returned to the speechless Oikawa.
He’s so pretty. I think I’m gonna faint, Oikawa thought before he realized he was asked a question. He shook his head to disperse himself of unwanted thoughts, creasing his brows as he leaned a little forward. Ushijima’s scented soap caressed his nose, a touch of wood… and is that baby powder? “I’m sorry. What was that?”
“Have you been waiting long?” Ushijima repeated.
“Oh. No,” Oikawa retreated. “No, I haven’t. I just got here,” he chuckled, trying to conceal the awkwardness in his tone. Feeling a little anxious, he asked, “And you?”
“I also just got here,” Ushijima answered dryly. Then his eyes went past Oikawa, and both felt the warm temperature from inside the hall, the noises sounding louder as the door swung open before it shut on its own and the noises died down with it.
Ushijima brought his gaze back to Oikawa, “Would you like to go inside? I’ve got the tickets.”
“Sure…” Oikawa smiled awkwardly.
Ushijima pushed the door open for Oikawa, to which he thanked him for. As soon as Ushijima couldn’t see his face, he closed his eyes in frustration. Say something!
Oikawa found himself speechless around Ushijima. It seemed like all of his confidence had died at the very sight of him. There was something intimidating about Ushijima that he couldn’t quite explain.
Yes, he’d been waiting for this moment for so long. And he hated himself for feeling as if he wasn’t even trying hard to connect with him.
The thundering drum in his heart pulsed through his ears, drowning out the sound of talks and the smell of popcorn invading his nose. He was shifting his weight from one foot to another as they waited in line for the cinema room, pocketing his trembling hands as he started at his feet.
He squeezed the bridge of his nose with two fingers, then lifted his head as he smiled at the staff that manned the entrance to the cinema room before following Ushijima ahead. His throat was tight in nervousness—a feeling he wasn’t very much familiar with—even as they sat in their seats.
Oikawa shifted his gaze over to Ushijima, and found he kept his eyes on the big screen, the flickering light from the changing scenes illuminated the planes of his face. He could watch Ushijima the entire time. Nevermind that Romeo and Juliet movie using the original dialogue. He couldn’t even understand it.
Then his eyes shifted towards his hand that rested on the recliner, making him frown. Since the movie started, he already placed his hand where Ushijima could hold it. But the movie was probably half over already, and nothing.
A child’s cry drowned the actors’ voices and shook the whole cinema, turning everyone’s attention to the source in the row behind them. Only Ushijima did not bother to pay a glance towards the disturbance.
Oikawa thought, Why make a child watch Romeo and Juliet?
He stifled a laugh and his hand flew to cover the corners of his mouth from twitching upwards as cheese popcorn fell from right above Ushijima’s head.
That was all it took to have Ushijima turn his attention to the annoying child. The audience expressed annoyance through angry muffles, but Ushijima remained calm and collected, politely accepting apologies from the man, whom Oikawa guessed as the father, as he tried to soothe the crying child.
Ushijima caught Oikawa’s attention, but it was too late for him to hide his smile. Oikawa laughed awkwardly, then hoisted his drink he hadn’t touched from the recliner to hand over to Ushijima.
“Drink water,” he said even as he himself was dehydrated.
*
Musicians took up spots inside the restaurant that Ushijima booked for the date. The room was filled with a blend of soft conversations, the clang of plates, and violins. Such a beautiful sound, if only that one musician knew how to carry a tune.
Oikawa and Ushijima kept straight faces, looking at each other as if they could tell what the other was thinking.
It was grand, but terrible. The dishes were too small. Certainly not enough to satiate their hunger. And that music? Gods above.
He registered the change in Ushijima’s face as he watched him intently across the table that separated them both. His ears were turning a little red, his forearms braced on the table. While Oikawa, on the other hand, leaned on the back of his chair, sitting like a king.
“How do you do it?” Ushijima asked quietly, his eyes almost pleading.
“Do what?” Oikawa grinned, raising his head high, teasing.
Ushijima gave him a slow smile and a flicker of light moved across his eyes, “How do you ignore that irritating sound?”
“My teammates are louder, and much more annoying than that,” Oikawa laughed, stealing another glance at the stressed-out musicians who wasted no time in poking at the one who couldn’t play the right strings. He would’ve felt sorry for him, really, had it not sparked an interesting conversation between him and Ushijima.
Ushijima traced the rim of his glass, “Louder and annoying?” his brows narrowed slightly.
“So,” Oikawa tilted his head, keeping a smile on his face as he recalled moments he spent with the team. “There was this one time when we went to a training camp. And I couldn’t sleep on the bus because they were all so obnoxiously loud and kept singing.”
Oikawa was the leader of that fiasco, but he would never admit to it.
“I had to snap their foreheads one by one to make them stop,” he shrugged. “It was fun though.”
“You have a very different definition of fun,” Ushijima chuckled, so soft and so mellow. The sound was better than the horrible quartet playing in the background, and Oikawa wanted to hear it again.
“Well,” Ushijima started, “do you want to get out of here?”
Somehow, it didn’t seem like goodbye.
*
“Wait!” Oikawa laughed when the tail of the scarf around his neck got caught in between the restaurant door they walked through.
Ushijima took a step closer, opening the door for Oikawa to pull out his scarf. A slash of a grin spread across his face, “What are you doing?”
Oikawa could only laugh as Ushijima stared at him with the same intensity. They stood in front of each other. No words, just stillness. But they were sure something changed. Even when they’ve only had a short time to get to know each other.
From the short distance that separated them, Oikawa watched as Ushijima’s brown eyes turned molten from the warm lights all around them. He couldn’t brush off the rush of having Ushijima look only at him, trying not to get lost in those strange, enticing eyes.
Oikawa winced as a gust of icy wind blew the tail of his scarf and froze his ears. He took that sign as an opportunity to pull it tightly around him.
“Walk with me?” he asked gently.
“I would love to,” Ushijima nodded. “But I’m afraid you would have to lead me instead. I’m not quite familiar with the road down there.”
Oikawa smiled even as he rolled his eyes, “Don’t tell me you’re the kind who gets picked up?”
Ushijima tucked his hand behind his back as they strode forward through the cobbled streets. He fumbled for words, but he did not drop his grin as the golden lights twinkled across the city, “Not really.”
“And I’m supposed to believe that?”
“Do you have a reason not to?”
“Okay, you’re good,” Oikawa complimented when he couldn’t counter his quick remark.
“Thank you,” Ushijima chuckled, deep and slow.
Oikawa frowned, “You actually look more handsome with honesty on your face.”
“I do?” Ushijima grinned, boasting those white teeth, brows knotting.
“Yeah, yeah,” Oikawa waved him off. “You’re cute. Stop smiling at me like that,” he added, averting his gaze from Ushijima. “Your lack of self-awareness is deeply troubling.”
Ushijima pocketed his hands, “And you? Are you honest?”
“Yeah, I mean,” Oikawa shrugged and smiled roguishly, keeping his gaze on the lights ahead. From a distance, he could see the head of the illuminated fountain by the park they were nearing. “Maybe I’ll just be straightforward about taking advantage of you.”
Ushijima laughed but said nothing. No one spoke as they realized that the space between them felt strangely intimate.
“What about the violin in the restaurant earlier, huh?” Oikawa followed with a tease.
“What on earth,” Ushijima drawled, sounding exasperated, “is all I have to say to that.”
With a turn around the hedge, the gush of water from the fountain park enticed them both. A strong gust of wind made them feel that the air had turned colder with the time, ripping through them as they observed the golden lit decorations surrounding the park.
“Do you want to..?” Ushijima didn’t finish the words, extending his arm and pointing his index towards the brightly lit fountain.
Their date should have ended the moment they stepped out of the restaurant. But the beautiful fountain in the center illuminating their faces signaled that it had only just begun.
Before Oikawa could sit on an empty bench—only a few feet away from the fountain, Ushijima dusted it with his hand, making his date smile appreciatively at the effort. In the touch of freezing cold, it became their spot to just sit and watch the fountain as a silent acknowledgement that neither were ready to part ways just yet.
“So,” Oikawa said as he crossed his legs, turning to Ushijima as the latter sat down. “Tell me more about you.”
“About me?” Ushijima’s brows creased, setting his eyes on his hands that rested in his lap. Oikawa realized how there was no progress in terms of skinship between them, but he wasn’t complaining. “There’s nothing much about me, really.”
“Impossible,” Oikawa shook his head. “There’s never nothing about anything or anyone.”
Oikawa’s eyes glittered as he stared at Ushijima’s hand, and his heartbeat quickened when his gaze rose to his face.
“How about us?” Ushijima asked.
A flush of pink bloomed on his cheeks as his heart hammered against his ribcage. He hadn’t been expecting such an honest question, such a question that flushed all the bravado he tried so hard to muster.
“Is there a reason you’re blushing like that?” Ushijima tilted his head.
Oikawa kept his gaze averted, biting his full bottom lip. Because of you!
“Oikawa?” Ushijima called.
He tried not to let it show what it did to him to have Ushijima remember his name. Or to hear him say it. To have him let out the words from his lips.
“Are you okay?” Ushijima asked, but made no move to touch him.
Good. Because Oikawa wasn’t entirely certain he could handle his heat hovering against him. He took a breath, and that same impish grin swiped back. “You should know by now,” he teased.
The silence that followed after didn’t lay as heavy as it used to be. Instead, Oikawa straightened himself, resting a hand on the bench in the short distance separating both, gazing at the fountain that kept them company.
“I like mushroom risotto,” he said out of the blue.
“Mushroom risotto?”
“Mushroom risotto,” he repeated, still keeping his eyes averted.
There was a short pause before Ushijima spoke, “Did you know that mushrooms are made up of 90% water?”
Do you want to go try mushroom risotto next time? Do you want me to bring that for you one day? Do you want me to cook that for you? Such questions were what he thought would’ve followed next. Questions that would make them meet each other again. Never a random fact he didn’t expect.
Oikawa turned his head towards his date. “What?” He choked on a laugh as he asked it.
“Yeah,” Ushijima gruffed, completely unaware of what left Oikawa in disbelief. “They’re also a fungus. Did you know?”
“No,” Oikawa shook his head. “I didn’t.”
“We should forage for mushrooms next time.”
Next time, the words rang in Oikawa’s head. Next time.
“And you?” Oikawa followed. “What’s your favorite food?”
“Curry,” his date answered plainly, his free hand discreetly traveling towards Oikawa’s hand on the bench.
A faint warmth bloomed in his chest. The brief touch of Ushijima’s fingers through Oikawa sent a pang of desire through him so strong he wanted to pull him in closer. It had taken all of him, all his self control to keep his breathing steady as he gazed back at the fountain.
That was all it took to have Oikawa’s gaze back at the fountain again, “These lights are familiar,” he started. “From my recitals from those years ago. It’s kinda nostalgic.”
When Ushijima didn’t say anything, he took it upon himself to turn his head back towards him. With the look written across Ushijima’s face and those eyes, he understood.
“I will pretend I haven’t heard the question in your eyes,” he groaned.
“No, tell me,” Ushijima leaned a little forward.
“It’s nothing, really. I just took up dancing a while back. Then I shifted to volleyball,” he eyed him, searching for any sign of mockery.
“Dancing?” Ushijima pondered, running a finger along his lips—the sight making Oikawa swallow—before returning his gaze to the other, “Could you, perhaps, show me?”
“What?” Oikawa asked in disbelief, turning left and right. “Here?”
Ushijima nodded.
“What?” he shook his head. “No!”
But Ushijima stood up and offered his hand. Oikawa stared at it for a moment, creasing his brows, but a ghost of a smile remained plastered across his lips. He looked around, searching for prying heads.
“There are people,” he argued in a whisper.
Ushijima shrugged, “People are too busy to care about anyone other than themselves.”
Oikawa let out a long sigh before he took Ushijima’s hand. Narrowing his eyes, he said, “Fine.”
He cleared his throat and lumbered, positioning himself in the center from where they stood. Ushijima could never tell him, but he looked like a perfect decoration in front of the fountain behind him.
Oikawa gazed across the stone pavement. Sliding his foot back and the other forward, he extended his arms in front in a smooth motion that truly suggested he had some background in the art. He was dancing, then his arms were flailing in the sky with feline grace. His scarf spun around him as he whirled, and he was thankful for the cold that he wouldn’t sweat. He felt like flying, until the ground was beneath his feet again.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done this. And why did he stop?
Ushijima stared at the slightly breathless wonder in front of him as he skidded to a halt. His eyes twinkled, just a bit—in a way they usually did when he was amused but tried hard not to be.
Oikawa looked spectacular. Utterly and completely spectacular. A little stiff on the edges, but spectacular.
Oikawa picked up his scarf that fell on the ground. Then his eyes rested on Ushijima, whose hands were pocketed in his coat. A tug on the corner of his lips issued the bravado he’d been keeping.
“What? Amused?” he teased with a conspirator’s grin when he closed the final distance between them.
Ushijima just stared at him, taking in the warm gleam in his eyes. He said nothing, but his hand flew to Oikawa’s scarf. Both said nothing as Ushijima wrapped the it around him, “It always becomes loose when you’re the one putting it on.”
A delicious heat kissed its way down Oikawa’s neck to his spine as if there was some warmth left despite the winter.
“Perhaps I will take up dancing again,” he said in a little more than a whisper, his throat constricting at the moment.
A hush had fallen between them, but Oikawa felt as if there was something inside him that found it to be a perfect piece in their merriment. It went beyond his expectations. He enjoyed his time with Ushijima.
“Let’s take you home,” Ushijima said and Oikawa only nodded.
The streets were too quiet this time of the night—so quiet that only their footsteps and chuckles and moments of conversation lingered in the sleeping city. They were still talking and laughing, and it had been that way since they left the park, stepping forward with the wings of conversation.
“What was your favorite part?” Ushijima asked, his eyes not on the streets before him but on Oikawa. Such wild ecstasy, he noted.
Oikawa paused, his brows creasing as Ushijima waited for his answer, thinking. Then his eyes widened and met Ushijima’s, “Oh, you mean the movie?”
Ushijima only chuckled, “Yes, the movie.”
“Not the baby?”
“Yeah, and maybe that too,” a faint smile stretched Ushijima’s lips.
“Hmm, let’s see,” Oikawa looked forward, brows knotting yet again as he acted. His finger tapped on his lip in a way that forced Ushijima to remind himself to keep his focus on Oikawa’s eyes, “I like the part where the dad,” he stared back at Ushijima, “picked up the baby and they went outside. That scene was amazing!”
Ushijima chuckled, looking away from him and Oikawa realized how manly Ushijima’s voice was. Then Oikawa’s eyes scanned the street before him, how the establishments and the crooked, dark streets were becoming more and more familiar to him.
“You laughed at me earlier,” there was a hint of a smile on Ushijima’s lips.
Oikawa felt a little embarrassed, but he laughed, “You’ve gotta admit. It was kind of funny.”
“It was fine,” Oikawa answered seriously.
“Same here.”
“No way. I thought you liked Shakespeare,” he said in disbelief.
“I thought you liked Shakespeare,” Ushijima countered.
He assumed that Oikawa was interested in Shakespeare because, sometimes, he would post quotes from Romeo and Juliet. What Ushijima didn’t know was that: it was Oikawa’s literature teacher who originally posted those, and he only wanted to get on their good side.
“It took me some time to understand the words,” Oikawa admitted.
Ushijima’s smile widened, revealing his white teeth, “For saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss.”
Oikawa’s hand flew to his mouth that went agape, “How did you memorize that?” he asked with amusement in his eyes.
“Say your lines,” Ushijima urged him.
“You are reciting Juliet’s lines,” Oikawa narrowed his eyes in thought, but the grin didn’t disappear from his lips.
“Say your lines,” Ushijima repeated, ignoring his remark.
Oikawa rolled his eyes, his brows knotting trying to remember the right words, “Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?”
“Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.”
“You’re annoying. Mine is long,” he frowned at how fast Ushijima replied and how long he remembered the next line was. But it took only one grin from Ushijima and he started speaking.
“Something. Something,” his eyes almost bawled upwards trying to remember the words. “Let lips do what hands do. Uh. They pray grant thou, lest faith turn to despair..?” he finished with uncertainty. “Wait. How do you even memorize these?”
“Saints do not move, though grant for prayer's sake,” Ushijima continued.
“Then move not, while my prayers’ effect I take,” Oikawa grinned with how fast he recited the lines as he halted in front of his house and Ushijima did the same.
“Thus, from my lips,” Ushijima said hoarsely. Oikawa didn’t mean to, but his eyes went down to Ushijima’s lips, “by thine, my sin is purged.”
His heartbeat quickened when his gaze rose to Ushijima’s eyes, “Then have my lips the sin that they have took,” he said in a little more than a whisper.
The night was honest and his eyes whispered of how they met, how there was an unspoken understanding between them. And being with Ushijma was like staying in the rain, he still wanted to be in it one more time.
Through a clearing in the skies, clusters of stars could be seen and the sliver of the crescent moon shone above them as they stepped into the pool of moonlight.
“Good night,” Ushijima said. “You’re probably tired.”
But he was not tired, he was not done. There was still greed and want inside of him that made him want to pull Ushijima closer. The longing for a wave of touch and friction of joy that only grew bigger and bigger by the minute.
“Good night,” was all he replied, his voice so soft and mellow.
Oikawa turned his back on Ushijima, his steps feeling heavier by the minute as he trudged away from him. But he looked back, and the greed must have shown because Ushijima stood there, watching him, thinking.
He grinned and crossed his arms, “You do realize what time it is, right?”
Ushijima shrugged and pocketed his hands, “I just want to see you walk in.”
That was all it took for Oikawa to do the opposite. He went closer to Ushijima, closing the gap between them. There was only the absence of conversation and how much he wanted to touch Ushijima.
“It was enchanting to meet you,” Ushijima said quietly before his ears filled with the softness of Oikawa’s laughter.
“Do you know how cliche you sound, Romeo?” he teased.
Oikawa watched the way Ushijima’s lips widened in a smile and died down slowly.
“I think,” Ushijima started, the words were barely more than a strangled whisper, “I like you a lot.”
The longing blinded him, and he flung himself on Ushijima, breathing in his scent and the slight trace of cheese in him. He memorized the feel of him and the heat of Ushijima’s body hovering over him.
“We probably should just go to McDonald’s next time,” he teased.
“As long as I’m with you,” Ushijima chuckled against Oikawa’s lips. “I would like that very much.”
It was only that, and their lips touched.
#haikyuu#haikyuu fanfiction#haikyuu fanfic#ushioiweek2020#ushioiweek#ushioi#ushioi fanfic#ushijima wakatoshi#oikawa tooru#ushioi fluff#fluff#first date#terrible date fanfic#ushijima wakatoshi x oikawa tooru#revalise#like and/or reblog
26 notes
·
View notes
Text
UshiOi Week Day 1
Royalty / Anniversary
—
Oikawa knew his boyfriend was forgetful. It was cute to see Ushiwaka-chan write in his planner. The calendar on the fridge had all sorts of little notes taken on it.
Ushijima once told Oikawa how lucky he was to be able to remember every single thing without writing it down. He responded with something along the lines of “well, you can’t be one hundred percent perfect, now can you?”
He was almost certain that Ushijima Wakatoshi was 98% perfect at this moment in time.
Oikawa wasn’t sure what he did to deserve breakfast in bed, he wasn’t sure why his near perfect boyfriend woke him up with sweet kisses either. Well, he wasn’t going to complain either way, not when he had a bowl of oatmeal and fruit to eat.
A deep voice startled him out of his thoughts, eyes flicking up to meet olive ones.
“What would you like to do today, Tooru?”
“Huh? I was planning on just doing my homework and watching the X-Files until I can’t feel my eyes.” Having Saturday off really was incredible, he had so much time to do nothing all he wanted!
“Oh.” Ushijima’s gaze flicked away, chewing on his lip for a moment, “can we at least go to dinner?”
“Can we just order take-out? I’m out of contacts, I can’t leave the house in my glasses, Ushiwaka-chan!” Oikawa again started to wonder what he did to deserve treatment like this. Going out to dinner? Geez! He was being spoiled today~.
“But it’s our anniversary.” Wait, what? “I want to take you out.”
Oikawa felt all the blood drain from his face. Anniversary?? Did he completely forget?? Ushijima was looking at him again, expression a mix of confusion and embarrassment.
“Did you forget?” Ushijima finally asked him.
Oh shit. He forgot.
“I just lost track of the days, Wakatoshi!” He was hoping the use of his first name helped soothe this over, “I can’t believe it’s already the 9th!”
Ushijima blinked before cocking his head to the side.
“Our anniversary is on the 6th…, isn’t it?”
He probably shouldn’t have been so relieved. He shouldn’t have found Ushijima’s expression so cute.
“It’s the 9th, I have it written down, Wakatoshi.”
Oikawa probably wouldn’t admit to it, like ever, but his boyfriend was so cute when he was flustered. It didn’t happen often, no, but moments like this, where Ushijima is red up to his ears, words completely failing him.
“… O-Oh.”
“I even drew little hearts around the date, you know.” He could tease a little bit, it wasn’t their anniversary just yet..
16 notes
·
View notes
Photo
LAST DAY OF USHIOI WEEK T.T sorry for the past 7 days...
979 notes
·
View notes
Text
haikyuu!! fic: Roses are Red
summary: Ushijima wants to spend Valentine’s Day quietly and not in the presence of Oikawa Tooru. [also on ao3]
notes: written for ushioi week, day 4: Confrontation + Celebration; future fic
Roses are Red
Ushijima receives thirty boxes of chocolate and three pink roses on his first Valentine’s Day in Tokyo. The roses are a confusing and unwelcome surprise. Also, he has received less chocolate than he used to in Shiratorizawa.
He supposes that all of this is to be expected. Everyone at his university seems a bit forward, a little unconventional. They think nothing of leaving roses on the chairs of their unsuspecting classmates. The two female students he had to gently let down five minutes ago did not seem all that let down when he said he wasn’t currently looking for a girlfriend. And there are many outstanding players on the volleyball team and not enough devoted fans, so everyone gets a little less chocolate. Even Oikawa has received less than he is accustomed to, judging by his current frown and the way he is advancing on Ushijima, who needs to fit just one more box into the spare grocery bag he brought for today before he can leave the classroom and return to his dorm for a quiet night of studying.
“Well, aren’t you popular,” Oikawa begins, in a singsong voice. “Look at how much pity-chocolate, oops, I mean, courtesy-chocolate, you have. Did you have to beg for them?” He takes one of the roses and sniffs it. “You have a lot of practice in pestering people, don’t you, Ushiwaka-chan? All those years asking me to be your setter.”
Ushijima stuffs the last box in, slides the other two roses inside, and hoists both of his bags onto his shoulder. He has become so accustomed to Oikawa’s insults that he almost doesn’t hear half of them nowadays. He is also more patient and open-minded about things now. One has to be, after high school, after being defeated at the sport he thought he excelled at by a couple of upstarts, one who has orange hair.
Besides, Oikawa may spend his mornings and evenings calling him “Ushiwaka-chan” while subtly and not-so-subtly making fun of everything from his hair to his spikes, but because they are on the same team now and because Oikawa is a setter, Oikawa has to toss to him during practice and during official matches. “You’re living the dream, aren’t you?” Oikawa said last week, after a match, when Ushijima had been looking at the red marks on his hands and most probably smiling to himself, and Ushijima has to agree. To an extent, he is living the dream. He has wanted Oikawa to be his setter since the day he first saw Oikawa orchestrating a team. Maybe even before then, when he first saw Oikawa toss a volleyball high up into the air and jump up to meet it.
He doesn’t need anything else now from Oikawa, who is a brilliant setter on most days, but also a continuous exercise in reading between the lines. Also, rude. Also, unnecessarily competitive.
It is best not to get involved, Ushijima tells himself once every day. Best, also, not to mind when he sees Oikawa with his arm around yet another pretty young woman, sees Oikawa posing for photos with his many friends, hears Oikawa calling out to others in the locker room “be sure to drop by” in a friendly voice, and having to wait for his own invitation, always said last, like an afterthought. Best not to let his gaze linger over the sharp angles of Oikawa’s shoulder blades, the thick, wavy hair, his brown eyes, so bright and warm under the lights of the gymnasium. He really ought not to think about them, and about the expanse of Oikawa’s chest, the toned abs, the hipbones jutting out above the waistband of his underwear as Oikawa is changing after practice.
“Good night,” Ushijima says, heading for the door. He wishes Oikawa had just passed by the classroom instead of deciding to step in and be a reminder of what he doesn’t want to think about. He can do better than Oikawa, he reminds himself. For example, the girls who gave him these roses. They are probably the kind of people the “Roses are red” poem applies to, the lines “Sugar is sweet / And so are you.”
“Wait,” Oikawa says. He sticks the rose into the breast pocket of his blazer. “I need your services. Be a helpful member of society for once instead of your usual selfish self.”
“I’m not selfish.”
“Saying that, instead of asking me what I need, is a sign that you are.” Oikawa walks out into the hallway and points to a small grocery cart loaded down with boxes of chocolate. “Can you give me a hand with that? I’m feeling generous, so I’ll let you put your own bags on the cart, okay?”
Ushijima has never seen Oikawa buy groceries or eat by himself in his dorm room before, he seems to be too popular for such things, so he must have borrowed the cart from someone. There are at least fifty boxes of chocolate on it, along with an assortment of roses. Yellow, pink, red.
He really doesn’t like Valentine’s Day, Ushijima reflects. Not only is it a meaningless, commercialized celebration, but it is also one that causes hurt feelings and unnecessary expenditures. He will have to buy thirty-three very expensive gifts next month. He will have to concentrate very hard on his studies tonight and not think about Oikawa.
He says, “You can push that by yourself.”
“How mean, Ushiwaka-chan.” Oikawa puffs out his lower lip. “I have a nasty paper cut on my palm, look.” He points to his right palm, where there is a long, thin cut. He continues, “I’ll probably have to sit out for practice tomorrow. How unkind of you. I wish those girls who gave you the flowers could see you now!”
Ushijima pushes his bags into Oikawa’s arms. Oikawa blinks, looking surprised, as his left arm winds around the bags. Ushijima glances at the cart again. It’s strange that Oikawa is spending time with him instead of getting ready for a date. Valentine’s Day is always Valentine’s Day for Oikawa, not Singles Awareness Day.
“Fine,” Ushijima says. “I’ll push the cart, but you carry my bags.”
“Fine,” Oikawa snaps. “But you have to carry the cart all the way up to my room then. I was going to ask you just to wheel it into the front hall, but that’s what you get for treating me like your servant.”
Ushijima would never say no to visiting Oikawa’s room. The cart isn’t all that heavy, and Oikawa’s room is only on the third floor of the building. Ushijima starts pushing.
They don’t talk much on the walk back to the dormitory. Oikawa is busy dictating texts to his phone. He complains in his message to Iwaizumi, says that Ushiwaka-chan is being mean to him. He asks Iwaizumi how many chocolates he received and tells him not to be sad that his more beautiful and charming friend Oikawa has gotten more again. When Iwaizumi replies, the automated voice on Oikawa’s cellphone reads in a monotone, “Like I give a fuck how many chocolates u got Asskawa don’t make me come over there exclamation mark exclamation mark exclamation mark.” Oikawa laughs, and Ushijima feels a little envious.
As soon as they enter the dormitory, Oikawa heads to the right wing of the first floor and drops Ushijima’s bags right in front of his door. “There,” he says, dusting off his hands.
Ushijima lugs the cart up the stairs while Oikawa yells at him to be careful with the boxes. He is about to remind Oikawa that his own chocolates are probably squashed when he notices that Oikawa still has the rose in his pocket.
Ushijima returns to the task at hand.
“Room 301,” Oikawa calls out. “But you knew that already, right?”
Ushijima considers leaving the cart at the door, but when will he get another chance to see the inside of Oikawa’s dorm again? So he waits in front of 301 until Oikawa unlocks the door, then he pushes the cart inside.
Ushijima looks around. Oikawa’s room is very similar to his own, cramped and filled with textbooks. Maybe just a little bit more organized. There is an alien plushie on the bed. There is a poster hanging on the wall of a movie star, whose hair, he realizes with a start, is rather similar to his own. It is bleached-blond instead of brown, but the cut is the same. And that frown is familiar. Sometimes when he looks in the mirror, he catches that expression on himself.
“I forget, sometimes, how much you’ve pissed me off in the past,” Oikawa says in a cheerful, airy tone. “So, when I saw this poster, I had to buy it. I always remember when I look at it.”
Ushijima highly doubts that is the only reason, considering how Oikawa has yet to return the rose. Oikawa looks a little flushed now too. Maybe he didn’t realize that Ushijima would see the poster and make the connection. Ushijima feels strangely happy, like he has just won a match during an elimination round. Maybe this crush isn’t completely one-sided.
He begins, “Do you want to-”
“No,” Oikawa replies. He grabs a box of chocolate off the cart and holds it out. “Here. For services rendered. Make sure you give me something very expensive for White Day, okay? Hint, hint, I need new sneakers. See you tomorrow. Bye-bye.”
His cheeks are still a little red, and he sounds almost angry, so Ushijima doesn’t press further. When Oikawa reaches for the rose though, Ushijima says, “No, I want you to keep it.”
And, before he can talk himself out of it, he leans forward and kisses Oikawa. Just a quick kiss, at the corner of Oikawa’s mouth. When Oikawa licks the spot, Ushijima straightens up, blushing, his lips tingling and wanting more.
Oikawa is completely silent for once. He looks very serious, his gaze boring into Ushijima, who can feel his stomach sinking. Things were going so well.
But then Oikawa smiles and says, “Well, I thought you were just a grumpy old man, Ushiwaka-chan, but you’ve surprised me. Alright, you can take me out to dinner. I’ll meet you in the front hall in a half hour. But I’m still expecting those sneakers for White Day.”
Ushijima walks down to his room, holding the box of chocolate in both hands, hope blossoming in his chest, feeling as light as air. He can’t believe he was about to give up on Oikawa.
He wants to give Oikawa something more significant than sneakers, or a standard box of white chocolate, for White Day. White chocolate chip cookies, maybe, baked from scratch? Tickets to see the women's national team play? He will have to start planning soon. Tomorrow. After the dinner.
38 notes
·
View notes
Text
in advance
Prompt: first time + Christmas
Rating: PG-13
A/N: I missed Ushioi Week day 1-- rest assured that I'm not going to miss the rest of the days! Hence this ficlet contains the prompts from day 1 + day 2.
Collection: (x)
Their first Christmas together is in university. Oikawa doesn’t have a girlfriend, but he settles for next best— a high school rival. He turns up at the gym where Ushijima works out with a cake in hand, waving excitedly from outside.
Ushijima nearly falls off the treadmill.
When he finally emerges from the gym, Oikawa clings to his arm. ‘I’ve mi-issed you so much!’
'What are you doing here?' Oikawa doesn't even have the decency to pretend to be embarrassed, and flutters his lashes at Ushijima.
'Well, Ushiwaka-chan,' Oikawa says. 'It's Christmas, and I have cake.'
Maybe it’s because he’s done a solid seven mile run, which always leaves him famished. Maybe it’s the snow, or the fact that he’s alone on a public holiday. Ushijima accepts, and watches Oikawa’s eyes light up.
+
'You were lying.' Oikawa props himself up on an elbow and turns to look at Ushiwaka in puzzlement, letting the blanket slide down his side. They're both naked post-Christmas morning romp, as per tradition, and Ushijima is on his back looking at the ceiling.
'What are you on about?'
Ushijima frowns. ‘Even in university you had a bunch of girls following you around. It’s impossible that you didn’t have a date. Back when you asked me out. Five years ago.’ Oikawa sighs and shifts closer, grinning widely.
'Did it take you this long to figure that out, Ushiwaka-chan?'
Ushijima lets Oikawa burrow up beside him, enjoying the warmth from their closeness.
'I was just thinking about it.'
Oikawa smirks. ‘Well it’s lucky you have me now to do the thinking for you— ouch! Don’t hit me, I’m just flirting with you.’ Ushijima is tempted to send another warning flick to the side of Oikawa’s head, but decides to leave him be.
It’s Christmas, after all.
--
Ah, but in case I stand one little chance
Here comes the jackpot question in advance
What are you doing New Year's
New Year's Eve?
18 notes
·
View notes
Photo
alternate universe... (covers face)
651 notes
·
View notes
Text
It Starts like a Fever
UshiOi Week: Day 1: First Time
Title: It Started like a Fever
AO3: Read here
Note: Dedicated to Dia, who brainstormed this idea with me ages ago for roleplaying purposes. Some details have been changed a little, others omitted and left to the imagination, but here we are! Also dedicated to Rae, who critiqued this piece for me and gave me the courage to post it. There's a bonus(?) at the end, but it's pretty abrupt, so feel free to bypass it.
He'd been struggling with his own muddled feelings for a few weeks, now—maybe even longer—and in a late-night moment of lowered inhibitions and tensions running high, Oikawa sent a quick text to Ushijima Wakatoshi.
The first time they kiss, it's dry, confused, and laced with anger. Anger at what? The confusion of the situation, probably, Oikawa decides later, determined to not analyse it too much, whether or not his guess is correct. Angry and still frustrated with how he deliberately put himself in that situation to begin with. He'd been struggling with his own muddled feelings for a few weeks, now—maybe even longer—and in a late-night moment of lowered inhibitions and tensions running high, Oikawa sent a quick text to Ushijima Wakatoshi using a number he'd saved from a time when the prefecture's super ace called him three years previous. For all he knew, the number wasn't even good anymore, and if it was, his long-time rival was likely asleep, but a minute later he had a response.
'Who is this?'
The words displayed on the bright screen obscured the rest of his darkened room when he'd looked away from it, sights falling blindly on his surroundings. Irritation already began to bubble in his stomach. Either he had a wrong number, or Ushijima hadn't even bothered to keep his contact information after going through the obvious trouble of obtaining it without Oikawa's permission and leaving an obnoxious voicemail about attending Shiratorizawa for high school. Yeah. Sure. Okay.
So they went back and forth for a few messages, Oikawa venting his disdain about the other athlete not even bothering to keep his number after the stunt he pulled, until realisation finally dawned on the mind of the person on the other end.
'Oh. Oikawa.'
Did he always have to be so blunt? This wasn't easy, and the least he could do was act surprised, or grateful, or....something. Whatever. It's not like that was Ushijima's style, anyway.
The conversation had been surprisingly long, Oikawa up far too late into the night and Ushijima having only just woken up to apparently attend to chores around the family farm and his morning run. The setter didn't know why, but even that small tidbit of information about his rival's personal life irked him. Maybe it was that Ushijima was up and active even earlier than he, who never began his own morning routine any later than 4:30, though usually earlier. Always one-upping him. Always doing more, more, more—
They talked the next night, too. It was mid-August and Oikawa blamed being awake on the warm, stagnant air that night. Not his own restlessness, of course. Never that. He had discovered the night before that Ushijima was actually pretty okay to have a conversation with once he got past the other's inherent knack for irritating him. It wasn't as though they hadn't held a discussion or two before, but there was something different about not talking face-to-face and in the late hours of the night (and those of the very early morning). There's also something different when you add into the equation his own growing attraction for the one person who served to make his life both more difficult and more fulfilling every year.
Even still, Oikawa surprised himself with the particular amount of concern he felt and partially displayed when Ushijima informed him that he came down with some nasty cold or flu and that his father had made him stay home and in bed. The text on the screen explained that the last time he got sick, he was eleven years old. It talks about how frustrated he is. It's probably one of the more personal glimpses into the other captain's life that Oikawa had seen even with hearing things about farm life and the intermittent and terse comments about one another's habits, both on and off the court. A lot of surface talk, a lot of barriers on Oikawa's part, but that wasn't unexpected. What was unexpected was his blunt offer to come over the next day and help Ushijima out. How? The details eluded him for the moment, but he reassured the sick captain that he would take precautions and wouldn't get sick. His own immune system was strong, anyway, even if whatever Ushijima had was enough to slip by the ace's natural defenses. It was a Sunday, too, and he didn't really have any schedule conflictions.
Oikawa Tooru finds himself in Ushijima Wakatoshi's room the next day. His teeth are gritted and he's half-decided that this was a mistake and that he should turn around and go home. The words I don't know whether to punch you or kiss you hang in the air between them, and Oikawa thinks that the red on his face can and will be easily confused for anger. He'd texted the statement the night before, and the first thing Ushijima did when the setter walked into the small unit separated from the main house was ask him if he'd decided on punching or kissing him. The nerve. The self-confident, utter nerve.
But a while later, a half-finished cup of tea sits on the bedside table, a damp and now-cold rag in a bowl next to it, and Oikawa can taste the ginger from the tea on Ushijima's tongue. He's trying not to think too much, to just go with what comes naturally, but as their limbs begin to tangle ungracefully and their kiss becomes heated part of his mind tries to work out how this situation even came to be. Not the part about their conversations, not even necessarily about his continually more apparent attraction to his rival, though the latter was close to what he was searching for. Oikawa had rarely experienced an attraction of any romantic or sexual sort to anyone, and even then it was fleeting and only towards—. . .
A fumbling hand pushes up his shirt, and with brows tightly knit he pulls away from the kiss, his body still pressed close to the warmer one beneath him on the currently messy bed. "Wait," Oikawa breathes sharply, eyes still shut. He's enjoying this more than he wants to admit, but that's going a little fast, isn't it? Fast and unrefined and– oh. He also has his own hand against the skin of one of Ushijima's shoulder blades, his short fingernails pressing into heated flesh. When did he do that?
Wakatoshi complies, eyes still sharp though slightly glazed from the effects of being sick as he watches his Seijou counterpart lift himself up, long, slender fingers pushing back and half-heartedly trying to smooth out brunet waves. "Oikawa?"
The sound of his name is cause for a sideways and downward glance, though it lingers on Ushijima's form. The setter's heart is pounding, and he's wondering when it got so damn hot in here, or when Ushijima Wakatoshi got so attractive.
It was the heat. It was the heat and maybe Oikawa was getting sick, too. Forget that there was no way he'd display symptoms of whatever the boy beneath him had for days more even if he'd caught it. That was out of the question.
His watchful gaze breaks away and he pulls off his shirt, maneuvering to sit at the edge of the bed. They sit in silence for a minute before light brown eyes cast a look over his shoulder, words demanding but tone soft. "Finish your tea. If it's cold by now, that's your fault."
––
Two days and a few conversations with Ushijima later, Tooru is trapped in bed, feverish texts ranging from requesting that Iwaizumi pick up his work for him and to please, please, please bring over some more ginger tea and honey after school (living just a few houses apart was convenient for the both of them), to complaining to his snarky, bed-headed friend about the growing realisation that dammit, he feels something for Ushijima. Something beyond their competitive rivalry, beyond his frustrations and the pain he's put himself through to reach Shiratorizawa's level; beyond the losses, the happiness of the single-set win; the idea that if he weren't so focused on beating their rival school into the ground, he and Wakatoshi might actually have some chemistry as friends. Something other than friends, at this point. Maybe.
It's 11:00 and his messages are getting harder and harder to discern as the fever reaches a peak and sleep begins to take him, as well. Why was it presenting itself so much worse in him than in the person he'd caught it from? The idea of sleep was okay, though. If he could rest through this, then it wouldn't seem like as long of a wait before school was out and Iwa-chan was here.
An incoming message threatens to contact Ushijima and send him over to see if Oikawa needs to be sent to the hospital. A comforter is pulled around his shoulders as he scowls. You don't even have his number, Oikawa thinks to text with a sniffle, but he doesn't have the will or the energy to fight it much. Instead, he considers that it would serve Ushijima right to have to pay for this somehow. He agreed to let Tooru come over, after all, and he depended on his naturally superb immune system too much and wasn't careful, most likely. How irresponsible, unlike Oikawa, who had at least taken precautions before coming over. Not like kissing probably didn't do the job. A lot of kissing, as a matter of fact.
Another text alert rouses the sick setter from his half-asleep state. It's Ushijima. A handful of messages are sent back and forth before it's more than apparent that the wavy-haired captain is deliriously sick, and it's convenient, Oikawa thinks, that Wakatoshi is apparently out of school for the day. Something about an interview, though at least one of the two parties grumbles silently that those shouldn't interfere with school to such an extent.
They talk for a while as the taller athlete makes his way to the station to take the first train he can over, and Oikawa promises to stay awake long enough to call and guide him to his home. Ushijima seems nervous, but not for any obvious reason until he asserts that he definitely needs directions.
Ah. He gets lost easily, then. Is that it? How strangely endearing. Not even the super ace could escape a commoner's flaws.
Tooru's pretty sure that he dozes off while guiding the other and giving him directions to get in—stairs are not something he's willing to attempt right now—because the next thing he knows, Wakatoshi is in his room with a warm cup of tea, deep tones gently waking him. His head and stomach nearly threaten revolt at being woken so soon on top of everything else, but there's a comfort in having someone there. Something solid to rely on while the rest of the world feels fuzzy at best and akin to molasses oozing down a drain most of the rest of the time.
He sits up, the thin, long-sleeved shirt he's wearing practically soaked and his unbrushed and slightly damp hair messy. The cup of tea is accepted as steadily as he can manage with a word of gratitude. It rests between his hands on the blanket, legs outstretched beneath him as he waits for the drink to cool a little.
"You got me sick." The statement is lacking cutting or even teasing undertones, sounding more like a mild observation than anything else. Oikawa had started feeling a bit off the night before, and by the time he'd woken up, whatever he had caught was running rampant in his system.
"You came over when you knew I was ill."
"You left the door unlocked for me. You didn't send me away after I'd done what I came there to do." He takes a sip of hot tea, the temperature of it reminding him that his tongue isn't as numb as it feels. Oikawa's mind, however, feels incredibly numb, and that's an even more agitating experience than being stuck in bed. "Not to mention, you kissed me."
There's a pause, and with a quick glance Tooru sees that his peer's expression is fairly thoughtful. "I'm not sure who kissed who first. It seemed somewhat simultaneous."
Oikawa wants to roll his eyes, and he's planning on making a teasing remark, but the words that end up in the air between them are more surprising for him than he thinks they are for Ushijima. "Why not kiss me again? Or is it different when you aren't the one who's sick?" The other captain had recovered quickly after their meeting, and when he'd told Oikawa the night before, he couldn't help replying with, So I raised your temperature and helped you break your fever, then~? If Wakatoshi had any unwanted comments to make to that last question, then Tooru would simply cite his text message as being the reason for requesting a kiss in the first place. Ushijima had agreed, after all. No mention of the particularly distracting way his heart is beating in his chest, despite a calm, tea-sipping exterior and a watchful gaze.
Ushijima doesn't seem to give it a second thought when he replies, "After I pat you down with a wet cloth and get you into a new shirt. Then a kiss, then back under the blankets with you. If your fever doesn't break in a little bit and if nobody is home yet, I'll ask for permission to take you to the hospital." How can he say that with such a straight face and be so to-the-point? Oikawa thinks that he sees something else in his rival's expression, but he finds himself too tired to place a name to it. No matter what he may or may not have seen, though, he's fairly certain that Ushijima Wakatoshi is not the type to kiss someone just because they ask. In fact, when all of this first came up, he'd admitted to have never given it a moment's thought before.
When he's finished his drink and Ushijima has done what was suggested, that slightly nervous, slightly anticipatory heart rate is back. He says nothing, however, when instead of leaning in for their lips to meet, the other captain begins to pull up his blankets. It makes sense. I probably wouldn't kiss me, either, until I was a little better.
But then they're there, Wakatoshi's lips against Tooru's, though through the effects of the fever they feel much cooler than before. It doesn't bother him, however, and the action grants him a small bit of energy to return it. It's different from the other day. There's no hint of competition, no budding frustration. No desire to prove any points or to figure out why they're kissing at all. It's warm, simple, and inviting. Giving, even. Supportive, especially when Wakatoshi presses into it just enough to guide Tooru's head back down to his pillow, the hand on the comforter pulling it up to his collarbone. When he pulls back, Oikawa is certain that he sees that look again, stronger this time, and it's easier to recognise it: fondness. Caring. Something that until a few days ago, he wouldn't have expected directed at himself coming from Ushijima.
"Get some sleep. I'll remain here for a while longer."
Oikawa wants to fight staying awake for a while longer, wants another kiss, but he's falling asleep almost as soon as his head hits the pillow, mumbling something about making sure Ushijima leaves before Iwaizumi gets there, because the last thing he wants to deal with while feeling like crap is the tensions that would fill his room before 'what the hell are you doing here' can even leave Iwa-chan's mouth.
He falls asleep thinking about his first uninhibited kiss with Ushijima. That he's the first person Ushijima has kissed. He lingers on the memory of the sensation, Wakatoshi's lips already warmer in memory than they felt against his heated ones in reality.
––
Bonus....? It didn't really fit at the end, but unaddressed plot points and all.
--
Ushijima doesn't leave on time. Though normally a light sleeper, Oikawa doesn't wake when Iwaizumi walks in with the things he promised to bring, stopping in the doorway to find the last person he expected to see there slowly waking up at his best friend's desk. "What the hell do you think you're doing here?" is a uttered in a low demand that doesn't reach the sleeping setter's ears, though nothing else is said aloud as the Seijou ace drops off Oikawa's things and demands answers outside. He doesn't really get them beyond an explanation that the other captain received garbled texts and a request for assistance before Ushijima excuses himself, which still leaves a lot of questions unanswered. Iwaizumi decides to leave it alone for now, but he plans to grill Oikawa until he gets at least a little more clarification once his troublesome friend has recovered a little more. Normally he wouldn't care who Oikawa had over or why, but Ushijima? It was baffling, to say the least. As far as he knew, the two had never really spoken outside of the inter-high competitions or the rare practice matches in their first and second years.
#ushioiweek#oikawa tooru#ushijima wakatoshi#ushioi#cries my writing feels so dry compared to my usual style i'm so sorry#the next ones will probably run a little smoother?#i've never used so many names so many times in a row instead of descriptors but everything else felt too flowery#i hope it's easy to read! and enjoyable!#kirin writes fic
20 notes
·
View notes
Photo
day 5: sleeping + uniforms
2K notes
·
View notes
Photo
Day Four (4th January) Confrontation + Celebration: oikawa want to fight but ushiwaka wants to make out
2K notes
·
View notes
Photo
明けましておめでとう!
901 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
ottovanvonveen
[sad harp noises]
during-guess-set-use
Untitled
sterlingfosterthepeople
Give Them What They Want
crushoncinthia
Crush on Cynthia
demidudike
Yüce Pand-Ayş'ın