Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
There were many things you hated in this world.

Mosquitoes. Unholy little creatures engineered by Satan himself to ruin summer nights and carry out his vendetta against humanity.

People who walked slow in hallways. If you ever became a dictator, they would be the first to go.

That one vending machine that stole your money but never gave you your drink. If you had a gun and one bullet, you knew exactly where that bullet was going.

Lastly, Oikawa Tooru’s stupid, smug face.
Unfortunately for you, the last one was currently two inches from your own, breathing your air like he paid rent.

Oikawa had been your classmate for an impossibly infuriating amount of time in Seijoh.

Even now, in your senior year, you found yourself in the same class as him. He moved through life with the kind of arrogance only a man who had never been humbled could possess, and his confidence soared off the charts.

And right now, that confidence was being used for evil.

"There she is, my favourite classmate!" Oikawa sang, flopping into the seat beside you with the elegance of a pigeon slamming into a glass door. "What a beautiful day it is! The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and—"

"If you don’t get to the point in five seconds, I’m drop kicking you so hard they’ll have to dig you out of the volleyball court." You say in a disinterested tone and it mildly comes off as a threat.

Oikawa gasped, clutching his chest like you had personally stabbed him with a rusty spoon, "Such violence! Such cruelty! And after all we’ve been through?"

You gave him a flat look, too sleep deprived and exhilarated to give him much of a reaction. "You tripped me down the stairs last week."

"That was an accident!

"You yelled ‘TIMBERRR’ first."

"Irrelevant!" Oikawa dismissed, waving his hand like he was brushing away a mild inconvenience instead of attempted homicide, "Anyway! I came here because I have a proposition for you."

You narrowed your eyes in suspicion.This could only go two ways. None of which were beneficial to you.

"You have a death wish? I'll gladly comply if so."

"Close. But no." His smirk widened, eyes gleaming with imminent nonsense.

You were sure your dislike for the brunette couldn't get worse, but apparently at this moment it could.

"It’s about Iwa-chan." He said in the tone that you knew was trouble.

Your soul left your body.

Had your fixation finally been discovered?

Was this it? Was this how your social demise began?

Was Oikawa going to run through the halls, yelling about how you were a creepy loser who had been admiring Iwaizumi from afar for—ugh, God knows how long?

Would Iwaizumi hear about it? Hate you forever?

Would you die alone, never having had a boyfriend, and have your only legacy be a tragic cautionary tale?

Should you just settle in Antarctica, adopt a penguin, and start anew?

That trail of thought was shattered when Oikawa let out a whistle, snapping you back to cruel, unbearable reality.

"Daydreaming I see." he hums obnoxiously. You hated when Oikawa used that tone—the kind of tone people used when they were about to ruin your entire life for the sake of entertainment.

"I—who—what?" you sputtered, nearly choking on your own existence. "What about Iwaizumi?"

You chuckle nervously as you try your level best to not make it apparent that you're quite literally very close to either asphyxiating yourself or the man in front of you.

Oikawa leaned in, looking far too pleased with himself. His grin was the kind that should have been humbled long back, and one that in this moment you wanted to rip right off of his pretty face.

"Oh, nothing. Just that you’re so painfully obvious it physically wounds me. The longing stares, the awkward stuttering. How could i possibly forget?"

Your dignity steadily evaporated with every word he spoke. Your eye twitched so hard you were worried you might unlock a new superpower. "Stop being nosy."

"Tragic." Oikawa shook his head, full of mock sorrow. "And yet, here you are, still completely unnoticed by Iwa-chan." He sighed as if your suffering personally pained him.

"If only there was a certain, gracious and handsome someone that could give you a solution."

You squinted, still unconvinced. Oikawa, as you knew him, would never help you out with decent intentions. "Why do I feel like this solution benefits you more than it benefits me?"

Oikawa placed a hand over his black hole of a heart, looking deeply wounded. "Do you not trust me?"

"No."

"That was fast."

"You didn’t even try to sound trustworthy."

"Fair." He hummed. "Alright, fine. I’ll be honest—I need a favor."

You stared at him, waiting for elaboration.

He smiled. You kept staring.

The longer he smiled, the more concerned you became. And undoubtedly suspicious of his hidden, dark intentions.

"...What kind of favor?"

"In exchange for said favor," Oikawa continued, dodging the question skillfully. "I’ll help you win over Iwaizumi."

You blinked, then burst out laughing.

"Oikawa," you wheezed, struggling to breathe, "what on earth makes you think I would ever take romantic advice from you? Man, you're funny." you wipe a fake tear from your eye to exaggerate.

"Excuse you!" Oikawa scoffed. "I am the reigning champion of charm and attractiveness—"

"You got dumped twice this year. It's only the start of the session."

"She was clearly intimidated by my aura—"

"She threw her drink at you."

"Details, details." Oikawa waved a hand, as if the entire incident was a mere technicality. "Point is, I can help you." He said as his smirk turned downright sinister. "And you, my dearest, have access to the restricted facility that I desperately need. The gym keys."

There it was,

The real reason for this buffoonery.

"So let me get this straight. You’re offering me dating advice—which you have zero business giving, by the way—so that I can sneak you into the gym like some black-market shady dealer?"

"Exactly!"

You inhaled slowly. Exhaled even slower. Considered your life choices.

"...How many times do you need in?"

"Every night for the next few weeks."

You pinched the bridge of your nose "Geez, Oikawa. Why do you even need it that much?"

"The coach has restricted me from using the court after school so I don't 'overwork myself'." he air quotes the two words and chuckles as if it's the most ridiculous thing he's ever heard.

"We'll be breaking into the gym?"

"What? Nooooo," Oikawa lies.

You stare at him,

He stared back.

You stared harder,

He smiled wider.

"I'll get my prefect rights taken, along with the gym key if anyone discovers this. Maybe even get the wonderful gift of suspension."

"Which is why we're breaking in." Oikawa adds, casually sipping on his juice box.

"...I hate you so much."

"Aw, you don't need to thank me. We start tomorrow. "

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Oikawa Tooru had mainly three goals in life:

1. Win an international volleyball championship.

2. Look sexy while doing it.

3. Torture you at every available opportunity.

And judging by the shit-eating grin on his face, you were about to bear the full brunt of number three.

"What are we doing here?" You said blankly, confused by your surroundings.

“Sex appeal.”

You blinked, “What in the-?”

Oikawa folded his arms, nodding sagely like he had just delivered some ancient and mystical word of truth, “You need more sex appeal.”

.......

You look at him dead in the eye, daring him to repeat what he just said.

Oikawa met your gaze, eyes twinkling with pure audacity.

“…Pardon?” You finally said, voice eerily calm.

“Sex appeal!” He repeated cheerfully, zero hesitation laced.

Your fist clenched beside you. “You're asking for a beating."

“Easy, easy—hear me out first.” He reached into his bag, rummaging around dramatically.

“Now, you might be wondering, ‘Oikawa, you stunning, intellectual specimen of a man, how can I possibly achieve this?’ Well, lucky for you, I anticipated this moment.” He goes into the storage room with a marker in his hand.

And from god knows where, he dragged out a whiteboard.

Not just any whiteboard. A massive, oversized, where-the-hell-did-you-even-get-this whiteboard.

With flourish and flair, he flipped it around. Scrawled in thick, messy handwriting were the words:

"HOW TO GET WITH YOUR CRUSH 101."

That made you cringe, physically. But the worst part—the part that made your entire soul try to evacuate your body and bile rise to your oesophagus, was the horrifyingly crude, disturbingly detailed drawing of you and Iwaizumi making out, and God knows what else, underneath it.

Oikawa beamed with pride like he had just presented the Mona Lisa.

"TA-DA~! I'm a little bit of a revolutionary artist you see"

Your eye twitched.

“Iwaizumi and (name) , sitting on a tree—K-I-S-S-I—”

You launched your fist straight at him. Barely dodging your fist, he stops you in your action as he grips your wrist gently but firmly.

“Violence is never the answer!”

“You drew this?!”

“Well, yeah—”

“With detail?!”

“I wanted to capture the passion—”

“There's tongue, Oikawa.”

“I’m thorough!”

You grabbed the nearest textbook and hurled it at his head.

He ducked, laughing his ass off, before quickly spinning the board around and uncapping a red marker.

“Ahem, back to business.” He scribbled 'Stage 1' in obnoxiously bold letters and underlined it three times.

“Stage One: Glow up, Show up, Make him blow up.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“No.” He dramatically pointed the marker at you. “See, right now, you’re what we in the romance industry call ‘a tragic case.’”

You stared at him in both disgust and disinterest “Romance industry?”

He ignored you.

"You walk like a pissed-off goblin, you talk like a pissed-off goblin, you eat like you’ve been starved in a dungeon for ten years. It's not what guys are looking for " Oikawa has the nerve to say all this with that phony smile plastered on his, stupid, stupid face.

“I couldn't care less about that. Just get this over with."

"Not before you help me out on my part of the deal too." He grinned, twirling the marker. "Fix your posture, smooth out your rough-ass personality, and most importantly, Iwa-chan must see you in a whole new light."

“...You’re insane.”

"And yet, I’m your only hope."

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Chapter Text

There was a special place in hell reserved for people like Oikawa Tooru. And at this point, you were certain you’d be sitting right next to him as an honorary guest. Because somehow, some-fucking-how, you had let yourself get roped into his bullshit.

"You’ll get your plan," Oikawa said, all too pleased with himself. "But first, I get my part of the deal today."

You blinked.

"...What."

"My favor," he sing-songed, tapping his fingers against his desk like he was already crafting your demise. "I get mine first. Then you get yours."

Your patience was already disintegrating,

"You absolute bastard."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, darling."

"I hope you choke on your next meal."

"You'd like to see me getting choked? Kinky. "

This wasn’t worth it.

This wasn’t worth your dignity, your sanity, or your basic human rights. But you were too deep in the trenches now, too far gone. So, you swallowed your pride, signed your soul away, and agreed.

Which was how you ended up engaging in a high-stakes criminal operation: sneaking this absolute moron into the gym after school at ungodly hours.

Congratulations, you successfully played yourself.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Step one: Avoid security.

This would have been easy if Oikawa wasn’t built like a flimsy, noodle-limbed deer with the stealth capabilities of a fucking blender.

"Why are you walking like that?" you hissed as he hunched over like a middle aged man. No onlooker would've ever guessed this was the posture of a star athelete.

"It’s called stealth, miss." he whispered, eyes darting around like you were breaking into Area 51.

You resisted the urge to shove him into a locker, "You look like a divorced dad trying to catch his ex-wife cheating. And failing."

"First of all, rude." He pouted. "Second of all, I am a master at stealth."

And then, like the stealth master he claimed he was, he immediately proceeded bump into a trash can.

It clattered so loudly that even the ghosts of your ancestors flinched.

You stared at him, he stared at the trash can.

"...That was the wind,"

You stared harder, contemplated running off while you could.

Step two: Get past the janitor.

"Okay," Oikawa whispered as you both crouched behind a vending machine. "Here’s the plan—"

"Shut the fuck up."

"Excuse you, but I am a strategic genius."

"You’re a dumbass, that’s what you are."

He gasped. "How could you say that? After everything we’ve been through?"

"The only thing we’ve been through is me suffering."

"You wound me." He clutched his chest dramatically. "But fine. If you won’t listen to my brilliant plan, then I’ll just—"

And then he bolted.

Bolted,

Straight towards the janitor,

Like a fucking lunatic.

You barely had half a second to process this before you panicked, grabbed the nearest object, and yeeted it across the hall.

It crashed into a chair, making just enough noise to startle the janitor, who immediately turned his head.

You seized the opportunity, yanked Oikawa back by his collar, and dragged his dumbass down the hallway.

"You idiot," you seethed, manhandling him towards the locker rooms. "What the fuck was that?"

"I was going to seduce him!"

"You were going to what?"

Oikawa pouted. "It would’ve worked."

"I hope you never find love."

"Too late, Love already found me."

You would strangle him, here and now.

But unfortunately, you had bigger problems. Because you had just dragged him straight into the gym hallway. And standing in front of you, blocking the entrance to the court—

Was Iwaizumi Hajime.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You had one second.

One second to process the absolute nightmare that was unfolding before your eyes.

Because standing right there, in the worst possible place at the worst possible time, was Iwaizumi Hajime.

Your unreasonably attractive, painfully oblivious, infuriatingly off-limits crush.

And next to you, the source of 90% of your suffering, Oikawa Tooru, was currently mid-stumble from you dragging his dumb ass down the hallway.

To say you two looked suspicious was an understatement,

Oikawa looked horrible. His hair was an absolute mess, his uniform was half untucked, and the way he was breathing like he just survived a grizzly bear attack did you no favors.

You, on the other hand, were flushed, frazzled, and gripping onto his wrist like a criminal caught in the act.

And standing right at the entrance of the gym, looking like he was one second away from committing a heinous crime, was Iwaizumi Hajime.

The way his eyebrow twitched should’ve been a warning enough.

"...What the fuck are you two doing?"

Oh, you were going to jail,

Straight to hell. No parole. No second chances. No lawyer could save you.

Your brain went static. You scrambled for an answer—any answer—but Oikawa, the absolute piece of shit that he was, opened his mouth first.

And you immediately regretted ever making a deal with him.

Because instead of saying something reasonable, instead of lying like a normal person, he did the absolute worst thing he could possibly do.

He smirked.

And then, with the kind of fake stretch that only assholes and serial killers did, he leaned back and said:

"Ah, sorry, Iwa-chan~ You know how it is, Secret rendezvous."

The absolute audacity. You could feel your dignity physically leaving your body. Your entire existence flashed before your eyes like a tragic movie montage.

You were going to kill him. Here and now, on this gym floor, with any weapon in your immediate reach. Your fingers twitched, already itching to strangle the life out of him.

But Iwaizumi wasn’t even looking at you.

Not at all. He was staring daggers at Oikawa like he was two seconds away from knocking him out.

"Why the hell are you here?" Iwaizumi demanded.

Because Oikawa wasn’t even supposed to be in the gym today.

Coach had been strict as hell about the gym after school being off-limits to him. Something about forcing him to rest so he wouldn’t wreck his knee before regionals.

Which meant that this—you dragging Oikawa into the gym like a goddamn accomplice in crime— looked a hundred times worse.

And his ass, as always, was not helping.

"Iwa-chan, don’t be so mean," he whined, pouting like a brat. "I was just dropping by to check on you! You know, out of the kindness of my heart~"

Iwaizumi’s expression did not change,

"Get out."

"But I—"

"Now."

Oikawa made a run for it. And, much to your dismay, dragged you along with him.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You barely made it ten feet before Oikawa finally stopped, panting like a dying horse.

"God, Iwa-chan’s so scary when he’s mad," he wheezed.

You, on the other hand? Were not amused.

Because you just risked your entire status, your position and most importantly your dignity sneaking him in, only for him to bail in less than two minutes. Unacceptable.

"You owe me," you snapped, jabbing a finger into his ribs.

"Ow! How many time have i told you violence won’t fix anything—"

"I will fix you into a grave if you don’t deliver on your end of the deal."

He had the nerve to smirk after all this. "Relax, I’ll tell you the next stage tomorrow."

Tomorrow? Oh, hell fucking no.

You grabbed his collar, yanking him down so he was at eye level.

"You little shit, you said I’d get my strategy today."

Oikawa blinked, then with zero shame, he grinned.

"Technically, I said I’d give you the next part if you successfully snuck me in. But we got caught, sooo~"

"You're a douche, like actually a really insufferable one."

He laughed. "You already have Stage one. If you’re not improving yourself by tomorrow, that’s on you, not me. But I'll give you an eye opener."

He proceeds to turn to you with the gravity of a man about to reveal life-changing wisdom.

"You need to start dressing better."

You blink. "I’m literally wearing the school uniform."

"Exactly!" He sighs in disappointment. "But you’re wearing it wrong."

You stare at him, then at yourself. "It’s a uniform, Oikawa. There is no 'wrong' way to wear it."

"Wrong. So wrong." He shakes his head, pacing like a disappointed fashion guru. "Look at you. No sense of originality. You’re dressed too uptight, like your mother dresses you up every morning —honestly, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were being abused at home." He squints, analyzing you before he lifts a finger, rotating it, indicating he wants you to turn around.

You fold your arms, but hesitantly comply, "What are you trying to get at?"

He ignores you. "Iwaizumi may appear strict. Sure, he's grumpy and uptight. But he's ultimately just a dude, so dress to impress and you'll be fine, that's what catches every guy's attention."

"Dress to impress? This is a school."

Oikawa sighs like you’re a lost cause before speaking."Girls are charming and seductive. They don’t just dress well, they weaponize their appearance."

"Sure, your uniform is perfect, your tie’s a regulation-approved masterpiece, and your skirt length would make a nun proud, but you’ve got all the allure of a tax auditor. You’re not dressing badly, you’re just dressing like you’re about to report someone for chewing gum in class. Loosen up. Literally."

"Did you just mansplain skirts to me?"

"Yeah what about it? If i mansplain you womanderstand."

You squint, "I'm pretty sure that’s against school rules."

"Rules were made to be bent, little miss prefect."

"You’re literally the captain of the team. Shouldn’t you be enforcing rules?"

He grins and flips his hair dramatically, "Rules about volleyball. No rules in fashion."

You stare at him. He stares back.

"I’m only trying to help."

"You’re trying to get me expelled."

"That’s just a bonus."

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Chapter Text

Lunch was supposed to be peaceful. A break, a time to eat in silence, avoid unnecessary interactions, meticulously escape any boring small talks, and definitely, definitely stay the hell away from Oikawa after what happened the last time you were with him.

So naturally, he had other plans.

"Yoo-hoo!"

You turned slowly, the way one might acknowledge impending doom or a man-eating monster, only to find Oikawa standing directly behind you, grinning as if he had found fresh prey.

"Let’s eat together~"

As if. You're escaping this instant.

You had been so careful, so stealthy. Your movements had been precise, your footsteps light, your route expertly mapped out. Three seconds from freedom,

Before he grabbed you by the collar, stopping you in your tracks, and started dragging you across the cafeteria like a sack of rice.

"This sucks ass."

He didn’t bother responding to you, just kept walking with that annoyingly confident stride, ignoring the judgmental stares that followed you both.

You vaguely heard a tray clatter to the floor. Multiple people gasped, scandalized, and a distant thud as a girl collapsed like a mediaeval maiden in distress, clutching her chest at the sheer betrayal.

The Oikawa Grand Kneelers™(yes, it existed; yes, it had rankings; yes, it was practically a cult) were watching. Their expressions ranged from fury to pure resentment, stabbing their utensils violently into their food. You were pretty sure one of them was muttering an incantation under her breath.

Death by Oikawa's fangirls wasn’t exactly the way you envisioned your demise, but here you were.

You resisted the urge to dig your heels into the ground. Or possibly throw yourself out the nearest window.

"Oikawa, unhand me this instan—"

"Shhh, accept your fate."

He glanced back, flashing a shit-eating grin like he hadn’t just sentenced you to beef with half the female population.

When you reached the table, Iwaizumi was already there, looking like he'd rather be anywhere but here. He barely looked up as Oikawa slid onto the bench across him, forcing you to sit beside him.

You hesitated, sensing the glares and hushed voices from across the room. Your survival instinct told you to bolt.

Oikawa patted the seat beside him. "C’mon, sit. Iwa-chan doesn’t bite." Then, with the worst possible timing, he cleared his throat.

"Unless you want him to."

You choke on absolutely nothing.

Iwaizumi, looked up finally. Who, at this very moment, looked one more stupid comment away from launching Oikawa into the oblivion.

Your lips twitched, but you didn’t have time to appreciate the momentary silence because Oikawa was still looking at you like an excited chihuahua.

Reluctantly, you sat. And the silence was unbearable.

Meanwhile, Iwaizumi ate like a soldier, quick, efficient, entirely uninterested in his surroundings.

You poked at your food, trying to ignore the prickling sensation of being watched.

It didn’t work. Across the cafeteria, someone was glaring particularly hard.

A girl who whose name you weren't aware of, but whose expression you recognized immediately. That tight-lipped, wide-eyed look of irritated 'what the fuck are you doing with him' disbelief.

You swallowed the growing lump in your throat. Great. Just wonderful.

Before you could even think of making a sneaky escape, a crowd of girls swarmed the table.

"Oikawa-senpai, you were amazing at practice yesterday!"

"Oikawa-kun, I made you cookies! Please accept them with my eternal devotion!"

"Oikawa, do you need a massage? Your shoulders must be sooo sore~”

Oikawa, ever the graceful little shit, leaned back, smiling like some benevolent god, beginning his usual humble saint routine.

"Ladies, please," he said, dramatically placing a hand on his heart with fake humility, "I appreciate the love, but I’m just a simple man, really."

Iwaizumi’s eye twitched. "Oikawa. We’re eating."

No one listened.

Oikawa, who had zero self-preservation instincts, sighed. "Iwa-chan, don’t be jealous—ow! What the hell, man?"

You looked up just in time to see Iwaizumi yank Oikawa's chopsticks out of his hand and use them to stab his rice, possibly as a threat.

This was your chance, and you were not missing it. You slipped out of your seat, sliding away unnoticed.

Well, Mostly unnoticed.

Oikawa caught your sleeve before you got too far, glancing up with a smirk. "Leaving already?"

You yanked your arm back. "Yeah. I don't want to be sacrificed for your cult's next offering."

He chuckled, but didn’t stop you for once.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The gym door creaked open slightly, allowing a glimpse inside. You leaned against the wall, keeping your distance to not interrupt.

Oikawa had told you to wait here while he finished practice.

"It’ll be quick! Just watch practice or something!"

Like hell you were watching—

…

Okay, maybe a little.

Iwaizumi had been playing for about twenty minutes, and you had been watching for about nineteen.

Listen. It wasn’t your fault.

The guy was good, focused and sharp. There was something about the way he moved—controlled, precise, like he had been handcrafted for the sole purpose of spiking volleyballs. And his arms were so shaped, his calves muscular and strong-

You weren’t ogling him. Not at all. You were simply observing a gift of nature, appreciating the view.

You were broken out of your horny stupor when a voice far too close for comfort, rung directly in your ear.

"Naughty girl."

Slowly and painfully, you turned your head.

Oikawa stood there, leaning casually against the wall, watching you with the most obnoxious grin you had ever seen.

"Wow. Didn’t know you had X-ray vision, or are you just mentally stripping him down?"

Your mouth opened, then closed. "What? Pfft no."

His grin widened. "You were salivating."

"I was not."

He hummed, tilting his head. "Atleast take him out to dinner before eyeing him up."

"Shut the hell up, jackass."

Your voice came out louder than intended. Inside the gym, Iwaizumi actually turned towards you. You froze, trying to look as casual as possible.

"I didn’t know you had a thing for Iwa-chan's thunder thighs—"

You kicked Oikawa's shin so hard he nearly collapsed.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

By the time you both reached a park after school the sun had set, leaving the sky a deep shade of blue. The air was crisp, just chilly enough to make you pull your sleeves down over your hands.

Oikawa stretched lazily, sighing. "What a long day—"

"Shut up and listen." You pulled out a notebook.

He raised a brow. "What’s this?"

"The plan."

You flipped to a fresh page, ignoring the weird quietness that had settled between you two.

Usually, Oikawa would be talking nonstop, but here, in the stillness of the park, he just sat beside you. For half a second, he didn’t look like the insufferable idiot you knew.

There was something oddly relaxed about him, less exaggerated, maybe it was the tiredness,

You cleared your throat.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Oikawa leaned in, his breath warm against your ear as he peered over your shoulder at your notebook. "Ooh, look at you, all serious and scheming. I always knew you were a bad girl."

You fought the urge to elbow him in the ribs. "I swear to god-"

"Relax, relax. Lay it on me, mastermind." He threw his hands up in mock surrender, then leaned back on the bench, draping an arm along the backrest like he had nowhere else better to be.

You sighed. "I have access to the gym, obviously. But I can’t just waltz in with you in tow, because then I’ll get my privileges revoked and you’ll get banned for life."

"Mhm. So Student Council and all huh? Good Girl privileges? That’s kinda hot—"

You smacked him upside the head with your notebook.

"Ow—why did you do that?"

You ignored him. "So, all we have to do is wait until the halls are empty, sneak you in, and keep you out of sight. Easy."

"That’s it?" Oikawa tilted his head, looking unimpressed. "I thought this would involve lasers or at least a cool heist montage."

"If you want to make this harder than it is, be my guest."

"You trust me with this, right?"

You blinked.

It wasn’t like Oikawa was some criminal mastermind—he was a pain in the ass, the human embodiment of chaos. He was unreliable, dramatic, and a shameless flirt.

But,

He was also Oikawa, the hardworking and passionate athlete. You didn't know him like the back of your hand but you knew him enough to know what kind of a person he is. And for some godforsaken reason, that meant something.

You exhaled through your nose, looking away, "I trust you not to get me caught."

He laughed. "I’ll take it."

Then, without warning, he flicked your forehead.

"Ow—what the hell?" You clapped a hand over the sore spot, scowling.

"That’s for calling me an idiot like, five times in one conversation."

"Maybe if you stopped being one, I wouldn’t have to." You rub the spot on your forehead where he flicked it.

"I'm sorry but I physically can't help that."

Before you could reply, he suddenly perked up, eyes flickering to your blazer pocket.

“What time is it?”

You frowned. “Why?”

“Just checking.”

Before you could react, he snatched your phone from your pocket.

You barely processed what happened before he unlocked it (which, what the hell, when did he even see your passcode?) and typed something fast.

By the time you managed to wrestle it back, he was already stepping away, hands up in surrender.

You stared at your screen, a new contact had been added.

'Oikawa-senpai, notice me (⁄ ⁄>⁄ ▽ ⁄<⁄ ⁄)'

You almost dropped your phone. “What in the ever loving fuc-”

“Oops~”

“Oops?! ”

“I guess you’ll have to text me now,” he pouted in fake sympathy.

“You're not even my Senpai.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Chapter Text

The moment you stepped into class, you knew today was going to be bad.

It wasn’t even anything specific—just a gut feeling, like your soul had already peeked ahead and winced. And by the time you sat down and cracked open your calculus notebook, you understood why.

The numbers weren’t numbering. The formulas weren’t formulating. The will to live was actively declining.

You were on the verge of dropping out and becoming a sheep herder in mountains far, far away, when something small and crumpled bounced off the back of your head.

A deep, weary sigh left your lips. You already knew exactly who was responsible.

Turning slowly, you locked eyes with him.

Oikawa was slouched in his chair, wearing the most innocently guilty expression imaginable, one finger resting against his cheek like some schoolgirl in a shoujo manga. He blinked at you, all wide-eyed and faux-innocent, before flashing a quick grin and wiggling his fingers in greeting.

You stared. Then, with all the enthusiasm of a person attending their own execution, you picked up the paper and uncrumpled it.

Inside, you found a hastily drawn stick-figure version of you. A stick-figure labeled Iwa-chan, and right in the middle of you both, an absurdly large, pulsating heart, complete with dramatic motion lines to suggest it was throbbing.

As if the image wasn’t bad enough, there was writing. At the bottom, in Oikawa’s unmistakable scrawl, were the words:

"Iwa-chan's heart goes doki-doki for you ♡. And other body parts too, if you play your cards right. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡° )”

You stared at it. Blinked once in bewilderment, then did a double take.

Without a word, you folded the paper back up with meticulous precision, turned fully in your seat, and launched it straight at Oikawa’s smug little head.

The paper smacked against his forehead with a crisp little pap, and Oikawa let out a tiny, startled yelp.

The teacher glanced up. The epitome of innocence as you were, faced forward and resumed taking notes.

Class continued for the day.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

After school, you found yourself sneaking into the gym again, Oikawa in tow. This had become something of a routine by now, along with him texting you annoying and unnecessary cryptic messages, for example:

“𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙣𝙮𝙢𝙤𝙪𝙨 𝙩𝙞𝙥: 𝙞 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙜𝙮𝙢 𝙝𝙖𝙨 𝙜𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙖𝙞𝙧-𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙙𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙘𝙝𝙤𝙤𝙡.”

Like some kind of black market dealer. And you, trying to keep your part of the deal, begrudgingly unlocking the doors for him to practice after hours.

Today seemed no different—until the second you turned around, a volleyball came flying straight at your face.

Reflexes kicking in, you caught it just in time, fingers gripping the ball tight as you gawked at Oikawa.

“What the hell?” you hissed.

Oikawa, entirely unrepentant, stood a few feet away, arms crossed, head tilted at a cocky angle. “It’s time,” he declared.

“…Time for what?”

“To expand your horizons.” He flicked his bangs dramatically. “You, my dear, are going to learn volleyball.”

You squinted, suspicious of his intentions, “Why?”

“Because,” Oikawa said smoothly, his grin sharp as ever, “you have to listen to your love guru.”

"How does that even relate to volleyball?"

"If you want to impress Iwa-chan, this is the best way possib—"

"Okay."

"That was fast." Oikawa blinked.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Despite every self-preserving instinct in your body, you let Oikawa convince you to try.

Which was how you found yourself standing in the middle of the gym, gripping a volleyball with about as much confidence as someone defusing a bomb.

Oikawa, meanwhile, paced around you like some kind of volleyball prophet, scrutinizing your stance.

“Fix your posture,” he instructed.

You shifted slightly, a little awkward.

He sighed, deep and suffering, like a coach dealing with a hopeless case. “No, no, no. Like this—”

Before you could react, he stepped in behind you, one hand resting on your shoulder while the other ghosted over your fingers, adjusting your grip.

His hands felt warm and his fingers were steady, his touch barely there, just a sliver of contact. His fingers barely grazed yours, too light to be intentional, too long to be unintentional.

The air between you tensed, heavy in a way that neither of you addressed.

Oikawa hesitated, his fingers twitching slightly against yours. His breath slowed, and for a moment, it seemed like he was about to say something, before he shook it off, forcing a light tone back into his voice.

“There,” he murmured, voice unusually soft. “Try again.”

You took a slow, measured breath, straightened, and prepared yourself. This time, you were ready.

You remembered what Oikawa had said. Followed his instructions and—

—completely whiffed it.

The ball didn’t even graze your hand before it hit the ground with a sad, miserable thud,

Brief silence followed.

Before Oikawa broke down laughing.

“Holy shit.” He doubled over, one hand clutching his stomach. “That was—wow. I mean, I knew you’d suck, but I wasn’t expecting that.”

Your eye twitched. “Oikawa.”

“No, no—” He wheezed, wiping fake tears from his eyes. “That was actually impressive. That has to be a talent in itself.”

Everything in you screamed to flip him off and walk out. Instead, you clenched your fists, squared your shoulders, and, against every instinct, gritted out, “Okay. How do I fix it?”

Oikawa, mid-laugh, paused. His eyes flickered with amusement and intrigue.

He wasn’t used to seeing this side of you, determined, focused, unshaken by his teasing. And for some reason he kind of liked it. His grin returned, but this time, there was a hint of fondness in it.

“Well, well,” he mused, stepping closer again. “Looks like we have a student who actually wants to learn.”

He resumes his position behind you, now even closer than before.

"You hold the ball like this," he murmured, his fingers adjusting yours with practiced ease. "And you hit it with your palm, not your fingers."

This time, when he guided your hands into the proper position, when his fingers brushed yours and his voice dipped lower, he didn't hesitate, neither did you pull away.

And to his own surprise, he didn’t laugh.

He just watched you. The way your brow furrowed in concentration, the way your lips pressed together in quiet determination. And before he could stop himself, a small, genuine smile tugged at his lips.

This lesson wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Chapter Text

You arrived just briskly enough to avoid looking like you hurried.

The gym smelled like polished floors and faint sweat, the echoes of a volleyball slapping against palms and the squeak of shoes filling the air. The team was winding down from their actual training, stretching lazily, voices mingling in idle conversation.

Which meant you were immediately the center of attention when Oikawa threw an arm over your shoulder like some sports recruiter and made an announcement that should have not been made for the sake of your self worth.

“She wants to try playing!” you stiffened from all the attention the room was giving you.

“What?”

Oikawa’s grip on your shoulder tightened—not to reassure you, but to make sure you didn’t bolt as you took the tiniest steps, already inching towards the exit with the stealth of a fugitive.

“She does?” Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow.

“She does,” Oikawa repeated, practically beaming. “I’ve trained her personally.”

A slow silence stretched through the gym, before Iwaizumi scoffed.

You narrowed your eyes. “What’s so funny?”

“Means I don’t trust his coaching.”

Oikawa clutched his chest. “Iwa-chan, how hurtful.”

Iwaizumi ignored him entirely, tossing a ball toward you. You caught it out of reflex.

“Alright,” he said. “Let’s see it.”

Oikawa leaned in, voice low enough for only you to hear. “No pressure or anything. But if you embarrass me, I will cry.”

You roll your eyes. "How reassuring.”

“Also,” he added, still whispering, “if you somehow manage to impress them, I’ll take credit.”

Oikawa stepped back, watching with the intensity of a coach about to witness their protégé succeed… or fail spectacularly.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

To your surprise, you weren’t terrible. Your movements lacked polish, sure, but you could tell your body was remembering the motions from training with Oikawa.

Timing was still tricky, and your footwork wasn’t as instinctive or even halfway as good as theirs, but you weren’t a complete disaster.

Oikawa, watching smugly from the sidelines, put a hand over his forehead in exaggerated disbelief. “I’ve created a monster.”

You smirked, “Jealous?”

“Of you? Never.”

Iwaizumi, stretching nearby, called out just loud enough for only Oikawa to hear, “Not bad.”

Oikawa scoffed, “I told you she wouldn’t suck.”

Iwaizumi glanced at you again, this time with acknowledgment and subtle approval.

And for some stupid reason, that made Oikawa feel a little...

Uneasy? No. Annoyed? No. That can't be it.

It wasn’t just Iwaizumi looking at you, it was the fact that you looked back. That stupid grin on your face, the slight breathlessness, the sweat catching on your forehead, the way your eyes shone.

He shook the thought away just as a sound thundered through the gym.

Smack.

The ball ricocheted off your forehead with the precision of a homing missile, snapping your head back so violently, you briefly saw every regret and mistake in your life flash right before your eyes.

For a moment you wobbled, barely resisting the urge to drop onto the floor like a tragic Shakespearean heroine.

Oikawa halted in his place, and so did everyone else in the gym.

“Oh my god,” he wheezed, doubling over with laughter.

It wasn't just any laugh. It was the kind that stole his soul, leaving him gasping on his knees like he’d just witnessed divine comedy.

He banged the floor with his fist, practically convulsing, not just from amusement— but from the sheer spiritual experience of witnessing your humiliation.

At this rate, he was either going to pass out or achieve nirvana through your suffering.

You groaned, rubbing your forehead, “Atleast try to act like you're concerned.”

Iwaizumi exhaled, before he rushed to your side to check if you were fine.

“You good?” he asked.

You sighed, "I think so. Not so sure about my dignity”

Oikawa wiped an imaginary tear. “Ah, what a moment. Truly remarkable.”

You kicked him on his rear, and that was the end of the 'match'.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The gym was empty now, but Oikawa remained. Well, because you broke in like delinquents as always.

The air was thick with the scent of worn leather and faint traces of floor polish, mingling with the quiet hum of distant cicadas outside.

Every time Oikawa moved, the fabric of his jersey whispered against his skin, the only break in the steady rhythm of the ball meeting the floor.

You sat nearby, watching. Neither of you spoke much when he practiced. It was different from your usual arguing, quieter.

You watched because you wanted to ensure no one caught you and stole your privileges away. And Oikawa let you because he….

He didn’t know.

Maybe it was the way you wordlessly understood this part of him. The part that wasn’t all phony but the part that stayed in an empty gym until his muscles ached because good wasn’t good enough.

He liked an audience. Loved it, even. But for some reason, when you watched, it wasn’t the same. You weren’t impressed, weren’t critiquing, you were just there.

You didn’t mock it or try to stop him out of concern. You just let him be.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

A sharp yelp broke the silence. Oikawa hissed, shaking out his wrist, his face scrunching in irritation.

You were at his side before he even fully registered the sting. “What happened?”

He waved a hand dismissively. “Nothing. Just It—”

You grabbed his wrist, and he froze on the spot. Your fingers, cool and steady turned his hand over, examining the scraped skin with quiet precision.

Your brows furrowed, lips pressing together, “You need first aid.”

“I’m fine,” he insisted, but you weren’t listening. You were already up and standing, making your way to the storage room for the kit.

“Stay there.”

So he did. And that was the moment, the exact, stupid moment when Oikawa realized something was very, very wrong.

Because when you returned, kneeling in front of him, you weren’t teasing him. You weren’t rolling your eyes or making some off-handed remark about how dramatic he was being, or threatening him. You were just focused.

Your hands were steady as you cleaned the scrape, moving with that same effortless precision you had in everything you did.

When the disinfectant stung, he sucked in a sharp breath, but you didn’t even flinch.

"Don’t hurt yourself,” you murmured, more to yourself than to him, “Or I’ll make sure it stings more next time.”

Oikawa opened his mouth to tease, to throw out some snarky comment. But the words died on his tongue.

Because he saw the way your brows pinched slightly in concern, the way your fingers lingered against his skin, the way your breath was just barely flickering against his own.

Your knee was brushing against his,

Your eyelashes were too damn long,

Your eyes caught the gym lights in an annoyingly pretty way.

Oikawa felt something unfamiliar settle inside him. A pause too long.

The thought lodged itself in his chest, unwelcome and persistent. He shifted, suddenly restless, like if he stayed still too long, the feeling might settle,might become something he couldn’t ignore.

And before he could think or reconsider, he spoke,

“You know, we’ve been in the same class for years now.”

Your fingers stilled, and your gaze flicked to his. “… Yeah, what about it?”

He let out a short breath, flexing his hand absently in yours, “And yet you never acknowledged me.”

You frowned. “That’s not true.”

Oikawa scoffed. “Oh, it is.” He tilted his head slightly, smirk lazy, almost provoking.

“Unless I was teasing you, that always got a satisfactory reaction.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Maybe because you were insufferable.”

He chuckled, low and amused. “Maybe.”

Maybe you had thought he was just a brain-dead, pretty-faced, volleyball fanatic. Maybe that’s why you never took much interest in him throughout the years.

He felt your hands resuming their work, but slower now, less out of obligation.

Oikawa studied you. The way your fingers moved with infuriating certainty, the same way they always did and that was the thing about you.

You never did anything halfway. You were disciplined in a way that was rare, in a way that frustrated him.

Because once you decided to do something, you committed, whether it was fixing a scrape or being indifferent to his existence for years, and it annoyed him. Because he was the same way.

You exhaled, finally glancing up. “So all this time you just wanted my attention? Kind of pathetic don't you think?”

Oikawa hummed, tilting his head slightly. “Wouldn’t you?”

You chuckle lightly, “You're so weird.”

Oikawa became aware of it all at once , the way your touch wasn’t hesitant. The way your breathing wasn’t entirely steady. The way your fingers moved against his calloused palm.

The way he wasn’t pulling away.

Your lips twitched, not quite a smirk, not quite serious. “Should I be flattered you want my attention that bad?”

He inhaled, forcing a familiar lightness back into his tone. “I did manipulate you into this deal, but man, you’re tougher than I thought.”

You laughed again, shaking your head.

But as you finished wrapping his hand, as your touch lingered on his skin a second too long, as his fingers curled slightly against yours,

Oikawa realized something important.

He had always loved attention. But somehow, yours had always been just out of reach, until now. You had brushed him off for years and maybe that had bothered him more than he’d ever admit.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Chapter Text

The bus was already packed when you stepped in, which meant your usual seat— third row, window side—was probably long gone.

With a sigh, you navigated through the tight crowd, scanning for an empty spot.

That was when you saw it. You had to squint, half-convinced your sleep deprivation was playing tricks on you.

Oikawa sat in your favorite seat, comfortably leaning back, one arm draped over the backrest languidly. The second your eyes met, he grinned, entirely too pleased with himself.

“Oh? Fancy seeing you here.” he greeted, far too chipper for someone who had no business being here.

You stopped in your tracks, exhaling sharply. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“Doing what?” His brown eyes blinked in faux innocence.

“You don’t even take this bus,” you deadpanned.

“So?” He tilted his head, still all fake confusion. “I felt like it today.”

There was no way this was a coincidence, but you were too tired to argue at 7 in the morning. You sighed and turned on your heel, gripping the rail handle and resigning yourself to your fate.

Moments had passed before a sudden lurch sent the bus jerking forward. Your balance failed you in an instant, sending you hurtling forward with no time to catch yourself.

Before you could even register what was happening, you collided with something solid and warm through the fabric of your jacket.

You shifted a little, looking back to see what you had collided with. Only to realize, to your dawning horror, that you had landed directly onto Oikawa's lap.

For one tense second, neither of you spoke. Oikawa’s hands had instinctively settled on your waist, hesitant as if unsure whether to steady you or let go. You could feel his stupid heartbeat against your back.

“Oh?” Oikawa drawled, grinning. “How forward of you. What happened to being a lady?”

You launched yourself upright instantly, nearly smacking your head on the overhead bars. “I am capable of throwing you out of the window.”

Oikawa stretched his arms above his head, looking downright smug. “Should I ask the driver to dim the lights? Put on some soft jazz, set the mood?”

Ignoring whatever nonsense he was spewing, you spun back towards the front of the bus and gripped the rail handle like your life depended on it.

You stood there, silently pleading for the bus to reach your school already and to put your misery to an end. As you steadied yourself, someone crashed against your back.

The first time, you brushed it off. Accidents happen.

The second time, your patience wavered.

The third time, the guy behind you shifted again, hand brushing your lower back this time, just barely.

You tensed. But before you could react, Oikawa was already moving.

He stood up slowly, adjusting the strap of his bag before stepping in front of you, blocking the guy's view entirely.

"You got a problem?" His tone was light. Almost dismissive, yet something about it made the space feel suffocating.

He gently nudged you towards his currently empty seat. Considering your options, to stand and keep dealing with weird guy, or sit and risk whatever Oikawa was planning, you reluctantly took the seat.

As soon as you sat down, you muttered, “Should’ve just given it to me from the start.”

He leaned against the rail, flashing a lazy grin. “What, and pass up my heroic moment? Not a chance.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Oikawa was absolutely wrecking himself in the gym, which was nothing new. The air buzzed with the repetitive squeak of sneakers, the steady thud of the ball hitting his palm.

You stood near the entrance, keeping an eye on the surroundings. The dim overhead lights flickered slightly, buzzing like an old refrigerator.

Oikawa suddenly dropped his volleyball to the ground with a loud thud, freezing where he stood.

You follow his gaze, eyebrows furrowed and turn towards the entrance. A strange, heavy silence settled over the gym, and a creeping unease crawled up your spine.

Somewhere beyond the entrance, the distinct tap, tap, tap of approaching footsteps cut through the stillness.

"...Oh, shit." Oikawa whispered.

For once, you agreed with him.

Whoever it was, considering the late hour, and the fact that you technically weren’t supposed to be here, it wasn’t anyone you wanted to deal with.

Oikawa, despite being a so-called genius, stood perfectly still, glued to the spot, running through about seven different scenarios in his brain. None of which involved actually moving.

"Legs, genius. Use them." you hissed, grabbing his wrist and yanking him towards the locker room.

The footsteps grew louder and louder with each passing second, getting dangerously close to you both.

You swung the gate shut behind you as quietly as possible, heart hammering against your ribs.

But the footsteps didn’t fade, instead, they seemed to get closer and closer to the locker room, halting only for a few moments before resuming again.

Your stomach dropped and your pulse spiked so sharply it made your fingertips tingle.

“I got this, Shawty." Oikawa whispered, adjusting his uniform and cracking his knuckles, ready to throw hands.

You yank him back by his collar, “You so do not got this.”

“Then I'll shimmy my way out.”

"You’re too tall to shimmy out of anything."

No time. No time to think, no time to plan, no time to even curse out Oikawa’s delayed ass properly.

With sheer impulse, you shoved him towards an open locker.

"I am not getting in there-"

"Yes, you are."

"Are you trying to murder me?"

"Quit whining for a second, would you?!"

"Are you fucking insane?!"

The doorknob rattled.

With no other options, you shoved him harder, only to realize there wasn’t enough time to find space to maneuver for yourself.

So with an absolutely stunning lack of grace, you climbed in too.

The locker clicked shut just in time.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The janitor hummed an obnoxious tune as he swept at a sloth-like pace, taking his sweet time mopping the floor. Oikawa wasn't sure why that man was enjoying sweeping this thoroughly, today of all days.

Drip. Drip.

Somewhere in the gym, a leaky pipe dripped obnoxiously loud.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

“I’m going to lose my mind,” You mutter, entirely focused on peeking through the locker vents, ensuring the janitor didn’t suddenly decide to check inside.

Oikawa, however, was experiencing a meltdown. Because while you were focused on the outside of the locker, he was painfully aware of the inside of the locker.

Which, specifically, meant that you were currently pressed against him, in a space way too cramped for two people to fit. Your knee was digging into his leg, the oppressive heat curling in the cramped darkness. The slight, almost imperceptible scent of your shampoo floated in the air between you two.

Your hand, in an attempt to steady yourself, had landed on his chest. His own had ended up on your waist because of the sheer lack of space.

"You’re too clo—" he started to whisper, only for you to slap a hand over his mouth without even looking at him.

"Shut the hell up."

Oikawa went so rigid at that, you’d think he’d just been declared the loser of a televised paternity test.

The world shrank to the size of a locker, every detail impossibly magnified. The warmth of your breath against his collarbone, the press of your knee against his leg. Heat bloomed across his face, a light, unmistakable shade of pink creeping from his cheeks upto the tips of his ears.

Meanwhile you remained blissfully unaware, still peering through the locker, completely oblivious.

He swallowed thickly, forcing his brain to think of literally anything else;

Volleyball.
Quantum physics.
Japan's low birthrate. The geopolitical and economic state of the world-

Nothing worked. Because no matter what he thought about, his brain kept circling back to the very unfortunate facts of the situation:

Your lips were inches from his neck, breath fanning against his collarbone. Your hand was still on his mouth, warm against his lips. And you smelled really, really nice.

"Oikawa, move.”

He is broken out of his stupor when you hiss, cramped into a corner.

“I can’t move, you move.”

“There’s nowhere to move to, dumbass!”

“Then stop breathing so loudly!”

You shoot him a glare. “Well, I'm sorry for requiring oxygen to live.”

At that moment, you tried to re-adjust your uncomfortable position. Much to your dismay, Oikawa does the same.

WHAM.

“Ow!” you both whisper-yelled, barely containing a yelp, recoiling from the skull-cracking impact.

“Why is your head so hard?!” Oikawa whined.

“Why is yours?!” You groaned, rubbing your forehead. “I think I just lost brain cells.”

“Didn't think you had them in the first place."

"Alright, just stay still—”

“Nghhh—”

You froze. “What the fuck was that?”

Oikawa twitched violently. His entire body convulsed like he’d been electrocuted.

“Leg cramp,” he whisper-screamed.

Your stomach dropped. “You are not serious right now.”

“I am so serious,” he wheezed, gripping his calf like he was about to meet God.

When you thought the situation couldn't get worse, he started thrashing like a mad dog.

You grabbed his shoulders. “Stop moving.”

“I can’t, my leg is dying.”

“Man up.”

“I’m trying—”

His knee jerked. His foot swung up and kicked you straight in the shin.

“I’m sorry, I can’t control it—”

You clutched your leg, trying not to let out a terrifying scream. “I’m gonna kill you.”

He collapsed onto you, muffling his sobs, body still twitching.

“Just let me die." Oikawa whimpered.

You stared at the ceiling of the locker, questioning every decision that had led you to this moment. “God, please. Smite me. Now.”

To his relief, finally, after what felt like an eternity, the janitor finished sweeping.

Oikawa let out a silent breath of relief.

Just as you also started to relax, a faint click echoed through the room. Your shoulders tensed. Slowly, you turned to Oikawa.

"...Did he just—?"

Both of you practically exploded out of the locker, stumbling.

You rushed to the door, jiggling the handle. But your attempts proved futile. The door was locked without a doubt.

Oikawa blinked. "...Oh, you have got to be kidding me."

His jaw clenched. With the determination of an action movie protagonist, he reared back his fist. “Okay, I’m breaking us out.”

Your eyes widened. “The hell you are—”

“What other choice do we have?”

Silence stretched between you two.

You exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of your nose. "You absolute fucking moron."

"Me?! You’re the one who shoved us into the locker!"

"Oh, my bad, I should’ve rolled out a red carpet and sent your highness a handwritten invite to move his uncomprehending ass!"

"You should’ve left me behind, then!"

"Trust me, I had a whole daydream about it."

"Yeah? Well next time, make it a reality."

Back and forth, the two of you bickered, frustration mounting, until finally, reality crashed over you both like a bucket of ice cold water.

You were locked inside, possibly for the entire night. Together.

Oikawa dragged a hand down his face, muttering a curse. "This is a disaster."

You sighed, slumping against the wall,
"Wow. Really cracking the case here, Detective Obvious."

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Chapter Text

Oikawa stares at the locked door like it personally offended him. He folds his arms, tilting his head thoughtfully.

“Maybe if we manifest hard enough, It’ll unlock.”

You blink at him, and to make sure you convey your disappointment, twice.

“…That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Undeterred, Oikawa closes his eyes like he’s preparing to perform some sacred ritual, hands gently hovering in front of him. He inhales deeply. In the softest, most gentle whisper he speaks,

"Open sesame."

You stare at him blankly. He slowly opens one eye, peeking at the door.

You rub your temples. "I take it back. That one has to be the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Another beat of silence, and the door remains unlocked. Oikawa exhales dramatically, shaking his head.

“Wow. Fake ass magic.”

"No shit?!”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The silence in the locker room was almost deafening. Both of you sat there, utterly dejected, heads drooped forward, shoulders sagging like wilted flowers.

The air was thick, suffocating even, but it wasn't just the exhaustion. No, something far worse was seeping into your lungs. A smell.

It started as a faint, unpleasant tickle in the back of your throat. Then, like slow, creeping horror, it crawled into your nose, filling every inch of your senses with its overwhelming, nose-burning potency.

Oikawa was the first to react.

He lifted his arm slightly, sniffed, and immediately retched so hard he nearly threw himself off the bench. "Holy mother of— I smell like socks marinated inside Satan’s asshole."

His voice cracked mid-sentence, which would have been funny if you weren’t just now realizing you weren’t any better.

You cautiously raised your own arm, took a whiff, and gagged. "I think I just saw god for a second."

Oikawa coughed dramatically, clutching his chest. "This is how I die. Not on the court, not in a blaze of glory, but rotting away in my own stench."

He flailed a hand weakly. "I’m taking the shower first. You can sit in your own misery, stinky."

You opened your mouth to argue, but he was already peeling himself off the bench, groaning as if the weight of the world was upon him. With a grand, theatrical sigh, he trudged toward the showers like a soldier heading to war, stripping off his jersey on the way.

You leaned back against the locker, letting your head thud against the cool metal.

From the showers, you could hear Oikawa humming some ridiculous tune, probably reveling in the fact that he was getting clean first. You groaned again, louder this time, to make sure he knew you were suffering.

Fifteen minutes or so pass before he re-emerges, steam curling around his figure. His hair is damp and soft, not lathered with an overwhelming amount of hair gel like usual. Brown locks fall naturally over his forehead, droplets of water still clinging to his skin, cheeks still flushed from the warm water.

"What?" Oikawa blinks when he notices you staring. "Shocked by my beauty?"

Before you can reply, Oikawa’s arm knocks over something sitting on the bench. A bottle of mysterious, definitely expired, possibly hazardous, goopy liquid that had no business existing in a locker room.

You watch in slow-motion horror as it tips dangerously, wobbles, and then spills—

Directly on to you.

The feeling is instant. Sticky, thick, slightly cold. It slithers down your shoulder and drips onto your lap like some forbidden eldritch slime. The smell hits next, and it’s even worse than before.

Oikawa stands frozen for a moment, before pressing his lips together as his shoulders start shaking.

Oikawa stands frozen for a moment, lips pressed together as his shoulders start shaking.

"Don't."

His chest jerks. He turns away slightly, hand clamped over his mouth, but a choked snort escapes.

"Oikawa."

He finally cracks, too busy howling to properly respond, nearly crumbling to the ground as he wheezes. "You look like you just lost a death match with a sentient swamp." he gasps between laughter.

You peel a glob of the vile substance off your arm and flick it in his direction.

Oikawa barely dodges, still wheezing. He falls to his knees, clutching his stomach. You yank your shirt slightly, watching the goop stretch between the fabric and your skin like it has its own gravitational pull.

You take a step towards him menacingly. "Oikawa."

He stops his laughter, instantly shutting up. He stutters frantically in fear of his life.

"Okay, okay truce! This is—this is fixable!"

"I'm gonna go shower."

He stumbles backwards as you take another step towards him, "Yes ma’am."

"And you're gonna give me clean clothes to wear."

Oikawa straightens, placing a hand over his heart as if swearing a sacred oath. "Your wish is my command."

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The warm water does little to wash away your irritation, but at least the ungodly stench is gone. You scrub yourself raw just in case the mysterious goop had mutagenic properties—because, knowing your luck, you’ll wake up tomorrow with a second head.

There’s a brief silence, followed by the hum of Oikawa's voice, way too amused for the situation.

You sigh, already bracing for his antics. "I need the clothes."

"My dear, are you perhaps, completely and utterly—"

"If you don't hand them this instant..."

"—naked right now?"

He snickers, but finally relents as you hear him shuffling.

A few seconds later, a bundle of clothes is thrown over the curtain. You catch them and dress quickly, slipping into the surprisingly soft fabric. When you step out, adjusting the hem, you hardly give it any thought. It’s just a jersey.

But for Oikawa; his thoughts, once sharp and quick, slow down, fumbling like an old modem.

Because you’re wearing not just any jersey, you were wearing HIS jersey.

It’s oversized, the sleeves hanging just a little too long, a little below your shoulder, the fabric draping over your form. His name and number boldly displayed, etched on your back.

A pink hue coats the plush of his cheeks. His ears feel warm, his neck feels warm. He realizes, with dawning horror, that his entire face is hot. He feels—

"Why do you look like you’re about to nut?"

Oikawa chokes so violently he nearly dies on the spot.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" he wheezes, grasping his knees for support.

You tilt your head in confusion, watching him. "You just look like you’re having an awakening or something."

Oikawa drags a hand down his face, groaning in anguish. "Shut up."

But before you can reply, something catches your eye. A small, dark shape skittering across the floor.

Oikawa notices it too. He leaps onto the bench, nearly jumping into your arms, grabbing your shoulder like it’s his only lifeline. "Kill it."

You blink, looking from the cockroach to him. "Are you serious?"

"Kill that fucker already—"

"You’re scared of a bug?"

"It can fly," he hisses. "It has wings and no conscience."

You sigh, rolling your eyes. You lift your foot, and the crunch is immediate. Oikawa yelps like it was him who got squashed.

You look up at him, patting his back. "There. You’re safe, princess."

He slowly climbs off the bench, still staring at the dead cockroach like it might come back to life just to spite him. "You’re so brave," he mutters. "Disgusting, but brave."

"Now clean that up."

Oikawa gags. "I think I might die in here."

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You both sit in the corner of the locker room, the thick walls drowning out any sounds except the soft hum of your own breathing. It's the dead of night but someone has to keep watch, in case you both get caught— someone who isn’t as tired as Oikawa, who’s practically falling apart. You glance over at him, his eyelids heavy and barely managing to stay open.

"You’re way too tired to be on watch," you say, the concern in your voice barely concealed. "You spent the whole day practicing."

Oikawa flashes a grin, but it’s sluggish and clearly fake. "I’m fine, i can handle it. Staying up all night is nothing."

You raise an eyebrow. "You won’t last five minutes."

His smirk falters, but he fights to maintain his usual cocky demeanor. "I can't let you stay up the whole night alone."

You roll your eyes. "You’re literally a walking zombie. Just go to sleep already."

"I'm good, I swear," he protests, though he starts swaying slightly. "I’m staying up. I’ll be fine."

"Yeah, sure," you mutter. "Until you pass out like, a few seconds later."

With a dramatic sigh, Oikawa gives in, his shoulders slumping. He flops down next to you, looking up at you with those big, brown, tired eyes. "Fine, I’ll rest for a bit. But just for a while."

You smirk. "I told you so."

He doesn’t even finish his sentence before he’s shifting subconsciously, head slowly sliding from your shoulder, sinking into your lap. You freeze, blinking down at him.

"Oikawa?" you whisper, but he’s already snoring lightly, the soft rhythm of his breathing filling the space.

You sigh, accepting the inevitable, as your legs go numb under his weight. It’s not like you can move now without waking him, so you settle back, trying to ignore the awkwardness of the situation.

A few minutes pass in silence before Oikawa mumbles in his sleep.

"Ugh... so annoying," he mutters, voice muffled into your clothes. "Can't get any peace around her..."

You furrow your brows. "What?"

He shifts again, barely stirring, and continues in a low voice. "Always so loud.... I swear..."

You chuckle softly, not thinking much of it. "Great. Now you’re sleep-complaining."

As if caught in some dream, his hand slithers on your waist, pulling you closer as he sighs contentedly. "Looks good... in my jersey... annoying, but..."

Your eyes widen slightly. “Huh?”

He moves again, shifting the position of his head on your lap, voice barely above a whisper. "With my name on her back...So pretty... so stubborn..."

You blink at him, then shrug, brushing it off. "Guess he's just having some weird dream."

Though you can’t help feeling a little bit amused, you don’t think twice about his ramblings.

Another few minutes pass, and Oikawa continues to rest, breathing softly in your lap. You lean your head back onto the metal, focusing on keeping watch, half-listening to his sleepy mumbling.

His words barely make sense, but it’s too quiet for you to bother trying to figure out what he's talking about.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Chapter Text

The locker room door creaked open, and the team shuffled in for morning practice, stretching and yawning—only to collectively freeze at the sight before them.

Nestled together on the bench, you and Oikawa were sound asleep, limbs tangled up like a messy game of Twister, heads resting against each other. The soft rise and fall of your breathing was the only sound in the room.

There was a long, stunned silence.

“Holy shit.”

Hanamaki grabbed Matsukawa’s arm, shaking it violently. “Do you see what I’m seeing?”

“Oh my god,” Kunimi whispered, voice trembling. “They’re spooning.”

Matsukawa squinted, “That’s not just spooning. That’s post-nut coma level of intimacy.”

“Do you think they’re dead?” Yahaba whispered, concerned.

Kyoutani cracked his knuckles. “Want me to check?”

“No! We won’t wake them up. We'll study them. Like rare, undiscovered creatures.” Matsukawa declared sagely, rubbing his chin.

Iwaizumi sighed heavily, already nursing an incoming headache, "You guys are unbelievable.”

Hanamaki grinned and whipped out his phone. “I’m preserving this for science.”

Click.

The bright, blinding flash went off like a miniature sun.

Oikawa’s eyes snapped open, "Are you trying to burn my fucking retinas?!”

You stirred at the sound of his scream, groggy and confused. “Wha—”

Oikawa was still blinking aggressively, rubbing his assaulted eyeballs.

The realization hit you like a truck.

There were at least ten pairs of eyes staring at you. Hanamaki was grinning like a madman, still holding up his phone. Matsukawa looked vaguely ready to faint. Yahaba had a hand over his mouth like he’d just witnessed a murder. Kyoutani was just nodding approvingly.

Oikawa, still seeing spots, waved a hand in front of his face. “Why is everything blue?”

“What the fuck?!” you screeched, jolting upright so fast you nearly ate shit off the bench.

Oikawa blinked, his vision clearing slowly. “You were all over me!”

“Bullshit! You were clinging to me like a goddamn koala!”

“You were basically humping my leg—”

“You had me in a fucking headlock!”

“The fuck I had—”

Matsukawa smirked. “So it’s confirmed. You two fucked.”

“We did not fuck!” you both exclaim in unison.

“Whoa, whoa, no need to be shy,” Hanamaki said, waving his hands. “We’re all friends here. If you wanna tell us about how Oikawa rearranged your cervical vertebrae—”

“You shut your whore mouth.”

Iwaizumi, pinching the bridge of his nose, finally intervened, pointing towards the opposite direction, “You know there’s an emergency exit at the back, right?”

Deafening silence. Slowly, every head turned towards him.

Oikawa uttered a bone-chilling wail. So filled with sheer despair, that even Kyoutani took a step back.

You barely had time to register the crippling humiliation before your vision blurred, your legs gave out, and you dramatically hit the floor. The last thing you saw before the world tilted sideways was Hanamaki still grinning like a shithead.

Safe to say, you didn’t so much as breathe in the direction of the outside world that entire weekend.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Oikawa Tooru was many things.

Dramatic? Probably.
Petty? Absolutely.
An elite athlete with devastatingly good looks and a sharp, unparalleled volleyball IQ? Yes, yes, and yes.

But above all else, he was suspicious as hell.

And right now, you were giving him every reason to be.

It had started small. He thought at first, maybe it was the events of last Friday that made you act a little weird, which to be fair, was completely understandable.

You were hunched over your desk in class, grinning at your phone, thumbs moving at the speed of light.

You giggled at something which was definitely not as funny as him. Even Iwaizumi, who had been half-asleep, opened one eye to glance at you.

The kind of behavior that made his very large and very sexy brain sound an alarm.

But the final straw came, when he realized you were not paying attention to him.

That was unheard of. Who in their right mind would do that?

He was mid-sentence talking on a matter of high importance (himself), when he noticed.

"Blah blah blah, my jump serve, blah blah, national team—"

"Uh-huh."

"—obviously, I’m going pro, and—"

"Sure, sure."

Oikawa blinked. So this is how it is.

You weren’t even pretending to listen. You were nodding along like he was some random, unimportant side character.

And so he did what any sophisticated, mature person would do,

He tested you.

“You’re knocked up and I’m the father.”

"Mhm."

Oikawa choked on air. Oh, you were so busted.

He slammed his hands on the table, making the trays rattle and several people in the cafeteria jump.

"You're not even listening to me!"

You blinked up at him, vaguely confused. "Huh?"

He narrowed his eyes. "I just told you I got you pregnant, and you agreed. Is this how you treat your baby daddy?"

You groaned, setting your phone down. "Oikawa, what the hell is wrong with you?"

"Oh, I don’t know! Maybe the fact that you’ve been acting super shady lately? Always texting, always sneaking off. You’ve barely even insulted me today, and frankly, I feel unloved."

You rolled your eyes, exhilarated, standing up, "You’re ridiculous."

"And you are hiding something!" Oikawa accused, pointing at you like he was a judge sentencing you to life in prison.

You ignored him, walking away with your phone pressed to your ear.

That was when he heard it.

"Sure, after school works. I’ll meet you then."

Oikawa’s entire body snapped to attention. After school? You had plans? Secret plans?

Something deep in his chest twisted. A very manly emotion (which was definitely not jealousy) clawed up his throat.

His brain scrambled for logical explanations.

Maybe you had a secret hobby. Maybe you were running an underground fight club, summoning demons in a Walmart parking lot, or dropping acid with the town’s most questionable philosophers.

Or you were cheating,

On Iwaizumi,

On him, on your entire friendship.

And so, as a totally sane and rational person, Oikawa did the only logical thing.

He followed you after school.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

He was not an idiot. (That was debatable, Iwaizumi would say, but who asked for his opinion.)

He knew that if he was going to follow you, he needed to blend in. Which was why he came prepared with a foolproof disguise;

A black hoodie that he definitely did not steal from Iwaizumi.
Sunglasses, ugly, purchased at a konbini for 500 yen.
And a beanie, because that’s what spies wear.

It was the perfect disguise. He looked inconspicuous, he looked mysterious, he looked–

"Mommy, why is that man dressed like a pervert?"

Oikawa halted on the spot.

A small girl clutched her mother’s hand, staring at him with wide, terrified eyes.

The mother took one look at his all-black outfit, oversized sunglasses, and suspicious stance behind a vending machine, and immediately dragged her child away.

Oikawa scowled, pulling his hoodie lower. "Unbelievable. Even children don’t recognize greatness when they see it."

Shaking off the very minor humiliation, he turned his attention back to you.

And that was when he really paid attention to it, and his brain ceased to function.

You were dressed up.

This was you we were talking about. You, whose skirt length could be used as a ruler standard. You, who followed dress regulations with the kind of dedication that made teachers sleep easy at night. You, who he had never seen in anything outside of “strictly abiding by the student handbook.”

But right now, you were in a dress. A real one, one that clung in very unfair places, that caught the afternoon light just right. He exhaled sharply, suddenly very aware of the heat creeping up his neck.

He had never seen you like this, not once. And even worse–

Who the hell were you all dolled-up for?!

His eyes snapped back to you, analyzing every detail.

You were definitely wearing a sundress. One that accentuated every part of your body, hugged it closely, the curve of your waist, swayed with every step you–

He shook his head aggressively.
No. Focus. Mission.

You checked your phone, smiled, and kept walking.

Oikawa gritted his teeth. This was becoming personal.

You walked ahead, completely unaware of a dumbass sulking behind you.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───30 Minutes into the worst mission of his life, dodging street signs, so far he had:

- Tripped over a curb and played it off like he was stretching.

- Ducked behind old ladies.

- Accidentally fell into a flower display, knocking over three bouquets and earning a loud scolding from the florist.

(“You break it, you buy it!”)

(“Do I look like I need roses right now, lady?!”)

So far though, you were roaming around by yourself, shuffling through streets. He wondered for a hot minute if you were mildly schizophrenic and the phone call was just you talking to yourself.

That was before you turned to a corner and he saw who you were meeting.

Oikawa felt his body go limp. He took off his sunglasses and rubbed his eyes agressively to make sure he wasn't being tricked.

When he realized he indeed wasn't, his heart stopped and his entire world came crashing down.

Because standing there, waiting with his stupid broad shoulders, his stupid blank face, and his stupid 'I gargle gravel and call it a morning routine' energy was;

Ushijima Wakatoshi.

His hands came up to his mouth to contain the very real, very manly scream threatening to explode from his throat.

What in the ever fucking fuck to have ever fucked is this fuckery?

You were meeting Ushijima?!?

You were meeting Ushijima....

You were meeting Ushijima.

Oikawa felt physically ill. Was this a date? Was the whole deal between you and him a fluke? Were you into that barnyard demon? Was this some cruel punishment for all his sins?

You were consorting with the enemy. Oikawa felt a deep, soul-crushing betrayal settle into his bones. The tightness in his chest turned into something ugly and sharp, and he hated it.

Despite every logical instinct screaming at him to run, he crouched behind a trash can, adjusting his sunglasses.

He's not giving up now. Definitely not after seeing who you're meeting with behind his back.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───