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.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───