Work Text:
they're not supposed to make it.
he doesn't need to see iwaizumi's skeptical expression, doesn't need to catch a glimpse of the texts from sugawara on tobio's phone, doesn't need anyone else's guesses and assumptions and predictions and he certainly doesn't need that rumor of a betting pool to know that they're not supposed to make it.
he knows that. he was probably born knowing that he and tobio were destined to clash and to meet and get tangled up in each other and end up catching flame before finally burning up—it only takes looking at the pair of them to know.
but the fact is he doesn't care. he doesn't care that he and tobio are the star-crossed lovers of the tragedies or that every poem about doomed love makes him think about them, always, always.
it's never mattered, just like it's never mattered how far he goes or how good he gets, because tobio will always be at his tail, will always be fighting to stand shoulder to shoulder with him, and maybe oikawa wants to see what that looks like, wants to know what it feels like to let someone measure up to him so that he might finally understand what it feels like to not always know something, to not always know everything.
would it hurt to be surprised?
it would not be a stretch to admit that his life has in some way revolved around tobio for some time. ever since they met in middle school, ever since he first saw him play, ever since oikawa was switched out for tobio during a match—his center of gravity hasn't been the same, since then, and he doesn't expect that to change anytime soon, so maybe, just maybe he wants to see what this could be.
it will likely blow up in his face, he's sure. but he wants the chance to experience for himself, to get a taste for it, to inhale it like he does the air between the space of their mouths when they pull away from a kiss, to feel it like he feels tobio's muscles shift as he slides over oikawa, to take it for what it is in each moment instead of constantly looking forward, looking to when it's going to fall apart.
and he's still going to do that, of course, because he's him and he can't not think of every eventuality, and maybe one day he'll be sitting in an apartment by himself, trying to find the exact moment when it went wrong, or when it started to go wrong, or maybe he'll think to himself that it always wrong from the start.
but that doesn't mean he won't give everything he has, while he can. has he ever known how to do anything else, when it comes to kageyama tobio?
maybe he'll realize that just because it was doomed doesn't mean it was wrong at all.
it doesn't matter, then—what matters is that it happens at all. and he can live with knowing that.
next to him, tobio rouses slowly, stirring with a soft groan and a twitch, and oikawa can't help but snort, running his hand idly through the black strands of hair, feeling so much like feathers to the touch. his eyes are stupidly blue, oikawa thinks to himself as they blink blearily open, bolts of deep color that, sappily enough, oikawa could look at for a long while.
behind oikawa, the sun filters through the window, drawing patterns on tobio's face, and oikawa inhales.
"good morning," he murmurs, and it is.