Archive of Our Own ^beta

The Tokyo heat lingers long after the sun has set for the night. Usually Kageyama is one of the first to fall asleep, but tonight the warmth keeps him up.

The sweat that falls from his nape onto the pillow underneath is easily wiped away but no matter how many times he turns, the discomforting feeling of being stifled doesn’t leave. He looks around to see if anybody else is experiencing the same sensation but all of his teammates are fast asleep, filling the room with an eerie kind of stillness. It’s when one of the first years begins to snore that Kageyama finally pushes himself off his back. The clock on his phone reads midnight just as he finally grabs his wallet and room key and leaves to clear his head.

In a city of 9 million, Kageyama isn’t the only one unable to sleep that night. Outside, the streets surrounding the hostel are filled with young people rushing around to bars and clubs. It’s hard to believe with all the noise and lights that he’s not even a block away from the tranquil hostel yet. A couple jostles Kageyama’s shoulder as they run past, the woman giggling out an apology over her shoulder as she allows herself to be pulled along by her boyfriend.

He turns down the next corner onto a quieter street. There’s still muffled noise from a club nearby, but the crowds are thinner and the air feels cooler for it. Kageyama distantly remembers as he rounds another corner that he should probably be paying more attention to his route so he can make it back to the hostel.

The alley he turns onto is almost empty, save for a group of girls chatting loudly near the far end and a tall figure hunched over one of the vending machines against the wall. Kageyama makes a beeline towards the other unoccupied machine a few feet away. 

Just as he’s trying to choose between two flavors of energy drinks, the man at the other vending machine sighs loudly and Kageyama looks over reflexively. The man is frowning down at his wallet, side profile thrown into shadow by the streetlight overhead. The street is dark, but even in dim lighting Kageyama recognizes that face.

He speaks without realizing.

“Oikawa-san?”

There’s a split second when the figure turns towards him where Kageyama thinks he must have been mistaken. Something about Oikawa seems different—maybe the extra muscle and height he’s put on over the past year, or that he’s wearing jeans instead of athletic pants or a school uniform, or maybe the way his face lights up with something resembling genuine delight when he realizes who’s speaking to him.

“Tobio-chan?”

Something about that also sounds off, and Kageyama realizes after a beat that it’s because the endearment is lacking its usual mockery. Even more unexpected is the way Oikawa approaches him with his arms open.

“Wha—”

Kageyama is too shocked to react as Oikawa pulls him into a tight hug. He smells like cologne, and smoke, and something bitter he can’t place. Kageyama freezes, rigid in place, until Oikawa pulls back a long second later.

“Wow, it really is you,” Oikawa says, still smiling in that unnervingly genuine way.

It’s only when he pulls back that Kageyama is able to link together that bitter smell with the way Oikawa’s cheeks are flushed pink, eyes glassy—how careless he is with affection and how loosely he holds his limbs.

Kageyama’s nose scrunches up. “Are you drunk?”

Oikawa’s cheerful expression drops into a more familiar scowl. “I see you’re just as blunt and un-cute as ever. If you must know, I was out for drinks like us mature university students do on occasion. Ah, but what are you doing here?”

“Training camp.”

“Oh?” Oikawa tilts his head to the side. “With which school?”

“Nekoma.”

“Not a university then? What a pity! I would’ve liked to crush you even if it were just in a practice match.”

That sounds more like the Oikawa that Kageyama is familiar with, and he tries to shake the persistent feeling that something is off.

“Speaking of,” Oikawa continues, glancing over Kageyama’s shoulder like he’s somehow hiding something behind his thin form. “Where is chibi-chan and the rest of your crow cohort?”

“Back at the hostel. I just stepped outside for a walk.”

“Ah. They’re all being too loud for you, then?”

“No. Just couldn’t sleep.”

Oikawa nods and falls silent for a moment. His eyes sweep over Kageyama, and he tries not to tense too obviously under the scrutiny. “You’ve gotten taller. Not as tall as me, of course." 

Kageyama frowns. “Not yet. I’m still growing.”

“So what?” Oikawa sticks out his tongue childishly. “So am I!”

Kageyama doubts that, but doesn’t want to risk starting something with Oikawa when he’s in such an unpredictable state. It’s odd enough seeing him without his usual level of control. He wonders if Oikawa would be this friendly with all his former rivals after a few drinks and has to smother a smile at the thought of Oikawa willingly hugging Ushijima.

“You know, you finding me here almost feels like middle school all over again,” Oikawa says, and for once it looks like his memory of that time might be happy. “Back when you were still following me around everywhere. You were much cuter back then, of course. Although, I wish you had matured past following me into sketchy alleys.”

“Sketchy—” Kageyama whips his head around to check for anything suspicious but Oikawa cuts him off with a laugh.

“Taller, but still as gullible and jumpy as ever,” He grins. “I suppose I shouldn’t tease you, though. I’m lucky that you ended up here.”

The strange feeling returns. Kageyama narrows his brows in confusion. “Lucky?”

“Yes, lucky.” Oikawa gestures with his thumb to the vending machine behind them. “Sadly, I’m a few coins short to get the brand I like. But thankfully I ran into my cute kouhai in my time of need!” 

Kageyama scowls. “I’m not lending you any money. Just get something cheaper." 

“Not possible!” Oikawa sing-songs. And then, in the blink of an eye, the cheerful look on his face drops off into something more coy. “You see, I’m very particular about what I put into my body.”

Kageyama can feel his face begin to flush. He’s always hated the way that Oikawa talks in riddles, always cloaking hidden meanings in confusing idioms and innuendo. This, however, is something even he understands. Oikawa leans back onto the vending machine, pushing the open collar of his shirt even further, exposing his collarbones. It must be purposeful, but he does it with an ease that makes it seem natural. Kageyama swallows, forces his eyes back up to Oikawa’s face. He’d almost forgotten Oikawa was drunk until he sees how far the flush spreads down his chest, and the way he’s looking up through half-lidded eyes.

Symptoms of inebriation, Kageyama thinks, recalling health class and parties thrown by returning upperclassmen. Improved mood, relaxed state, lowered inhibitions.

“Please, Tobio?” His eyes are glossy, bottom lip wet as he sticks it out into a pout.

Kageyama tears his eyes away, stumbling backward as he fumbles for his wallet. He keeps his eyes down as he counts change, refusing to look directly at Oikawa’s face as he does so.

“Whatever. Is...is this enough?”

Oikawa’s fingers burn hot against his hand as he grabs the coins.

“It’ll do,” he murmurs. His fingers linger on Kageyama’s palm for a long second, and then they’re gone. “Thanks Tobio-chan!”

Kageyama doesn’t look up until he’s sure Oikawa’s back is turned. He watches his figure glide over to the other vending machine, somehow still graceful in everything he does despite the intoxication. Kageyama steadies himself against the machine in front of him with his hand. He almost gets his heart rate back down to normal when a loud voice interrupts his concentration.

“Oikawa!”

Looking in the direction of the voice, Kageyama notices a man approaching Oikawa from down the street. He’s looks taller than Oikawa, and muscular. A teammate, Kageyama guesses from his build, although he doesn’t recognize him immediately from the roster he’s seen of Oikawa’s team.

Oikawa cocks his hip. “You’re finally done with your phone call?”

“Yeah, sorry,” the man apologizes. “Did you get them?”

“Of course,” Oikawa says, and holds up a distinctive foil packet up to the light.

It’s then that Kageyama realizes he had baselessly assumed Oikawa was using the money to buy a drink. He glances to the side— Safety for You! reads the vending machine in large English lettering. Not drinks after all, he realizes, stomach dropping, and remembers Oikawa’s careful wording.

Kageyama knows he shouldn’t be staring so obviously, but he can’t take his eyes off the way Oikawa makes a show of sliding the condom into his back pocket.

“Let’s go, then. I’m tired of waiting.”

He meets Kageyama’s gaze for a split second before he turns his back, tugging on the belt loop of the man that Kageyama now suspects is not a teammate after all, and walks away.

Kageyama watches their retreat long enough to see the man’s hand settle into Oikawa’s back pocket as they turn the corner.

He buys a coffee instead of the sport drink he was planning to buy earlier and barely manages to retrace his steps back to the hostel. By the time he gets up to the room he feels more restless than before, and now they’re supposed to be up in five hours. All he can do is lie in bed and hope that the match tomorrow will make him forget everything about this night.

The encounter is good for one thing, despite the lack of sleep it caused. Kageyama plays like something under his skin is itching to get out.

Seeing Oikawa shouldn’t have affected him. He’d always been an uncomfortable reminder of things Kageyama wishes he could forget, but he thought he’d put that piece of history behind him. This feels different—like the fresh burn of branded skin instead of the lingering pain of a scar.

He knows he’s chasing a spectre as he scans the empty bleachers during the cool-down run, but that doesn’t stop him from looking.

“Are you okay?” Hinata whispers to him as they stretch.

Hinata hasn’t sounded that hesitant around him for more than a year so he supposes he must look pretty shaken. Kageyama thinks about Oikawa’s collarbones, and his flushed cheeks, and that condom packet clutched tightly between two long fingers. His palms ache.

“Yeah,” he says, and hopes it’s true. It must be, because there’s no reason it shouldn’t be. 

The feeling that he’s being watched doesn’t fade until they’re an hour into the bus ride back to Miyagi. But volleyball picks back up as the season moves on, and after a month or so the memory of a hand sliding into Oikawa’s back pocket is shoved to the back of his mind.

In retrospect, Kageyama would probably consider Oikawa his first crush.

He’d fallen first, predictably, for his volleyball. It’s the elegant cruelty of Oikawa’s serve that sticks out in Kageyama’s memory most, perhaps for the way it represents the man himself—that razor-sharp charm that both lured people in and kept them at a distance simultaneously. His looks too, of course, although at the time Kageyama had mistaken his jealousy of Oikawa’s girlfriends as a different kind of envy.

It had taken a few years for him to reconcile the feelings of longing and rejection he felt back then as something only mostly related to volleyball, and once he’d figured that out, looking back at their shared history through cherry-colored lenses made everything more clear. It made sense now, why that sting of rejection had hurt twofold—that Oikawa did not want him, had resented Kageyama the whole time—but it was easier to face rejection without a face to reject him.

Kageyama had slipped into his sexuality as easily as he’d slipped on his crown, and wonders why it had taken so long for him to figure out. He supposes he could blame Oikawa for confusing him for years with those conflicting feelings of hatred and affection—Kageyama blames the majority of his adolescent issues on him, anyway.

But times have changed. Oikawa is one of many spectres now that Kageyama chases after on the court. The tall figment that Kageyama looked up to in the past is not the same as the figure Kageyama now stands almost at eye-level with.

Any feelings that may have surfaced from encountering Oikawa again are residual. Kageyama stops himself from re-examining everything he’d already re-examined a hundred times. Just because he saw that man’s hand slip into Oikawa’s pocket doesn’t mean that the past has changed.

Kageyama replaces the Oikawa with warm hands and exposed collarbones in his mind with the Oikawa who had once raised a hand to him with intent, and moves on.

It’s months before Kageyama runs into Oikawa again.

December has arrived and practice has tapered down in preparation for exams and the holidays. Breaks have never sat well with Kageyama. Normally he’d practice by himself, but the low temperatures and foot of snow make for bad training conditions, leaving him full of restless energy and without any outlet for it.

It’s not only Kageyama who grows restless.

“If you’re going to pace around the house so much at least use your energy for something useful,” says his mother one day, clearly fed up with him. She digs money out from her purse. “We’re out of rice and milk. You can buy yourself whatever you’d like with the change." 

Kageyama takes the excuse with the money and leaves.

There’s a convenience store close to their apartment, but as Kageyama approaches it he finds himself reluctant to cut his walk short. Instead, he keeps walking until the buildings become strangers, then familiar again. It’s an area he hasn’t frequented in years, with no reason to return lest unwanted memories from middle school resurface. He’s mostly made his peace with that part of his past, though, and now the only painful memories that come to mind are recollections of sore muscles and bruised palms.

The convenience store hasn’t changed much since he’d last visited. The girl working behind the counter looks too young to not be new, but the milk and rice are exactly where they used to be. Neither costs much, and Kageyama figures he’ll have enough money left over to cover the cost of a decent muscle ointment. With nothing to do but sit-ups in his room for exercise his lower back has been aching. He holds up a tub of ointment and squints, trying to read the label’s tiny lettering.

“You’re better off buying this brand instead.”

Kageyama freezes, and the tub almost slips from his fingers. He whips his head around and there Oikawa is, pointing a long finger at one of the other tubs on the shelf, not bothering to look in Kageyama’s direction.

“Oikawa-san.”

“The one you’re holding isn’t bad,” Oikawa continues as if Kageyama hadn’t spoken. “But this brand is cheaper and you get a lot more ointment. Even someone as bad at math as you must understand that’s a better deal, right?” 

He slips the tub into Kageyama’s basket without asking and Kageyama, caught off guard, slides the one in his hand back onto the shelf wordlessly.

“You’re pretty far from home,” Oikawa says, finally meeting Kageyama’s eyes. He’s wearing a large scarf and fuzzy earmuffs that flatten his usual styled hair. “And on such a cold night.”

“The school gym is closed for exams. I was just trying to walk off my energy.”

“Let me guess.” Oikawa taps his chin thoughtfully. “You couldn’t play volleyball in the gym so you’ve been exercising in your room, except you overdid it and now your muscles are sore?” 

Kageyama scowls, but that just makes Oikawa laugh.

“So predictable, Tobio-chan! Only you would walk all the way over here with sore muscles on such a cold night. Cold air makes muscles tense up, you know?”

Kageyama glares at him. “You’re out, too.”

Kageyama tries to subtly glance into Oikawa’s basket to see what he’s buying that must be so important, but Oikawa catches on, as always, and holds his basket up so that Kageyama can see inside more easily.

“I’m not out because I want to be. My nephew’s sick, so I’m running errands for my sister.” He waves the cold medicine in front of Kageyama’s face. “They’re lucky I’m kind enough to offer them help.”

“Your sick nephew needs face masks and saké?”

Oikawa flushes and pulls his basket back down. “Obviously those are for me!”

It’s rare that Kageyama is able to fluster Oikawa. Usually it’s the other way around, so he takes in the sight of Oikawa’s discomfort in awe. He stares a beat too long for it to be normal, probably, because Oikawa’s expression fades into one of mild disgust. 

“You’re so creepy, Tobio-chan. Don’t you ever get tired of staring at me?” 

“I don’t stare—”

“That was rhetorical,” Oikawa interrupts, and extends his hand. “Anyway, give me your basket.”

Images of Tokyo flash back to him suddenly—of Oikawa’s hand extended just like that asking for money, of his shirt collar drooping open. Kageyama’s grip on the handle tightens. “Why?”

Oikawa rolls his eyes. “You’re so defensive. What do you think I’m going to do with it? Steal your groceries? That’s rhetorical too, by the way.”

“Then what do you need it for?”

“I have to spell everything out for you, don’t I?” Oikawa retracts his hand and runs it through his bangs, looking exasperated. “I’m trying to treat you.”

“Oh.” Kageyama blinks, and feels guilty for his suspicion. “Oh. You don’t have to do that.”

“Of course I don’t! How lucky of you to have such a generous upperclassman! You wouldn’t want to insult that generosity by turning down my kindness, would you?”

The words are kind but Oikawa’s expression is not, and whatever spurned this kindness, Oikawa doesn’t say. Kageyama wonders it’s guilt—a belated attempt to right wrongs from middle school. Or, a voice in the back of his head suggests, maybe it’s Oikawa’s way of buying his silence. Kageyama feels a second rush of guilt at the thought of Oikawa worrying that he’d spread news around about what he saw in Tokyo. He wonders if Oikawa’s spent the past few months anxiously waiting for rumors to surface.

“I’ll keep quiet,” Kageyama blurts out, and Oikawa’s eyes widen slightly. “I haven’t told anyone about what I saw and I won’t, even if you don’t pay for me.”

“I know that,” Oikawa says slowly, his face blank. “And I don’t care if you do tell anyone, anyway. This isn’t hush money. You lent me some change and I’m just repaying the favor.”

“I only lent you a few coins.”

Oikawa eyes him in annoyance. “You know, most people aren’t this rude to people trying to do them a favor.”

Kageyama wants to tell him that he’s paying with his mother’s money, but Oikawa looks like he’s one step away from irritated and Kageyama realizes that it’s probably best to keep quiet.

“Sorry. Thank you,” he says instead, and holds the basket out for Oikawa to take.

Oikawa smiles, and it would almost look genuine if it weren’t for his trademark smugness. “That’s more like it.”

Kageyama hangs back as Oikawa pays and asks for separate bags, flustering the poor cashier by complimenting her hair. He tugs at a strand of his own home-trimmed hair and tries not to feel jealous.

There’s a layer of snow on the pavement when they step outside, just light enough that it makes Kageyama think of powdered sugar on a pastry.

“Oh,” Oikawa says, looking up towards the clouds. Flakes melt as they hit his red cheeks, but stick to his eyelashes like glitter. Kageyama can’t tear his eyes away. “It’s snowing.”

Oikawa meets his gaze. And instead of mocking him for staring like he usually does, he smiles.

“Brain freeze?”

And then, suddenly—bafflingly—Oikawa removes his earmuffs and shoves them onto Kageyama’s head. His hair sticks up at odd angles because of it, messy in a way Oikawa’s hair almost never is, even sweat-drenched after the third set of a match.

“Idiots don’t catch colds, but you were always good at beating people’s expectations of you,” Oikawa says, and starts walking away. Over his shoulder, he calls: “And stop doing sit-ups in your room, dumbass. There are other ways to exercise." 

Kageyama wants to ask what he means by that, but Oikawa is already halfway down the block. He finds out what he meant later anyway when he hands the groceries off to his mom and finds a folded-up flyer advertising youth volleyball lessons tucked in at the bottom of the bag.

The rest of the week is cold—so cold that Kageyama isn’t even tempted to exercise, choosing instead to spend his free time under the kotatsu watching volleyball videos on his laptop and cat videos that Hinata forwards him. Saturday arrives with warmer temperatures and Kageyama is grateful for it. He grabs the flyer just before he leaves, along with Oikawa’s earmuffs. 

He’d intended on arriving late to avoid getting roped into helping out with the clinic, but when he steps into the gym there are still a few children crowded around Oikawa, talking excitedly. He hovers awkwardly by the wall, wondering if maybe he shouldn’t have showed up after all. Before he can make a break for it, though, Oikawa catches his gaze and quickly dismisses the kids to their parents waiting by the door.

Oikawa raises his eyebrows when he sees Kageyama out holding his earmuffs.

“Here,” Kageyama says, motioning them towards Oikawa. “Thank you. My mom bought me a hat.”

“Ah,” Oikawa says, fingers hesitating before he accepts them. “I wasn’t expecting you to return these, you know. Most girls like to keep the letterman jacket.”

“Jacket—?”

“Nevermind.” Oikawa rolls his eyes and throws the earmuffs on top of his athletic bag. “It was a joke. I thought you weren’t coming.”

Kageyama scratches his neck awkwardly. “I didn’t want to interrupt. I’m no good with kids.”

“You don’t have to be. As long as you’re good at volleyball, you’re a god to them.”

“I’m not—good at that either.”

He leaves it at that. Oikawa of all people will know what he means. He watches Oikawa gather up the mess of volleyballs from the ground for a minute before he realizes, belatedly, that he should help, and bends down to pick up the ball closest to him.

“You can leave that one out,” Oikawa says, and Kageyama stares blankly, fingers hovering an inch from the ball. “Or are you not planning on practicing?”

Kageyama stares at him, dumbly. “Here? Don’t they need the gym?”

“Did you really just come here to return the earmuffs? They don’t need the gym. Not for another hour, at least. I’ve been using the extra time after to work on my serves over break.” Oikawa pushes the bin of volleyballs against the wall and picks up the one on top, passing it carefully between his hands. “Feel free to stay. Or leave, I guess, it’s up to you.” 

Kageyama stays.

Oikawa has already started working on his serves by the time Kageyama starts his warm up jog. It feels familiar in a way it shouldn’t.

Kageyama wonders if this is what he’d wanted when he begged Oikawa to teach him his serve all those years ago and thinks that it isn’t. Back then Oikawa was unreachable. Now, he stands just a centimeter taller than Kageyama with his weight kept methodically off one knee, wiping his brow with a sweaty stretched-out t-shirt. If Kageyama wanted to, he could reach out and touch him.

No gym Kageyama and Oikawa have ever shared has felt comfortable, and although Oikawa has always set him on edge it’s never been this particular brand of tension. In fact, Kageyama realises, the last time they’d shared a gym alone, Oikawa had raised his hand up high with something fierce behind his eyes and—

Smack!

Kageyama turns his head in time to see Oikawa descending from his serve, hand surely still stinging from the force of the hit. He barely registers that he’s stopped jogging until he realises he can’t quite move his legs, shaken in a way he can’t explain. The hot determination in Oikawa’s eyes is still there, all these years later, except now none of that heat is directed at Kageyama. The realization of how different things are now between him and Oikawa stirs something in his guts as he realizes he doesn’t understand where he stands with Oikawa anymore. Not friends, certainly, but also not quite rivals.

“What are you doing?”

Oikawa doesn’t pause his serve. It hits the ground with a loud slam. “I would think that much was obvious.” 

“No, what are you doing with—this. With me. With the groceries and the earmuffs.”

Oikawa still doesn’t glance his way. “Is me being nice really that suspicious to you that you’d think I have some sort of hidden agenda?”

Kageyama doesn’t respond. Oikawa finally meets his eyes, and it turns out it doesn’t matter. Kageyama doesn’t find what he is looking for there.

“Is this your way of apologizing?” He tries again.

Even as he says it he knows that’s not quite right—he and Oikawa had more or less put the past behind them at Spring High, and when Kageyama asked him for advice, and then again when he ran into Oikawa and Iwaizumi before they’d headed off to university and he wished them well. Kageyama isn't waiting for an apology, so why does it feel like the air still isn't cleared between them?

Oikawa kneels then to readjust his knee brace and Kageyama is reminded again of just how human he has become, how different he seems now from that indomitable silhouette he’d cast in the past.

“Is that what you want this to be?” Oikawa looks up and his gaze is so unflinchingly direct that Kageyama shivers, even under the hot lights of the humid gym. “Or do you want something else?”

He stands, stretching his arms high above his head and Kageyama’s eyes drift down to the light patch of hair peeking over the waistband of Oikawa’s compression shorts.

“I—” Kageyama stops to swallow, his throat suddenly dry. “I don’t know what I want.”

“Well,” Oikawa says, grabbing another ball from the bin behind him. “When you figure it out, you know where to find me.”

Kageyama watches Oikawa launch into a jump serve and land on his good leg with practiced carefulness, and spends the rest of the hour trying to forget the sight.

Last year, just before the end of the school year, a senpai from the girl’s volleyball club confessed to Kageyama. She’d thrust an envelope into his hand and run off before he could say anything, although he wouldn’t have known what to say even if she’d stayed. He’d told Hinata as much, who seemed surprised it had caught him off guard.

“I knew you were oblivious, but you really couldn’t tell?” he’d asked. “She’s been flirting with you for months.”

It doesn’t do any good trying to compare that situation to what he has now. That senpai bore no resemblance to Oikawa. Collected and calm, her version of flirting had been to quietly offer Kageyama advice and wish him good luck before tournaments. Compared to Oikawa, who wraps his compliments in veiled insults and bats his eyelashes at everyone he meets, there isn’t much to go off of.

He drafts a message to send to Hinata—how do i know if someone is flirting with me?—but quickly deletes it.

It turns out that suspecting what Oikawa wants from him does nothing to lessen Kageyama’s confusion. He’d always wanted Oikawa in some capacity. Mentorship at first, and then friendship, although he’d only ever ended up with a diluted version of either. Kageyama had never considered Oikawa wanting him as anything more than an unattainable fantasy. Now, with that opportunity possibly dangling in front of him, he finds himself unsure of what to do.

That night Kageyama walks to the convenience store near his old middle school and loiters around in the cold for no other reason than that he might run into Oikawa like he had the time before. It doesn’t happen. After 30 minutes of pacing he gives up, settling down onto the curb below his feet.

And sitting on the curb outside the convenience store in the cold night air, Kageyama thinks he finally knows what he wants, if not how to ask for it.

In what is sure to become a tradition, Karasuno’s alumni throw a party on New Year’s Eve. It’s probably Sugawara’s idea, although the party itself is held in Asahi’s one-bedroom apartment. It’s too small of a space to comfortably fit all of them, and Kageyama ends up jammed into the corner of the cramped kitchen, beer thrust into his hand by an over-eager Hinata.

“I don’t want one,” he tries to refuse. 

“It’s just one,” Hinata insists. “Besides, you’ve been looking grumpy lately. Well—grumpier than normal. Alcohol’s supposed to loosen you up, right?”

Kageyama thinks about running into Oikawa in Tokyo—that easy grin of his, glossy lips, and the casual way he’d leaned against the vending machine. The memory is enough to prompt a long gulp of beer while Hinata cheers him on.

“That’s the spirit!” He laughs, and then disappears before Kageyama even lowers his bottle, apparently leaving to watch Tanaka shotgun a can of beer on the other side of the room. 

It’s nice to see the alumni again. They haven’t lost touch with each other, of course, but it’s different seeing them in person than through a computer screen or in a group chat. He likes hearing about their university teams and areas of study. For a minute, it almost feels like he’s a first year at Karasuno again.

“It’s good to see you again,” Daichi says after Kageyama tells him how the new first years are holding up. “Cheers.” 

He taps his beer can against the one in Kageyama’s hand.

“Cheers,” Kageyama echoes, and takes a deep sip.

By the time Kageyama is halfway through his third beer his head starts to get cloudy.

“I’m going to step outside,” he tells Asahi, who nods him off. The rest of them are too absorbed in whatever story Hinata is rattling on about to notice him slipping out through the door. 

He leans against the balcony, staring down at the street down below. The air outside is cool enough to make Kageyama wish he’d thought to bring his coat out with him. Instead, he pulls the cuffs of his athletic jacket down far enough to cover his knuckles. A couple walks past below holding hands and Kageyama tries not to wonder what Oikawa is up to at that moment. Is he out with Iwaizumi? Drinking alone? The cold air must not have sobered him up enough, because before he can think better of it Kageyama pulls out his phone and scrolls down to Oikawa’s contact info.

happy new year, he types and hits send before he can change his mind. His phone buzzes just moments later.

tobio-chan it’s not even midnight yet

Kageyama feels his cheeks heat and wishes he hadn’t bothered to send the text. Before he can pocket his phone, though, it starts to buzz again, this time with an incoming call. Kageyama doesn’t even look at the contact before picking up.

“Hello?”

“Tobio-chan!” Oikawa croons. “Couldn’t wait until midnight to talk to me?” 

“It was a mass text. I didn’t send it to just you,” Kageyama lies.

“Of course not!” Oikawa says brightly, and Kageyama knows he doesn’t believe him.

“Whatever. Shouldn’t you be busy celebrating with—” The image of the man he saw leave with Oikawa in Tokyo comes to mind unbidden, and Kageyama cuts himself off awkwardly. “Uh, Iwaizumi-san?”

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa draws out slowly. “Is in Tokyo with his girlfriend right now.”

“Ah.” Kageyama bites his lip. “Then—someone else?”

“Of course!” Kageyama’s heart stills for a second, and then—“Takeru, my cute nephew! Although, he’s still sick and is snoring quite loudly, so I wouldn’t consider him great company." 

“Oh.” Kageyama hopes he doesn’t sound too relieved.

There’s a few seconds of silence on the other end followed by the noise of floorboards creaking. His mind tries to fill in the gaps, and he hates himself for picturing Oikawa in old athletic gear, stretched out on the floor.

“And you, Tobio?”

“What?” Kageyama says distractedly, before realizing what he’s asking. “Oh, my team. The old one. There’s a get-together at Asahi-san’s apartment.”

“How social of you! I would’ve guessed you’d spend the night watching videos in your room and missing the countdown.” 

Kageyama flushes with the realization that that’s exactly how he spent last year, and feels the need to prove Oikawa wrong. 

“It’s fun. Nishinoya-senpai brought beer.”

Oikawa laughs. “So that’s what happened. You had a few beers and thought to message your senpai.”

“That’s not—”

“It’s okay,” Oikawa says. “I’ve had a few drinks too.”

Oikawa’s voice is low as he says it. Kageyama’s throat feels dry. “Your nephew—”

“—Is asleep in the other room. What are you wearing?” 

“What?”

“Well, you’re not wearing athletic clothes, I assume. Even you wouldn’t wear that to a party.”

Kageyama is wearing his athletic jacket, but his mom had forced him to put on real clothes before he’d left. He’d complained at the time, but suddenly he’s grateful she’d forced him into this. 

“Jeans,” he says, having to look down to remember what else he’s wearing. “A black button-down.”

He’s sure he’s messing this up. Even he knows what people mean when they ask what someone’s wearing, but Kageyama doesn’t know why Oikawa asked him this, knowing he’s in public.

Oikawa doesn’t show any signs of minding his answer, though.

“So fancy!” he says, and then there’s another moment of quiet where Kageyama can hear Oikawa moving around in his apartment. The next time he speaks, his voice is just above a whisper. “Do you want to know what I’m wearing?” 

The door to Asahi’s apartment slams open then, and Kageyama is equally grateful for the way the noise covers up his undignified squeak and upset that this conversation is cut short.

“Kageyama, what the hell are you doing?” Hinata yells, uncaring that Kageyama is on the phone. “The countdown is starting soon!”

“Give me one second!” Kageyama yells back. He waits for Hinata to go back inside, but Hinata keeps standing by the door, staring at Kageyama expectantly. 

“You have to go, I assume?” Oikawa asks in his ear. His voice has lost the breathy quality from earlier, and he sounds almost detached now. It makes him anxious—nervous that they were so close to approaching something that’s now about to be dismissed.

Kageyama is grateful for the beers then, because what he says next is entirely thanks to them.

“I want to see you,” he blurts out. Hinata’s eyebrows shoot up as he stares and Kageyama almost wishes he’d hung up instead, but if he didn’t say it now he never would. 

“Then see me,” Oikawa drawls. “After midnight, when your party’s over. I’ll text you the address.” 

He hangs up without another word. Kageyama lowers the phone slowly, dreading the conversation inevitably about to follow. 

“Kageyama.” Hinata looks equally elated and devious. “You fox! Who was that?”

The apartment door slams open again. Kageyama has never been so glad to see Tanaka before.

“What the hell are you guys doing out here?” He yells, echoing what Hinata had said earlier. “You’re gonna miss the countdown!”

They hustle back indoors and get pulled almost immediately into a group huddle. It should feel stifling, all their bodies crammed into one small space, but instead it just feels warm and comfortable. Like a good memory. Somebody ruffles Kageyama’s hair, and before Kageyama can see who it is Hinata is screaming the countdown into his ear.

Midnight arrives with a cacophony of noise. Hinata’s mouth is still uncomfortably close to Kageyama’s ear, and whoever lives in the unit next door is banging what sounds like pots and pans together. Kageyama backs out of the huddle, trying to distance himself somewhat from the noise, and bumps into Sugawara, who’s holding a generously filled glass of red wine.

“Happy New Year, Kageyama,” he says, raising his glass and taking a deep sip. “To old friendships and new beginnings.”

Kageyama smiles softly. “Happy New Year, senpai.”

Things die down after that.

Some of the alumni have to work or travel the next day so Kageyama takes the opportunity to follow them out, feigning a headache. Nobody questions the lie but Hinata winks at him as he walks out and, knowing him, Kageyama’s secret won’t last much longer than the time it takes for him to shut the apartment door behind him.

Kageyama feels pretty much sober by the time he reaches Oikawa’s apartment. At least, he thinks so. He’s not sure if the way his stomach is turning uncomfortably is from the residual beer in his system or the nerves, but either way it’s not enough to keep Kageyama from marching up the steps of the apartment complex and knocking lightly on Oikawa’s door.

After a few seconds, the door cracks open just enough for the chain latch to pull taught. Oikawa’s eye peeks through the crack.

“Password?” he calls through the door, sweetly.

Kageyama rolls his eyes. “Let me in,” he says, but Oikawa doesn’t budge. Kageyama sighs. “Please, senpai? It’s cold.” 

The door closes and for a second Kageyama thinks Oikawa will draw this out, but he hears the noise of the chain unlatching and then the door opens fully. 

“You’re no fun,” Oikawa says, holding the door open for Kageyama to walk through. “For the record, the password was ‘Oikawa-senpai is amazing’.” 

Kageyama glances around when he enters. “Where’s your nephew?” he whispers.

“Takeru’s cold medicine knocked him out,” Oikawa explains. “So as long as you’re not planning on yelling at me, we shouldn’t have to worry about waking him up.”

Kageyama slips off his shoes and then closes the door behind him. “Don’t say anything annoying, then.”

“No promises!” Oikawa sing-songs.

The apartment is dimly lit, light emanating only from the kitchen and a singular candle in the living room.

“Beer?” Oikawa calls over his shoulder as he walks into the kitchen.

“No thanks.”

Oikawa returns with two Pocari’s instead. Now that he gets a look at him, Kageyama realizes that Oikawa is wearing exactly what he’d imagined when they talked on the phone—old Aoba Johsai athletic pants and a plain tee shirt.

“You made fun of me for wearing athletic clothes,” Kageyama says, accusingly.

Oikawa laughs, tossing him the Pocari. “That’s because you were at a party. Who do I have to impress?”

Me, Kageyama wants to say, but bites it back.

When they sit on the couch, Oikawa sits a good distance away from him, but throws an arm across the cushion behind Kageyama’s neck. It doesn’t make contact, but he still feels the heat of it radiating against his nape. Kageyama can’t help but glance over at the closed door across the room. 

“He’s asleep,” Oikawa says, perceptive as ever. “And even if he wasn’t knocked out with cold medicine, he’s a kid. I could barely stay up past midnight at his age. Iwa-chan and I used to have sleepovers every New Year’s Eve trying to stay up to watch the fireworks. Usually, we’d fall asleep and end up watching the New York fireworks show on TV the next day.” 

“My mom would always wake me up just before midnight so we could watch it together,” Kageyama remembers. “And when I entered middle school she let me take a sip of her champagne.”

Oikawa laughs softly. “I bet you hated it.”

Kageyama’s nose scrunches up. “It gave me a headache.”

That makes Oikawa laugh again. Kageyama wants to lean into the sound of it, and before he realizes it he’s tilting his head back until Oikawa’s arm is warm against his nape. It’s comfortable for a few seconds until Oikawa’s arm begins moving.

For a second, Kageyama thinks that Oikawa is going to put the arm around his shoulder, but instead he pulls his arm all the way back and leans over the table, reaching into a bag there and pulling out a box of sparklers.

“I bought these for Takeru before I knew he was sick. It’d be a pity not to use them.” He pushes himself to his feet and gestures to Kageyama. “Come on. We can’t go too far, though.”

They stand on the balcony overlooking the street below, just outside the apartment so Oikawa can stay close in case Takeru needs him.

They light the sparklers with a worn silver lighter that Oikawa pulls from his pocket. It looks valuable. Kageyama wonders why Oikawa has it.

Oikawa catches Kageyama’s questioning gaze and rolls his eyes. “It’s my sister’s old lighter that she gave to me when she had Takeru and quit smoking. I use it to light candles. I’m an athlete, Tobio, I don’t smoke.”

Kageyama sputters. “I didn’t say anything!”

“You’re easy to read.”

Oikawa holds two sparklers up to the lighter, handing one to Kageyama once the tip is lit. Kageyama watches the spark travel down the stick in wonder. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Oikawa tracing patterns in the air with intention.

“Are you writing something?”

“Yes, but it’s a secret,” Oikawa says. “Sort of a tradition in my family. You’re supposed to write a wish for the new year. You have to keep it a secret or it won’t come true.”

“A wish,” Kageyama mutters as his sparkler fizzles into nothing. “Has it ever come true?”

Oikawa smiles, a little sadly. “Once.”

This time when Oikawa hands him a sparkler, Kageyama traces his own wish into the sky.

Win nationals, he writes. When he blinks, the bright kanji tattoos itself onto his eyelids. Visualize, his mother always said. Visualize, and it will come to you.

He turns to watch Oikawa twirl lazy spirals with his sparkler. The flame make Oikawa’s eyes light up like amber. When he turns he’s staring at Kageyama with an unreadable expression, and the warmth of it makes Kageyama feels almost self-conscious.

“What?”

“You look happy,” Oikawa says, and then he pokes Kageyama in the forehead, right between the eyebrows. “You’re not frowning.”

Kageyama scowls. “I’m not always frowning.”

He realizes his mistake when Oikawa laughs. But, even though it’s at his expense, Kageyama can’t help but join in. The sparkler in Oikawa’s hand dies out and this time neither of them reach for another sparkler. The smell of smoke hangs heavily in the air, but Kageyama can still smell Oikawa’s body wash underneath it. It reminds him of shared locker rooms and the night they met in the city.

“That night in Tokyo,” Kageyama starts. “That guy you were with.”

Oikawa smiles. “Are you jealous, Tobio-chan?”

“Who was he?”

“A senpai from the baseball team,” Oikawa says. He tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, looking down at the ground below the balcony. “It wasn’t serious if that’s what you’re asking.” 

Kageyama isn’t quite sure why he asked. “I just want to know what you’re doing with—me. I thought you were making fun of me at first. Because of the crush I had on you in middle school.”

Oikawa turns to stare at him, eyes wide.

“You’re surprised.” As soon as Kageyama had realized he’d had a crush on Oikawa, he’d assumed Oikawa had known the whole time. It’s not as though Kageyama was known for his subtlety, and Oikawa was used to people pledging their love to him. “I thought you knew.”

Oikawa shakes his head. “As much as I like to pretend I am, I’m not actually omniscient.”

Kageyama lets that soak in. “So that’s not why you pushed me away.” 

“I pushed you away because I was an ass,” Oikawa says. “I was jealous and resentful because you were talented, and I didn’t have the self-confidence back then to believe I could beat you unless I could slow your progress somehow.” 

“And now?”

Oikawa smiles. “Fishing for compliments?”

Kageyama frowns, embarrassed. “I’m not—”’

“It’s fine,” Oikawa says. He leans back against the balcony. “When we met for the first time on the court in high school I thought to myself, Tobio-chan has grown up a bit. And then I saw you again in Tokyo and you really had grown up. You’re almost as tall as me now, and not quite so scrawny anymore.” Oikawa reaches over to pinch Kageyama’s bicep.

Kageyama bats his hand away.

“Not as scrawny, but still just as feisty,” Oikawa laughs, clutching his hand to his chest. “Anyway, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Us meeting, I mean. At first I thought it was because I still felt guilty about the way I treated you in middle school, or maybe because it brought back old feelings from Spring High. But the more I thought about it the more I realized I just wanted an excuse to see you again. Guess it worked, huh?”

Kageyama nods. For a minute, neither of them breaks the silence.

“I’m glad you didn’t tell me in middle school,” Oikawa finally says. “I could be pretty mean back then.”

Kageyama thinks back to Tokyo and scowls. “You tricked me into buying condoms for you. You’re still mean.”

Oikawa smirks. “Well, I wouldn’t be me if I weren’t a little mean. And I paid you back, didn’t I?”

“I thought you were playing a trick on me. You kept acting weird.”

“It’s not my fault you didn’t pick up on what I was doing,” Oikawa sing-songs. 

Kageyama swallows. He wants to hear him to say it out loud. “And what were you doing?”

Oikawa looks up at him through his eyelashes. “Seducing you.” 

Kageyama can’t help the small smile that works its way onto his lips and the blush that takes over his cheeks.

Oikawa stares at him, searchingly. “Is it working?”

You know it is, Kageyama doesn’t say.

Oikawa isn’t deterred by his silence. “Well, I do have one more trick up my sleeve.”

“Wha—”

Kageyama’s mouth is still partially open when Oikawa’s lips meet his. It isn’t as awkward as he was fearing, somehow, that it starts open-mouthed. Kageyama lets Oikawa guide his head to the side with a hand wound tightly in his hair. He doesn’t even mind the sting it causes his scalp as Oikawa rearranges their mouths, sucking on Kageyama’s bottom lip before he finally pulls back. 

It’s only when Oikawa draws back that Kageyama realizes he’s latched his hands onto the front of Oikawa’s shirt during the kiss. He releases his grip as he catches his breath, dragging his hands down the muscles on Oikawa’s abdomen until they rest at his hips. He lets his forehead fall into the dip of Oikawa’s neck to hide his flushed cheeks and breathes deeply into Oikawa’s collarbone. 

A porch light turns off somewhere behind Oikawa and the two of them seem to remember they’re outside at the same time, both jerking back from each other sharply. Before Kageyama can say anything, Oikawa grabs his wrist and tugs him towards the apartment door.

“Let’s go inside,” he whispers, and all Kageyama can do is nod. 

He doesn’t let go of Kageyama until the door is shut behind them and Kageyama lets himself get pushed onto the couch.

He’s as quiet as he can be expected to be in this situation, with Oikawa straddling his lap on the cushion. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, but Oikawa doesn’t seem to mind as he works Kageyama’s mouth open slowly while his fingers dance underneath the collar of Kageyama’s button-down. His own fingers are rubbing absent-minded circles into Oikawa’s hip bones, thumbs dipping lower every so often just to feel Oikawa shiver from the sensitivity.

Kageyama’s been kissed before—someone from the girl’s volleyball club during a party—but that hadn’t been anything more than a prolonged peck. It didn’t feel real the way this does, with Oikawa’s mouth starting to trail slowly from his lips down to his jugular, and down again until Kageyama feels his tongue tracing along his collarbone, blowing hot puffs of air onto the wet skin.

It doesn’t go any further than that.

Eventually Oikawa’s lips slow down and he pulls back, legs perched above Kageyama’s lap, chest heaving slowly but never breaking eye-contact. Finally, he draws back completely and flops next to Kageyama on the couch, so close that his thigh is flush against Kageyama’s own. They sit like that in silence for a while. Kageyama isn’t sure what to say, and Oikawa seems content with tracing patterns on Kageyama’s knee through his jeans.

There are about a hundred things he wants to ask Oikawa about—what this means for the future, when he’ll leave for Tokyo, what he’s thinking about this very moment—but for now, he’s content to let Oikawa trace lazy patterns on his leg, listening to fireworks going off in the distance. He closes his eyes and takes it all in.

“You can sleep here if you want.”

Kageyama opens his eyes to see Oikawa staring at him. He reaches into his pocket to check his phone—2:12 a.m.—and then shakes his head. “My mom will probably be getting home soon. I shouldn’t be out too much longer.”

“Are you sure? It’s pretty late. I would walk you home but—” Oikawa gestures to Takeru’s room, shrugging helplessly.

“It’s fine. I don’t mind the walk.”

Kageyama stands, stretching his arms behind his head as he walks over to the door. Oikawa isn’t too far behind him.

“I—” Oikawa cuts himself off. He rarely looks hesitant, and a small part of Kageyama is grateful that he seems just as unsure about this as he is. “I leave tomorrow afternoon to go back to school.”

“Oh.” Kageyama knew this, but it still makes his stomach drop to know they have less than a day left of—this, whatever this is.

Oikawa runs a hand through his already messy hair and sighs. “Look, I’m not gonna pretend I have experience with anything like this. I’m no good at relationships. I only have so much time, you know, and volleyball is still the most important thing in my life.”

Kageyama nods. It’s the same for him, after all.

“But,” Oikawa continues. He’s pointedly looking away from Kageyama like he can’t meet his eyes. “Hypothetically, if you’re ever in Tokyo, you know where to find me.” 

Kageyama thinks about that. His situation is not that different from Oikawa’s. He’s still in high school and his time is occupied with nationals and university entrance exams. Hypothetically, he thinks, is good enough for him, too. 

“There are a few Universities in Tokyo that have invited me to practice with them. I was planning to stay at their dorms but…” Kageyama lets the suggestion hang in the air. 

Oikawa grins and then taps his chin in a pantomime of deep thought. “I suppose you could crash on my futon if you’d like.”

Kageyama smiles back. “I’d…like that.”

“Well then!” Oikawa declares. “You have my number. I suppose I’ll be seeing you soon.”

Even still, they hover at the door. Kageyama fumbles with the door handle, wishing he could think of the perfect thing to say.

“Is it stuck?” Oikawa whispers into his ear. His tone is slightly mocking, but there’s a soft look on his face as he says it.

He doesn’t need to say anything at all, he realizes. Instead, he leans forward and leaves a lingering kiss on Oikawa’s lips. He pulls back after a moment, content with the surprised look he sees on Oikawa’s face.

“Happy New Year, senpai.”

He pulls the door open and steps outside into the cold. He barely takes one step before a hand pushes him against the exterior wall.

Oikawa grabs Kageyama by the base of his neck, thumb digging into the knobby vertebra there as he forces Kageyama’s head to the side. He fastens his lips to the spot just west of his shirt collar and—God, Kageyama shudders—sucks. He pulls back barely a second later, but the sensation lingers.

“Wh—" Kageyama’s throat is too dry to continue. He slaps a hand over his neck, still sticky with saliva. 

Oikawa smirks. “Just something to remember me by. Good night, Tobio.”

The door shuts and Oikawa disappears before Kageyama can force his mouth to respond.

He stands there with his mouth hanging open until the cold pushes him into leaving. Even without snowfall the wind is unforgiving.

The walk home feels both painfully long and not long enough, so much so that when Kageyama reaches his apartment he considers taking another lap to cool himself down. His mother hasn’t texted yet to ask where he is, though, and he doesn’t want to risk taking any longer to get home.

As he’s washing his face his eyes catch onto the mark that Oikawa had left on his neck. Just below the junction between trapezius and neck, his school uniform will hide it but his jersey will not. He wonders if that was a calculated move and the thought makes him more flustered than embarrassed, although he’s sure the embarrassment will hit him the next day at practice. 

He doesn’t check his phone until he’s tucked himself into bed. Just as he’d expected, there’s a series of texts from Hinata—kageyama if u dont text me tomorrow youre DEAD to me im NOT joking—and, unexpectedly, one from Tsukishima—lol. Most recently, though, is a text from Oikawa which, judging by the timestamp, must have been sent right after he’d left his apartment. 

fyi i don’t have a futon (^_−)☆

Kageyama smiles, and lets himself fall asleep.