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Oikawa tapped his fingers on the desk. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. One by one, a slow, steady rhythm in time with the tick tick tick of the second hand as it travelled around the clock face. Not that he could hear it over the constant beeping, trilling, and general hubbub of the arcade, but if he could, he imagined it would tick. Four hours. Four more never-ending hours; that was all that stood between him and freedom.
A large group of school children swept past, chatting loudly, pushing and shoving, seemingly oblivious of everyone around them. They descended upon the Air Hockey machines like a swarm of locusts on a wheat field and Oikawa groaned thinking about all the mess they would leave behind. At least he wasn’t closing tonight—maybe someone else would have to sweep up their crap. As he watched, bemoaning the lack of respect held by kids these days, one of them shot a few spitballs at the model of Jupiter dangling from the ceiling.
“Idiot kids,” he grumbled to no one in particular. “Did you see that?”
Azuma, the guy working the cash desk with him, grunted and scratched his arse, not bothering to look up from his comic.
With a weary sigh, Oikawa carefully stretched around him and activated the tannoy.
“Oi, big ears, blue coat—yes, you—if I see you spit again, you’re banned.” The boy—he can’t have been more than thirteen or fourteen—jumped and frantically looked around for the source of the voice while his friends laughed. When their eyes met, Oikawa smiled and pointedly waggled his finger from side-to-side. The boy looked mortified and hastily bowed before being engulfed by his mass of friends. Oikawa hoped he hadn’t made things worse. He supposed he’d find out later if this boy was the sort to seek revenge for public humiliation.
“Can we do that?” asked Azuma, tearing his attention away from his comic book.
Oikawa shrugged and glanced over at his colleague, a large man who looked seconds from absorbing the stool he was perched on, and grimaced when he saw the man stick a finger in his ear and twist it around. He was nice enough to talk to most of the time, but his personal habits left much to be desired; Oikawa always had a strong urge to disinfect everything the man touched. “I don’t see why not,” he muttered. Azuma snorted out a laugh and turned back to his comic, so Oikawa slumped back over the cash desk, his chin rested on his hand, and resumed counting down the seconds until the end of his shift.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
He’d been working at Outerspace! for over a year now: through most of his first year of university and now well into his second. It wasn’t a bad place to work—he’d heard horror stories from friends working in bars or fast food restaurants, so he knew he could have it a lot worse. But even when the arcade was busy, time tended to drag. The problem wasn’t the arcade itself—he loved arcades, and if he wasn’t working, he knew he’d be spending most of his free time here—but being surrounded by all these games for up to eight hours and being unable to play, while simultaneously having to watch everyone else play was the cruelest torture.
He hadn’t always loved arcade games—he’d not really given them much thought before moving away to university—but this place had drawn him in. He’d first spotted it when he was exploring the area around the student village shortly after moving in. He’d found himself with a lot of free time after aggravating an old knee injury and being forced to stop playing volleyball. The arcade was hidden down a side street and he’d almost walked straight past it, assuming it to be a dodgy bar. But the name, Outerspace!, picked out in bright pink neon and nested within a blue neon rocket, had piqued his interest, and he’d not been disappointed upon stepping over the threshold.
The uninspired, slightly sketchy entrance had opened up before him into a vast, dark, low-ceilinged room that had been filled with flashing lights, glowing neons, and noise, so much noise. People crowded around brightly coloured machines, the air thick with electronic chirps, the rattle of money being fed into machines, the clattering of plastic buttons being hit over and over; whoops of success mingling with the groans and shouts of frustration. None of that had been what had drawn Oikawa further inside that first time, though. It had been a combination of the life-sized Stormtrooper stood by the cash desk, a poster of the moon landing with the word CONSPIRACY? stamped across it positioned just inside the entrance, and the pounding baseline of “Spaceman” by Babylon Zoo, a song he’d not heard outside of his own headphones in…forever.
As he’d ventured further into the arcade, it had been hard to ignore the planets, rockets, and aliens dangling just above head height; the black ceiling peppered with hundreds of stars; the carpet, a repeating pattern of spaceships, planets, and galaxies. Everything glowing brightly in the UV light. It was tacky and completely over the top, but Oikawa had fallen in love that day.
He’d headed ever deeper, wandering past banks of games—the air hockey, skee-ball, claw machines, and dancing games that crowded the entrance replaced with the more traditional arcade machines the further he went—zig-zagging around and ducking under low-hanging decorations, eager to take in every detail. The fdeeper he explored, the quieter it became until, in the furthest corner from the front desk, in an area so quiet Oikawa had wondered whether it was even open to the public, he’d spotted a Star Wars game. It was old—he’d been able to tell that much even with his limited knowledge of arcade games at the time—but something about it had spoken to him. Perhaps it was because it had been relegated to the back of the room away from all of the more popular games, just like he’d been relegated to the bench after damaging his knee, but more likely it was because it was a Star Wars game. And if there was one thing Oikawa had always loved almost as much as volleyball, it was Star Wars.
Two hours had passed in what had felt like minutes and he’d finally run out of money to convert into gameplay tokens, but it had been worth it to get his name on the second of the two top scores pages. DarthTooru sat proudly at numbers seventeen and twenty, proclaiming his success to anyone who walked past. It was good, but it wasn’t great. For the first time since getting benched, he’d felt he had a purpose.
When, on a subsequent visit, he’d seen that the arcade was looking for staff, he’d jumped at the opportunity. What could be better than working in a space-themed arcade where he had access to his favourite game and free tokens to play it with?
———
Oikawa was deep in his own head when something, or more accurately, someone caught his eye. The silvery-haired boy was rapidly tapping away on his phone as he walked in so he didn’t look over at the cash desk on his way past, although that wasn’t unusual; most people didn’t come to the desk unless they wanted to complain about a machine eating their tokens. Something about him tickled at the back of Oikawa’s mind, though, and he couldn’t help but feel there was something he should remember. The boy looked so familiar. The strap of a brown satchel cut diagonally across his chest, and as Oikawa watched, he smiled at something on his phone, eyes crinkling with amusement, before tucking it away in his bag. Oikawa was certain he hadn’t seen him in the arcade before. Could he be someone he’d met in passing at university? Perhaps someone he only had one class with? No, he was sure he’d remember seeing a face like that at university.
The boy stood and surveyed the arcade for a moment. He looked like he was searching for someone, and Oikawa was tempted to put on his best customer service smile on and ask if he needed help, if only to try and jump-start his brain into remembering who this person was, but he resisted the urge, telling himself he didn’t care that much.
After a few minutes, the boy leant against the side of a claw machine, pulling his phone out of his bag and tapping away at the screen again, his expression fond and a soft smile playing across his lips. His black bomber jacket hung open, showing a glimpse of the white and black striped top beneath, and he had one hand stuffed into the pocket of a slim pair of chinos that had the most adorable little turn-ups, exposing his slender ankles. He looked good and Oikawa instantly felt a little self-conscious about his own attire: a hideous purple polo shirt with Let us take you into OUTERSPACE! emblazoned across the back in luminous green. It defied even his abilities to make his crappy uniform look good.
As subtly as he could, Oikawa watched the boy, unable to take his eyes off him for more than a few seconds at a time. He continued to play with his phone, although with the way he kept glancing at the door, it was obvious he was waiting for someone. Was he waiting for a date to show up? Oikawa suddenly felt nervous for him—what if the date stood him up? He’d seen that happen more times than he could count, but for some reason, he didn’t want it to happen to this pretty boy with his kind eyes. Eyes that now nervously scanned the arcade while he worried his bottom lip with his teeth.
Oikawa gasped as Azuma nudged his shoulder. “What?” he snapped, feeling his cheeks heat. He cleared his throat to cover his embarrassment and tilted his body away from the sweating bulk now encroaching on his space.
“See something you like?” Azuma smirked knowingly, although Oikawa wasn’t sure what it was Azuma thought he knew. He’d clearly only been staring because he was trying to work out where he knew the boy from, not for any other reason.
“Go back to your comic, old man,” Oikawa grumbled, turning his back on Azuma to avoid his gaze. He was all set to ignore his colleague for the rest of their shift together, when it occurred to him that maybe Azuma could help. “Hey, have you seen that guy here before?” he asked, hoping to put an end to the mystery.
Azuma scrunched up his face and scrubbed a hand over his stubble. “Eh, no? But then, all you students look the same to me.”
Oikawa rolled his eyes. “You’re literally three years older than me. You were a student too until six months ago.”
“Man of the world now, though, aren’t I?” He shrugged and belched loudly, muttering a ‘pardon me’ that barely covered it.
Oikawa winced and shuffled his stool slightly further away, shaking his head. When he looked back to where the boy had been standing, he found he was gone.
He scanned the arcade, ignoring the panicky flutter in his chest when he couldn’t immediately see even a hint of silvery hair. He told himself it didn’t matter that the boy was gone. He didn’t care. He was probably just some guy who looked a bit like someone he knew or used to know. Even so, Oikawa didn’t relax until he spotted him at the Pac-Man machine, jumping up and down and yelling at the screen. There were a few people around him, watching his turn, one of whom was standing too close to be a stranger, and Oikawa felt an odd mixture of relief that he hadn’t been stood up and something altogether less pleasant that he didn’t care to dwell on.
He continued to watch the other boy keenly while he racked his brain for reasons as to why he looked so familiar. Every time Azuma smirked at him, Oikawa snapped his gaze away and tried to focus on his work, but his eyes were inexplicably drawn back time and time again. It was odd. It wasn’t like he found him attractive, although there was no denying that he was: silvery hair casually flicked off his face, a slender figure hugged by exceptionally complimentary clothes, large eyes, a warm smile. And that beauty mark—surely he’d have remembered meeting someone with such a distinctive feature? Oikawa watched him flit from game to game with his friends, laughing, chatting, messing around. The memory of seeing him on Dance Dance Revolution would likely stay with Oikawa for years; for someone who appeared so lithe and graceful walking around the arcade, he was hilariously uncoordinated.
Oikawa had all but given up trying to work out what it was that had caught his attention when the boy separated from his friends and wandered over to the basketball toss machines. They were positioned close to the cash desk, so Oikawa was able to get a proper look at him for the first time since he’d walked into the arcade. He was careful to stay out of sight, though. He wanted to be certain how he knew the boy—because there was no doubt in his mind now that he knew him from somewhere—before revealing himself. The boy stood with his hands on his hips, studying the machine for a few moments before digging into his pocket and fishing out a couple of tokens, slotting them into the machine and releasing the balls. He picked one up, turning it around in his hands almost reverently—clearly a boy who knew his balls, Oikawa snorted—before realising the timer had started on the game. The boy quickly started tossing the balls, each one flying in a smooth, controlled arc toward the hoop. Oikawa raised his eyebrows; he really did know his balls. He didn't make every basket, but he wasn't far off from a perfect game, and he was infinitely better than the usual idiots who tried their skill. There was something about the way he handled the balls though…it was just so...familiar. It tugged at something in Oikawa’s chest; that persistent ache left behind by the absence of volleyball in his life.
And then suddenly it clicked.
“Mr Refreshing!” he gasped, and then ducked down behind the counter as the boy in question turned around.
Oikawa sat on the floor with his knees drawn up and his hands clamped over his mouth as he waited for his heart to slow. What was he doing, cowering like a frightened rabbit? It wasn’t like it was anyone important—just some guy he played volleyball against once or twice during high school, and he can’t have been any good if Oikawa could barely remember him.
“Smooth. Real smooth,” Azuma sniggered, kicking Oikawa in the shoulder with a ratty old trainer. “He’s gone, by the way. You can probably stop hiding, unless you like it down there in all the filth.”
Oikawa glanced at the carpet beneath him and shuddered. The planets and galaxies were dull and stained and the carpet was sticky with God only knew what. With a grimace, he picked himself up and glanced over at the basketball game to make sure Mr Refreshing was truly gone. “Did he leave or did he go to play a different game?”
“How should I know? He’s your crush, not mine.”
“What!? That’s—He’s not my crush! He’s just some guy I used to know from volleyball!”
“And you were hiding from him because…?”
“I was not hiding. Shut up and…and…go check the toilets. It’s your turn.” Oikawa folded arms across his chest and very carefully didn’t meet Azuma’s eyes as he shuffled off. He wasn’t hiding. Not really, he just…He liked being anonymous in this town. He liked that no one here knew how much volleyball meant to him and how much he missed it. He didn’t want or need the pitiful looks and empty condolences for the career lost before it even had a chance to get started. Hopefully, Mr Refreshing was visiting a friend and wouldn’t come to the arcade again.
When Azuma returned, Oikawa snuck into the break room to grab his phone. He needed to tell someone who he’d seen and there was only one person he could think of.
Oikawa:
Guess who I just saw??
Iwaizumi:
Aren’t you working? Get off the phone lazykawa
Oikawa:
Mr Refreshing is here! In my arcade!
Iwaizumi:
Who? Nvm. Get back to work or you’ll get the sack.
Oikawa:
Mean iwa-chan (っ˘̩╭╮˘̩)っ
Pouting, Oikawa stashed his phone back in his locker and headed back to the cash desk. Only one hour to go.
———
Oikawa didn’t hang about at the end of his shift, darting into the break room as soon as Shuko arrived to replace him. It had been a strange day and he couldn’t wait to unwind properly with a few rounds of his favourite game—Star Wars. He had a feeling it would be a good session and thought he might even beat his personal best. He was the undisputed champion and even though many had tried to surpass him in the months since he’d made a clean sweep of the top twenty, no one had been able to rival him. Iwaizumi mocked him relentlessly for his obsession, but when Oikawa had proudly shown off his scores during one visit, he’d known from the tilt of his head and the little grunt he’d made that Iwaizumi was impressed. At least, a little bit.
The break room was little more than a walk-in cupboard. There were a few lockers on one wall, a small table with four cheap, plastic chairs around it and a floor length mirror which was discoloured with age and covered with stickers. Oikawa usually wore his uniform to and from work, despite what the awful purple of the polo shirt did to his complexion. Staff were expected to use the customer toilets if they wanted to get changed, and being responsible for keeping them clean during his shift, he definitely didn’t want to get undressed in them. He grabbed his jacket from his locker—his old Seijoh training jacket today because it was too warm for anything heavy—and swapped his work shoes for a pair of trainers. Then he checked that his hair was still artfully unkempt in the mirror and swapped his contacts for his glasses. He could just about cope with wearing his contacts for work, but they always made his eyes itchy when he wore them to play the arcade machines. Satisfied that he looked presentable, and that the hideous purple of his work shirt was well hidden by his jacket, Oikawa headed back onto the arcade floor, making sure to grab a handful of tokens as he passed behind the cash desk.
As he made his way deeper into the maze of arcade machines, humming along to Rocket Man, which was playing in the background, Oikawa felt the tension drop from his shoulders. He kept half an eye out for Mr Refreshing, but he didn’t really expect to see him. He’d not caught even a glimpse of him since the basketball game, which probably meant he’d already gone home, hopefully never to return. On his way to the Star Wars game, Oikawa stopped for a couple of goes on a few of the quieter machines—both to keep his skills sharp and make sure there was at least one DarthTooru on their screens (he had a reputation to uphold after all)—but as usual, he saved his favourite game for last. It was a reward for completing his shift, for surviving the weirdness of Azuma for another day, and for figuring out the mystery of the silver-haired boy.
The Star Wars game—his game—came into sight and Oikawa sucked in a deep breath, cracking his knuckles and stretching out his shoulders. It was time. He was ready. It was one of the bulky cockpit games, rather than an upright cabinet, and after he slipped into the moulded plastic seat with a contented sigh, he ran his hands reverently over the controller. It was smooth with age, worn down by hundreds, no, thousands of pairs of eager, sweaty hands. He looked up at the screen before slotting in a token. It was on the New Game screen, which meant that the Top Scores screen was next. Oikawa loved that screen; nothing but his gamertag over and over—a testament to his skill and determination. It was true perfection. The screen changed over and Oikawa’s lips quirked up in the corner, ready to bask in his glory for a few moments before getting down to the important business of playing—
The smirk froze on his face.
“What the fuck!?”
There, at the number four spot, as clear as day, sat a tag that most definitely wasn’t his.
“Who the fuck is SugaFett?” he spat. “And what sort of stupid name is that, anyway?”
Number four was almost top three! Where had this person come from? He knew the tags of all their regular gamers and he’d never seen that name anywhere. Who just waltzed into an arcade and immediately got on the top scores page? Outrageous! It just wasn’t done. He scowled as he scanned the rest of the top twenty and found SugaFett in four other places, although thankfully all the other appearances were out of the top ten. That top ten was his and his alone. He felt a long-forgotten rage wash over him: the fire of competition—worthy competition—flaring up inside. Finally, he had a clear purpose; a defined enemy. He’d not felt such a sense of rivalry since his volleyball days, and it felt good.
He set his jaw and fed a token into the slot, punching the start button. SugaFett would be nothing more than a distant memory by the time he was finished. He didn’t care how long it took, he was going to get that stupid tag shunted off the bottom of the list even if it took him all night. And then he would find every instance of that name on all the other games and eradicate it from those places too. No one messed with DarthTooru.
It was much later than usual by the time he finally got home, but Oikawa crawled into bed with a great sense of satisfaction from having bested his foe. It may have taken him a few hours and several trips back to the cash desk to grab more tokens, but eventually he’d done it; he’d got rid of SugaFett from his game screen, and even though he knew he’d probably struggle to stay awake during his lectures the following day, it had been worth it to see that perfect Top Scores screen again.
———
Oikawa returned to the arcade almost every night, even when he wasn’t working, so he could check that his scores were still there, but despite there having been no further attempt on his crown for almost two weeks, he still couldn’t relax. All he could think about was that somewhere out there was someone who could potentially steal the top spot from him and he hated not knowing who it was. Every single person who walked into the arcade and headed towards the quiet corner at the back where the less popular games were kept became a suspect, and he’d annoyed more than one of his colleagues by abandoning the cash desk to spy on someone. It wasn’t just his job that was suffering, though; he had no cash left because he had to buy his own tokens after his manager put her foot down and capped the number of ‘staff’ tokens he could take, and his uni work was suffering because he was spending all of his evenings in the arcade.
He was so consumed with the Top Scores page, he almost forgot about seeing that Karasuno setter the same day; he had far more important things to worry about than some pretty boy he barely knew. He even started to doubt he’d seen him in the first place—it could have been someone who just looked a bit like him for all he knew—and when he didn’t see him at the arcade for the next couple of weeks, he assumed that whoever it was—Mr Refreshing or a Refreshing look alike—either didn’t like arcades, or didn’t live locally. If a silver-haired boy with a curious beauty mark and a gentle smile occasionally made appearances in his dreams, then that was no one’s business but his own.
His second Saturday shift since the incident (Iwaizumi had threatened to fly to his dorm and take his phone away if he mentioned ‘Star Wars’ or ‘top scores’ again), was shaping up to be another incredibly dull eight hours. He had the early shift as usual, which was good because it meant he had plenty of time afterwards to play games or maybe go out with friends, but it also meant that for the first few hours, the arcade was full of annoying school-age kids with about five tokens between them who just messed around on the air hockey and foosball tables. He’d brought some coursework to do while it was quiet since he’d fallen behind a little over the past couple of weeks and was jotting down some notes from his Astronomy textbook when a flash of silver caught his eye. He whipped his head up. It couldn’t be…could it? But there he was, as plain as day; Mr Refreshing. Dammit. Why hadn’t he bothered to find out his name?
Oikawa was frozen in place, jaw hanging open, pen poised above his notebook. He was torn between ducking behind the counter or staring some more, but since he was incapable of moving, he could only stay where he was. He’d spent two weeks trying to convince himself that he’d been mistaken, but seeing him now, there was no denying that the boy was Mr Refreshing. He was alone again, but this time he didn’t appear to be waiting for anyone. Oikawa watched him stride up to the bank of token machines opposite the cash desk with all the confidence of someone who knew exactly what they were doing, which lead Oikawa to wonder whether he’d visited on other occasions. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that; he’d grown used to people not knowing anything about his past in this town. Seeing this setter from his volleyball days stirred up all sorts of feelings that he didn’t want to acknowledge, even though he’d never actually known him. It was an uncomfortable reminder of how he’d cut himself off from everyone but Iwaizumi, and that was only because Iwa-chan refused to be ghosted, no matter how hard Oikawa had tried to neglect their friendship once injury had well and truly ended his volleyball career.
Despite the lingering feelings of sadness for missed opportunities and failed careers that were stirred up by Mr Refreshing’s appearance, Oikawa wasn’t disappointed to see him again. He wondered whether he was meeting friends or a date again. He wanted to know what he was doing here, in the same town as Oikawa; did he live here? Was he in contact with any other high school volleyball players? Oikawa was burning with questions, but he did nothing, said nothing. He hung back and observed, because what if he did still know some of the people they played volleyball with? What if he asked about whether Oikawa still played?
When he’d converted some cash to tokens, Mr Refreshing slowly scanned the arcade and his eyes grazed the cash desk before he frowned, a faint line marring his perfect forehead. Oikawa froze. He’d been spotted, he knew it. He’d been so busy staring at the boy, he’d forgotten he didn’t want to be seen. Belatedly, Oikawa ducked down and crouched behind the counter, cursing his stupidity so of course, Azuma chose that moment to wander back from wherever he’d been hiding. He shot Oikawa a confused look and seemed to be about to ask something when an ‘excuse me’ from the other side of the desk grabbed his attention. Oikawa pressed himself further back against the counter and prayed it was just a random customer complaining about a malfunctioning machine.
“Can I help you?” Azuma asked, his customer service mask firmly in place. It never failed to surprise Oikawa how easily he slipped between lazy slob and helpful employee.
“Um, this is probably going to sound a bit odd, but was someone else here a minute ago?”
“Oh, you mean—” Oikawa punched Azuma in the calf, cutting him off. “I mean, er, what?”
“Just now. I’m sure I saw someone. Brown hair, handsome, kind of arrogant?” Oikawa preened at being called handsome, but then he registered Azuma’s smirk and tried to school his features. He jabbed Azuma in the leg again to try and convey that he needed him to cover for him, but Azuma shook him off.
“Ha, arrogant. That rings some bells. Not sure I’d call him handsome though…bit of a pretty boy, maybe. Massive nerd, definitely.” Azuma chuckled and managed to side-step the punch Oikawa levelled at his leg.
“Oh! So you do know him? Oikawa?” The voice sounded hopeful and Oikawa cocked his head to try and listen better. Why did Mr Refreshing remember his name?
Azuma heaved a sigh and leant forward on the counter, his bulk coming disturbingly close to Oikawa’s face. “Depends. Is he a friend of yours?”
“Um, not really. Just someone I used to know a while back. So, he works here?”
“Ah, if it’s the same guy then he’s just gone on break. Shall I tell him you stopped by?”
“Oh, um, don’t worry about it. I doubt he remembers me. Sorry for bothering you.”
Mr Refreshing must have wandered off because Azuma glared down at Oikawa, kicking him lightly. “You’ve got it bad,” he said with a gravelly chuckle.
Oikawa flipped him off but didn’t move from the floor. Mr Refreshing remembered who he was, and more importantly, he’d called him handsome. The word set his blood fizzing beneath his skin, made his stomach flip, but not because he cared what the boy thought. It was obviously because he enjoyed it when people recognised his effortless good looks. He wished even more that he could remember his name now, though, if only so they could be on level footing. He resolved to ask Iwaizumi as soon as he got his phone, which was currently on about five percent battery and locked in his locker so he wouldn’t be tempted to run it down before he found a charger.
When he felt enough time had passed, Oikawa cautiously poked his head over the counter. He spotted the silver-haired boy immediately—how could he not? He was easily the most captivating person in the arcade. He was playing Street Fighter, which was only a short distance away from the cash desk, but it meant his back was to Oikawa, so he relaxed a little, straightened up and allowed himself to stare.
The boy looked almost ethereal with the way the colourful lights of the arcade played across his pale skin and hair—it was as if he was made to be in this environment. He was dressed casually again, in khaki coloured trousers, and a plain black t-shirt, but somehow managed to look better than everyone else. His trousers were turned up again, and Oikawa kept finding his gaze caught on slender, milky-white ankles. As he watched, the boy started smashing the buttons and wiggling the joystick back and forth more frantically. He raised onto the balls of his feet and his shoulders tensed before he emitted a howl and kicked the game cabinet with his toe.
“Mother fu— Dammit! What the hell??” he cried, slapping the console and then gripping his hair in bunched fists before cursing some more. Oikawa covered his mouth with a hand to stifle a giggle—he’d never have expected to hear such language from someone who looked so angelic. It stirred something inside him, and it was harder to ignore the fact that he very much wanted to get to know this pretty boy better. He wanted to be the one to make him howl in frustration, to rile him up, to make him beg and plead… But for now, he would settle for watching him from a distance.
Oikawa ducked down again when the boy turned away from the game, his hair still sticking up from the rough handling. He ignored Azuma’s eye roll and hid his face in his hands, unable to wipe the ridiculous grin from his face. What was happening to him?
He spent the next couple of hours alternating between watching Mr Refreshing play various games and hiding in the storeroom or behind the counter. He couldn’t stop staring at him, no matter how many times he told himself to snap out of it. He tried to convince himself that it was just because he didn’t want to get spotted so he needed to keep the boy in his sights at all times, but he knew that was a lie. The boy was just so easy to watch, so expressive, every emotion there for all to see, and it was impossible to tear his eyes away. If he had stopped watching, Oikawa might have missed the way he bounced on the balls of his feet as he became excited, or the way he hunched over the controls when he was focusing, or the way he swore so colourfully every time something didn’t go as planned. If he hadn’t been watching his every movement, Oikawa would have missed the way he high-fived complete strangers when he won a game or successfully complete a difficult round, and he would have missed the hilarious little dance he did when he beat his top score at the basketball toss game, and the delighted whoop of joy he emitted when he didn’t crash out of Dance Dance Revolution. He could have done without seeing him hug the pretty girl he’d been competing against on the dance game, but Oikawa pushed that ugly feeling away—he was clearly one of those huggy people, so he knew he shouldn’t read too much into it. That, and what did it matter who this boy hugged? It wasn’t like Oikawa had any claim over him.
Not yet, anyway.
———
Oikawa eventually lost sight of Mr Refreshing after Azuma got annoyed with his lack of work and sent him to clean the toilets as penance. He’d reluctantly stomped off to get the horrid task over with, but when he returned, Mr Refreshing was nowhere to be seen. He tried not to feel too disappointed, but the rest of the shift dragged without the distraction, and it felt like the customers were trying to be extra irritating with their demands and complaints.
He went through the usual motions of his end-of-shift routine—throwing on a jacket, doing his hair, changing his shoes—and stalked over to his game, eager to work out his frustrations. He half-hoped to see Mr Refreshing hidden away on one of the machines in the back, but he didn’t really expect him to still be around after so long. He ducked under a low hanging planet, and his eyes caught on something on the Space Invaders screen; a familiar gamertag—SugaFett! Oikawa immediately forgot all about silver hair and slender ankles. He’d not seen that tag for at least two weeks. Not since he’d wiped it off of every machine. That meant they had to have been there today! Or…could they be in the arcade right now? Oikawa searched the darkness, scanning the crowds for someone who had the look of a SugaFett, not that he had any idea what they looked like, but they had to be cocky, arrogant, maybe a little evil looking? He pushed past people with an increased sense of urgency. He needed to get to his game. If SugaFett had been here—if SugaFett was here now—then his perfect Top Scores screen was at risk! The theme from the latest Star Trek film currently playing through the tinny speakers only added to the drama of the situation, the soaring strings sending his heart rate rocketing.
Oikawa slid into the worn plastic seat, his palms sweaty as they gripped the controller. He closed his eyes and sucked in a steadying breath. His skin felt alive, his hands twitching and restless. He couldn’t tell if he was excited by the prospect of being challenged again or scared that his top score had potentially been beaten. Slowly, he raised his head and opened his eyes, starting at the top and working his way down the list.
1st . . . . . . DarthTooru
2nd . . . . . . DarthTooru
3rd . . . . . . SugaFett
Third place!? SugaFett had stolen third place!? How was that even possible? Oikawa knew exactly how good he was at Star Wars, and he knew that his scores were hard to beat, so how had this person managed to swan in on a Saturday afternoon and steal third place from him? It was worryingly close to his top score. A thrill ran through him as he cracked his knuckles and inserted the first of his pile of tokens. This person would live to regret fucking with his game.
While his mind focused on the game, his thoughts wandered a little during the cutscenes. There was something about that tag, SugaFett, that made him feel like he was missing something. It was similar to the feeling he’d had when he’d first spotted Mr Refreshing in the arcade. And that was another thing…both times his top scores had been infiltrated coincided with the times he’d seen Mr Refreshing…but that had to be coincidence, didn’t it? There was no way that boy was capable of playing this game so well, surely. He dismissed the thoughts as ridiculous and put his full attention back on the game. He was going to be here all night if he didn’t focus, and he still had that astronomy paper to finish.
———
Oikawa didn’t get a chance to text Iwaizumi until he got home late that night. He was the only person in his contacts he thought would have a chance of knowing Mr Refreshing’s real name and Oikawa had to know it.
Oikawa:
Iwa-chaaaaan. Help me. Who is mr refreshing?
Iwaizumi:
What are you on?
Oikawa:
mr refreshing! Karasuno setter!
Iwaizumi:
why do you want to know?
Oikawa:
because he came to my arcade again!
Iwaizumi:
well then ask him.
Oikawa:
Nooooooooo I can’t do that! You’re so mean! Why do you hate me? I thought we were friends (ㄒoㄒ)
Iwaizumi:
We are. And as your friend, it’s my duty to tell you to talk to him rather than whinging at me like an idiot schoolboy with a crush
Oikawa:
But I don’t know his naaaaame
Iwaizumi:
…go to bed. It’s late.
Oikawa tossed the phone onto his bed, wincing when the action yanked the charger cable out. He knew Iwa-chan knew Mr Refreshing’s real name, but there was no point badgering him. He sighed and rubbed his hands over his face, slipping his fingers beneath his glasses so he could rub his eyes. He was exhausted from playing Star Wars for so long, but at least he’d done it; he’d knocked that enemy gamertag out of the top ten. The astronomy paper would have to wait, though—his eyeballs felt so dry he thought they’d start sticking to his eyelids if he stayed up any longer
———
Oikawa didn’t see Mr Refreshing until his regular Saturday shift the week later. Neither did he see the SugaFett gamertag pop up anywhere, his suspicious brain supplied. He almost didn’t recognise him when he walked in since he had a charcoal grey beanie pulled down over his hair and a navy jacket zipped up to his chin. His clothes were damp from the rain, little droplets glinting in the strobing arcade lights, and tufts of silver poked out around the edges of the beanie, catching purples and blues and greens. He’d hidden his ankles today with a pair of skinny jeans that met the top of his Converse, but the knees were ripped, so it wasn’t a complete loss.
He decided to watch the boy closely, not because he wanted to spend more time staring at his arse—although that would obviously be a pleasant bonus—but because he needed to know if Mr Refreshing and SugaFett were the same person. They couldn’t be, he was fairly sure, but he had to be certain. And maybe, maybe, he would talk to Mr Refreshing and find out his name…just so he had something better to call him in his head.
The arcade was emptier than usual because of the rain—most people probably preferring to play video games at home rather than traipsing through the cold and wet to play old games surrounded by noisy students in a space that smelled like a mix between body odour, damp cloth, and too much AXE—so he had no trouble keeping Mr Refreshing in sight, even with his distinctive hair covered.
The second he saw him disappear out of sight of the cash desk and head deeper into the arcade, Oikawa left his post, ignoring Azuma’s grumbling, and followed him into the maze of game cabinets. He couldn’t find him at first and Oikawa’s search became increasingly more frantic as he checked each of the more popular machines. He couldn’t have left, not without passing by Oikawa, and the toilets were back towards the cash desk too. But then, just as he was starting to think that maybe he had left, Oikawa spotted him, or rather, spotted someone sat in the cockpit of the Star Wars game. All he could see of them was black skinny jeans and red Converse, but he knew—he knew—it was him.
Oikawa marched up to the game—his game—filled with rightious outrage but paused for a moment before revealing himself. It could still be a coincidence…it had to be coincidence…didn’t it? It only took a few minutes of watching Mr Refreshing’s gameplay, though, to see that this silver-haired menace was no casual Star Wars player.
“It’s you!” he yelled triumphantly, rounding the cockpit and pointing a finger accusingly at the boy.
Mr Refreshing—or SugaFett, as Oikawa now knew he was—gasped and took his eyes off the screen. “Oikawa!” he cried, extracting himself from the seat. “How are you? I knew I’d seen you! What are you doing here?” He grabbed Oikawa by the shoulders, startling a gasp out of him, and then pulled him down into a quick hug.
“What am I doing here?” Oikawa spluttered, trying to regain his composure. Sugafett had hugged him!? Why had he hugged him? “I work here! Why else would I be wearing this?” He gestured at his clothes, feeling vaguely self-conscious as SugaFett’s gaze trailed unabashedly down his body. “So...you’re SugaFett?” he asked belatedly.
“Yes! Isn’t it hilarious? Like Boba Fett, but my name’s Suga so…” He shrugged and then laughed, tilting his head back and offering Oikawa a tantalising glimpse of his alabaster neck.
Oikawa could have kicked himself. Suga! Of course! “Well, I’m DarthTooru, the guy who’s score you keep ruining,” he growled to cover up his embarrassment.
“Oh my god! That’s you?” Suga leant forward and slapped him lightly on the shoulder. “I’ve been trying to beat you for weeks!” He laughed again, the sound grating on Oikawa’s nerves. How could Suga not realise the seriousness of this situation? And why did he keep touching him?
“Good luck with that.” Oikawa scowled, folding his arms across his chest. “ I doubt you’re skilled enough. Did you even see my top score?”
“I’m not far off. Give me another few weeks and I’ll be wiping the floor with you,” Suga said with a smirk.
“Yeah?” Oikawa took a step closer, his arms still folded across his chest. Suga was shorter than him by several inches, but he didn’t cower or back down as Oikawa did his best to loom threateningly over him. He actually looked like he was enjoying himself.
“Yeah.” Suga grinned up at him, jutting his chin out, his hands placed boldly on his hips.
Oikawa could see every detail on his face—each individual eyelash, mole, and scar—and he suddenly realised how close they were standing. He knew he should look away, step back, put some distance between them, but he couldn’t. He felt hypnotised by the way the bright colours of the arcade glittered across his deep brown eyes; eyes that were narrowed with determination as Suga glared back at him, his jaw set.
The fire of competition flared to life in Oikawa’s veins and it felt good; he finally felt truly alive, and a lot like he wanted to slam Suga into the side of the game and claim his mouth to physically demonstrate that he wouldn’t be easily beaten or subdued. But then Suga blinked and took a step back and the spell was broken. He absently swept a hand through his hair, letting out an embarrassed chuckle as his beanie was knocked to the floor. A beautiful flush blossomed across Suga’s cheeks as he ducked down to grab the fallen hat and yanked it back onto his head with a small chuckle. Oikawa’s heart stuttered in his chest as Suga glanced to one side, worrying his lower lip with his teeth, and he had to hold himself back from cupping Suga’s jaw and swiping a thumb across the abused lip to feel if it was actually as soft as it looked.
“So, um, how long have you worked here?” Suga asked, looking up at Oikawa from under his eyelashes. He was smiling shyly and Oikawa wondered whether it would be weird to lean in and graze his lips across the mole beneath his left eye. It would probably be very weird, he told himself.
He blinked, swallowed thickly, banishing such strange thoughts to the depths of his mind before answering. “A year and a half?” he shrugged. “I’m here for uni.”
Suga’s eyes lit up, a broad grin spreading across his face and the odd atmosphere that had settled around them dissolved. “Really? Me too! I just transferred here at the start of the last semester! Hey, maybe we live near each other!”
Suga proceeded to explain all about his course, which student block he lived in, what he’d been up to since high school, and caught Oikawa up on several mutual friends he’d long since lost contact with, outside of catching the odd social media post. Oikawa deflected his questions about volleyball—he didn’t want or need Suga’s pity—but answered most of his other questions. It was hard to concentrate under Suga’s earnest gaze, but words flowed more easily once they moved past their sort-of shared history and onto more current things. He couldn’t quite believe he’d found someone as heavily into retro arcade games, Star Wars, and alien conspiracies as him. When Suga started telling him about a Roswell documentary he’d watched, he had to hold himself back from grabbing hold of Suga’s shoulders and shaking him with glee. Even in his Astronomy class, it had been hard for Oikawa to find anyone to talk enthusiastically about the documentaries he liked to watch. How was Suga even real?
Oikawa could have listened to Suga talk until the arcade closed and they were kicked out onto the street, but all too soon they were interrupted by Azuma strolling up, looking more annoyed than Oikawa could ever remember seeing him.
“You realise you’re still on the clock for another three hours, right? Do your flirting on your own time, and go check the restrooms. Some little shits have been in there making a mess,” he grumbled before stomping away.
Oikawa could feel his face heating and when he glanced over at Suga he saw him smothering a giggle behind his hand.
“I should get back to work,” he muttered, hoping the dim lighting would hide his embarrassment.
“Sorry for getting you in trouble,” Suga said with a grin, not looking sorry in the slightest.
Oikawa waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, glaring at the aisle down which Azuma had disappeared.
Suga walked with him to the cash desk where they said goodbye, with a promise to meet the following week to compete on the game properly. As Oikawa turned to get stuck into cleaning the restrooms, Suga called out:
“Don’t get too comfortable at the top of the leaderboard—next week I’m stealing your spot.” He laughed, then strode to the exit, tugging the beanie more securely onto his head, and popping up the collar of his jacket.
Oikawa watched him walk away, feeling slightly…disappointed? Empty? He wasn’t sure what he felt, but it wasn’t pleasant. He felt like he’d missed an opportunity, although for what, he wasn’t sure. He knew he’d see Suga in a week, but having just watched him walk away, a week felt like forever. He hadn’t even remembered to get Suga’s number. He didn’t want to call him, but it would have been nice to have the option—what if he was off work next week for some reason? What if Suga couldn’t make it? They’d need to arrange a rematch.
Rather than grabbing the cleaning supplies and going into the restrooms, he dashed into the break room and fished out his phone from his locker. He sent a quick text to Iwaizumi to ask if he knew anyone who might know Suga’s number, then vowed to do a spot of internet stalking after work to see if he could track him down. Just in case.
———
The rest of Oikawa’s shift dragged. He wanted to get his phone so he could start stalking Suga (in a completely non-creepy way, of course), and he wanted to get on the Star Wars game so he could practice and ensure there was absolutely no way Suga could beat him, but instead, he had to clean up vomit, deal with several people who claimed that the token machine ‘ate’ their money, and watch other people have fun.
He stared at the polystyrene model of an alien spaceship that dangled from the ceiling near the cash desk, watching the different colours flickering across its surface. It looked a bit like it was travelling through a wormhole on one of the sci-fi shows he watched, and he daydreamed about exploring the universe himself—not in a boring NASA-type space shuttle, but in a proper spaceship, like the Millennium Falcon or Slave 1—as he willed time to move faster and for customers to be less annoying. He was so deep in thought, staring blankly at the spaceship as it twisted and turned in the draft from the door that he didn’t notice the person approaching the counter until they stood right in front of him, waving a hand in front of his face to get his attention.
“Suga?” He lifted his head off his chin and straightened up from where he’d been slumped over the counter. He thought Suga had gone home, so what was he doing here?
“Hi, um. So, I got all the way home and I realised I didn’t get your number.” Suga held his phone out, grinning sheepishly.
“Oh, okay.” He frowned, confused as to why Suga had returned just for his number but pleased that he did, and reflexively took the phone off him. He tapped in his number, saving it with his name followed by a Space Invader, a rocket, and a star emoji then handed the phone back.
Suga took the phone with a grateful smile, tucked it back in his pocket then glanced around the arcade, fiddling with the strap of his bag. He looked like he was looking for a polite way to excuse himself and for some reason Oikawa was suddenly desperate for him to stay. He frantically searched for something to say that wouldn’t make him sound too needy but his brain had decided to be uncooperative.
Just as he was about to give up and yell something ridiculous like ‘Stay!’ Or ‘Don’t go!’, Suga fixed him with a determined stare and blurted: “What time does your shift end? Do you want to maybe play some Star Wars afterwards? If you’re not busy, I mean.”
Oikawa blinked, taken aback for a second before his brain kicked in. “Yeah, sure!” he agreed readily, kicking himself for sounding so eager. “I finish in, um…” he glanced at the clock, “…just over an hour, if you want to wait?”
“Time to get some practice in!” Suga grinned.
“Well, you need it,” Oikawa huffed. “Are you really that eager to get your arse kicked?”
“Hah! We’ll see about that.” Suga smirked at him, and Oikawa’s heart sped up, fluttering in his chest and making his skin tingle with anticipation. It had been far too long since anyone had made him feel this excited about anything. “I’d better let you get back to work,” Suga said, snapping Oikawa out of his thoughts. “Don’t want to get you in trouble again. Come and find me when you’re done.”
He waved over his shoulder as he wandered away from the cash desk and Oikawa watched him go, a hopelessly goofy grin plastered across his face. He couldn’t believe Suga had come back. What did it mean? And more importantly, what did he want it to mean? The end of his shift couldn't come soon enough.
———
Oikawa spent longer than normal getting changed in the break room after work. He wished he’d brought another t-shirt to change into, but he did the best he could with what he had. Purple wasn’t the worst colour, at least, but the flashing neon lights and colourful strobes didn’t do anyone any favours…except for Suga of course. How did Suga manage to look so good under neon lights when most people, Oikawa included, looked like reanimated corpses?
He stood in front of the mirror for a touch longer, scrutinising his appearance, but there wasn’t much more he could do. He zipped up his jacket to hide the hideous purple polo neck as much as possible and ran a slightly sweaty hand through his hair one more time to fluff it up. He felt jittery and on edge, like he was getting ready for a date, which was ridiculous since he and Suga were just going to play a few rounds of Star Wars. They weren’t even friends, not really.
With one last steadying breath, Oikawa squared his jaw and headed out onto the arcade floor, making sure to grab a couple of handfuls of tokens on his way past the cash desk. Azuma smirked knowingly and waggled his eyebrows suggestively as he passed by, but Oikawa ignored him. No doubt he’d rib him about it on their next shift together.
Suga was playing Donkey Kong when Oikawa found him and hadn’t noticed his approach so he took a moment to observe him, unwilling to interrupt him mid-game, and also curious to see his gaming style close-up as opposed to witnessed across a crowded arcade. Suga was such an expressive player, he really was a joy to watch—or maybe it was because he was Suga that Oikawa liked to watch. When Suga cursed colourfully and kicked the game cabinet after losing, Oikawa couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up and spilled past his lips; a laugh that only got louder when Suga whipped his head around and pouted at Oikawa.
“Like you could do any better!” Suga muttered.
Oikawa smirked and slowly folded his arms across his chest. “I could take you on any of these games.”
Suga’s eyes widened, but then he grinned and lazily dragged his eyes over Oikawa. “Is that a promise?” he purred.
Now it was Oikawa’s turn to be shocked. His jaw dropped open as his brain processed what he’d just said. “I mean—I just—Let’s just play Star Wars. Come on.” He turned away quickly to hide his flaming cheeks from Suga. How could he turn from angelic to demonic so swiftly?
He felt Suga close behind him as he approached his game, but he pushed everything else from his mind apart from game tactics. Whatever it was going on between him and Suga, he wasn’t going to let it distract him. He wasn’t going to let Suga show him up. He couldn’t. This was his thing. No one else was—
“Second place? What the hell!?” he exclaimed as the Top Scores screen showed that now all too familiar SugaFett tag. He scanned the rest of the screen and quickly saw that the top twenty was peppered with SugaFetts. “What did— When did this happen?” he cried, rounding on Suga.
Suga cackled delightedly. “What did you think I was doing while waiting for you?”
“But…but…How—Why—?” Oikawa spluttered.
“Because,” he took a step toward Oikawa, “I am—” another step. They were practically toe to toe now. “—very good—” He put his hands on Oikawa’s chest. “—at what I do.” He shoved Oikawa lightly, but in his flustered state, it was enough to send him stumbling back half a step into the side of the game. His breath left his lungs in a whoosh, more from the shock than the impact.
“Does that surprise you?” Suga was so close, Oikawa felt the words ghost across his face. Suga’s hands returned to his chest, fingertips pressing into the fabric of his jacket. All Oikawa could do was nod faintly, all powers of speech stolen by Suga’s gaze.
“People always make the mistake of underestimating me,” Suga murmured, “but you won’t do that again, will you?”
Oikawa shook his head a little more emphatically this time, and then gasped as Suga slid his hands over his shoulders, one hooking behind his neck, gently tugging him forwards. Suga’s lips pressed to his and he shuddered into the kiss, clumsily bringing his arms up to wrap around Suga’s waist. His eyes slipped shut but he could still see the lights flashing through his eyelids, could still hear the thumping beat of Out Of Space, the chatter of other patrons. Everything else was Suga, though. Suga’s mouth on his, hot and wet; Suga’s body pressed up against him, pushing him firmly against the cool, smooth surface of the game cabinet; Suga’s fingers scratching across his scalp and tugging at his hair; Suga’s strong, slender leg pressed between his thighs. He felt like he was floating through space and he never wanted to let Suga go.
They never got around to playing the game that afternoon, but Oikawa couldn’t say he was disappointed. There’d be plenty of time to crush Suga in the future.