18. exposition

                                    

                                          

                            

                                
                            
                              
                                  
                              
                              
                                
                                  
                                  
                                
                              
                             
                            
                            
                          
                          
                          
“I told you how to do this kanji correctly last time!” Oikawa exclaimed, as he circled letters on your redraft of your story. “Did you not listen? (Y/n)-chan, it’s a straight line, not a curve there!”
                          
“Ugh,” you grumbled, “what’s the difference?”
                          
Oikawa gave you a look a teacher might give you if you were showing attitude; “There’s a lot of difference actually.”
                          
The young man was around at your house again, looking through your improved piece, and still, somehow, you couldn’t get the hang of writing in Japanese yet. Apparently he’d also gone on another date with Rin, and she’d kissed him at the end of it, which he’d gushed about for ages. 
                          
It made you feel sick to your stomach, thinking of the two of them smooching; they didn’t even match aesthetically, it was practically disgusting to you.
                          
(Not that you’d ever tell them that.)
                          
“I give up,” you stated, leaning back in your chair, and closing your eyes in frustration. “I should just be a tennis player.”
                          
“Do you want to be a tennis player?” Oikawa inquired, glancing at you curiously.
                          
“No,” you replied shortly, “I’m not talented enough for that.”
                          
There was a pause, before in a voice you found to be quiet and inquisitive, he asked, “What do you mean by that?”
                          
“Well,” you sighed, “everyone in the family has always loved tennis. But no one has ever gone professional because they’ve never had the natural gift for it. They’ve worked hard, sure, but they’ve always been overshadowed by the prodigies. My dad still hates that, since he was going to try and pursue a career in tennis, but he wasn’t good enough, and he got even more upset when he found out the teacher he wanted to train him had instead picked this younger, talented dude. A real sob story. I’m no different; I used to be really into it when I was younger, but I always lost in competitions because I just wasn’t talented enough.”
                          
During your explanation, you couldn’t help but become bitter at the thought. You’d truly loved the sport, but you had been so tired of being overpowered by people who simply were just born with the skill to play tennis effortlessly, while you had to work every single day. 
                          
So in the end, after another lost tournament, you realised you no longer played tennis for fun; you just didn’t like it anymore. Being beaten again and again had just sucked all of the enjoyment out of tennis for you.
                          
So you stopped playing competitively, and just resorted to doing it for exercise. Of course, you still liked doing it, but being in your own little world was much better than having to watch everyone else be leaps and bounds ahead of you just because of some stupid gift they’d had the luck of being blessed with.
                          
“I know what you’re going to say,” you spoke, as you saw Oikawa frown and open his mouth. “I shouldn’t have given up and let myself submit. But I’m not as strong as you Oikawa-san. You’re not a genius, I can tell from the way you play, but you still are absolutely amazing at your sport. And that’s because you have a strong will. I don’t. 
                          
"And you have to take into consideration that tennis and volleyball are very different. In volleyball, you have six players, six friends, that can help you be victorious. In tennis, it’s just you; you’re all alone and entirely to blame for your mistakes, and if you lose your match.”
                          
You deflated, suddenly realising how much you needed to get that off your chest. It had been sitting on your conscience for a long time, and now at least you had someone that could understand slightly, even if you two did completely different things. And even if he didn’t get it, it still felt good to rant about how you’d been stripped of your passion for tennis.
                          
“So… you’re not naturally good at tennis?” Oikawa murmured, seemingly in deep thought.
                          
“Hell no,” you snorted, “I’m naturally… incompetent at tennis.”
                          
“It’s a bit sad that I actually understand what you’re feeling more than you could possibly know,” Oikawa chuckled, running a hand through his hair.
                          
You squinted at him through your glasses, noticing the faraway, wistful look in his gaze, then turned to him fully, leaning forward so you could get a good look at his face. He sat back, a little surprised by your sudden movement, but before he could speak, you cut in. “You’ve got something on your mind. Tell me.”
                          
Oikawa studied you for a moment, yet you held your ground, waiting for him to vent about whatever was going on in his pretty head of his; and then he pulled his mouth into a smile. “There’s this first year, at a school called Karasuno. We went to the same middle school, and were both on the volleyball team. But even when he first joined… I could tell he was a prodigy. 
                          
"I suppose you could say I got an inferiority complex, and began to work even harder, since I love volleyball so much. But there’s a huge chance I’ll have to face him at this tournament, and even though I beat him last time… I don’t think I’ll be able to this round.”
                          
You were silent, trying to piece together words in your head. (See, this was why you wrote shit. You were much better at conveying your feelings through writing than speaking.)
                          
“Umm… well, you know,” you began nervously, picking at your fingers, “even if you don’t win… are you really going to just quit after that? I know you’ll have never gone to nationals, but there has to be a chance for you to actually get a job, thingy—fuck, whatever it’s called, in volleyball. 
                          
"Profession! Yeah, that’s the word,” you gabbled, shifting in your seat. “Umm, and you know what? Even if you’re so upset that this prodigy has beaten you, then at least you know that you’ve put more work into your skills than he ever will.”
                          
Oikawa looked you up and down, before his smile morphed from a forced one to a genuine one, soft and appreciative of your efforts to make him feel better. “Thank you,” he mumbled, dead serious. “I really don’t know what I’d do without you, (Y/n)-chan.”
                          
“You’d probably die by being hit in the head by a volleyball one too many times,” you joked, trying to lighten the atmosphere.
                          
“That’s true,” he giggled, “Iwa-chan would have murdered me a long time ago.”
                          
“That man has patience,” you agreed, before averting your eyes, and attempting to look innocent. “And some damn good muscles.”
                          
Oikawa fell off his chair.
                          
A/n: I know this was probably boring but we needed ✨development✨
Also I think I'll be expanding the story into when they're adults so there will be some timeskip spoilers after chapter 30 so just be aware of that.