Chapter Text
Kageyama picks up the phone after the fifth ring. “It's half past three in the morning.“ is the first thing he says to Oikawa in three months, words a little slurred. “I was sleeping.“
“Tobio.“ answers Oikawa, who is blessed with a selfserving selective memory and will forget about the timezone problem immediately. He leans back from where he is sat on the ground until his back hits the wall. “How is Italy?“
There's the sound of shuffling on the other end of the line. “Italian.“
“I'm sure you can do better than that.“
A short silence follows, during which Oikawa starts fiddling with the bracelet he'd bought on his third day in San Juan for what he quickly realized was a ridiculous 1200 pesos. With time the formerly white and blue strands have turned grey, and the ends frayed. The little sun pendant he lost during what he described as a clever alternative to traffic and Iwaizumi called 'one of the stupidest things you've ever done, which is saying something'. Maybe he should just get it over with, take the scissors, cross the river and put the thing out of its misery.
“I watched your last game.“ Kageyama finally answers, rudely interrupting Oikawa's reminiscence. “You seemed distracted, there's no way you would have messed that last serve up otherwise.“
Volleyball is a game of equal efforts, every point in a game no matter how impressively scored hitting the ground with the same weight behind it. This is, of course, except for the last one, which is in the end the only one people will remember, for better or worse. No one knows this better than Oikawa, who purses his lips in response, momentarily flirting with the idea of just ending the call here and pretending this never happened.
“I didn't know you paid that much attention to me still.“ he answers instead. “I'm flattered.“
Kageyama yawns, probably more out of fatigue than to beleager a point, which is of course the way he chooses to interpret it. “I do. We are international competitors.“
Oikawa takes a deep breath, bangs the back of his head against the wall lightly once. Lets his breath go.
There's confusion on the other end of the line. “Oikawa-san?“
“Nothing.“ Once again. “Anyway, you didn't answer the question.“
“Why do you want to know about Italy so bad?“ From the tone of his voice Oikawa can tell Kageyama is at the point where confusion melts into minor annoyance. He gets up, opens his fridge, decides to take a sip of milk right out of the bag, all before he answers.
“Why would someone be interested in Italy? To visit maybe? The real question is why you're being so willfully mean by withholding all the information. Tell me about your favourite sights or something.“
“You could have just asked about this the last time we saw each other.“
He closes his eyes at that, suddenly noticing gravity for the first time in the last two hours. He smiles, conscious that Kageyama isn't able to see it. “I think it's time for you to go back to bed. Goodnight, Tobio.“ It's as close to as a thank you as he can muster and he's tempted to just end the call there, but Oikawa Tooru has always been an exceptionally kind and forthcoming person, so he gives Kageyama the time to respond, which he does. By yelling.
“Wait!“ His voice is a little deeper than before. “I nearly forgot.“
There's another short silence. Oikawa listens to the other's breath, the steady machine. He's desperately waiting for something but he doesn't know what.
“Tell Iwaizumi congratulations on the engagement from me.“ Kageyama finally adds to spite him, voice low, like he's tasting his way around the words. The clock strikes four in the morning in Italy.
Ah. That, then. “Tell him yourself.“
+ + +
“Nice shirt.“ is all that Eamon says in reference to Oikawa's choice in outerwear, which in the face of the unusually hot day has only marginally won out against just going shirtless all together.
“Thanks, I think it accentuates my abdominals.“ he answers while casually sipping on his water, one hand on his hip to strike a pose, adding a kissy face when his teammate wolfwhistles.
Eamon joined the team much like Oikawa did, fresh out of school in a new country, not a lick of Spanish in tow. Unlike Oikawa, Eamon is a giant Irish man, with skin so light even copious amounts of sunscreen does not manage to keep him save in the summer, leaving him with an eternal reddish tint. Convenience necessitated back during their debut that the two newbies stick together, and Oikawa never really managed to unstick himself from him after that, even after it became obvious who of them was the better get. They aren't really friends, but then again neither would he really call most of his previous teammates, Kitagawa Daiichi and Seijo included, his friends. It's the way to grow used to constantly rotating rosters, losing teammates to other clubs or even countries.
“Race you to the gymnasium.“ he says, shaking his head as if that could help him get rid of the nagging thought that's come to the forefront again now. He starts off without waiting for the other's clunky Spanish response.
Practice passes by in a blink, somewhat exasparatingly so for someone trying to distract himself. If any of his teammates notice that his tosses are particularly challenging today, seeking some greater height, then it is only Mirco who sends him half of a dirty look over it. Otherwise there seems to be precious little interest in the state of his mind, swimming in thoughts far away from volleyball, further along the coast of the continent. He politely declines an offer to go drinking afterwards, even after a chorus of whines and an enduring sweaty chokehold by their captain. Instead, he decides to go grocery shopping, and to maybe finally make that stupid tonkatsu ramen variation his sister has been raving about. So he shoulders his bag and starts out in a light run.
It is when he is is jogging in place at a crossing waiting for the light to turn green that his phone vibrates. Not an uncommon occurence, but what is somewhat worthy of a remark is that the message is from Kunimi, who in his recent pursuit of cultivating a certain air of mystique has started to answer more seldomly and instigate conversations even less than that. There's a second of wondering if he should be concerned before he taps on the LINE app.
Luckily, it's not the news of Kindaichi's sudden tragic death courtesy of mad cow disease. Unluckily, it's instead a screenshot of a single line of text, obviously shared without the original sender's permission.
Oikawa called me last night
Said Oikawa finds himself frowning at his screen, steps now out of sync with the running playlist one of his younger teammates customized for him. How cruel. How cruel to betray your friend's trust like this. How cruel to not attach the rest of the message, which he can tell has been cropped out, his eyes following the outline of the text bubble crudely cut short, guillotined really. He's typed out his response before he's become aware of it.
wheres the rest??
The answer is near instantaneous, the autumn air suddenly filled with Kunimi's laughter, cold and detached, like fingers missing circulation. not sharing! www
The light turns green and the world around Oikawa starts moving, which seems totally inconsequential right that moment. He's in an exclusive relationship with the possibility of uncovering exclusive knowledge about Kageyama Tobio, and lights turn green everywhere all the time.
ur awful, is this how u treat ur beloved former captain??
There's no answer, so he tries another approach, idly hopping from one leg to the other now.
cmon!!! what do i have to do!!!
It's not the threat of being arrested for public indecency courtesy of what Kunimi sends him in response that makes him turn off his phone screen in the end, tucking it back into his chest pocket, but the incoming call which can't be attributed to Kunimi, or Kageyama for that matter. Suddenly the state of the traffic light doesn't matter anymore, Oikawa leaping across the street to the tune of outraged honking and disappointed abuelas. Heart in his ears as he keeps speeding up until he's gasping for air, hands on his knees in front of the supermarket, having forgotten entirely what he wanted to get in the first place.
+ + +
tobio-chan told me to tell you congrats on the engagement btw www
yeah i know, hes already told me himself
+ + +
The November nestled in between Oikawa losing his first and his second front tooth was the coldest their area had seen in the last ten years, not frigid enough for the snow to stay yet but on the trajectory to regularly plagueing the roads with black ice soon. This was later though. For now, comfortable in a parka still a bit too big for him, holding Iwaizumi's hand because he'd forgotten his gloves at home, not yet having met Jose Blanco and therefore loving volleyball only a normal amount, Oikawa was quite content. They were on their way back from a playdate with another friend they'd have a falling out with seven months from now, and whose name present Oikawa can no longer recall.
“When this tooth finally comes out“ he said now, the words coming out halfeaten since he couldn't stop shoving the thing back and forth with his tongue, relishing in the little twang of pain every time he strained the last nerve holding onto it. “we should have a spitting contest. Bet you I could at least do thiiiiiis“ -here he held his hand, still holding onto Iwaizumi's, as far up above his head as possible- “far.“
“Not even.“ Iwaizumi retorted, who was currently missing both of his canine's, and therefore sounded a little like he was constantly asthmatic. “Let's just pull it out now and see.“
Oikawa suddenly stopped in the middle of the road, giving the old lady who had been walking behind them this entire time the chance to finally pass them, which she took. “That's not how it works, Iwa-chan.“ he frowned. “That's cheating.“
“I always let my mom pull them out once they're-“ Iwaizumi stopped, looked up, down, left, right to find the word he was searching for. The only thing more flushed from the cold than his cheeks was his nose. “dangly.“ he finally ended the sentence, looking dissatisfied with the word he ended up using.
“Iwa-chan is a cheater!“
“Am not!“
“Are too!“
“Am not!“
“Are-“ Bless the attention span of a child, because Oikawa found a new shiny thing to fixate on. “What's that?“ he asked, pointing at what had caught his attention.
“What's what?“
“That!“ He pointed at it more urgently, willing Iwaizumi to turn around, which he mercifully did. Now they were both looking at the barren tree in front of them, black and skeletal against the frosty blue sky. “You see that on the branch there?“
“I'm not blind, Shittykawa.“ came the response, yet still Oikawa found himself being pulled closer to the sight in question by virtue of still holding onto Iwaizumi's hand, who was walking towards it. He stumbled over his feet a little as he caught up, nervously playing with his nearly severed tooth again. “Groooooss.“ he heard Iwaizumi say as they got closer, in a voice that sounded about as far from grossed out as the distance between Japan and Argentina.
“Yeah.“ Oikawa agreed, eyes trained on the branch, which was littered with the half-frozen carcasses of at least half a dozen insects, meticulously speared along the veins of the wood. He never had had much interest in entomology, and he never would, but even so he could identify the two-striped leaf beetle still writhing in its death throes, obviously the most recent victim. Further along the branch hung half of a grasshopper's remains, head pulled clean off, body too small to pull attention to its entrails. “Who did this?“
“How should I know?“ Iwaizumi retorted, sounding less angry than he usually would. Oikawa watched with horror as he gingerly pulled a cricket's body off the twig it had been pinned to with his stubby little fingers. “Oikaaaaawaaaaa.“ he sang, turning around, face contorted demonically. “Lunch time!“
He later apologized quite genuinely to Oikawa's mother for making Oikawa panic so much he let go off his hand and stumbled away, falling over and hitting his face so hard he lost his front tooth finally, the only one later missing in his little box since they couldn't find it again. “I'm sure you didn't mean it.“ she shooed, driving her fingers through a still sniffling Oikawa's hair. “But you should be more careful next time.“
Iwaizumi nodded, looking close to tears himself. Later when he had gone and Oikawa was sitting on the kitchen floor drawing pictures of imaginary cities while his mother was preparing nikuman, he looked up. “So why were those insects on the branch?“
“Oh!“ His mother turned her head a little, hands still preoccupied with the buns. “Well if you ask me that was probably a bird's doing.“
“A bird?“ Oikawa tried and failed to imagine a robin spearing its food onto a tree instead of eating it. That would be nearly as stupid as him doing the same to his bento, but maybe things were different for birds sometimes.
“Shrikes make use of trees to save their food for later.“
A shrike. Oikawa decided he found the name fitting. It sounded like something that should be in a haunted house, a scream, a sound like something violent enough for what he had seen today.
“You've learned about bird migration already, haven't you?“
Oikawa said yes, failing to mention it was she herself who had taught him when they'd visited an aviary as a family a few years ago, painting the migratory circle onto a wall with her finger. He was getting a little tired of drawing now so he got up, resting his head on the kitchen table.
“Well, sometimes shrikes leave their food hanging there during the entire winter.“ she continued.
“Like a fridge!“
“Exactly!“ Here she turned around, smiling. Oikawa had nearly forgotten about the pain now, and was smiling in return. “Exactly like a fridge.“
They were quiet for a while, during which Oikawa sat down, dangling his feet, then got up again, looked at the contents of their fridge, sat back down again. He was mulling on something that had begun to bother him. “But what if they come back and their food is gone?“
His mother placed the last bun in the steamer and sat down across from him. She'd recently cut her hair a tad shorter, and Oikawa missed the old look a little. “They'll just have to trust that it isn't.“
He frowned, thinking about the great big world of temptation out there, of what would motivate a bird to still faithfully come back to quaint Miyagi after its winter vacation was over. “But what if the food is still there and the shrike doesn't return?“
“If the strike doesn't return, then maybe what is waiting back home isn't enough. Maybe the shrike found better food somewhere else.“
+ + +
When he was fifteen, he would've nearly done something terrible to Kageyama if it hadn't been for the divine hand of Iwaizumi's intervention.
The thing is, this is not where his propensity for devastation ends.
+ + +
There's a blink and you miss it interval of time between unripe and overripe when it comes to peaches, and Oikawa missed it by about three days four hours and fiftyseven seconds with the one he bites into at that moment. Sickenly sweet and sticky juice runs down his chin and fingers, drops onto his sweatshirt. The flesh is too soft, gives in too easily. It's his second peach of the day, after he remembered the pile on his kitchen counter slowly gathering fruit flies.
He throws the remains of the peach into the garbage, tries less successfully to lick the last remnants of fructose off his fingers. Maybe he could ignore the fruit pile a little longer, let it fester, let the rot set in faster. That's how you make fertilizer. It's a split-second firing of the synapses, gone before he can consider it. Of course he throws away the peaches. Of course he sits down to read the letter he just got in the mail.
Eleven centimeters in height and twentytwo in length. Aquamarine envelope seemingly handcrafted out of coloured paper, golden vines stamped into the upper and lower corners, faintly smudged. Such a small thing to weigh three tons, attached to both of Oikawa's ankles. Such an insignificant object in the grand scale of the universe.
He reads the letter, written in unfamiliar handwriting except for two words. Reads it again. The paper smells faintly of coconut. He realizes his fingers are still sticky when he leaves a shallow thumbprint on it.
There's of course nothing new here, no grand reveal, just things he already discussed with Iwaizumi extensively, trying to match up their schedules with everyone else invited, which for a relatively small gathering still necessitated weeks of negotiation. And yet he feels ill suddenly, like he's thrown the peach out and only eaten the stone, with branches boring their way through his innards now.
Kageyama picks up before Oikawa is even cognizant of having called him. He's a little out of breath, like he's made some kind of mad dash to the phone. “What?“
Ah. For the first time in recent memory, Oikawa doesn't know what to say.
“Hello?“ Kageyama adds, sounding less annoyed than confused. Oikawa listens as the other phone presumably hits some sort of surface. “If the network is down again, dios-“
“Hello Tobio.“ he finally manages to reply, a truly marvelous start to a conversation. The letter he's been holding onto until then falls onto the floor, making no sound on impact.
“Hello.“ Kageyama repeats, dedicated to being as annoying as ever.
“Aren't you going to ask why I called?“ Not that he himself has much of a clue.
“No.“ comes the reply.
Oikawa sighs, sets himself in for a frustrating conversation. He pulls one pillow to his chest, drawing shapes into it with one hand. “Ok, I won't tell you then.“ He tries, and fails, to pick the letter back with his toes. “So what were you doing before I so rudely interrupted?“
“I was watching a movie.“
His big toe touches the paper, but only manages to shove it farther away from him. “What's it about?“
There's an only slightly stiffled yawn on the other end of the line. Wow. “Do you even care?“
“Obviously not.“ Oikawa answers, deciding to return Kageyama's energy. “So what is it about?“
He can see the shrug accompanying the “I don't know.“
“You're watching a movie and you can't tell what it's about?“ Only two more centimeters and he would be able to reach the paper. “...My cute little former kouhai can't be this stupid.“
“It's all in Italian. I asked my teammates how to best practice the language and that was one of their suggestions.“
Oikawa can't argue with that, having gained one half of his proficiency in Spanish with his eyes glued to the TV whenever Sol Pérez presented the weather, and the other during their four week whirlwind romance. He scratches his cheek absentmindedly. “Well then describe what's happening on screen.“
“There's a man and a woman-“
“Unlike most movies.“
Kageyama continues on as if he hasn't even heard the interjection, his words lightly coloured with the low monotone of the TV in the background. Oikawa imagines him, half turned away from the movie, light playing over his features as he grimaces in concentration, eyes bright. Also he's shirtless. “-and the woman is very skinny. I think it's supposed to be a romance but it doesn't really feel like one so far.“
Oikawa lets a dramatic sigh escape, aware of the way Kageyama stills on the other end of the line. “Give it time. You're always so impatient about things.“ He looks at his watch. 15:34. Halfway across the globe the sun should be starting to set soon.
“Tell you what,“ he adds, suddenly possessed by some greater genius. “Tell me which movie it is and I'll be nice enough to watch it with you.“ A pause, during which he swears he can hear Kageyama think.“As in, I will watch it here and we can discuss it over the phone. We can pretend it's a date.“
Two more seconds of silence. Oikawa thinks the peach tree inside of him must be carrying its own fruit by now.
“Fine.“
+ + +
About four hours before he was to set foot on the plane that would take him halfway across the world and into the next stage of his professional career, packing the last possible necessities in a frenzy while arguing with Takeru that yes, he was going to end up missing his uncle Tooru a lot even if he protested now, his phone rang.
“Argentina.“ Sixteen year old Kageyama Tobio said the single word with the grave finality of a much older man. To be fair he did so for lots of things, many not even pertaining to Oikawa.
“Argentina.“ Oikawa agreed, so taken aback momentarily that he didn't pay attention to Takeru lounging for his travel camera. He'd only notice it missing two weeks later, when he was invited by one of his new teammates to go wandering the desert.
“Why?“ came the answer, so immediate and direct Oikawa felt compelled to sit down on his bed after being hit with it, which he did, smoothing out a pillow absentmindedly, hand moving back and forth, fingers wandering the cotton.
“You think very highly of yourself if you assume this is about getting away from you, King“ he replied, having managed to slip back into his usual demeanour finally after the curveballs he'd been thrown repeatedly. “This has nothing to do with you, it's about me.“
There was a silence on the other end of the line as Kageyama obviously processed the words. Two years out from when Oikawa was his senpai he'd done a lot of growing into his features, but parts of of the spectre of Kitagawa Daiichi still remained in the round cheeks and the big eyes, the awkward grimace he called a smile. Oikawa imagined him now, brows furrowed instead, corners of his mouth pulled down in a frown. Something about it made him want kick the wall, and pull the pillow closer to him.
“You better do your best.“ finally came the answer, and there was nothing hesitant about Kageyama's voice now. “I want a good fight next time we meet up as opponents. If you don't train so hard you die I will crush you and the entirety of your team.“
Oikawa smiled despite himself at the challenge, the fighting words written in red across his ceiling now, the selfish entitled king on the other end of the line. He jumped off his bed, one fist held high for nobody to see except his sister who passed by the door to his room at the least opportune moment. “As if you could ever beat me!“ he yelled into his phone, neglecting to mention the fact that he had already done so once. History is a blackboard that keeps erasing itself to fit new information onto it. “I will eat you, Kageyama Tobio!“
An hour later, when he had loaded all of his suitcases into Iwaizumi's car and they were on the way to the airport, his friend nonchalantly turned towards him at a red light, one of many they'd have to deal with, leading to an extended state of worry that Oikawa would miss his flight, which he didn't, because the flight had been delayed by three hours.
“So why do you want to eat Kageyama exactly?“ he asked.