Archive of Our Own

Someone once told Oikawa that in whatever you do, you represent the name on the front of your jersey. You also represent the name on the back of your jersey.

The name on the front of his jersey has changed a lot. Kitagawa Daiichi, Aoba Johsai, CA San Juan, Argentina.

Amongst the ever changing array of colours, navy, white, turquoise, sky blue or black, the one thing that didn’t change is the name on the back. Oikawa.

Standing at the entrance of the Olympic village in Paris, there are no names on the front or the back of his jersey, but in its place is the hinomaru. Tancho red standing brightly against snow white.

A symbol he thought he had given up at the cusp of adulthood.

“Whooahh! Is that a marble bridge?” he hears Hinata asking a few rows behind him.

“I guess? It’s not connected to anything, though,” Hoshiumi points out.

“That’s the Arc de Triomphe, you country bumpkins,” Atsumu deadpans.

Oikawa sighs as their bus passes the iconic arc and heads towards the outskirts of the city.

“I hate it here,” he mutters under his breath.

Beside him, Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. It isn’t the first time he’s said it and he doubts it would be the last. He means it though.

He never liked Paris. From the pickpockets, the people telling him to use French but criticising his French, the army of tourists, the rats. THE RATS. Ugh.

After what feels like a century, they finally arrive at the Athletes Village in Seine-Saint-Denis.

He checks his phone while the rest of the team unboards the bus. His stuff should be here soon.

“Right then,” Iwaizumi clears his throat. “We’ve been given two 4-bedroom units. Each bedroom will have 2 people. When I say your name, please come forward and collect your keys.

Unit 12: Ushijima-Sakusa. Bokuto-Hinata. Komori-Hakuba. 

Unit 14: Aran-Yaku. Miya-Suna. Kageyama-Hoshiumi. 

Coach Hibarida and Sakai will be in Unit 12. Oikawa and I will be in Unit 14. The rest of the trainers and therapists will be in Unit 13. Any questions? No? Ok. You have the rest of the day to unpack. Dinner is at 6.30 for those who want to come along, lights out at 10.30. Be ready at the common room at 9AM tomorrow for training. Don’t be late. That is all.”

The team begins to enter Japan’s building, eyes wide as they roam the space adorned by a familiar red. Kuroo has made it to Paris as well, to no one’s surprise. The sports promotion division wanted him there to support the athletes and to manage PR for them. He’ll be staying outside the athlete’s village, though.

“Uuooo! Look at that view!” Hinata is pushing himself out his and Bokuto’s balcony.

“Hinata, don’t lean on that railing!” Komori exclaims as he pulls his luggage into his own bedroom.

Sakusa groans as he begins inspecting his bed for lice. There’s been rumours about a louse infection spreading across Europe and he’d rather burn his bed than lie in it, if he was being honest. Green village efforts be damned.

“Oh my god, I can hear them through the walls,” Yaku laughs as Hinata’s excitement filters through to their unit. “Luckily you didn’t put him with Kageyama, huh, Oika-woah!”

The libero peers into Oikawa and Iwaizumi’s room and sees the brunette setting up a futon between the two beds.

“Hmm? What was it you said, Yaku? I don’t think I caught the tail end of it.”

“You brought a futon over to Paris?” the blonde laughs, impressed by the effort.

“Yeah, I’ve had enough of cardboard beds after Tokyo, thanks.”

“Where did you even get it?”

“Asked an old friend for a favour,” the brunette shrugs.

“Hey,” Atsumu pops in. “The rest of us are going to walk around the village. Any of you wanna come alo-oh my god, is that a futon?!”

Here we go again.

After the amazement of the team died down, the group began to look around the village, exploring some of the nearby facilities and greeting the athletes in the neighbouring buildings. They got acquainted with the rest of team Japan quickly enough. Apparently the winter Olympians might be joining them towards the end of the games for a remedalling ceremony, whatever that means, and Hinata is excited to meet people who are actually closer to normal height for once.

“There’s literal children here,” Aran looks horrified as he watches the skateboarding team walk past him. They look to be more than a decade younger than him and he wouldn’t be that far off. At the ripe age of 16, some of those athletes are in Paris to defend their titles.

“Hey, look! The rings! Let’s get a picture!” Bokuto points.

There’s a line in front of the giant iconic rings and the excitement is palpable. Some people have waited their whole life to be here. And while the Olympics might not determine who takes the top spot in the sport, it is certainly a prestige every athlete takes pride in.

Oikawa never thought he would be back here. He never thought he would have the chance to step foot into the village and be amongst the cream of the crop ever again. But 3 years after Tokyo and here he is, hanging onto the blue ring of the Olympic symbol and taking pictures with the people he has come to consider his family. But as the hour grows later, dark clouds begin to loom the Parisian skies.

A storm is brewing, and he wonders what those harsh winds will bring.

Kageyama’s head pokes in later that night with a pillow under his arm. He finds Oikawa on the futon wearing an Adler’s pull over he doesn’t remember lending. 

“Oikawa-san. Can I sleep in your room?”

He says so just out of courtesy.

“No,” the brunette says decisively.

“No?” the younger tilts his head.

“No?” Iwaizumi looks up from his book, equally perplexed.

“Tobio, it’s 25 degrees in here! We’ll be sweating the whole night!”

The ravenette pouts. “But…”

Oikawa flinches. He’s never been very good at saying no to the younger when he looks so despondent. He turns to Iwaizumi for help but the spiky-haired trainer just shrugs.

“We could always just leave the window open.”

The ravenette perks up.

“Iwa-chan, you’re supposed to back me up here,” Oikawa sighs.

“What? As long as you guys don’t do anything indecent, I’m fine with anything.”

“Fine,” the brunette acquiesces with mock surrender. He lifts one side of the blanket and the younger setter to settles happily into the futon beside him.

The dining hall… sucks. Sure, the muffins are great but the coffee tastes like sewage, the food is definitely not good enough to power 12 hyperactive athletes in their prime and it's quite the distance from their building. Thankfully, they’ve got their own personal chef back in the Team Japan building.

Also thankfully they’re not there to eat.

“Tooru! Here!” A team decked in a familiar blue uniform waves the brunette down.

Oikawa’s face brightens up as he greets the Argentinian team. “Guys! Hey! I haven’t seen you in ages. How’ve you been?”

“Oh, we’re great. Happy, fit and ready to kick your asses this week.”

“Hah! I’d like to see you try!”

“And you? What’s it like being a traito-Ow!”

Zerba winces as Martinez elbows him in the chest.

Oikawa snorts. He gets around to introducing the teams to each other. Most of them already know one another from the international games over the years. They end up sitting at the same table together, conversing in a mix of English, Spanish and some Japanese when Oikawa inches closer to one of the players.

“Pst. Facundo. Did you bring the goods?” he whispers in Spanish.

“Of course I did, who do you take me for?” the spiker nods secretively.

Hinata eyes them suspiciously. And because Hinata is suspicious, now Kageyama is suspicious. And now that two of them are suspicious, Suna is curious.

The Argentine player pulls out a small tote bag of things, metal clanging onto the wooden tables of the dining hall and Oikawa digs in. He pulls out a tin and opens it up, expression brightening with a gasp as he pulls away the paper around it to reveal…

Alfajores. Homemade ones by the looks of it.

The brunette’s smile widens with such delights as he takes a bite and moans, so high pitched and shameless, Suna is pretty sure only Kageyama has heard it. Now he wants to cut his ears off.

“Will you guys be attending the opening ceremony?” Agustin asks HInata.

The orange-haired shakes his head. “Can’t. We’re up against Germany the morning after.”

“Oh right, you guys got the 1st slot. Must be tough. I know Toto isn’t that big of a morning person.”

The decidedly not-morning-person has now gone off to catch up with de Cecco.

With Oikawa as their mediator, the team find themselves in pleasant company. Halfway throughout dinner, they spot the women’s team passing, some of them making small talk, others deciding to move to their table instead. Kageyama spots a familiar face in the crowd, a certain middle blocker he met in Sendai just a couple years ago.

Airi waves at the ravenette with a smile and he gives her his own wave back. It feels like many years have passed since that moment at the Sendai University gym. But in reality, it has only been a little over a year. It feels like a relief, seeing familiar faces in a crowd that doesn’t necessarily know your name. He is sure they will bump into each other again later.

“Did you manage to get the Turkish one?” He hears Atsumu asking Hinata.

“No, I’ve only gotten the Brazilian, French, Portuguese and Argentinian ones so far. Oh! I heard Snoop Dog has a personalised one!”

“What Dog?”

Ah, so the pin trading has begun. Normally, Kageyama would compete against the orange-haired for these sort of things but this time, he’d rather not. He has had his fair share of pin trading in the past 2 games and he’s never figured out what to do with them. The pins from Rio are still sitting in a small box in his childhood home, in the box he first put them in when he came back from his first olympics.

People come up to him to trade pins anyways.

And by the end of the night, he’s got about 10 of them weighing down his lanyard while Oikawa has gotten 25.

In the face of Oikawa’s popularity, he is reminded just how small he can feel.

The night of the opening ceremony, it rains, in the Olympic Village in Seine-Saint-Denis. Just as Oikawa predicted. A light shower pitter-patters against the balcony doors in their dorms, cool winds blowing into the rooms and giving them some respite from the summer heat.

Kageyama takes in a deep breath as he lets the chill of the summer rain wash over his face. He parted the balcony doors just enough to let the air in but not enough to drench the room. He sighs as his back rests against the futon Oikawa had somehow brought over to Paris, a break from the stiff cardboard beds they’ve had to endure for the past few days. The brunette besides him throws his arm across his waist and pulls him closer.

Oikawa moans against his mouth, lips parting letting the younger lick into his mouth. His finger reaches up to cup his neck, his thumb sliding under the black and silver Colantotte necklace he bought with his first big paycheck.

“Wait, Oikawa-san,” Kageyama pulls away panting, a beautiful flush dusting his cheeks all the way to the tip of his ears. “Iwaizumi-san-”

“Is joining the opening ceremony with Kuroo and the women’s team. He said we could take the room for the night.”

That’s all the ravenette needed to know before he pushes the brunette onto his back with equal hunger and ferocity.

They spend the night against each other, pressing kisses to skin warmed by the Parisian summer night and riding on the high of making history together once again. Oikawa relishes in the feeling. He’s here, once again. His 2nd Olympics, on behalf of a country he thought he’d never represent again. This time, he isn’t looking for remnants of something he can’t name in the mindless sea of faces he finds at the club in the village.

He pulls the younger down and slots their lips together once they are finished, velvety tongues meeting and tasting each other as the sweat cools on their skin. He brings a hand up to cup the other’s cheek, eyes half-lidded, lashes brushing against his cheek seductively and smiles.

Kageyama knows that smile. He’s about to say something really annoying or provocative.

“How does it feel to fuck an Olympic Champion?”

Both it seems. The younger groans as he drops his head onto the brunette’s shoulder and he can feel the other’s chest shake as he laughs. Oikawa’s hand rakes through his hair, admiring the light, silky locks, dark as midnight slipping through his fingers.

He doesn’t have an answer, not one that could impress the brunette. He’s never been the best with his words, but he can tell you the closest thing to it.

“It feels like flying.”

They make it to the South Paris Arena first thing the next morning.

“Come on, guys! Keep it moving!” Iwaizumi claps his hands, leading the warm up as the team gets ready for the first volleyball tournament in the games.

Kuroo takes his place next to Oikawa on the bench with a groan. “That childhood friend of yours is a monster.”

The brunette snorts as he swipes through his notes on the tablet. “What did he do this time?”

“He went on a night out with the Judo team after the ceremony and drank Abe under the table! What time did he make it back to the dorms?”

“Hmmm,” Oikawa tilts his head. “Dunno. He slept in Hinata’s room and the guy sleeps like a log. Got a text from him at 3 though.”

Kuroo’s eyes widened. ”How is he this fresh after all that?”

They watch as the athletic trainer keeps the rowdier members of their team under control, not a single sign of fatigue on his face.

“Well, he did live in California for a while. Ever heard of Greek life?”

The other ex-captain looks at him with a confused look. “No?”

“I’ll give you a hint. The Greeks have nothing to do with it.”

That makes the messy-haired man even more confused. “How is that supposed to help?”

The clock strikes 9 in the South Paris Arena and the games begin. Fortunately for them, a round robin system is in place and neither Italy, France, Poland nor Slovenia are in their pool. Unfortunately, both Germany, Argentina and America are.

Oikawa remembers Hibarida groaning when they announced the pools. If there’s one thing the Germans are known for, it’s their powerful serves and unbreakable blocks.

They brought over a cannon in the form of an Opposite Hitter named Grozer and a towering Middle Blocker by the name of Krik. Oikawa winces as Grozer aims another serve at Ushijima. He might be a good server and spiker, but he still isn’t very good at serve reception, even after all these years.

They’re not themselves, Oikawa notices. Maybe it’s the pressure of the games, maybe it’s the lack of momentum in the first set, but this isn’t the Ryuujin Nippon he knows. He knows better than to underestimate a sleeping giant, however, and he prays to any god listening that the beast wakes up. Preferably soon.

Germany takes the game 3-2 and the team leaves the arena completely overwhelmed by the fact they lost the first game of the tournament. Thanks to the round-robin system, this means they are still safe from elimination and the best 2 from each pool advances to the quarter-finals.

But this means they can’t afford to lose any more games.

They spend the night together in the common room eating onigiris the team chef made for them and curse at their chances.

“This isn’t over!” Atsumu curses at nobody at all. “We’re better than this! We’ll show them. We’ll fucking win this thing then go home and eat some real fucking onigiri!”

The group cheers, both vindicated and motivated by the promise of a party at Onigiri Miya and Oikawa chuckles to himself softly.

They will have more chances to score in the future. They just have to be ready for it.

Oikawa groans as he walks into the communal area the next morning. His back aches and he’s sore all over.

“Rough night?” Kuroo snickers.

The brunette snorts. “That’s one way to put it.” When has Tobio ever been gentle with him?

Iwaizumi peers into the common room and sighs in relief. “Oh, thank god you’re here.”

The brunette raises a brow. “Oh no. What is that supposed to mean?”

It means, there’s a large, moody outside hitter cramming under one of the dining tables in the cafeteria and it’s attracting a lot of unwanted attention.

Oikawa crouches into a squat with a sigh and rests his chin on his palm. “Bo?”

Big, teary eyes turn towards the brunette. “Oika.”

“Hey buddy. Care to tell me why you’re camping down here?”

This isn’t the first time Bokuto has squeezed himself into a tight space when he’s down. It’s the first time he’s done so in an international event, however. It’s also been a solid year or so since his last meltdown. The fact that he didn’t hide under the bleachers after their loss to Egypt during the qualifiers is a miracle of its own.

“We lost!”

Oikawa sighs. “I know we did. I was there.”

He has met Bokuto’s high school setter, the pretty one with the sharp blue eyes. He taught the brunette some tips on how to handle the eccentric spiker’s mood swings. He successfully cheered him up during his previous meltdown during the VNLs last year. He’s been appointed the resident Bokuto handler ever since. Even Kuroo was impressed.

He doesn't get paid enough to do this.

“We’re still in the preliminary phase though. And we’ll have plenty of chances to prove ourselves in the upcoming games.”

“Yeah,” Bokuto sniffs. “But I wanted to win the first game!”

Ah, so this is what it is about.

It wasn’t about Japan being out of the running. It was about the prestige of winning the first tournament of the Olympic Games. Which is literally just a coincidence in scheduling.

“Yes, but you know what’s even better than winning the first game?” Oikawa prompts.

Hook.

Bright golden eyes turn to him with wide eyed curiosity. “What?”

Line.

A big confident smile blooms on the brunette’s face. “Winning the last game.”

And sinker.

The realisation brightens the owl-like spiker immediately and he crawls out from under the table. With his motivation renewed and his goals shifted to align more closely with Oikawa’s, Bokuto lets out a boisterous laugh, waxing poetics on how they will bring glory to Japan’s name and make history.

5 minutes. A record time. Behind him, Atsumu almost claps at how quickly he was able to get him to recover.

“Now then,” Oikawa dusts his hands in satisfaction. “Shall we?”

Corralling whoever is closest to him, the brunette drags them all to the women’s volleyball match, where his student is about to make her Olympic debut.

“Woo!!! Airi-chan! Go get 'em!” Oikawa cheers adamantly from the stands.

A freshly recharged Bokuto cheers aggressively beside him while Hinata and Atsumu clap their bright red balloon cheering sticks together to make some noise. 

“I can’t believe one of your students is a starter on the national team! You’re so cool Oikawa-san!”

Oikawa preens under the praise. He watches with pride as Airi walks up to the service line.

“So stylish as well,” Atsumu admires the way she personalised her uniform, hair braided back and compression sleeve on her right leg and arm.

“Bahahahaha! Of course! We must represent our country well!” Bokuto laughs boisterously like he’s the one who inspired others to wear compression gear.

The fan camera locks in on them and the 3 MSYB teammates wave their clappers ecstatically at the camera.

Kageyama watches quietly by Oikawa’s side with unbreakable concentration as the women’s match begins.

It feels far more technical, far more strategic with such smart plays that it feels like a completely different game from the one they played just the day before. He watches the way the girls communicate, watches how they move on court and how the opponent reacts. And between sets, talks strategy with Oikawa.

It’s different, being in the audience stand. It gives him a better view of the entirety of the court, as opposed to the limiting view of the side he is on, and he thinks this must be what Hinata picked up when he snuck into the training camp at Shiratorizawa.

That night, after practice, the team, with the predictable exception of Ushijima and Sakusa, somehow finds themselves eating instant ramen in Oikawa’s room.

“Why are we doing this in my room again?” the brunette groans.

“Because you’re the only one with a futon. Uno,” Yaku says, laying down a red card. “And I don’t like sitting on the ground.”

“I mean, we could always do this in my room but Sakusa hates the smell of instant ramen. He barely tolerates Bokuto and Hinata as is,” Komori lays down a colour switch card from Oikawa’s unused bed. “Blue.”

“What’s wrong with me and Bokuto?” Hinata pouts beside the libero, placing a blue card.

“Yeah! What did I do?” Bokuto adds, placing another blue card on top.

“You’re both loud and messy,” Atsumu points out from the beanbag chair. “Gah! I don’t have blue.”

Kageyama eats his ramen silently by Oikawa’s side on the futon, back pressed against the edge of Iwaizumi’s bed. He watches silently as Atsumu picks card after card after card and doesn’t get a blue card.

“Yeah, but now my room smells like a college dorm,” the brunette grumbles. He lays down a blue reverse card and the blonde squeaks.

“Uno,” he says casually.

“Damn you, ‘Kawa!” Atsumu curses.

“Don’t worry about it Oikawa-san. We’ll be sure to clean up and air out the room when we’re done,” Suna reassures him.

The brunette grumbles into his ramen.

He doesn’t say it out loud but he appreciates the familiarity of the atmosphere. Despite 1 loss behind them and 2 round robin matches ahead of them, he feels nothing but calm. It reminds of the training camps they used to have in high school, late nights playing board games and snacking on junk food until coach Irihata comes in to yell at them.

He wonders if this is what the Tokyo Training Camp Kageyama told him about was like.

In a way, it helps him calm his nerves, distancing him from overcalculating their odds in the next round of matches.

“Don’t come running to me if you feel like shit tomorrow,” is all Iwaizumi adds from his own bed, flicking his last card into the stack.

Oikawa knows he will fuss over them regardless, like the mother he is.

2 days later, they find themselves face-to-face with America. The match takes place late at night, an awkward time after dinner but right before bed time.

It’s gruelling.

In the end, it’s an aggressive serve that hits the net that gives them their set point. Then many many many deuces later, they take the match.

The team makes it back to the dorms with a groan. They won, yes. Elated, of course. But more so relieved that it’s over.

They’re not having the fun they should be having, not playing the way they usually do, and it makes Oikawa anxious.

If they don’t get their act together soon, it might spell trouble for them and their hopes of bringing home that medal.

Their game against Argentina was leagues better, either because they’ve realised the urgency of the match, or the familiarity of the team across the court.

“Cover!” Komori yells out and backs away.

“Got it!” Hinata replies.

It’s a high ball. With only 3 touches allowed, the chances of a proper set is low but they make it work anyways. Kageyama uses his knuckles to bump the ball right over the block. Loser tries to pick it up with his foot but it meets ground anyways.

The whistle blows and the point is theirs.

“Fuck! They’re so persistent,” Yaku curses, chest heaving from the effort.

Kageyama braces his arms against his knees. The rallies in this game are longer than the last, courtesy of a well-experienced setter.

Another whistle blows and the game starts again.

As he takes on the opponent’s position, Kageyama glances at his own team. They’re exhausted.

Sakusa gives them a whip-like serve, but the force of it sends the ball deep into the crowd. An out. Safe serves are not advised in these games. You might as well be handing your opponent the ball on a silver platter.

The next serve is Argentina’s. Their serve misses too, hitting the top edge of the net and falling into the court.

Kageyama sighs. The longer these games last, the more mistakes are bound to happen. And they might only be 3 sets in but the rallies are excruciatingly long.

He glances towards the bench and sees Oikawa eyeing the opponent from the corner of his eye. This is a team he knows well. Very well.

And it’s because he’s always been the benevolent king on court, he knows all their strengths and weaknesses.

The whistle blows and it’s Hinata’s serve.

The serve lands squarely in the pot but the libero receives it and it's up in the air! Kageyama watches as the middle blockers line up, jumping in synchronisation and one of them spiking the ball across the net. Hinata receives it, the ball returns squarely back to Kageyama’s position. He sends the ball to Suna, who spikes it but the block gets a touch against it. Another long rally.

Argentina sets the ball up for another spike, Loser hits it but Hinata makes a dive for it once more. The ball returns to Kageyama once again and he jumps.

Curving his fingers and angling his shoulder to the side, he dumps it across the net.

The arena comes alive with cheers.

A match point, firmly won using a setter dump after a long rally.

On the bench, Oikawa looks at claps his hands, a small frown on his face. It’s a ballsy move, he admits. But even more concerning was the awkward angle it was set from. It played a large role in the deception, yes, but it can’t have been comfortable.

He doesn’t get to question it further as they get enveloped by hugs from the team across the net.

“You guys better win this thing. It’s the least you could do after we lent you Tooru,” Luciano says tearfully.

“I’m on loan?” the brunette asks with equal parts sadness and amusement. He can’t help it. These are the people who welcomed him with open arms when he only had a sliver of a chance to go pro.

“Of course! You’re one of ours! You have to win on our behalf. On the bright side, Brazil lost as well,” Tomas shrugs.

“Hey!” Hinata exclaims in offence for his 2nd home.

“Well, if Argentina cannot win, the least Brazil could do is lose.”

Ah, the intense sibling rivalry between Latin American countries.

“We’ll cheer for you, ok? We don’t have any red shirts but you best bet we’ll be in the crowd supporting you!”

Martinez pulls Kageyama into a tight hug and he groans uncomfortably.

“We appreciate it,” the brunette laughs. “Thank you, guys.”

“Don’t mention it, Toto. We’re family, remember? We’ll always support you. Just… come back and visit us from time to time, ok?”

Oikawa smiles sadly. He misses Buenos Aires more than he cares to mention, longs for the view of the sunsets over the Andes from his San Juan apartment.

“I will,” he promises.

He doesn’t know when, not with his extremely packed schedules, but he’ll make time. He owes them that much, and gives all of them a tight hug before he rejoins his team.

The end of the round robins give them some room to breathe. 3 days. They get 3 days to recover, train and brace themselves for the knockout stages.

With the preliminary stage behind them, Hibarida decided to give them 1 day off, to sight see, roam the village, live life, enjoy their youth. His words, not theirs.

The team decides they’d spend the day visiting Tendou’s chocolatier. The unpredictable ‘guess monster’ had been generous enough to host the team, courtesy to his high school best friend. It starts with the team exploring the chocolatier with wide eyes, sparkling with wonder as they take in the overwhelming sweet aroma floating through the air.

It ends predictably with Kageyama and Hinata arguing over who gets the last truffle while they walk back to the village.

Oikawa sighs as they push each other’s faces away from the box, using their strange cumulative tally to justify who gets the last piece.

“Shouldn't we intervene?” Komori asks his cousin.

“Nah. I’ve watched those idiots fight every match we have together. It’ll brush over eventually.”

The tall spiker passes them without another word and leaves Oikawa, arms crossed, watching his boyfriend and his best friend bicker like children.

“It's 2365-2367!”

“No it’s not! Those berries were already mouldy! I’m not eating mouldy fruits before a game!”

Oikawa raises a brow in concern. There were rotten fruits involved?

“Boo! You’re just mad you lost. Now gimme!”

Kageyama lifts his arms to pull the truffle out of Hinata’s reach and he winces. The orange-haired spiker takes advantage of it and swipes the treat out of his hand but both he and Oikawa saw the momentary shift.

Hinata doesn’t say a word as he looks at the ravenette with concern. The brunette’s calm, on the other hand, is dangerous in its unpredictability.

The three of them end up in Oikawa and Iwaizumi’s room, cross legged on the futon and the brunette forces Kageyama to remove his shirt. He is thankful his shirt hides his face when he pulls it over his head but he can’t help but hiss at the pain.

Oikawa frowns as he looks at the inflamed muscles.

“When did this happen?” He touches the tender skin lightly. It’s a bit hot to the touch and his brows furrowed in concern.

“During our game with Argentina.”

Ahh, so he was right. He thought that last dump looked like it hurt. A knock on his door frame breaks him from his thoughts and Iwaizumi walks in.

“Got your message. What’s up?”

Oikawa looks over at his best friend. “Iwa-chan. Can you take a look at this and tell me what you think?”

“Hmm,” Iwaizumi looks over the injury carefully, guiding the setter into extending his arms and watching Kageyama’s expression carefully as he tests his shoulder’s mobility. “Murase-san will have to double check it later but…for the most part, it looks like a minor sprain. Overextension probably. Nothing bad, you’ll probably feel better by the end of the week. But you have to take it easy until then.”

The ravenette frowns. “Next week? But the quarter-finals are in two days.”

“I know. But if you keep pushing it and over-exerting it, you’re gonna leave Paris with more than just a minor sprain and that’s going to take a hell lot of a longer time to recover. Why didn’t you tell us this last night?”

The younger setter shuffles uncomfortably but doesn’t offer an answer as the spiky-haired trainer grabs some sports tape to isolate the injury. He thought it was nothing. He thought he could keep playing and it would be fine.

The team needed him! It’s taken them 3 years to get here and they don’t want a repeat of what happened in Tokyo. They need that gold!

All words Oikawa had told himself before, just 3 years prior. He knows this story personally, and despite being happy years after the fact, he can’t say he liked how it ended.

Iwaizumi finishes K-taping Kageyama’s shoulder with a pat, the bright red and blue vibrant against the ravenette’s pale skin.

“Right. Take it easy for the next couple days. Ice it if you need to and don’t hesitate to tell me if it gets worse. And don’t-” he points sternly at the ravenette. “-hide it or pretend it’s nothing. Got it? Oikawa and I have a meeting to go to. We’ll see you at dinner.”

The brunette glances at Kageyama as he leaves, uncertain as he leaves the pair in his room.

He’s seeing the same demons that once plagued him begin to seep into the younger’s consciousness and he hates it. They’ve made it this far with no issues, and call it superstitious but Oikawa doesn’t like it when things go a little too smoothly. It’s a sign that something big is coming. And of all the times for it to happen, it has to happen now, at the pinnacle of what they have been working for for years.

“I’ll talk to you later, yeah?” he says gently to the younger.

Kageyama simply nods his head but doesn’t meet his gaze. The next match isn’t going to be pleasant. He’s been in the game long enough to know that.

And he knows for a fact Kageyama isn’t going to like what comes next.

“-as a result, as we enter the quarter-finals, expect more substitutions in-game,” Hibarida announces during their next practice. “That means all of you need to be warmed up and ready to go at all times. This particularly applies to: Ushijima and Bokuto. Sakusa and Hoshiumi, and Kageyama and Miya.”

Whispers break out across the group and Atsumu shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

Kageyama’s eyes narrow. “Is this because of my shoulder?”

Oikawa’s expression doesn’t change as he addresses the issue calmly. “You know damn well it isn’t. We might have won the game against America and Argentina but they aren’t the only country with big tall blocks. We need to maximise our strategy as much as we can, even if you weren’t injured. And the easiest way to change the dynamic is to switch out setters.”

The ravenette grits his teeth. Oikawa knows they will have to talk about it later but for now, it is what it is. Coach Hibarida continues to explain the logistics of the substitutions.

As one of the shortest teams to qualify, they need to have a seamless and impenetrable defence at all times, backed by a highly efficient offence.

By that logic, the best defensive players will be on the court at all times. That includes Suna (MB), Hakuba (MB), Hinata (Opp). Liberos will be rotated from time to time as well to prevent fatigue. These games are going to be a war on stamina.

It was something they had discussed after their game with America. Their opponents have come prepared. Their plays were starting to get readable, their patterns analysed and every attack is catalogued by the opponent. They were using too many of the same players again and again and again and they’ve become predictable.

They needed to switch up the dynamic as much as possible if they wanted a shot at that podium. But he can’t do that when their strategic lynchpin is out on the practice court serving with more force than necessary, spiking more aggressively and doing more back tosses than needed, as though he’s trying to prove something he’s already proven time and time again.

“Tobio, can I talk to you for a second?”

The brunette pulls him aside after practice. He can see that the younger setter isn’t happy with the arrangement. He understands the feeling a bit more intimately than he’d like to admit.

“What was that, out there?” he asks sternly.

The ravenette pouts. “What was what?”

“I thought Iwa-chan told you to take it easy. You’re putting more pressure on your shoulder than necessary. ”

“I’m fine,” the younger insists.

“For now, maybe. But at the rate you’re going, your sprain is going to get much worse.”

He hates that he has to do this. Kageyama is too old to be told off like a child, but he knows that stubbornness knows no bounds and age is but a number in the context of hard-headed recklessness.

“I know what I’m doing. It’s my body. I know my own limits!”

“Do you? If so then that makes what I saw out there today much worse because that means you know where the line is and you’re crossing it on purpose.”

“How many times do I have to tell you? I’m fine. It’s just a small sprain. I can still play. You don’t have to sub me out for this.”

“And how many times do I have to tell you that this isn’t about you. This is about our team, being blocked again and again and again, and us figuring out how to get us to that podium. Why can’t you see that?”

“Because I know I can do it! I can keep playing! I can get us that gold! You did when you were injured!”

“And I had to stop playing because of it! I don’t want you making the same mistakes I did just for a shiny piece of metal around your neck.”

Easy for him to say. He already has one of those, sitting neatly in a velvet lined box in his room.

“And I won't! It’s just a sprain! I’ve had sprains before. I can still do it!”

“Can you? The team needs you at your best at all times. Can you confidently tell me you can play at your best with that shoulder? Do you really not trust Atsumu to take us there?”

Kageyama turns away from the brunette and a dull ache pangs in his chest at the avoidance. He’s angry, he understands. He has every right to be angry. He was just as stubborn, just as persistent as he was in Tokyo. But that win against America was a close one, and they haven’t even made it to the knockout stages. And if they want to win, they are going to have to do something, anything to alter their chances.

They can’t keep doing the same thing over and over again and expecting the same results. The injury just complicates things.

“I’m not like you,” the ravenette grumbles under his breath.

It’s soft enough that Oikawa knew he wasn’t supposed to hear it. But he heard it nonetheless and his chest tightens so much it stings.

He takes the ravenette’s hands in his.

“Tobio, Please,” Oikawa pleads. He squeezes the younger’s fingers. “I know you’re angry. I know you want to play. But you have to let me help you. If you want to break up with me after this, then fine. But please, just… listen to the team and let Atsumu play his part when the time comes.”

The ravenette’s features twist into a frown and he retracts his fingers from the brunette’s hold.

“Fine,” he spits out and walks away without a word.

He knows Kageyama is just throwing a tantrum. He'd be upset too if he was in the younger’s position. But the reaction hurts nonetheless.

Oikawa is left staring at his fingers numbly, like all the emotions have drained out of him. This is the moment he’s been working for for the past 2 years, but he can’t help but feel like something far more important is slipping through his fingers.

And there’s nothing he can do to stop it.

Oikawa drops onto the seat in front of Kuroo heavily as they sit outside a small cafe within the athlete village limits. He finishes ordering his breakfast and his buries his face in his hands and screams into his palms.

Kuroo raises a brow. “Trouble in paradise?”

The brunette groans. “Yeah.”

When he doesn’t receive a cheeky reply he looks over at the feline-like ex-captain who gazes back at him with wide eyes. Stunned into silence.

“Sorry. Didn’t think that would be the actual problem.”

“Yeah, well, you nailed it on the head.”

The waitress comes with his coffee and he gives it a good stir before taking a big long sip. When he took on this job, he knew what to expect. Rowdy athletes, raging emotions, bureaucracy. He expected all that.

The last thing he predicted was his relationship going up in flames.

“Do you think I made a mistake doing this?”

Kuroo puts down his phone and takes another sip of his own coffee. “Doing what?”

“Subbing half the team. Do you think I made a mistake?”

The spiky haired man tilts his head with a hum. “Maybe. Who knows? That match against America was a close one. A little too close. I watched the replays as well. They were definitely getting better at reading us. I would’ve done the same thing.”

“Yeah, but what if I subconsciously suggested it because of Tobio’s injury.”

“Then… nothing. Kageyama might rank higher than Miya but Miya is a monster in his own right. He’ll get the job done.”

The brunette frowns. “But will Tobio let him?”

Kuroo shrugs. “ Tobio doesn’t have a choice. He either respects Hibarida’s decision or be forced to sit this one out.”

“Yeah, but I know Tobio-”

“-And I know Miya. Trust your team, ‘Kawa. They already made it this far. Twice.”

That’s right. No matter the outcome, Japan is still one of the top 12 nations in the world for volleyball. Last Olympics, they were top 2. Now, they want to take that spot at the top.

But so does the rest of the world. And if they don’t get their act together quickly, then that dream of hanging a piece of the Eiffel tower around their necks could crumble to dust in no time.

The JVA made it clear that they want gold, or nothing. They’ve waited 3 Olympics for this result and with Hibarida’s retirement looming over the horizon, it’s now or never.

And he made the stupid executive decision of agreeing. So he’ll bring that medal home, even if it costs him his pride, his job and his relationship.

He just has to hope that it’s enough.

Commentator: “Welcome back! It’s an exciting day here in the South Paris Arena, in Paris, France. Today marks the 1st day of the quarter-finals for the men’s volleyball tournament. We’re starting off the quarter finals with Japan versus Poland! Later today, Slovenia versus France and tonight, Italy versus Serbia! Japan, here this morning with the overall shortest height out of all the teams to enter the Quarterfinals. But don’t underestimate them. These players are built with springs in their feet. They might be the shortest but they sure know how to jump. Making their way to the court…

Number 1: Captain Ushijima Wakatoshi

Number 7: Hakuba Gao. Middle Blocker

Number 9: Kageyama Tobio. Setter

Number 10: Hinata Shoyo. Opposite Hitter

Number 15: Sakusa Kiyoomi. Outside Hitter

Number 20: Suna Rintaro. Middle Blocker

And Number 17 in the black jersey: Yaku Morisuke. Libero

On Poland’s side- ”

Kageyama’s expression is cold as he hi-fives the team and runs onto the court. Behind him, Hinata’s brows furrow while he takes his time giving his hi-fives to the coaching staff. He meets Oikawa’s eyes, who’s concern mirrors his.

Keep an eye out for him , his eyes seem to say.

He gives the brunette a nod wordlessly and tugs on his compression sleeves, rubbing his hands together before catching up to the ravenette.

The match starts as it generally does, lulling them into a false sense of calm as they ride the momentum of the first set. But it’s that same false sense of security that allowed Poland to take the next set from right under them.

The momentum of the previous set usually dictates the start of the next set. As a result, it is Poland that sweeps the first few points. The only thing keeping them afloat is their unbreakable floor defence.

As predicted, Hinata proved to be a menace on the floor. Paired with Suna’s near instinctual read blocking and Yaku’s digs, Japan’s defences became impenetrable. The kings of floor defence.

But long rallies are a unique form of torture for a player’s nerves and stamina and as the set continued, Oikawa could see the frustration start to dip into the younger setter’s consciousness. Every toss he has set, every spike he has personally hit, all get shot down by the looming wall of middle blockers on the opposing team.

Kageyama clicks his teeth as he takes his place on the court once more. From the bench, Oikawa shares a concerned look with his best friend.

With a decisive push of his fingers, he shoots the ball towards Hinata. The orange-haired spiker looks at the ball with surprise and hits it toward the block, aiming for the opponents’ fingertips and it shoots out the court.

The whistle blows. Japan gets the point and the crowd cheers.

Hinata looks at the setter with furrowed brows. The block was concentrated around the orange-haired yet Kageyama had set the ball towards him. As he usually does when he’s in a pinch.

The buzzer blows and the team looks at the referee in confusion.

Commentator: Oh it looks like Poland has issued a challenge! Now, each team gets 2 challenges per set. If the challenge is successful, the number of challenges will remain. However, if the challenge is unsuccessful, they will be left with one challenge for the rest of the set .

The teams look at the big screen as it replays the last in slow motion.

“Looks really close,” Yaku mumbles to the orange-haired.

“Hmm,” Hinata looks at the monitor with concern. He isn't entire convinced it was a no-touch either. To say that the last toss was risky would also be underplaying it. Why would you set the ball to someone obviously marked by 3 giant blockers.

Commentator: Looks like it went through the fingers. Now is that a shadow? Or a light brush ? We’re looking for even the slightest touch .

It takes them an agonising 3 minutes to review the footage. By the end of it, the referees have decided that the point goes to Poland instead.

“What?!” Kageyama exclaims.

“Hey, don’t mind,” Suna taps his back to console him.

The ravenette shoves that hand away and glares at the opponent through the net.

“Kageyama!” Iwaizumi chastises but it’s too late.

The whistle blows.

Yaku groans. “What now?”

The referee raises a yellow card and whispers flood the court.

The ravenette grits his teeth and turns away. The coaches talk amongst themselves and it's decided.

A substitution must be made.

Atsumu looks at Kageyama with concern as he enters the court alongside Komori.

The ravenette drops onto the bench, defeated. As the set begins again, Oikawa approaches him wordlessly and drapes a towel across his head. He places a hand over the towel and feels the form beneath his fingers shake.

“Tobio, breath,” he says, his comforting timbre.

Under the towel, Kageyama takes a deep breath and sighs. He knows the coaches will tell him off for bad sportsmanship later. But at that moment, he couldn't find it in himself to care.

On the court, Atsumu’s appearance changes the flow of the game. His risky plays, adaptive movements and playfulness throws Poland off and just like that, the tide turns.

Ushijima makes a spike and it gets blocked. Hinata catches the ball with his foot and Komori slides to set it to Suna. Bending his upper body to spike, the ball swerves around the spike and meets court.

The game is theirs.

Dinner that night is a little more tense than usual. After the usual post-game debrief and a round of interviews with the press, the team chose to grab some dessert in the dining hall, to celebrate their win.

“God, I was so nervous! I didn’t expect there to be so many people,” Atsumu recalls.

“Right? It’s so different from the last Olympics!”

“That’s because the last one had no audience,” the blonde laughs. “But it felt amazing! I mean, the lights were brighter than usual and the floor space felt a bit narrow but I got my bearings really quick!”

“Yeah, you were so cool Atsumu-san!” Hinata bolsters.

Kageyama snorts, choosing to join the conversation. “Yeah, well. It was a one time thing. Don’t expect it to happen again, alright?”

He sees when the usual banter doesn’t land as it usually does, the hurt present in the blonde setter’s eyes. He turns quiet, something Atsumu never does.

“Right,” he says softly, pushing away his half-finished cake and walking away from the group without another word.

Hinata sighs. “You can be a real ass sometimes, you know that.” He mutters and chases after the blonde.

Even Hoshiumi eyes him cautiously as he follows them.

They won. They made it to the semi-finals. He proved them wrong! He could still play! And thanks to him, they’re in the semi-finals. He should be happy but he isn’t.

It’s Yaku’s expression that tells him they’ve reached some sort of breaking point, simmering rage escaping as a hiss through gritted teeth.

“Right. You and I are going to have a little chat.”

“Ok? Bu-”

“Now!”

In the end, Yaku drags him out, small hands wound around his wrist so painfully he’s sure it would bruise.

They can’t cause a ruckus. Not here where there's eyes and ears everywhere. Not with the rest of the team eyeing them warily. Yaku pulls him into one of the smaller rooms near the common area with a strength no one would expect from someone of his stature.

“What is your problem?!”

“Me?” Yaku exclaims incredulously. “What the fuck is your problem?! Ever since the announcement about the switch, you’ve been nothing but an asshole to everyone on the team.”

“I’ve barely even talk to them!”

“Exactly! That’s the problem,” the blonde pokes him in the chest. “You barely talk to us as is. Now you want to shut everyone out because you’re hurt?”

Kageyama grits his teeth. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You got a yellow card, Kageyama. A yellow card! You’ve never gotten a yellow card! Now you expect me to believe the referee did it for shits and giggles?”

“This has nothing to do with you.”

“Does it?! That’s my team too, you know! My team that gets a yellow card. Who do you think picks up those rebounds when the blockers predict your sets? Who do you think has to dig the spikes they send our way when your quicks are being read left and right? Huh?! That’s my team too and we’re all fighting for the same thing!”

“Easy for you to say! You’re not being subbed out!”

“Everyone is! God, did you not hear a word he said? Even Ushijima is being subbed. And he’s the fucking captain!”

“Yeah, but I’m being subbed out because of a minor sprain.”

“And what of it?! You’re mad   that he’s preventing you from making the same mistake he did? What? You think he wants you to hate him?”

Kageyama flinches. “I don’t hate him.” His voice comes out much far less convincing than he intended.

“Well, you certainly have a wonderful way of showing it. You think it’s easy, helping the team win a medal in a sport we haven’t won in 50 years with a team that won’t listen? He had to forcefully retire the career he spent his whole life building, start over coaching the same people who told him he’s wasting his potential, and now his boyfriend is mad at him for doing his job because he’s too busy throwing a tantrum to realise he’s making everyone else feel horrible when they should be celebrating!”

The ravenette gulps. “He- he told you that?”

“He went straight back to his room after the debrief,” Yaku hisses. “Does that sound like the Oikawa you know?.”

No. It doesn’t.

The Oikawa they knew celebrated every win, big or small.

Bile rises up his throat and his chest aches at the thought. “I-”

“-And let’s not get started on Atsumu,” he laughs. “How do you think he feels when his own teammate tells him that the only reason he’s able to step foot onto the court is that you’re injured. Even though he has the same right to be on that court as you do.”

He didn’t mean to make Atsumu feel that way. He thought he was just engaging in their usual banter. When did his tone change? When did regular trash talk turn into taunts? It makes him feel sick just thinking about it.

“Do you want to play or do you want to win?” Yaku pressures him.

“Both!” he pushes back.

“Well you sure can’t have the luxury of that, this time, so choose. Play or Win?”

He can’t choose. He’s been wanting to get back on that stage for years, to show the world the best that volleyball has to offer. To… fighting for… fighting to…

“Win,” he says breathlessly.

Because this… this isn’t the best that volleyball has to offer. It’s far from the best he has to offer.

“Then fucking act like it. This isn’t high school and you’re not a kid anymore. So stop taking it so personally and either man up and apologise or we all go home.”

Yaku lets out a long exhale. His expression changes, tired and worn. Like all the fight had drained out of him. “Fuck, I need some air.”

He walks past the ravenette and leaves him to his own thoughts.

The European summer air has never felt as humid as the one in japan. Instead it's a confusing mix of sharp sunlight and cold winds. Sitting on the rooftop of Team Japan’s building, Kageyama finds himself missing the clear skies of Miyagi.

“Thought I’d find you here,” a deep familiar voice approaches.

The ravenette turns to the ex captain in surprise. “Kuroo-san.”

Kuroo smiles at him playfully, sitting in the beanbag beside him and looking out into the village. “Yaku told me about your little…. encounter. Figured I’d check up on you. Not many people can survive Yaku’s tongue lashing. I know Lev barely did.”

The younger hums in understanding. “I deserved it though.”

Kuroo tilts his head. “The tongue lashing? Maybe. The coaches were worried something like this would happen. Figured I’d let the team straighten you out if it gets too bad but I thought it’d come from Iwaizumi or Chibi-chan. Not Yaku.”

“How is he?”

He doesn’t need to clarify who he’s referring to. If it was any less serious, Kuroo would’ve teased him a bit more. But there’s a time and place for everything.

The Olympics isn’t one of them.

“Coping. I think. He’s trying to be strong in front of the team but we all know it's just an act.”

“Is-” he doesn’t really know how to ask this question. “Is Oikawa-san in trouble?”

Kuroo blinks. “With the JVA?”

The ravenette nods hesitantly.

“Not… really. There isn’t really a medal clause in his contract. But I think it’s a bit more complicated than that.”

When he sees the younger look at him in confusion he sighs.

“Think about it this way. As far as the JVA and the government is concerned, Oikawa is a foreign national. That means if they decide not to renew his contract for whatever reason, they would no longer be sponsoring his work visa. Following me so far?”

Kageyama furrows his brows but nods anyway.

“In order to be eligible for Japanese citizenship, he needs to work here for at least 4 years. It’s only been 2. So if the JVA isn’t happy with the results and decides not to work with him anymore, he can’t stay in the country. He’ll have to fly back to Argentina.”

The younger’s eyes widened. “But… he was born here!”

“Imma be real honest with you. I don’t think they care. I mean, he could probably find a job elsewhere in Japan, but without the JVA’s support, and with Hibarida retiring, it’d be hard for him to stay in the volleyball world. He’ll either have to get into college or work some place without a college degree requirement.”

The gravity of it makes him feel sick, stomach dropping to the ground. It makes bile rise up in his throat. Because that would mean that his actions have meaning. His actions affect not just his relationship with Oikawa, but his job, his livelihood and his career.

He never considered the implications of his actions on Oikawa’s life. He never wanted to put that on him.

It’s just a small sprain. Just a tiny problem in the big scope of things. It shouldn't be this bad. But bad things never start out big. They usually start small.

A small crack. A small drop. A small sprain.

Kageyama groans as he buries his face in his hands.

“Kuroo-san, what do I do?”

The ex-captain slumps in the beanbag chair. “Hmm, well. You could always start by apologising.”

The ravenette lets out a shuddering sigh. “And if that’s not enough?”

Kuroo shrugs. “Then… that’s it. You can’t really force people to accept your apology.”

The helplessness in his face must be really evident because the ex-captain gives him an encouraging smile and ruffles his hair.

“Apologise first. There’s no point in worrying over something that hasn’t happened yet. Then, give him some space and let him come to you. Like it or not, the ball is on his side of the court and it’s his choice whether or not he forgives you.”

He’s right of course. Just as it was his choice to forgive Oikawa all those months ago, it’s the other’s choice whether or not to forgive him for acting so immaturely.

Kageyama lets out a shaky breath and scrunches the ends of his windbreaker as he stands in front of Oikawa’s room. He thought about what Kuroo said the night before. Mulled it over until the sun rose high in the sky and thought about it some more until it began to dip over the horizon.

It took him that long to gather the courage to walk up to Oikawa’s room. He isn’t good at apologies, never is. In fact, he doesn’t think he ever properly apologise to Kunimi and Kindaichi for what happened in middle school. They just blazed past it and moved on.

That isn’t an option this time. So he takes in a deep breath, releases it slowly, steels himself and knocks.

He isn’t surprised when Iwaizumi is the one that opens the door.

“Kageyama.”

He regards the younger cooly. Any of the closeness built between them in the past few years becomes irrelevant where his best friend is concerned. Kageyama can’t fault him for it. He knows he would do the same for Hinata.

He tries to take a peek into the room but the older tightens the gap of the door. He might be taller than Iwaizumi now, but the older makes an effort to block his view of the room anyways.

“Uhm. Is Oikawa-san here?”

The athletic trainer raises a brow. “Maybe.”

“Can I talk to him?”

There must be something in his tone that causes the older’s expression to soften a little. He opens his mouth to respond but a hand on his shoulder stops him

“It’s alright, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, opening the door a bit more.

There’s a silent conversation that takes place between the two childhood friends. A simple look in the eye conveys everything Iwaizumi needs to know before he retreats into the room.

“Such a mom, isn’t he? Always looking out for everyone. Even at this age.”

The brunette opens the door wider as he exits. In that brief moment, past the gap, he sees Atsumu, Hinata and Suna sitting on Oikawa’s unused bed. His throat threatens to tightens up with guilt once again.

Oikawa lets out a long sigh and gives the ravenette a small smile, the polite one he gives to waiters and hotel staff. One that hasn’t been directed at him in a long while.

“Let’s go for a walk, shall we?”

They end up taking a stroll through the village, bathed by the pale light of the summer moon. They walk past the bridge that flies between buildings, the late night marking the end of another day of games.

Oikawa stretches his arms above his head and groans. “God, it’s so nice to be outside. Those dorms are getting so stuffy!”

The younger walks a few steps behind him, giving him a non committal hum. He’s making small talk, filling the silence between them that seems to feel more and more infinite these days.

“Ahh, but you can’t see the stars from here. That’s what I hate about big cities, you know? The lights are brighter than the sky. One of these days, I bet someone is going to mistake a street light for the moon,” he laughs to himself.

They make it to one of the many greenspaces in the village, a small winding path bracketed by a sparse collection of trees and a small patch of grass.

Kageyama stops walking and takes a determined breath. “Oikawa-san!”

The brunette pauses in his step. “Hmm?”

He’s trying to seem aloof, pretending to be unaffected but they’ve been together for Kageyama to hear the shakiness in his faux cheerfulness.

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

Oikawa turns towards him, the distance between them a shield. The ravenette can’t meet his gaze as he scrunches the ends of his windbreaker. Thankfully, the bright red camouflage design disguises any of the wrinkles that have undoubtedly imprinted themselves from Kageyama’s nervous musing.

“I… You were just doing what you thought was right for the team. And I took it personally. I got blindsided by my own weakness that I didn’t see how much I hurt the team. How much I hurt you.”

This time, he looks up to see the pain and exhaustion that has etched itself into those warm honey eyes.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Oikawa let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, a long shuddering sigh, wet with unshed tears.

Kageyama drops his gaze to the ground. He told himself just over a year ago that he wouldn't turn away from Oikawa’s sadness. But in the face of the hurt on the brunette’s face, and knowing he was the one to put it there, he finds that he doesn’t have the strength to look.

“Ok,” is all he hears.

The ravenette looks up with furrowed brows. “Ok?”

Oikawa gives him a small nod. “Ok. I forgive you.”

There’s a look of apprehension on the brunette’s face that makes his chest ache. He senses that that’s not the end of the sentence.

“But?”

“But I can’t go on and pretend this never happened. It… I just can’t.”

The ache turns into a sting and the ravenette suddenly finds it so hard to breathe. It’s ironic, isn’t it? That he would find heartbreak in the city of love. A hairline fracture cracking into the precious gem they carved for themselves that used to feel so safe. So warm.

“Oh,” he replies shakily. “Ok.”

He tries to temper his expressions, tries to be considerate of the other’s feelings, but the sadness must have shown on his features because Oikawa is stepping closer. 

He holds the younger’s hands in his. “Tobio. Look at me? Please?”

He looks up to meet the brunette’s gaze and realises, he’s just as sad as he is. He gives the younger a watery smile, trying to be reassuring but just as unsteady as he is.

“We’re ok. I promise you, we’re ok. I just… I just need some time. Ok?”

Kageyama lets out a shuddering breath. He recalls Kuroo’s words to him last night and squeezes Oikawa’s hands.

Give him some space and let him come to you.

“Ok.”

His voice comes out small, nothing like the world class athlete he is used to feeling. Certainly nothing like the 3rd time Olympian people expect him to be.

Instead he feels like a child, selfish and greedy for things he knows he doesn’t have the right to ask for.

“Can I hug you?” he asks instead.

The question surprises the brunette. They’ve gotten so used to their small acts of intimacy yet somehow, that life feels so foreign at the moment.

“Of course you can,” Oikawa responds softly.

He pulls the younger into him, arms wrapping around their shoulders. There’s a desperation in their hold, arms wound tightly around each other like they are afraid the other will disappear.

“I’m so tired,” the younger admits quietly, a sob threatening to break his voice.

Oikawa’s hand reaches up to smoothen his hair. “I know.”

A match every 2-3 days, some games in the early morning and some late night. Barely any time to recover and a village that feels both too big and not good enough. They might have survived Day 3 hell during nationals some years ago but nothing can prepare them for the mental toll.

He tucks his face against Kageyama’s shoulder, cheek pressed onto his neck and lets out a shuddering breath. “Let’s win this blasted thing and go home.”

The ravenette gives a hum in agreeance. They’ve made it this far, gave it everything they could. Almost too much.

Oikawa promised they’d be ok. He promised that this is not the end. But they don’t truly know what the future holds for them and it scares him. So he holds onto the sport that brought them here in the first place.

This time, when the familiar words are spoken, softly in the middle of a village built for the best of the best, it is Kageyama that utters them into the summer night sky.

“I really hate it here.”

“Yeah,” Oikawa laughs wetly. “Yeah. Me too.”

Kageyama stares at the blue, white, red flag across from them with a scowl. His shoulder still aches a little but it’s faring a lot better than it did during the quarterfinals. And while the painkillers have done a good job in masking the dull ache, he has a feeling these games have doubled his recovery time.

The whistle blows and the Semifinals begin. France serves and Komori receives it cleanly. Kageyama eyes the ball with furrowed brows. He swears he saw the player’s foot extend slightly into the service line but he isn’t sure enough to ask for a challenge

It’s no secret that host countries get a certain advantage on their home court. The referee's leniency towards the home team is concerning, however. In France’s game against Germany, he heard Krik get a yellow card for glaring.

That in itself wasn’t concerning. Coloured cards get issued in volleyball for disruptions and poor sportsmanship. What was concerning was that France didn’t get any cards for doing the same thing consistently across multiple sets. They will have to be extra careful to play inside the lines this game.

23-25 and it’s their match point.

“Alright!” Hinata receives the ball cleanly.

With careful eyes, Kageyama eyes the block and jumps up to set it to Bokuto.

It takes a split second, but he sees it. He sees when the blocker’s eyes flit to the side, just where he was about to move and he tosses left instead. Ushijima spikes it past the block but their libero digs the ball and it’s back up.

The setter runs towards the ball, two spikers running up to jump and he sees it, the way the setter’s eyes fly towards him, spiking left for a cross and Kageyama digs it, the ball leaving a stinging imprint on his forearms before Komori sets in and Suna puts it away.

The crowd cheers but Kageyama is bent forward, hands on his knees as he replays the last point. He was too angry… too blindsided by his own selfishness to realise it but they were right. Hibarida was right. Iwaizumi was right. Yaku was right.

Oikawa was right.

They were being read. Like a well-worn book, each arc memorised until it’s nothing but latent memory. He looks over at the bench with wide eyes and Oikawa’s eyebrows furrow. He whispers to Hibarida and the coach signals a time out, just as Ushijima was headed to the service line.

“I’m being read,” Kageyama tells the coaches plainly.

Coach Sakai blinks. “Pardon?”

“That last point. They saw where I was going to move and predicted where I was going to toss next.”

“You still managed to swap tactics at the last minute and let Ushijima spike.” Iwaizumi notes impressively.

Hibarida crosses his arms. “Alright. What would you like to do?”

He knows the answer. It was presented to him before the last match. He was just too stubborn to reason with it. “Swap me out. Let Atsumu-san take over and sub me in where you see fit.”

“Are you sure?” Oikawa asks softly.

That means letting Atsumu take the lead on this match as the primary setter. A setter they aren’t used to playing against, a more unpredictable opponent. This time, when Kageyama turns to him, eyes finally meeting his gaze, he sees the boundless winter sky, sharp in their clarity with a dangerous calm that has sent weaker teams running home crying.

“Positive.”

He doesn’t break his gaze. This is the Kageyama Tobio he knows. The one who pulled a setter dump against him during the Spring Tournament, the same one that went to the Olympics at 19 and took home silver at 24. The one who gets so high on the thrill of the game he forgets the score board. The one he first fell in love with. 

He lets out a shuddering breath. “Ok.”

He turns to Atsumu who nods in understanding and begins warming up his fingers. The whistle blows and Kageyama gives the blonde a low-five.

“Give ‘em hell,” he says lowly.

Atsumu’s smile widens, mischief brewing in his features. “Count on it.” Before he follows the rest towards the court.

Hinata gives him a hi-five as he takes his place and the game begins again.

Kuroo was right. Atsumu is a monster on the court. He should’ve known this. He has played against the blonde enough times to know he isn’t an easy opponent. While he might be better at spiking and blocking, Atsumu has always been better at adapting and receiving.

From this angle on the bench, the younger can see the reason why Miya Atsumu can stand toe-to-toe with Oikawa during practices. His serves are deadly, carved with a diamond blade under the watchful eye of the person he modelled his own jump serve after.

He’s unrelenting, far less predictable, playfully blending techniques together and altering them to fit his style. It throws the opponent off their game, sends jumping on one side, only to spike towards the other. Japan takes the 2nd and 3rd sets and barely takes home the 4th.

Atsumu takes home that match point with a triumphant cheer, screaming at the top of his lungs as Bokuto and Hinata roar in victory with him.

“We did it, Kageyama!”

There’s a wild look in his eyes, his smile all teeth, near feral in his joy.

“I didn’t do it for you.” So he says but the smile tugging at the edge of his lips betrays his happiness as well.

“I know you didn’t. But we couldn’t have gotten here without you.”

This. This is the feeling that he has missed these past few games, the feeling of joy when he’s playing, a vibrant thrill that shoots down his spine as his fingers graze the surface of the ball for a split second.

He turns to Oikawa as the team passes hugs around and the brunette smiles at him. A small, tentative thing, and opens his arms, beckoning him to come closer and he takes those steps, just as unsure.

His arms wrap around the older setter’s shoulders and it’s stiff at first, a little awkward after the week that they’ve had, but driven by instinct or recognition, his body seems to thaw in Oikawa’s hold.

“You did good,” the brunette whispers, patting him on the back.

All he could do is hum in reply.

1 more match.

1 more match till the end of the event. 1 step closer to gold. And 1 more game till they get to go home.

Commentator 1: A bright morning here at the South Paris Arena, where the Men’s volleyball finals are about to commence. 

Commentator 2: Yes! We’ve seen some amazing matches so far and today is promising to be extra special, with Italy facing off against Japan.

Commentator 1: That’s right. This is Japan’s second time at the Olympic Finals, with the team bringing home silver in Tokyo and hoping to bring home gold this time around.

Commentator 2: You’ve got some really seasoned players here on the court. A couple of them 3 time Olympians! You’ve got Captain Ushijima, a powerful southpaw with some killer spikes making his way to the court and behind him, Kageyama Tobio. Setter. Who is for all intents and purposes, Sekita’s successor.

Commentator 1: Yes, and beside him, the other Team Japan setter, Miya Atsumu. Now, we didn’t get to see much of him during the preliminaries but he definitely shined during the semi-finals.

Commentator 2: Team Japan definitely has their fair share of setters, with 2 setters in their roster and Argentina’s Oikawa Tooru as the newest member of their coaching staff as well.

Commentator 1: That’s right. With those three in tow, we can expect a highly strategic game up ahead.

“So anyways, I asked him why he was sleeping in the park and do you know what he said? He said it’s because the rooms here are shit and he’d rather sleep outdoors than spend another night on those blasted cardboard beds.” Atsumu says while rolling his shoulders.

Kageyama frowns as the blonde recounts his encounter with the Italian swimmer who he found napping on the grass one afternoon. “He spent the night outdoors?”

He shrugs. “That’s what he said.”

For the finals, they have decided to let Kageyama start with the first couple of sets, using Atsumu as a momentum breaker then playing it by ear. The coaching staff have run down a dozen different scenarios with them the day before so they have a rough idea of what to expect. Kageyama fidgets with the edge of his towel as some of his teammates pass him. There's still some stiffness to their interactions, one that he knows will take time before it truly heals.

But strangely enough, it is Atsumu who puts a hand on his shoulder to comfort him. "Hey. Don't worry about them, ok? You'll be fine."

The ravenette frows. "Yeah but, I hurt you. And Oikawa-san. And I've been an ass to the team."

“And you've apologised. So don’t worry about it. We all make mistakes sometimes,” the blonde waves off. “Besides. I can never stay mad at you for too long. Now go. Let’s bring home that gold.”

“Mm.”

And just like Atsumu said, the moment they step foot onto the court, all the gears move seamlessly together. The games start out slow, both sides of the court trying to feel out their opponents. After a few years of playing in Italy, Kageyama has started to understand their patterns, how they move and communicate on the court and how they predict their opponent’s movements. Against the people who have welcomed him into their homes, he stands his ground.

Japan takes the first couple of sets, almost cinching the third, only to have it slip through their fingers at match point, with Italy’s captain’s serve breaking their momentum. What was supposed to be 3-0 now stands at 2-2 and they spend the next couple sets scrambling to make the tides turn back into their favour.

Atsumu plays the first half of the fifth set, helping to receive some of the powerful spikes Italy sends their way, but the block is high, and there’s only so many times they could jump. They switch courts at the halfway point and Kageyama gets substituted in.

The ravenette turns to Oikawa on the benches. The other gives him a nod of encouragement and takes in a deep breath, encouraging the younger to mimic him. So Kageyama breathes, pushing his fingertips against each other and closing his eyes.

They’re so close to winning. Half a set away from gold. 8 points. Just 8 more points.

He opens his eyes, and lets a wave of serenity wash over him amongst the noise of the arena. The sprain in his shoulder no longer hurts. The food he ate this morning is mostly burnt up but he doesn’t feel tired. He’s able to map out each movement on the court.

And just like that… calm.

The whistle blows and the set starts again. Unlike the game with Argentina, the rallies were not as long, but there were several more serve misses than he’d like. He’s sure Oikawa will admonish them after the games but that is neither here nor there.

The set passes in the blink of an eye and suddenly, they’re at match point. 14-12.

If they take this point, they win, if they lose it, Italy has the opportunity to turn the tides, and Kageyama is not interested in a repeat of what happened in the 3rd set.

He performs a powerful jump serve, one that’s almost ingrained in his muscle memory, and it knocks the libero off his feet. It’s an awkward set towards a pipe attack and Yaku digs it. It’s a perfect non-set to Hinata, who jumps into the air ready to spike it.

Kageyama clicks his teeth as he watches Italy’s block adapt, moving in front of the redhead at the centre of the court. But they are not the same people that competed in Tokyo. They are not the players they once were and just like their coach once said, crows adapt.

Hinata’s form switches mid air, tossing to Bokuto to his left and with a sharply angled cross, the ball finds court. The whole arena erupts into a wild mess of cheers, red and white flags waving in the air and Kageyama drops onto his knees.

They’ve done it!

Japan has won their first Olympic Gold medal since 1972 and he's overwhelmed with disbelief. The sounds of the audience’s cheers ring in his ear and he can’t hear himself think, he can barely believe what is happening. He lets himself get swept away by the motions. His team ruffling his hair, tackling him into a hug, arms around his shoulders. This is the moment they have all been dreaming about. The moment he and Oikawa have been talking about.

God, Oikawa.

The ravenette’s eyes whip towards the bench, where the brunette is smiling, wide and honest as Iwaizumi pulls him into a teary hug and Kuroo bodily spins him. The rest of the coaching staff is clapping alongside the audience at a game well played.

Finally, warm brown eyes turn towards him and Kageyama feels all the noise fall away. Oikawa smiles at him and mouths a ‘good job’ with a hand cupped around his mouth.

This is a moment that almost didn’t happen, a small crack he let fester until it was almost too big to turn back. But it didn’t. The worst never happened, in fact the exact opposite happened. So he lets his feet carry him towards the brunette and wraps his arms around the older’s shoulders. And he lets himself break.

All the anxiety, all the adrenaline rushes out at him all at once and a mess of emotions fight to make themselves known. Happiness, relief, gratefulness, love. All things he once took for granted.

There’s a comforting hand running through his hair and he hides in the safety of Oikawa’s hold, not daring to show the media any vulnerability. He’s let the cracks build up for far too long, so for now, he will let the gold melt between the seams and put them back together like kintsugi.

The next morning is quiet as another Olympic day begins. Tooru basks in the easiness knowing their event is behind them. The cool morning air caresses his bare shoulders as he lies on his stomach, face braced against his folded arms as he watches his lover pick up his clothes from the ground.

“What time are you heading to the Champions Park?”

“2pm? The park only opens at 3 but Hinata wants to say hi to the figure skaters before that.”

Tooru hums, eyes half lidded as he watches the ravenette tuck himself into the compression shorts he usually wears under his uniform, the muscles in his thighs flexing unconsciously as me moves. A familiar hunger rolls over him in slow lazy waves.

“Tobio,” he says softly.

The younger looks at him in askstance.

He beckons the younger wordlessly and the other follows obediently, lowering himself on his knees to press slow, sweet kisses on the brunette’s lips. Tooru smiles against his lips, an easy smile without a worry in the world as Tobio’s fingers caress the side of his face with immense tenderness and adoration.

It’s only 9 in the morning and they have a team lunch at 12. In a moment, the rest of the team will start to wake, likely needing a painkiller or two after their night out of celebrations the night before. But until then, they have time. So he lets the younger climb onto him on all 4s and push him back down onto the futon.

He sighs as the ravenette’s soft lips travel down his neck, tracing the marks they left on each other the night before. His hands travel up Tobio’s chest, tracing each rib before spreading across the wide breadth of his shoulders. Amongst the smooth pale skin, he feels the roughness of the K-tape, still wound around the ravenette’s shoulder.

“Does it still hurt?”

Tobio shakes his head. “A bit sore but, I think it’s ok now.”

The brunette hums happily and presses another long, languid kiss on the other’s lips.

“Lie down with me?” he asks softly.

The ravenette tilts his head a little. “I was going to go on a morning run.”

He needs to shake off some of the soreness in his legs.

A playful smile spreads across Tooru’s face. “With that?”

Tobio follows the brunette’s gaze and he groans. In the small sliver of space between them, he can see a growing tent in his shorts. But he can also see how Tooru is half-mast and naked beneath him as well.

The brunette chuckles. His fingers trail lazily up the younger’s thighs, fingers slipping under the shorts to press into the smooth pale skin underneath. “Let me take care of that for you.”

He feels like Tooru is always taking care of him in one way or another these days. And he feels deeply indebted to him for it.

Now, Tobio has a couple other options. He can wait for it to go away on its own or he could take care of it on his own. But Tooru is warm and seductive and Tobio has never professed to be any god’s strongest soldier.

So to the brunette’s delight, Tobio surrenders to his warmth and drops his weight back down onto the futon.

Later that afternoon, the Trocadero Gardens flooded with people, athletes of all disciplines gathering together to celebrate the medal around their necks.

Beside the stage, a familiar head of black and blonde dyed hair sets up his camera and picks up the small mic he brought along.

“Hey, everyone. It’s KodzuKen, streaming live from Paris. We’ve gotten special permission today to enter Champion's Park, right here in the Trocadero Gardens, with the perfect view of the Eiffel Tower.”

It had been a struggle for the JVA to get Kenma into the VIP section of the Champion’s Park, especially on a day closed off to the public. But after some back and forth between the Olympic Committee and the other sport associations, they let him into the press section.

He watches as his chat floods with comments, ranging from the view of Paris to the cacophony of voices in the background that even his best noise cancelling gear is struggling to filter out.

He starts to give them some context regarding the park and its history with the last olympics.

The crowd goes wild as the athletes make their entrance, gold silver and bronze medals hanging around their necks. Up here, there are boundless, free of borders, weight classes, what have you.

Up there, they are all winners.

The winter olympians make their entrance and the audience cheers once more. The taller olympians are cooing at how much smaller they seem, compared to their summer counterparts. A pair skater lifts his partner into the air and the audience cheers once more in amazement and delight.

One of the Canadian skiers pulls Hinata onto the stage and that’s the volleyball team’s cue to make their entrance. Archers, breakdancers, swimmers, they all make their way down, dancing joyfully as the rays of the afternoon sun catches against the medal around their necks.

“And that’s what the Olympics should be about,” Kenma tells his audience with a smile. “A celebration of sports and a big fuck you to the people who try to put us into boxes.”

Hinata waves at him from the stage and he gives the ecstatic spiker a wave back. He watches as Bokuto, Atsumu and Hinata take the lead, dancing with the others on stage. One of the Japanese skaters is lifting Yaku onto his shoulders and Suna is taking his own array of photos on stage. Predictably, Sakusa and Ushijima are off to the side, shifting uncomfortably as the other athletes try to pull them in for a dance.

Kageyama’s keen eyes spot Oikawa from amongst the crowd and he leans over to whisper something into Hinata’s ear. The orange-haired spiker is grinning ear to ear and he nudges Atsumu, Suna and Bokuto in the ribs.

They all turn to Oikawa with a predatory look. Kenma raises a brow behind the camera as they approach the edge of the stage. The brunette makes the mistake of raising his hands in a frantic effort to say no and Bokuto and Suna grasp onto his wrists and pull him on stage, Hinata and Atsumu grabbing onto any piece of him to help him up.

He makes it onto the stage and turns towards the crowd, face flushed from the summer heat and eyes wide in embarrassment and disbelief.

A flood of murmurs spread across the crowd and Kenma smiles.

“Ladies and gentlemen, 2021 Tokyo Olympic Gold Medalist Oikawa Tooru,” he says.

On stage, Kageyama and Atsumu grab the brunette’s hands on each side and raise them as the team waves at the audience. The crowd burst into cheers.

The warm summer wind feels like a blessing against Oikawa’s skin, the wide open space of the stage a breath of relief from claustrophobic heat and sweat of the crowd. Cheeks flushed from the heat and the effort to fight off the boys dragging him on stage, hair curling with the humidity of the early August air.

The setters beside him count down and raise his arms in the air and the crowd cheers for them, so deafening he can sparsely hear himself think. The brunette stares with wide bewildered eyes as they call out his name. He hangs onto Kageyama in a daze and doesn’t register when Iwaizumi walks on stage.

Something is looped around his neck, warm and heavy, and when he looks down at it, he recognises it instantly. It’s his medal from Tokyo, its wave-like pattern curling around the olympic crest that reminds the brunette of the meringues used in pavlovas. The very one that is supposed to be sitting in his luggage.

He shoots a glare at his best friend, who coincidentally is the only person who knew he brought it with him and Iwaizumi laughs sheepishly.

This is what he was missing in Tokyo. This was what he thought he would never get to see when he walked into that empty arena lined in tancho red.

He never thought he would find it here, 9,711 km away from Tokyo.

Tears threaten to spill out the corner of his eyes as he takes a bow and thanks the crowd for their support. He turns around and wraps his arms around his team, some of them ruffling his hair and others leaning in to give him a hug as well.

Later that afternoon, when Kenma asks him how it felt to be on that stage, he would give him a non-answer.

He would talk about the deafening cheers, the sweaty palms, the weight of red and gold around his neck and the view of the 5 rings on the eiffel tower. But at the heart of it, he doesn’t know how to describe it.

The joy, the elation, a happiness so tangible it makes him lightheaded. But if he had to pick a word to sum it all up…

He would say it feels a lot like flying.