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You are inexplicably nervous when Tadashi tells you that he’s bringing his boyfriend around this evening. Inexplicably, you tell yourself, because if anything, it is the boyfriend who should be nervous. You’ve got an entire box of rocket fireworks hidden under the counter should you need to chase him off.
You think of possible things to interrogate the boyfriend on as you restock the chip aisle. When did you decide you liked Tadashi? Who was the last person you dated? You do know both you and Tadashi are males, right?
You falter. The chip bag in your hand explodes as you clench it too tight. It’s raining Calbee Kappa Ebisen on your floor. Maybe…maybe not the last question.
It is dark outside when Shimada Mart’s door tinkles open and Tadashi’s shuffling footsteps enter the store. And you open your mouth to call out to him, to ask him how was practice when you hear the other set of footsteps accompanying Tadashi’s. This set of footsteps do not shuffle like Tadashi’s, do not drag like yours. They’re quiet, confident, unhurried. You can’t decide whether this is good or not good.
“Good evening, Shimada-san.” And there’s Tadashi, a happy grin on his face, flushed pink from the cold outside.
You grin back automatically, let yourself forget about this boyfriend business of your student’s momentarily. “Hi Tadashi. What’s up?”
Tadashi’s grin widens. He holds up one of his hands, which you realize, is entwined with another hand. One that belongs to a not-so-stranger.
Dressed in a white and teal tracksuit that clashes horrifically with Tadashi’s black and orange, Oikawa Tooru gives you a 90? bow.
“Pardon my intrusion,” he says, voice surprisingly devoid of its usual sing-song quality, “I’m Seijou’s Oikawa Tooru. Pleased to meet you.” And if your heart has not already sunk to the bottom of your bottomless “nothing can be worse” pit, it is doing so right now. Because you know Seijou’s Oikawa Tooru, know how slippery and manipulative he can be. Because you can recall perfectly how Oikawa Tooru had stood on the other side of the court last April, smirking contemptuously at Tadashi as he took on the role of Karasuno’s pinch server for the first time.
“Pleased to meet you,” you echo. You want to ask Tadashi why. Why Oikawa, of all people? Oikawa, who treats Kageyama like dirt even though Kageyama is nothing but respectful towards him. Oikawa, who likes control and knows how to use people. Oikawa, who goes out with a new person every week.
Tadashi is still grinning. Tadashi is still holding onto Oikawa’s hand. Tadashi is asking you if he can show you his new serves.
“I don’t know, can you?” You sound cold, even to your own ears, and Tadashi’s smile fades a little, and out of the corner of your eye you can see Oikawa lace his fingers with Tadashi’s.
“Shimada-san,” Oikawa says, soft. He’s looking at you right in the eye, and smiling a gentler smile than his regular mega-watt lady killer. “Tadashi-kun’s serves are really good. He’s worked super hard on them. Please. You’re his mentor. Please let him show you.”
Tadashi’s not looking at you at all. He’s looking at the Kappa Ebisen chips you’d spilled on the floor earlier and had not bothered to clean up. Your heart clenches, and you’re reminded of the Tadashi who first asked you to teach him how to serve, the one who wouldn’t look up when his palms hit air over and over because he thought he wasn’t good enough.
“Meet me at the back,” you say, shutting down the till. You glance down at Tadashi’s wrists. It doesn’t matter if Tadashi’s potentially-asshole boyfriend taught him the serves, Tadashi’s still sweated and bruised himself to perfect them, and you always, always want to see the fruit of Tadashi’s hard work.
Tadashi does his signature float serve first as a warm up. It sails in a perfect projectile, hovers over the places where it’s supposed to, and hits the empty bottle you’ve placed on the other side of the parking lot.
“Yes! That’s my boy!” You crow, running over to ruffle Tadashi’s hair. “Did you see that serve?” You yell at Oikawa, totally forgetting yourself. “Did you see that?”
Oikawa goes and resets the bottle. He raises an eyebrow at Tadashi. “Think you can do it again, Tadashi-kun? A result is only a real result if it can be replicated.”
You don’t really understand, but Tadashi laughs as he catches the ball Oikawa throws at him. “You nerd,” he hollers back, and Oikawa laughs too.
Tadashi’s float serve hits the bottle a second time. And a third. And as Oikawa is busy retrieving the bottle for Tadashi (he’d sent it flying with his last serve), Tadashi turns to you and says, “I’ll be doing my new serve now, Shimada-san. Please pay attention and tell me how I can improve.”
He does his power serve and feint serve next. Each strike the shoulder of the bottle and fling it across the lot, and you marvel at the speed and accuracy of both. Oikawa, who is standing next to you, is strangely silent even as Tadashi takes a break between serves to drink water. You turn to him, expecting him to look contemplative or maybe even scheming, because Oikawa had helped Tadashi make these serves, and he could easily break them; Oikawa had been known to break some of the things he’s made.
Oikawa only looks proud, though, and fond, and kind. And you’re thinking kind. Oikawa Tooru can be kind.
Tadashi comes over all thrilled and happy, and says, “What do you think,” all sparkly-eyed. And he’s asking Oikawa and you at the same time.
Oikawa throws both arms around Tadashi, squishes Tadashi close to him, and yells, “That was awesome, Yama-chin!”
Tadashi squawks, pushing at Oikawa, “Too loud, Oikawa-san. I’m right here.”
“I’m sorry, Yama-chin!”
Yama-chin. You smile at the silliness of the nickname. “That was amazing, Tadashi,” you say.
Tadashi gives Oikawa a bashful look, “I had a good teacher.”
And Oikawa doesn’t run a hand through his already slick-backed hair, doesn’t stick his tongue out or flash a smug peace sign at Tadashi. Instead, he inclines his head towards you, “Don’t you mean ‘teachers’?”
“He’s not what I expected.”
You tell Tadashi this after Oikawa’s left on the last bus back to Sendai and the both of you are draining the last drops of your blue energy drinks.
“Oh,” Tadashi says, fiddling with the hem of his shirt.
“I didn’t expect him at first,” you confess. “I was expecting someone better. But he turned out not bad. You’re good for each other.”
“Oh,” Tadashi says again, cheeks tinged the same shade of red as a Pringles Original can. “Oikawa-san can be kind of bratty sometimes, and he’s still awful towards Kageyama. He calls me Yama-chin. But he’s always patient when he teaches me things, and he works at least twice as hard as I do when it comes to volleyball.” Tadashi’s face is maroon now. “I’m glad you approve?” He phrases it as a question.
“Well,” you say, “I had planned on setting my entire box of fireworks on him, but I guess I only need to light a couple.”
“Shimada-san!”
“Honestly, Tadashi,” you take off your glasses and wipe the sweat off the bridge of your nose. “You don’t need my approval. As long as you know what you’re doing,” you slip the lenses back on and glance at him. “And you always have, haven’t you?”
It’s easy to forget, you think, because Tadashi spends half his time in his best friend’s shadow, and he’s only ever on the volleyball court for five minutes per set, max. But Tadashi’s not meek, not fragile. Because wasn’t he the one who came to you and insisted that he wanted to learn, even if it might be too late? Wasn’t he the one who absolutely failed when he served in a game his first time and came back to you that same night asking you if he could practice more?
Tadashi stands, bounces the ball a few times. “A couple more, Shimada-san? I really want to get my jump serve right.”
“Yes,” you smile, hand going around your empty bottle. “More.”