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When Oikawa unlocks the apartment door with Tobio behind him, he steps inside and thinks, things have really changed.
Tokyo is a big city, partly synthetic and partly natural. Even after a year, whenever he and Tobio are staying out for late night gatherings with teammates or walking back from practice, it still feels new. All the lights, the glitz and the glamour—those things were not in Miyagi.
But this is his life now. This is the sacrifice he’s made to represent Japan, and he wouldn’t trade it for anything else.
He doesn’t mean to room with Tobio. It just happens, like almost everything between them does after high school. If it isn’t them bumping into each other during a visit home from university, it’s Oikawa finding Tobio in the lobby of the apartment complex he’s interested in, staring at the bulletin board in front of him. The expression on his face, eyes narrowed in concentration but obviously not understanding anything, is the same as in their adolescence. By his sides are a duffel bag and a rolling luggage.
Ten years out of junior high, and Oikawa has yet to outgrow the tendrils of immaturity that spring up within him. Immediately, he walks to stand behind Tobio and leans in before calling out a “Tobio-chan,” relishing in the younger boy practically jumping out of his skin.
Having the upperhand still gives him satisfaction. Perhaps some things never change.
It’s partly pity and partly economics, Oikawa tells himself, that has him offering to room with Tobio. Tokyo is a lot more expensive than back home, and he can always use the extra money for volleyball. With a jerky bow and a stutter, Tobio easily agrees. At least he’s smart enough about that.
Getting into rhythm with Tobio is easy, but tedious. There’s little that’s different about this Tobio in comparison to the fifteen-year-old who had defeated him in the Spring High Tournament. He’s still awkward in conversation, fails to read between the lines most of the time, is unable to express his emotions openly except when he’s angry, is clumsy in everything that doesn’t have to do with volleyball, and has that annoying habit of trailing his eyes after Oikawa.
Tobio can at least complement where Oikawa admittedly lacks, like cooking in the kitchen. Instead, Tobio somehow burns meat, unevenly chops vegetables, and boils over instant miso soup. When Oikawa walks in, it’s a disaster on both the counter and the floor. He thinks that it’s the beginning of smoke that he’s smelling from the pot on the stove, and prays that the smoke detector doesn’t go off. It’d be a hassle to deal with.
He stares at Tobio—deer-caught-in-the-headlights Tobio—until Tobio has the decency to blush in shame.
“O-Oikawa-san,” Tobio starts, ladle in hand.
“Tobio-chan, you’re really bad at cooking, huh?”
Tobio reddens further while Oikawa is turning off the stove and pulling a pamphlet from a fridge clip. At least Tobio gets that trying to cook has become a lost endeavor, so he starts gathering everything and placing dishes in the sink to wash. Oikawa hangs up after ordering food and they spend the time they have to wait for delivery cleaning up the mess. He can’t trust Tobio to leave it spotless, after all.
Maybe the biggest adjustment isn’t them living together. It’s them playing together. Oikawa and Tobio have seven years worth of distance to close, after all.
When Oikawa sees all of the practice in Tobio’s limbs—more refined, more accurate, more powerful—he can’t help but think, I hate this guy. He’s been training longer by the sheer fact that he’s been on the Earth two more years, and Tobio’s crossed so many more lines than Oikawa ever could in the same amount of time. It’s not as bad as in junior high though, when everything had felt frightfully more dramatic and intense and Oikawa was fraying at the seams, but it’s there, lingering.
There’s still the awkwardness Oikawa remembers from their younger years, beside a fear that seems to have dwindled a little in adulthood. That has to be fixed before the next match or the team can fall apart. Resigning himself to his fate, Oikawa gently works to pry Tobio open like the captain he knows he has to be, even for that annoying underclassman from long ago.
(Sometimes, and just sometimes, he can still feel the same twelve-year-old’s gaze: curious, timid, and longing.)
For all the grace that Tobio is on court, it doesn’t follow him in other aspects of his life. It seems that, for how long Tobio’s been playing volleyball, he’s still pretty terrible at treating injuries. Oikawa has to muffle a laugh behind his free hand as he watches the bandage unravel in Tobio’s palms. Tobio apparently hears it, because his eyes narrow and a noise of frustration leaves his lips, accompanied by pinker cheeks and a rub at the back of his neck. Maybe he’s had someone do it for him all these years.
Oikawa sets the glass down on the table and walks over.
“Ah, so useless,” Oikawa chuckles while Tobio scowls just a little, but takes the bandage roll regardless. Beginning to wrap it around Tobio’s ankle, he says, “Here, this is how you do it.”
Tobio doesn’t say anything for a while, but Oikawa can feel a piercing stare. Then he hears, “...thank you, Oikawa-san.”
Oikawa supposes he can sympathize with not being happy about having to sit out for a few days, though not to this extent. He’s never had his head only filled with volleyball, despite how much Iwa-chan used to insist that was the case. Not like this idiot.
The worst thing about Tobio is that he’s actually learns now. He learns to quietly shut the door behind him when he’s walking around late at night. He learns to keep a stock of milk bread whenever Oikawa cannot go out to get some himself. He learns that sometimes Oikawa has to be shaken out of the trance he’s in whenever he’s watching videos of old volleyball matches. Most of all, he somehow learns when Oikawa’s on the edge of tears or frustration and needs to be left alone.
To Oikawa’s chagrin, he also learns about Tobio. Oikawa insists it’s just him being a good roommate when he buys milk at the convenience store, readily picks up Tobio’s laundry to put with his in the washing machine, and wakes Tobio up in the morning because the boy can’t get up by himself. He calls it his captain obligation when he finds Tobio sleeping in places that aren’t his bed and places a blanket over him, muttering to himself about how he can’t have teammates making themselves sick like that.
When Oikawa feels his resentment begin to dull at the edges, he blames it on having to share a space with Tobio for so long. Not because he’s fond. Of course not.
Tobio’s different within a mere few months. He’s able to navigate trivial conversations with their teammates despite some difficulty, he’s eager to take advice even from those the same age as him, and he makes less mistakes.
From the side of the court, Oikawa watches Tobio’s sets. He watches those arms extend to meet the ball, form flawless, a slight smile on Tobio’s trembling lips as he effortlessly pushes the ball upward.
When Oikawa is about to step out onto the Olympic court, he takes a deep breath and thinks, things have really changed.
The jersey he’s wearing seems to have a different weight than all the ones he’s had since he was a child. It’s heavier, clings onto his back a different way. Out there is everything they’ve been training for, and that stage is bigger and brighter than anything he’s ever been in. This is the first time he’ll be representing something so much more than a school or prefecture. Right now, he’s not Aobajohsai or Miyagi prefecture—he’s Japan. The idea is a lot heavier than he first thought it would be.
Turning his head to the side, Oikawa sees Tobio sitting on a bench with his fingers entwined into each other, rubbing at his hands. He must be nervous because even Oikawa is, too. Something uneasy is simmering in his lower abdomen, but he knows that he’s trained for this as much as he can, as hard as he can. They all have.
Oikawa makes his way over to stand near Tobio. He stays silent until Tobio notices him, though neither of them speak up after acknowledging each other’s presence with silent nods. There’s a part of Oikawa that doesn’t want to say anything at all, an immaturity that has yet to fully uproot itself from his spirit. He has spent years watching this guy improve at a rate that he’ll never match.
He claps Tobio on the back anyway.
At Tobio’s quizzical look, Oikawa says, “We’re here to win, aren’t we? I’m not going to let you help us lose, Tobio-chan.”
He may laugh at Tobio’s heated, scandalized face after, but it doesn’t change anything. They’ve made it here together, and they’ll win together.